78 Ways to Say, "You're Fired!"

Canned, decruited, at Liberty, eliminated, "We're going in another direction,"excessed, farmed out, "It's not you, it's us,"sent to the minors, given your walking papers.

We sat down the other day, and tried to think of all the ways to say, "You're Fired!"

Benched, sent packing, bought out your contract, "Don't call us, we'll call you," dismissed, released, terminated, dumped, sacked, outsourced.

As you probably know, Detroit is currently in meltdown mode. That means there are many people hearing these words right now.

"Clean out your desk", you're toast, walked out the door, outplaced, "You're history!" furloughed, cashiered, drummed out, escorted out, rif'ed.

Isn't it amazing how many ways there are to tell a person that they are no longer needed?

Kicked to the curb, given the boot, on waivers, let go, pensioned off, fired, "Clean out your locker", released, outsourced, asked to leave.

The fact that it is happening to so many does not make it any easier for those that it is happening to.

Up the creek, sold down the river, declared redundant, right skill set for the wrong company, severed, blackballed, put out to pasture, redeployed, reassessing manpower, right sized.

I can tell you that it hurts, it's disheartening, and depressing.

Downsized, "It's business," "You're outta here!", didn't make the cut, optioned, given the heave ho, axed, pursuing other options, pushed aside, delisted.

They tell me that this is for the best. That the economy will only be stronger when this is done. And what's good for the economy is good for America.

Deleted, thrown to the wolves, shown the way out, decommissioned, made a free agent, parting company, seeking other options, sent to the showers, assessing priorities, "turn in your badge".

What I see are sad, anxious people who did nothing wrong, who now will be punished for decisions made by other men who only cared about making more money.

"Hasta la vista, baby", the fat lady has sung, don't let the door it you in the backside on the way out, tossed out, discarded, sidelined, pink slipped.

The Coaster Free Coffee Table

There's one thing about making furniture for yourself. If the piece is less than perfect, you are forced to look at it on a daily basis until you make one that is right.

This coffee table is not one of my design successes. There are several reasons for this. First of all it looks overly formal. I did not anticipate the formal feel that the "tapered on 4 sides" legs would give it. Secondly, the table was an experiment rendered in poplar. I was supposed to take what I learned from this and improve on the design when I remade it in cherry. Unfortunately, I never got around to redoing it in cherry. Finally, there is the issue of the cherry stain. It is blotchier than I like it to be.

There are things I like very much about the table. I like the marble inserts. They serve the purpose of making the table coffee cup friendly. It is also extremely sturdy. The mortise and tenon construction really makes a rigid table, and finally, I like the proportion. It's a couple inches taller than the standard coffee table, and it makes a difference when you use it.

So why aren't I redoing it? I truly do not know. Perhaps I will redesign it this summer.

A Modest Wish List

I spent about an hour and a half out in the woodshop after work today. It's a marvelous place to go and forget the worries of the day. It is hard to concentrate on anything else when you are pushing a 4 X 8 Sheet of plywood through the table saw. It requires planning, execution, and attention to detail. The help of a troop of woodworking gnomes would come in handy too. They could help me keep everything straight and square. Because, if you slip up, you end up with a very apparent divot taken from what was to be a straight edge. Much as I would like a cabinet saw, I do not see it as an option anytime soon.

It's kind of like that huge drum sander. I would love to have one since I personally do not like the unending boredom of hours of sanding. Much as I would like to have one, it is well beyond my budget currently. I even tried a medical arguement with my wife. I claimed that the tennis elbow that I often get from sanding would justify the purchase. She still seems unmoved however. I even tried connecting recurrent bouts of tennis elbow to cardiac arrest. (You laugh, but it worked for George W. Bush. He connected Saddam Hussein to the 9/11 terrorist attacks and got away with it.) I guess that I'm going to have to wait until it comes down in price. (Hint! Hint! Rockler)

The reason why that sander looks like such a good thing right now is because I am putting together four bookcases for the living room. They will be 7' 6" high by 3 feet wide. That means there will be acres of sanding to do as I prepare the body sides and the shelves for finishing.

Do you know any gnomes that specialize in sanding?

Unbreakable Quilt Rack

This project came about because we were tired of buying quilt racks that fell apart under the weight of the quilts. We had bought several that were made with 1/2" pine doweling. Usually the glue joints failed in a short time, and repeated glueing only postponed the inevitable. Eventually, they just fell apart. We live in Michigan, and quilts and throws get used 6 months of the year.

The rack was made from air cured 3/4" red oak that I had gotten from my father's farm in Kentucky. All joints are mortise and tenon, and the rounded top was cut on the bandsaw using a pivot jig. The decorative edge was done with a cove bit on a router. I finished it with chestnut stain followed by a hand rubbed tung oil finish.

The design works well. It remains sturdy despite children climbing and pulling up on it from time to time. The finish has held up well to the cats that use it as a way to get to their favorite sunny window sill. This amazes me since I have other furniture with supposedly tougher finishes that do show scratches from the cats. There is very little that I would do differently. The simple clean lines go well with our other furniture. I considered getting a little more fancy with the side pieces, but in the end, I am glad that I let the woodgrain be emphasized on the sides.

Early American Printer Stand

It's a cold rainy/snowy day today, and I thought I would show you a printer stand that I completed last year. It's made from poplar except for the top which is maple. It features a raised panel on the door and it was trimmed out to be a companion piece to the early american desk sitting next to it. I finished it using a cherry paste stain followed by two coats of wipe on polyurethane. What I like about it is its clean lines and simplicity. If I were to do it again, I probably would spend more time putting a routed edge on the table top that matched the desk. That's a judgement call though. I could easily see myself saying that I should have left the edge simpler had I added the edge. One other thing I like about it, although it is not apparent in the picture is the frame and panel construction that I used on the sides.

This is the kind of thing that I like to do. I prefer doing the designing myself rather than going with a plan. The advantage is that it makes my stuff unique. The down side is that I sometimes make mistakes which require that I go back and start again. Even then the trip is worth it. I have to admit, I've gotten smarter and my designs have evolved as I've gone along.

Shop Teachers and Missing Fingers

I've been looking around the blogsphere and I have come to the conclusion that I need to start including some pictures. I've got quite a few projects around the house herethat I'm proud of, and I think that I'm going to start sharing them. Look for them in the coming days. I also think that I'm going to be linking to other sites.

In the meantime, I had a question posed to me today that I need help answering. Why did the shop teacher in junior high and high school always have a portion of a finger missing?

It was certainly true at Davidson Jr Hi when I was a student there and it also was true again when I taught school at Carlson High School. Is it a requirement? Is it a sacrifice that must be made to get into a secret society? If you had a choice, wouldn't it be better to lose a toe instead?

Woodworking and Life on the Road

My issue of Woodsmith arrived today. As usual there are several great projects in there that I want to do. The nested tables look particularly interesting as does the folding picture frame. I would also like to start working with Lyptus, the new plantation grown hardwood. The only problem is that my chances of working in the woodshop on a regular basis seem to be receding faster than my hairline. I really am beginning to wonder about this new assignment. While I am excited that my career is beginning a new phase, I am also experiencing a sense of loss. The loss of free time in the evening to work in the woodshop, the loss of being able to attend my Rotary meetings, the loss of my friends at the lab that happens to be closing and shortly will be no more.

I like to think that I'm a positive person. I've noticed that most woodworkers are. Let's face it, only an optimist will buy a couple hundred dollars worth of wood and begin a big project guaranteed to take several months and also guaranteed to test the limits of his ability. Negative people would just whine about the noise and the dust, and then go in the house and play video games. Yet, even as a positive person, sometimes I just see no upside for quite a while. That is where I am right now. 100% travel means that I am gone during the week for the forseeable future. From here it looks like I may occasionally get a chance on the weekend to work in the shop. I hope it's enough.

Johnny Cash had a song out a good while ago called, "One Piece at a Time". It's about this auto worker who finally got his Cadillac by smuggling out a piece in his lunch box every chance the could. When he finally gets it assembled, a man asks him what year it was and the refrain goes, "Its a 51,52,53,54,55,56,57,58,59,60 automobile."

I guess that I'm just going to have to take that approach. I'll do what I can and when I can and wait for the day when I get the chance to do more. In the meantime, I'll content myself with thumbing through woodworking magazines in airport lounges and hotel rooms.

One Man's Dilemma

I've got a small problem. I've accepted a new job that requires that I travel 100% of the time during the week. I do get the H bonus with it however. I get to keep the house. Right now, I think the new job means no more fading into my workshop for a few hours of woodworking at the end of the day. I've gotten quite fond of taking big boards and making piles of saw dust and little boards out of them. I know it's not a marketable skill, but still I am good at it, and I take pride in the fact that there is so much sawdust at the end. It's not unlike the purest form of whittling practiced down south where the goal is to produce a pile of uniform fine shavings at the end of the day.

There aren't many who can aspire to this highest form. The pressure to actually make something gets overpowering at times. Only those who are totally dedicated to wasting vast amounts of time can become a true whittler. I personally have seen more than one potential whittler meet his downfall when suddenly he realizes that he is making a whistle or a chain.

It's the same with me. So far I've resisted actually making something useful with all that equipment out in the workshop. Instead I make different qualities of wood dust. I like the look of long shavings that come off the planer. If you want volume, the planer is your tool. The router is also one of my favorites. It too can produce copious wood chips, plus there is the attraction of having sharp tool steel whirling around at a hellacious clip. I don't want to leave out sanding dust either. The stuff is so fine that it cakes your hair, and grinds into your clothes to the point where it is impossible to get out. This is my wife's favorite too.

I'm going to hate leaving all this behind. My wood working during the week will have to be confined to thumbing through copies of Fine Woodworking magazine in airports waiting for flights. Life is full of these funny little trade offs. I have to work to keep the house that has the workshop that I cannot use because I have to work. I'm not sure that I get the joke though.

Is This Retirement?

It's a cold and sunny Monday morning. It's also the first day of spring. The birds are singing like they mean it; and I should be at work, but I am not. I recently have been told that after twenty two years at my job, I am no longer needed. I've gone through all sorts of emotions with this. I've alternated between angry, sad, and agitated, I've even tried denial. Right now, I'm mostly just curious. I'm old enough that if the retirement package is good, I'll be able to retire.

What am I going to do with the rest of my life? I've got retired friends who are quite happy padding around the house most of the day in their slippers. I'm not sure that it works for me though. I don't feel ready to retire. I have far too much energy, and maybe just a little drive. It's 7:30 in the morning right now, and I'm updating this blog as an example.

I think I would like to develop woodworking as a sideline. I'm not sure how to do it, however. I'm pretty sure that I do not want to start a cabinet shop. That work looks far too competitive and I am not sure that I want the pressure of turning out a full kitchen worth of cabinets with one week turn around. People have mentioned making products to market at craft shows. That has potential, as does building stuff and marketing it on eBay. I just have no idea how to get started. Perhaps it's time for me to do a little research at the library and on the internet.

Life does throw you curves from time to time. Who would have thought that at the age of 56, I have something in common with your average high school graduate. We're both wondering what to do with the rest of our lives.

In the meantime, it's a sunny spring morning. The coffee is hot, the birds are singing, and there's a question rattling around in my head. Is this what retirement is like?

Woodworking Workouts

I was able to spend about three hours out in the woodworking shop yesterday, and boy do I feel it this morning. I got up just a little while ago and I am definitely stiff and sore. It amazes me what a workout a few hours in the shop can be. Now that I think about it, I spent a good deal of time time moving around 4 x 8 sheets of 3/4 inch plywood. I was also pulling equipment off the shelf and using it, and even sanding means that you are fighting the inertia of the machine as you use it. I wonder how many calories per hour you expend while woodworking?

From what I have seen, woodworkers come in all shapes and sizes. I certainly would not be mistaken for a body builder. What I have noticed about those I have met is that they all have a pretty good hand shake, and quite a few have forearms even Popeye the sailor would envy.

I guess that means that woodworking is pretty good at building upper body strengh. If we want to get the aerobic conditioning in we have to look elsewhere. Perhaps Roy Underhill has the right idea. He's the guy on TV that makes all his projects the old way without the convenience of modern machines. Imagine, for example, how much aerobic workout you could get from turning a bowl on a pedal driven lathe. Or the amount of work it would take to hand plane a 3/4 board of red oak down to 1/2 inch. I've noticed in a few of those episodes that he is definitely winded when he is done demonstrating some of those techniques.

I'm not saying I want to go back to the old days. Modern conveniences are pretty nice. I am old enough to remember having to iron my non permanent press clothes for school every day, and how glad I was when permanent press came on the market. Still does anyone else see the irony of having so many labor saving devices in our lives that we have to pedal stationary bikes or walk treadmills that go nowhere to get our exercise? Does anyone else feel like they are inside an M. C. Escher painting?

Finishing Well

I think we all have been there at one time or another. The project for whatever reason has gone on three times longer than you thought it would, and quite frankly you are sick of it. You don't want to do it anymore, but you have to. You've made promises and you are stuck with getting it completed. Your first thought is to cut corners. You don't need to sand everything so completely, you don't need to put on that extra coat of varnish. Nobody would notice.

Don't do it. There are certain things in this world like woodworking and jobs where finishing well is just as important as starting off well. It says more about your character than just about anything else. What you hold yourself to, your standards, come into play in those times. The true measure of a person is not what he does when he is forced to. It's what he chooses to do when the opposite would be easy and acceptable.

So go ahead and do it right the first time. If you don't, you will regret it. Perhaps not today or tomorrow, but soon and everytime you see your project after that until you fix it.

The Eternal Attraction of Good Woodworking

One of the joys of woodworking is that it takes you out of the rut of daily life. For a few hours in the evening or on the weekend, you are transported to a place where your job, your family, and a million other vexations do not intrude. You're busy with much more important things like making the perfect cut, or sanding the table top silky smooth, or routing the perfect edge. The beauty of woodworking is how it totally engages both the hands and the mind in the creation of beauty. It is just dangerous enough, just complicated enough, just captivating enough that your concentration must be totally on the task before you.

In a way, it's like a mini sabbatical from your life. After a couple hours in the shop, I come away tired, but relaxed. It's the same sort of feeling I get from a long walk or from a bike ride. In addition, I also have a feeling of accomplishment. Something got done while I was out there. A board transformed into a face frame. A sheet of plywood became a cupboard. Something ordinary turned into something beautiful.

This whole idea runs counter to our consumer society. We are supposed to buy what we need ready to go, we then use it up or more likely throw it out when it goes out of style so we can buy some more. It is almost subversive that we set out to spend way too much time, to build something of such quality that it will clearly last much longer than we will. Very little else in this age is built that way. I can only think of expensive jewelery as being made that way. Cars are built to last 5-8 years. Expressways are supposed to last 20 years. Cheap furniture should last between 3 and 5 years. Expensive furniture should last 20 to 30 years. Appliances are only good for 5 to 10 years. Not even marraiges last as long as they used to. If you are a woodworker, you are bucking a trend that has swept the rest of society.

If you think about it, our woodworking will come to represent our age in the future. Long after everything else is just a layer in a landfill, our woodworking will still be displayed as a prized antique.

Cold

I'm stimied again. Sometime during the afternoon yesterday, the polar express roared through Michigan and lowered the temperature a full 40 degrees. Yesterday at this time, the temperature was 72 degrees, the thermometer outside my window now shows 32. Winds are currently blowing out of the north north west at 20 to 30 mph with occasional gusts up to 40. Snow flurries are passing through with great regularity. All in all, it's the kind of day that noone dresses properly for since nobody anticipates that it could be this cold one day after such lovely weather. I recently read that there are 4 seasons in Michigan: Almost winter, winter, still winter, and road construction. It's still winter. I guess that it will remain so for a while.

Here's the part where I'm stimied. I don't want to go out and do woodworking in the shed. It will be cold out there, and I just don't want to be cold anymore. I've noticed that the cold just settles into me this time of year. It's like my body is done fighting it. It's given up. It's been at it for a full third of the year at this time. It started getting cold in November, and 4 months later it is still cold. After 56 years of toughing out these winters, my body just doesn't want to fight it anymore. My resources are spent. The sweet siren song of the wood cannot be heard through the muffler I have to wear to keep warm. Were I to go out now, I would probably be burning my bookcases to keep warm.

I guess I'm going to have to content myself with the woodworking catalogs for a while and old issues of my favorite woodworking magazines. The weatherman says next week may be warmer. Let's hope so.

On Praise and Criticism

When someone shows you their woodworking project and ssks,"What do you think?", there is only one thing to do. Lie like you've never lied before. Lie knowing that the lie is better for them than the truth. I learned this a long time ago. As a paint chemist, I have spend innumerable, fascinating hours watching paint being applied to cars in factories. I have also spent many hours in the company of automotive engineers explaining to me in colorful detail exactly what is wrong with my paint. (Yes, my job is literally watching paint dry.) As a result, I can go around most cars and find five things wrong with a paint job without even looking hard.

Once upon a time, a long time ago, a friend asked me what I thought of the paint job on his brand new car. I critiqued it much as I would on an inspection in a plant. I showed him the low paint areas, the areas with too much orange peel, the sealer runouts, and the swirl marks. When I was done, he was never satisfied with that car again. After seeing what I had done, I vowed that I would never make a person unhappy with their car again.

This all came flooding back to me over the weekend. A friend of mine showed me a book case he had put together using dimensional lumber. He hadn't sanded it enough to eliminate the planer marks, he hadn't rabbeted the back panel, glue run out had not been wiped from several joints, nor had the edges been sanded to take the curse off them. Finally, the whole unit listed slightly to the right.
"What do you think?" He asked.
"Looks like a darn good job to me." I replied as sincerely as I could. The result was that he was happy. He wasn't asking for how he could improve the next time he builds one. He was asking for reassurance that all the time and effort he had put into this project had resulted in something he could be proud of. The best I could do for this budding woodworker was to reassure him that this first effort was good enough, and start him down the road to becomming a better woodworker.

By the way, if I ever show you my stuff, I would appreciate it if you lied.

NIH Factor

Projects evolve as they go on. They have an organic quality. The slab door on the front morphs into a raised panel door, or the plain arch now has a aglet hanging in the middle. The bookcases that I'm making for the living room changed over breakfast yesterday. The two lower units with the doors in the center will now be breakfronts. They will stand two inches further out into the room than the two outside units. There is no problem with that other than the fact that I had already cut wood for them.

As a result, I was a little more resistant to the change than I should have been. That is especially true now that I've thought about it for a while. The change would class up the whole look of the project. That stubbornness is just a part of my character. It has its good points like when I refuse to give up on a project no matter what happens. For example, last summer, I converted all the hot water heat lines from PVC to copper. It turned out to be much larger than I thought it would be. It took me three months of pulling off baseboard, and crawling under the house, and sweating joints to get it done. At times, I would have liked to walk away from it, but I'm too stubborn to say that a project is too big once I've started it.

The downside of being stubborn is I resist change for no reason at all other than that it is change. In science and engineering, it is called the NIH factor. It stands for Not Invented Here. It will affect whole companies that steadfastly refuse to adapt superior technologies which will save time and manpower simply because they did not think of it first. I have always been disdainful when I have seen it in other people or companies. It's hard to admit that it is a part of my character as well.

The upshot of all this is that the bookcases will have a breakfront and they will look better as a result.

Pride Goes Before a Flaw

Woodworking has to be just about the most maddening activity that anyone has ever invented as a fun leisure time pursuit. Somehow or other, it always manages to humiliate you. Just at the very point where you are thinking, "I've mastered this!", woodworking slaps you up along side your head and sends you home crying.

Here's a single example. I was cutting rabbets yesterday with a router. It's for a set of four bookcases that I'm building for the living room. I was running the router down the edge of a panel when the bearing on the bit hits a void in the plywood and the bit takes a bite out of what should be a smooth clean edge. The flaw would be right at eye level when the bookcase was assembled, so obviously, I cannot use the piece. Should I have looked at the edge better before I used the router? Yes. Should I have seen that there was a piece of really thin wood covering a sizable void. Yes, again. I certainly will do both in the future, but I am still out $10 for that one piece of wood.

If that isn't enough, I followed it up with my second disaster of the day. I was cutting mortises with my router on two seven and a half foot tall by 12 inches wide
pieces of 3/4 inch maple veneered plywood. I had laid them side by side, clamped them with a straight edge, and all I had to do was hold the router tight to the straight edge to cut perfect mortises. As I was transitioning from the first piece to the second, the bit hits a knot or something in the wood,and jerks the router off the straight edge. I have now ruined two pieces.

At the end of the evening, I have $30 in ruined wood, and have wasted two hours doing it. I have done both of these operation many times before, and have never had a problem. So whats going on? My theory is that pride has once again done me in. Rather than approaching the project as a humble beginner working carefully, I just assumed that the project would be a snap.

In this case, the project snapped back.

Perspective on a Minor Problem

Getting sheet stock home, or getting a large project, like a bookcase, delivered is always a problem for the amateur woodworker. It's doubly true if he does not have a pick up truck with a full size bed. Since I don't, I've had to improvise. My solution as been to build a frame that I can clamp to the luggage carrier on my station wagon. I can throw the 4 X 8 sheets up there and clamp them down for the trip home. It's a little akward, and it takes a while to set up, but it has served me well. Option #2 is to borrow my next door neighbor's full size tradesman van. I did it quite a few time last summer when I built my woodworking shop.

None of this is close to the problems my friend, Otto, tells me his father faced in his woodworking business in Hungary. Coffins were a big part of his trade. He promised delivery of the completed coffin 24 hours after the order was placed. That meant he worked all night assembling the coffina and finishing it. Otto's father then strapped the coffin to his back somehow and rode a bike to deliver it. If the delivery was in town, the ride wasn't too difficult. If the delivery was a few miles out of town and it was winter, that delivery could stretch into hours.

I love these old stories. They give me a peek into a world that once existed, but is now long gone. My father, for example, when he was a kid rode a mule to the mill every Saturday carrying a sack of corn to be ground into cornmeal for the week. My mother's job during the depression was to walk the railroad tracks after school every day to gather coal that had fallen off the passing trains so that her family could heat their home.

Life was much harder back then. The ease of modern life must have been inconceivable to them. I'm not sure that we baby boomers measure up when we are compared to our parents.

The Woodworker and his Work

The woodworker is linked to his work in a strong way.

It is his idea, his notion rendered to life with his hands. His sweat soaks into the wood, as does the oil of his hands until it is hard to say were the wood leaves off and the woodworker begins. His hand knows the smooth curve of the wood at its edges, his tongue knows the bitter tang of the dust and this nose the pungent aroma of the wood. His ears know the whine of the drill motor and the snarl of the tablesaw.

When it is done and glowing softly in the afternoon sunlight through the window, the woodworker sees the flaws first. The gap in the trim that misses by a thirty second of an inch at the corner, the dent in the edge where he hit the doorway moving it into the room, or the slightly out of square door. Noone else sees it, but he cannot look without regretting that he wasn't more careful and took a little more care.

He remembers the time when he made it. How he worried about his son, or his wife, or his job. Or how "A Prairie Home Companion" was on the radio as he glued up the breadboard edge on a rainy day when the heavy rain drops tapped random beats on the roof, and the smell of wet earth filled the shop.

In the end, he packs his home with memories that live on long after the woodworker is gone, and that's okay. It's part of the bargain. In a way, it's a gift to the future, to someone yet unborn who will know good work and who will polish it occasionally.

The woodworker is linked to his work in a strong way.

A Little Heat in the Woodshop

I'm getting a real strong urge to start woodworking again. I'm staring longingly at the woodshop. I'm sketching projects all the time, and I'm spending an awful lot of time thumbing through the Rockler catalogue. I quit working out there in mid January. That's when I finally finished the night stands for my daughter. They were supposed to be a surprize Christmas present. The surprize was that they were not done by Christmas.

The problem was that it was a very cold December here in Michigan. I remember some evenings out there in the shop when it did not get above freezing despite having the burneres on the propane heaters turned up as high as they would go. From that I reached three conclusions: Start Christmas gifts in October; insulate the workshop this summer; and finally, no more projects until it gets warmer.

It's getting warmer now. With temperatures in the forties, I should be able to keep the workshop cozy. I really don't need much heat. I've lived in Michigan most of my life, and I have learned to embrace the cold. I know for instance that there are four seasons in Michigan. There's almost winter, winter, still winter, and road construction. We are a curious bunch up here. We see no problem driving bumper to bumper at 70 mph with 2 inches of snow on the expressway. We refer to 0 degrees as a bit nippy, and we spend hours looking at a hole in the ice waiting for a fish to bite, and we call it fun. Finally, we like the cold so much that about half of us spend our winter vacation further north to get to the deep snow.

Still, a bit of heat in the shop would be nice. I need to get started on the book cases for the living room.

Mailboxes and Country Roads

I was in my workshop for a while yesterday. It's been since Christmas that I've been there. I blame it on the fact that I live in Michigan, and its cold this time of year. It felt good to be in there even if it was just to get tools to mount the new mailbox. High school students whacked my old one with a baseball bat last Friday night.

Whacking mailboxes is a varsity sport out here. It is done by a team of two. There's the driver who careens down the road at highway speeds maneuvering the car close enough for the whacker to hang out the passenger window and take full swings at each mailbox down the line. Judging is done from the following car. Points are awarded for degree of difficulty, style and mailbox hang time. The highest and the lowest scores are thrown out to keep the Russian and French judges from skewing the results. The whacking is done after dark to add drama to the competition. There has to be a big competition coming up soon. They've been doing a lot of whacking lately. Mail box whacking is a spring sport. It should not be confused with mail box stuffing. Those competitions are held in the fall during hay rides. If you are lucky, it is merely stuffed with straw in the morning. If you are not, the straw was set on fire, or an M-80 firecracker was thrown in.

I am not sure what it is about mailboxes that attracts rural adolescent boys, but the attraction is strong, and it cannot be denied. You would think that they would avoid them as much as possible since they have just learned to drive, and often those mailboxes define the edge of the road.

I went to Home Depot to pick up my new mailbox. It's one of those polyethylene-moulded-all- in-one-piece unwhackable ones. You know, the stuff that they make the trash cans out of. The check out lady knew why I was getting it.
"Did a car wipe it out, or did the kids whack it?" She asked.
"It was the kids." I replied.
"Well, good luck with the new one." She added as she was counting out the change. "They lasso these unbreakable ones, and pull them down the street behind the car."

Oh joy! I can hardly wait.

10 Things You Know as a Paint Chemist about Finishes

1. If it has "lac" in its name, (Shellac or Lacquer) it does not belong on a table top. Alcohol and water will do terrible things to it.
2. There are three kinds of coatings: Lacquers, varnishes, and drying oils. Everything else is hype.
3. Oils will not build. They soak into the wood. However doing a repair is a snap.
4. Varnish builds, and is moisture resistant, but application can be tricky.
5. Never believe a varnish can when it says do not thin. A dollop of thinner always helps flow out and leveling. You get less build, but its easier to put on a second coat than it is to sand out brush marks.
6. If a can says sealer stain, think paint that does not hide. If you want to see the grain in the wood, do not use it. It will probably look blotchy if you brush it on also.
7. 99% of the time staining and varnishing should be two seperate steps.
8. Tack rags are the finishers friend. Use them. Vacuuming a piece, or brushing a piece will not do as good a job.
9. Use only high gloss varnish. It protects the wood best. Learn to control the gloss level and the sheen with 0000 fine steel wool and paste wax.
10. Wipe on varnish is a nice blend of application ease, build, and moisture resistance. It's hard to beat it for furniture.

Yes, I really am a paint chemist, and no, I do not work for any company that makes varnishes or stains. What I am telling you is what I have learned, not a product endorsement.

On Woodworking Technique

"You don't have to get it right the first time, you don't even have to get it right the second time, but eventually you do have to get it right." That was told to me by an older chemist in a paint lab shortly after I hired in. The advice applies just as well to woodworking technique as it does to testing technique in a paint lab.

One of the joys of amateur woodworking is that you can afford to make mistakes. I have gone out on occasion and bought additional wood to finish a project. It is curious how the mistake always shows up on the biggest, most expensive piece of wood in the project. Did the router rock a little bit coming around the corner on a table top the first time you did it? I'm willing to bet you were better the second time you did it. If for no other reason than to cut down on the swearing and the sanding. The same is probably true for the first set of mortise and tenon joints you cut. Some were probably pretty loose. The second set was better, and the third set was better yet.

In woodworking unlike most other things in life, you can evolve at your own pace. You can decide that this project will include hand cut dovetails, or perhaps circles cut out on a band saw. You can decide that turning table legs like you did on your last project wasn't as much fun as you thought it would be. Your course is up to you.

As near as I can figure out, the only requirement that there is to be a woodworker is that you want to work with wood. All else follows from there.

Woodworking Intoxication

WI is a growing concern here in the United States. It strikes all levels of society. I found out recently, for example, that former president Jimmy Carter is an avid woodworker.

WI starts out innocently enough. The victim claims that they need some tools for around the house. They need a drill motor and bits for hanging pictures, a hammer, a selection of nails, and perhaps a level. Before you know it, they also have several pairs of pliers, a selection of screwdrivers, and a tool box. Many stop at this point content that they can fix a loose piece of moulding, or a nail pop in the floor. Most spouses of the WI victim are happy at this point. They think that things are going to be maintained around the house now. They do not realize that this is but one more step in the road to WI!

The true WI victim progresses rapidly to the next step. Before long they are watching home improvement shows on HGTV and public television. They begin mumbling as they watch. You hear, "So that's how they do that!", or the more ominous, "I can do that!" Most spouses do not realize that the home improvement shows are the gateway to the woodworking shows.

Something tells you that this growing obsession may get out of hand. You notice little things like how they look longingly at the lumber yard as you drive past, or how they have become unnaturally fond of stroking well made pieces of furniture. They associate with others who share their obsession, and who also talk using code words like "Jet", and "Grizzley" and "Rockler". They scan yard and garage sales looking for strange tools with names like "router", "biscuit jointer" and "chop saw".

The final stage of WI is not pretty. The victim isolates themselves in their work shop and gives the appearance of being quite happy there. They are on a first name basis with the UPS driver who delivers large boxes filled with strange equipment and exotic woods. When you walk out to see them, they are oftentimes covered in sawdust while staring intently at a diagram taped to the wall. Unfortunately WI is usually uncurable at this point. The spouse just has to live with it.

The outcomes are generally not too serious. The victim will probably spend the rest of their life sketching on napkins in restaurants, and in the margins of reports at work. They will occasionally go to woodworking shows and bring back pictures of new tools that they want, and their homes will gradually fill up with custom made furniture.

In the end, there is no need for a 12 step program unless, or course, they are building stairs.

Repair an Antique or not?

The Queen Ann hall table sits in my living room. It's an antique, and I have its provenance. It was built for my great grandfather by his neighbor, a professional woodworker. A cherry tree on my great grandfather's farm was cut down and the deal was that the neighbor could keep the rest of the wood if he built this table.

It has come down to me in excellent condition except for one flaw. When my mother was about two years old, She sat on the stretcher through the center that joins the legs on the right with the legs on the left and broke it. The stretcher was turned in two parts with a round mortise and tenon joint in the center. The mortise is cracked on the bottom and that allows the stretcher to sag to the floor under its own weight.

Here's the question: Do I repair it? I know that good furniture restoration does not affect the value of the piece, and I am sure I have the skill to make an invisible repair with doweling inside the mortise. The only problem is that it makes the joint no stronger, and therefore it is likely to fail again. In addition, if I do repair it, I do not get to hear my grandmother and my great aunt ragging on my mother everytime the family gets together at my house. This is a Christmas tradition along with the story of how another great aunt ran numbers for the Purple Gang, and how my grandmother used to roller skate to Canada across the Ambassador Bridge in Detroit. I guess it comes down to a value judgement. Which is more precious: the table or the stories?

I have been pondering this dilemma for a while. So far, I have found no sure answers. I just see the sagging stretcher every day, and ponder it.