My Grandfather's Legacy...

  There is a grandmother clock that stands in my living room.  It's a simple clock as clocks in the "grand" category go, and I think that is one of the things that endears me so much to it.  It was built by my grandfather for his wife in 1972, the second of four clocks he built.  

 My grandfather had a woodworking shop in his basement.   He had all the major power tools that made up a woodworking shop, as well as the unpowered tools of the trade.  It was a hobby that kept him busy after he retired.  

  He was more then happy to show my brother how to use them.  I remember because I watched.  Back then, it was something a boys learned in high school.  "Shop" was where you learned how to handle tools and make things.  Basics in carpentry.  Back then I was in home economics, sewing and cooking.  Not that I minded learning those two skills, but I always wanted to take shop.  Back then, it wasn't something girls did.

  I can remember playing around in my Dad's shop in the cellar.  The only power tool I used back then was the drill, and that was mounted in a bracket on the top of the work bench.  Mostly I used a hand saw or drill.  I remember making a plane out of wood scraps.  It would have flown like a brick, but it had wings and a propeller that spun.  I was pretty proud of it at the time.

  In junior high I wanted a book shelf for my room.  We'd looked high and low, but I never found anything I wanted.  So I designed one and my grandfather built it for me.  I also designed a shelf to hold all my painting and drawing supplies, although I can't remember if my grandfather or my father built that one.  

  I'd always wanted to learn how to use those tools myself.  So in the last few years, when I had some credit time built up at work, I've asked the guys in the shop to help me learn.  It started with a simple project.  The wood bench had rotted out and I wanted to replace all the slats.  Dave helped me rout the wood and drill the hole in the precut boards.  Then I varnished them.  Simple.

  From there I thought of a few more things to build, things we've needed, a cabinet for DVDs, book shelves, the cover for a putty colored metal file cabinet to make it match the desk it sits next to, a box from Sandy's log.  The problem over the years has been that I tend to think of projects that are insanely beyond my skill level.

  When we moved into the house the windows had been trimmed with 8 foot cedar boards, 2.5 inches wide, stained, painted peach and then painted white by the previous owners.  We took those boards down 6 years ago and put them in the garage thinking we might use them for something one day.  Then about a year ago, we received some nice pine boards a friend had used for shelves.  That got us thinking.  We needed more space for our DVDs.  I could make two cabinets that fit under the windows in the dinning room.  We could use both the pine and the cedar to do it.

  Remember the comment about projects insanely beyond my skill level...  Yeah, I'd done it again.

  I started the cabinets the week after Thanksgiving, only working on them after I'd put in my time for the day.  We're allowed to use the tools in the shop at work as long as it doesn't impact the real work being done down there.  All the cedar needed to be stripped and sanded, as did most of the pine.  That took a week.  Joining the cedar to make the doors and cutting and assembling the the shelves took another, especially since I kept thinking of details to make them nicer, like the blind rout on the top, or the inset for the back board.  In the end, I finished the final sanding and putting on the handles the last afternoon before vacation, using all my accumulated credit time and some vacation time to get them done.  I still had to stain them, and that I did in our garage the week before Christmas.  

  The cabinets turned out fantastic.  They fit where they are supposed to fit and they even match some of the other wood in that part of the house.  More importantly, they are what we wanted.  A narrow cabinet, custom built for the space.  We've always had trouble finding furniture to fit where we wanted it to go or how we wanted it to look.  Being able to custom make a piece is nice to be able to do, and I'm glad work allows me to use their tools on my time.  

  I've always had a desire to make things.  It is my craft, be it crocheting, or painting, sewing or stained glass, even photography fulfills the urge to "make".  I get a deep satisfaction from creating things.  I liked to watch my grandfather in his shop, although it didn't happen often.  These days, when New Yankee Workshop is on, I love watching Norm Abrams build things.  A part of me loves to know how things work and fit together and wood working always fascinated me.  

  I still have the bookshelf shelf Grandpa built for me.  The clock chimes the hour and the half hour in the living room.  Reminders of my grandfather.  These days when I think about something to make from the wood we have lying around, I think about my grandfather and his tools in the cellar.  I think I inherited the woodworking gene from him.  While it's only a small part of my desire to build things, I think that it has always been there.  I think it always will.   Work has given me the tools to explore that legacy.  And to that end, I think Grandpa would be very proud.

  

When something in the pantry stares back at you...

  I opened the pantry yesterday morning to check and see if there was anything else we needed before we went shopping and found myself staring at a small beady pair of eyes.  

  There was a lizard in the pantry.

  We have no idea how long he'd been in there, but Nyala was chasing something in there the other day.  We figured, in hindsight, that it was the lizard.  That dude either made it from the porch, which was a hell of a run with two cats in the house, or from the garage, an equally perilous, but much shorter dash.

  My first try to catch him was unsuccessful as he darted in behind the spaghetti sauce and the mushrooms, so we left him to explore the pantry while we went shopping.  Most everything in there is in ziplocks and we didn't figure he could do much harm.  Besides the girls would keep him cornered.

  When we got back from shopping, Edward opened the pantry to the same pair of eyes, from the same place on the shelf as I discovered him.  Again he disappeared behind the condiments.

  As Edward started putting things away he jumped down a shelf.  I grabbed a tupperware container thinking I could perhaps get it to drop into that.  As I moved the container in he bolted forward and I snatched at him, first missing, then snagging his tail.  One quick move more and I had him in the tupperware, still holding his tail and covering the rest of the top with my other hand.  "Got him!  Um, a little help here.  Could you get the door?"

  I set him down outside the front door and he scurried away, looking back and looking confused.  It isn't the first time I've caught a lizard, but it was the first one I've ever seen in the pantry.  Maybe he'll tell his friends that we're a lizard friendly house.  Mostly.  I don't think he ever saw the girls.  Either way, I hope he tells his buddies that, friendly or not, it's not cool to hang out in the big guy's house, cause getting caught doesn't usually have such a happy ending.

Milestone

  I've had my Rav4 for more then 9 years.  I love it.  And if I can, I'd like to drive it for another 9 years. Maybe even longer.  But in the mean time, it crossed a milestone this month.  100,000 miles.  This is the second car I've driven over that milestone.  It's hard to believe I've had the Rav that long.  It's still going strong.  I still think of it as new-ish.

  Hopefully, it will will keep going strong.  I've never had a car that made 200,000 miles.  Maybe, if I'm really nice to it, this one will.

Two Snake Morning.

When we got back from our walk this morning and I was getting ready for work, I noticed this guy on the palm tree outside my bedroom window.

He looked like he'd been perched there all night and was quite comfortable. I got out the big camera and the tripod, cause it was overcast and the light was low. Got to play a little with the depth of field on the image and could use a nice slow shutter. He wasn't moving and the breeze hadn't picked up yet.

Then I finished getting ready for work. I cracked the door to the garage and hit the garage door opener, grabbed my bag and swung open the open for light, because the light in the laundry room was already out. Then I heard this "spat" sound and looked out to see another snake on the garage floor between the cars. Near as I can guess, this guy had been sleeping on one of the support struts of the garage door (on the inside) and had just been unceremoniously dumped. What a rude awakening. I yelled for Edward cause the last thing I wanted was for him to crawl under and up onto the Rav4. Fortunately or unfortunately, I think this guy was a little stunned. We chased him out of the garage with a couple of brooms, slowly as it turned out. He just wasn't moving very fast. My best guess is that he spent the night in the garage. Yesterday, after the bug man came we left the garage door open for about 20 minutes. It had been raining hard when I left for work and I'm guessing he crawled in then, and settled in the door struts where it was cool overnight.

He was a corn snake, about 4 feet long and really pretty. I didn't have the big camera so the picture isn't that good. He wandered off into the front yard with a little coaxing. Hope he was OK. Perhaps he should try sleeping on palm branches instead.

Into History....

As the Space Shuttle Atlantis rolled to a stop on the TV, the final, quiet sonic boom crossed the house and passed into history.

10 Inches...

10 inches. That's how much hair I had cut off the other night. It's a pretty big thing, actually, since 4 years ago I barely had a quarter of an inch of hair on my head.

Those of you who know me know my hair. It has a mind of it's own. See, my hair and I have an agreement: It does what it wants and I like it. It's worked out over the years. It's much less stressful to let wavy hair wave, rather then try to get it to curl, or not, in the style of the moment.

Mom always kept my hair short when I was growing up. What's cuter than a little girl with curly red hair? I always hated getting my hair cut. As I got older, I tried to convince Mom to let me grow it longer. Our first compromise was a shag cut, a mullet if you will, that makes me shudder now at the thought of it. Finally, some time between grade school and high school I started growing it out, and except for a few mid-length years in college it's been long ever since.

Until 2007.

In January 2007 I was diagnosed with breast cancer and after surgery came chemo. You all know what chemo means. Breast cancer is pretty traumatic, and anything you can do to feel like you have control over the situation is worth doing. So before I started chemo, I cut my hair short. Three inches short. I hadn't had hair that short since I was in 5th grade.

My wavy hair immediately coiled like a stretched spring that had been released. The waves turned into curls. Needless to say that didn't last long. Four weeks later, chemo did it's thing. I have to tell you, if I never see the shape of my own skull again, it will be too soon.

It was May when my hair started to grow again. By the end of June chemo was over and it was definitely making a comeback. The ends, as they grew out, twisted into ring curls, the rest of it followed suit. It gave new meaning to the term "curly" and remains curlier then it was before chemo even as it got longer. Fortunately, it also remains it's brilliant red, something I am very happy about.

There was a day when I didn't like the color of my hair. Until junior high I didn't know any other redheads. I was called "carrot top" and "fire head" and all the other names kids think of when they want to pick on you. I hated my hair color. It made me different at an age when nobody wants to be different. My grandmother used to tell me that everyone was jealous of it, that's why they teased me. She said I would love the color of my hair one day. You know what, she was right. Today I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Friends kept asking if I was going to let it grow again or keep it short. Everyone said it was cute when it was short. My cute days are long gone. I'm too old for cute. So I let it grow out again, only cutting my bangs when they got in my eyes. It was just down to my waist. It had also gotten to the point where, curls and all, it was getting hard to manage.

I've donated hair to Locks of Love 3 times, the last time right before chemo started. This will make 4 donations. The minimum length to donate is 10 inches. They use it to make hair pieces for children who have no hair, and can't afford to buy a wig. I can't think of a better thing to do with it. Lord knows I have a lot of it. My ponytail is over an inch across. It seems like its only fair to share.

My hair now sits right at shoulder length. The ring curls haven't returned, but it's still curlier then it was before. It makes me feel good to know that my hair might make someone happy. Some of the kids that Locks of Love help have also lost their hair to chemo. I know how they feel. If my hair goes to someone who is going through chemo, and I can somehow make it easier for her (or him) to get through that tough time, then it's worth it to me. I'll do it again, too, and this time it isn't going to take four years to grow it long enough to give away.

Not a good sign....

Our ficus tree is definitely a tropical plant. So much so that it takes freezes hard. Really hard. Two years in a row may be more then it can take.

Last summer, after a particularly tough winter for it, we had it trimmed. The tree was more then 30 feet high and much more then we could handle, especially since part of it hung over the house. The tree had started growing back and looked like it was going to make it. The tree service cut it back to the level where the growing back. We hoped it would fill in over the next few years, shading the porch again as it has for much of the last decade.

This January brought another freeze, and the ficus took it hard again. And while didn't loose all it's leaves like it did the January before, it lost enough of the "new" growth to be concerning.

Fast forward a few months.

We noticed a woodpecker busily tapping away at one of the upper branches, back in April. Then we noticed that many of the big trunk-sized branches had loose bark and fungus growing them. Not just on one, but many of them, all over the tree.

I planted that "tree" when we first moved into the house 17 years ago. It was originally a houseplant consisting of many ficus saplings, all in one pot, I had bought for my apartment when I lived at the Willows. After we'd learned that the former owners had taken out an oak tree to put a pool in the back yard (something that never happened), we planted the ficus as a replacement, along with several other trees. Little did we realize how big it would get, or how we would come to appreciate the shade it provided for the house, the porch and the living room during the brilliant Florida summers.

The other day I noticed something white on one of the trunks. The next round of fungus attacks had begun. While the south part of the tree looks stronger, with it's bright green leaves shiny and looking strong, the north side appears to be struggling, the leaves dull and streaked yellow green.

The question now becomes will the tree as a whole survive? I don't know if what were once individual saplings, are now so merged and intertwined that they are truly one tree, and if so, can it survive half of it's trunk rotting and dying from within. One thing is certain, however, fungus growing on its trunks is not a good sign.

It's hard to say if the tree will survive. The base of this tree as about 3 feet across. It has, or at least it did have, a lot of reserves to survive a freeze. Most of those reserves are exhausted now. I've seen other types of trees survive being hollowed out from within. Maybe this one will also. Only time will tell. Time and no freezes for the next few winters.