Extremely Average

Fred

The first batch of tiny boxes has brought with it knowledge and a fair amount of enjoyment.  This is Fred, he is a tiny hard maple box with a wenge lid and splines.  He is very friendly.

Each box will be given a choice, some will choose to head out into the world, some may want to stay here in Martelle with me.  I asked him his thoughts on the future.

“Well I have been giving it some thought, as the Tung oil was drying.  It was difficult to decided, as I have grown fond of the other boxes and your tools are excellent conversationalists.”  Fred said, and it was apparent he was still a little bit on the fence.  He took a long pause.

“Yes they are.”  I said, then waited for him to continue.

“The idea of heading out into the world is both scary and exciting.  Do you think that I would get bought by someone friendly?”  he asked.

“I am quite sure of it.  All the readers of my ExtremelyAverage.com blog are exceptionally friendly.”  I reassured him.

“Then I think I would quite like to be made available to your store then.”  Fred said with confidence and a smile.

I smiled back and explained that if that was his decision, we would need to do a photo shoot.   He quite liked the idea and the camera loved him.  Fred was an excellent model and suggested we do one with him at the piano.  He loves music and quite enjoyed that photo.  Fred also likes holding small shiny rocks.  I filled him up and he stood on his lid.  He looked quite handsome, if you ask me.  He tried to talk me into letting him keep the rocks, but he failed.  I like small shiny rocks too.

Fred suggested it might be a good idea for me to sign him, and give his birth date, just in case the person who busy him, wants to wish him a ‘Happy Birthday’ next year.  I explained that they may not talk to him as much as I do, but there was a very good chance he would have other friends who would.  Books, which like to hang out on bookshelves, are exceptionally chatty and interesting.  Fred liked the idea of being on a bookshelf, possibly even more than on a piano.

Fred is really a delightful box.  He is a good listener and really good at keeping secrets.  I am sure that whomever decides to adopt him, will be very pleased.  Fred is available on my Etsy shop at http://www.etsy.com/listing/55156938/fred-the-tiny-box

Since we last saw our woodworking hero, he has done some finishing.  Ok, I have already gotten tired of this narration, and after only one sentence.  That is the sort of day it has been.

I finished 6 boxes with Tung oil last night and learned several things.  The most important is that though the difference between the finished and unfinished boxes is substantial in person, it doesn’t show up in the photograph.  What does this tell us?  It demonstrates quite clearly that I need to play around with the lighting.  Sadly, I waited to the last minute to take the picture and have run out of time for tonight.  I just assumed I would get it right on the first try, and so I am being punished for my hubris.

It is you the reader who has to suffer.  I am sorry.  But trust me, the box on the left, is much nicer than the one on the right.  I also learned another valuable lesson.  One of the methods for filling in grain, is to sand while the wood is wet with the finish.  One must use wet/dry sandpaper for this task  (you know, the black sandpaper).  I have some 3M sanding sponges.  On the box it says, and I quote, “Rinse and reuse”.  I then made the leap that they were the same as wet/dry sandpaper, and tried one out on the box on the left.

There is a straight line near the corner, that is not grain, but a mark from the pad.  I will need to sand this away and refinish the box to fix this blunder.  I have said it before, and I choose to say it again, that is the point of doing a big batch.  I learned a valuable lesson and now that I am almost done with my boxes, I feel like I could go from start to finish, quickly and accurately.  The first box took 3 weeks.  This batch of 12 has taken about the same amount of time, and I have included splines and finish.

I have been thinking about my next project.  I may try building a lamp.  I may try another box.  It is unlikely that I will try a Chippendale Highboy, as my skills still need a few more years of honing (read 23 years).  So I need to get back to work, fix the box on the left and finish the remaining boxes.  Then all of the boxes and I will have a meeting and decide which ones are interested in volunteering for an adventure (read going to a new home).  There have been a couple of people who have expressed interest in buying a tiny box, so I will probably put a few different ones up for sale.  I will try to make enough available for anyone who wants one. I suspect that the vast majority of my readers, being woodworkers, would get far more satisfaction from building their own, but for those who would like an ‘Extremely Average’ box, I will do my best to make everyone happy.

Luna and Henry walked back to the car in silence, Luna holding the tiny box firmly in both hands.  Henry broke the silence as he put his key in the door, to unlock it.  “That went well, not as all as I had expected.”  He opened the passenger door and Luna slid into the car with just a nod.  The sound of the door closing door and the silence that followed Henry back around the car, reminded him that Luna was holding a message from her father.  He thought about the fear she had been living with since the day he went missing, and how she had maintained her wits throughout it all.  She was a tough cookie.  He got in the car and started it up.

They drove for a little while, again in silence.  Luna said in a quiet voice, “Should I open it?”

“Yes.”  Henry said, keeping his eyes on the road.

Luna took off the lid and set it in her lap.   She opened the piece of paper and then read it aloud.

Dear Luna,

I hope this message finds you well.   We are doing fine, but miss our girls.  Please tell Sylvia and Winston that her father is safe.  He feels terrible about what he put her through, but apologies will have to wait for later.  I hope that this codex, the list of names, and the journal will be enough to put the people who would harm us, behind bars.

Love,

Dad

“The rest is the remainder of the codex.”  She said with a sigh.  “It isn’t dated, so I don’t know when he left this for us, but I do feel a bit better.”

Henry smiled at her.  “Yes, I do too.  Now that we can decipher the journal, we will know what Tommy ‘The Knife’ has been up to, and why your father had to disappear.”

“It is a good thing we made that copy to give to the DA.  I thought you were crazy at the time, but it looks like you were right about him.”  She said, returning the message to the tiny box.

“Yes.  I can smell a rat.  And the stink on him is almost overwhelming.”

There wasn’t much more to say.  Henry drove and Luna rapped her fingers on the lid of the box.  She was thinking about her father, wondering where he was, and Henry was forming his plan.  He would need to get some help.  He would need a bit of luck.

On this day, the 239 post, as has been the tradition among bloggers for centuries, will be something completely worthless.  The history of the 239th post, being rubbish, dates back to the days of the of the early renaissance.  It was around 1432 when little known blogger and artist Jon Van Eyck, the little known brother of Flemish painting legend Jan Van Eyck, wrote his 239th post.

He was a bit under the weather, the night before had been spent at his brother’s house, where there was much food, drink and fawning over his brother’s latest painting.  He had gotten drunk, loud, and generally offensive.  The chamber maid that he had propositioned had shown remarkably good judgment, and a surprisingly quick left jab, which had caught him squarely in the jaw.  Normally an offense which would have led to her dismissal, Jan gave her a raise and led the other guests in a rousing round of applause.  Everyone but John enjoyed the rest of the evening.

Because he didn’t feel very well, he just didn’t feel like writing much on his blog that day.  He reasoned that there were two really good reasons not to blog that day.  One, he felt poorly, and two the internet wouldn’t be invented in the next 500 years, so he reasoned he might  be able to make it up before then.  It did nag at him though, that if he didn’t blog, it would break his streak.  He was fairly certain that quitting on number 239 would bring even more shame to his family than the time he crashed the birthday party at Piero de’ Medici place in Florence, and accidentally passed out on the cat, killing it.  He had never lived down that trip to Italy.

So he dug through his hard drive and found some pictures from a less embarrassing time in his life and wrote something less than memorable.  He included a photo of an old man playing checkers, a building in disrepair, a drawing of a child in repose, and wrote something inane.  This was the start of the tradition of the 239th post being completely rubbish.

My sleep is all messed up.  Though it is early evening for most people, I had to wake up to write this drivel.  I am not proud of it.  But I think I can find a nice picture (or three) to include, perhaps that will make this less painful for everyone.  Here is one of well known blogger Abraham Lincoln.  I can’t say for sure, but I don’t think his 239th post was rubbish.  So this may be a bad example.

Lincoln Memorial

Here is a photo which captures the essence of the U.S. Capitol building, as viewed by a U.S. Senator after a 7 hour, 12 Martini lunch, paid for by a lobbyist who just secured 37 million dollars worth of pork for the bacon industry.

U.S. Capitol Building

This is a photo of a mallard.  He was just hanging out in the reflecting pool in front of the U.S Capitol building.  He mentioned that he finds the term, ‘lame duck’, offensive.  He made a convincing argument for changing the phrase to ‘lame chicken’, then swam away.  It never caught on.

Mallard

There are other photos, but I have lost interest.  I will do better tomorrow.

For those who are curious about how my plane practice session went last night.  I think that sometimes  the board wins.  I spent a while working on it, and as Shannon pointed out, a board of that length would ideally require a jointer plane, which I don’t have.  I tried to make due with my Jack plane, but the twisted, cupped and warped board kicked my butt.

It seemed prudent to get back to the tiny box building, as I am very close to finishing them.  Making the lids fit tightly has been educational.  The first few were loose, but when I stopped trying to use the router table to cut to the line, and instead left about 3 mm of cushion, it became much easier.  Now I simply employ Manfred the 3/4″ chisel to remove the cushion.  I have also found that the paring of the edges which run with the grain, is slightly more challenging than the chopping across the grain.

I am not sure if there is a technical term for what I am trying to describe, but what has happened is that if I chop down on the edges which run parallel to the grain, the wood will split and sometimes run beyond the mark.  It seems that it is better to use the chisel to shave off the excess, than to try to chop with the grain.  I do the ‘with the grain’ side first, then check the fit. Then I chop the ‘across the grain’ sides and sneak up on the line until it has a nice snug fit.

The lids for the two hard maple  and wenge boxes were finished, along with the padauk lid for the oak and padauk box.  I put the lids on the boxes and then went to get a bite to eat.  When I came back, they were huddled together, the little box with the padauk lid was crying.  The other two were trying to console her.

“It is just awful.  I look terrible.  I can’t go out in public looking like this.”  She said sobbed.

“It is ok, you look fine.  Look, both of us have gaps too.”  One of the wenge boxes said.

Then they noticed me.  The two angry glares were painful, but the sad look from the padauk box was heart breaking.

“What is wrong?”  I asked.

“Just look at me…”  The padauk box started to say, but then sighed and turned away.

“You screwed up buddy!”  Said the other wenge box, continuing his icy stare, “The splines look like crap.  So we look like crap!”

The other wenge box added, “Yeah, it doesn’t matter much for us, as we are guys, but Ginger is crushed.”

“Ginger?”  I said confused.

He nodded towards the little red headed box.  “I say she looks like ‘Ginger Rogers’, and is beautiful no matter what.”

The sobbing stopped long enough to whisper “Thank-you, you are very kind.”

I sensed that moral was at a terrible low, and I felt bad for all three of the boxes.

“First of all, I agree with you, she is a lovely little box and is easily as beautiful and ‘Ginger Rogers’.  You all are good looking boxes.  In fact, I think I will call you ‘Fred’” I said, looking at the box who picked ‘Ginger’ as a name, and then I pointed at the other, as of yet unnamed box, “And you shall be Edward.”

“As in Edward Everett Horton?”  he asked.

“Yes, exactly.  And you get two points for knowing that.”

Fred and Edward were in much better spirits and seemed quite pleased with their names.  Ginger was still sad.

“Listen gang, lets not give up hope.  I have an idea how we might be able to fix those tiny little flaws.”

Ginger looked up hopeful and asked, “How?  It is too tiny a gap to fit another piece into it?  Isn’t it?”

“This is what I am proposing. Lets get some padauk dust and add a little bit of glue, put them both in the gap and then sand it flat, after it dries.”

All three of the boxes agreed that it just might work.  So I patched up each of the boxes.  Fred and Edward stayed close by Ginger, to reassure her that it was going to be fine.  After a couple of hours, we took a photo and then came the moment of truth.  Ginger was eager to know how our cosmetic surgery had gone.  I set up the ‘upside down belt sander jig’, and gently ran her across the 120 grit paper.

She couldn’t stand to look.  “How is it guys?”

“It worked!” Exclaimed Edward, and Fred added, “You look marvelous.”

Ginger then inspected the spline and seemed quite pleased.

I was pleased too.

While it is fun to write about building tiny boxes, every night, for 7 or 8 weeks, I am sure it is getting a bit tiresome to read them.  Though I have done a bunch of work on my tiny boxes, since yesterday, I have something else to discuss tonight.  Practice makes almost perfect, as the old saying, almost goes.

I don’t like to set the bar too high.  Actually, I am quite fine with leaving the bar on the ground, but I digress.  I am not sure if perfection can ever be attained, but almost perfect is certainly something I can imagine.  Over the summer, my love for hand planes has grown.  I reach for them daily, but my skill level has sort of hit a plateau.  The plateau is just above ‘no skill what so ever’ and below ‘cusp of mediocre’, and without doing some studying, I will remain there.  I don’t like this plateau.  It isn’t at all appealing, there isn’t any vegetation, the rocks are, for lack of a better word, rocky, and the view is of ‘no skill what so ever’.

I needed a spark of inspiration to get me back on track.  It came from Shannon of The Renaissance Woodworker (see my blog roll).  He has created, to date, 96 video podcasts about woodworking, and today he made one just for ME!  I am sure he wouldn’t mind if you watched it too.  While chatting on Twitter the other day, I mentioned some of my troubles with using hand planes.  His video today addressed my problems.

RWW 96 Avoiding the Planing Taper: Planecraft 101

I could spend a lot of time explaining the things he taught me, but then you would be getting it second hand, or second foot, if you prefer.   Instead I am going to set up a practice session to try out his suggestions. 

In his video, he mentions my love of both power and hand tools.  This is absolutely true.  I bought a bunch of questionable lumber at a garage sale, a few weeks back, and one of the boards is perfect for ‘board flattening practice’.  It has more curves in it, than an Italian Super Model.

I used my Japanese hand saw to lop off a 35 inch piece.  The 35 inches is at the point where most of the silliness with this board ends, so I tried to make it as challenging as possible.  I can’t stress enough how much I love my Japanese hand saws, and believe me, I have tried.  It takes only a few seconds to clamp a board in the vice, draw a line on the board, and then to cut it.  It would take much longer to get my circular saw, extension cord, and then to coil the cord back up after I was done.  (Note:  I actually probably would not recoil the cord, but leave it in a pile until I tripped over it, causing cussing. Then would coil it back up out of anger.)  The point is, learning to make straight cuts with a Japanese hand saw takes some effort, but when one has the skill, it is a very handy.

Normally, this is the point where I would describe how the practice went, but alas I have been distracted by the Colts vs. Packers preseason football game, so you will have to wait until tomorrow to find out if I had success or not.

I am such a tease!

The night before had brought a storm down on the neighborhood with an unforgiving wrath.  There were trees down, his power was out, and the phone lines were dead.  He took a cold shower.  Henry didn’t feel much like eating, so he fumbled around in the early morning dark, found his keys, and stood at the door looking out into the bleak winter day.

Luna was expecting him at 8 am.  Normally he wouldn’t have left for another hour, but the mayhem of the previous night’s storm added some uncertainty to his travel time.  He pulled on his overcoat, grabbed his hat and gloves, and opened the front door, hoping this would be the day he could put all the pieces together.

Several downed trees forced a circuitous route out of the neighborhood.  Henry wondered what would happen to the trees.  He hadn’t had much time for woodworking of late, and the fallen lumber reminded him of that fact.  He hoped they would be sawed up and turned into something useful.  He drove on.  Thirty minutes later the sun decided to join him on the drive, the sky looked to be clearing up, and road crews seemed to have a good handle on clearing the mess.

He arrived at Luna’s place with two minutes to spare.  Promptness made Henry happy, especially when he did so under such circumstances, with so many unknown variables.  Luna hopped in the car, her hands wrapped around a basket with a gingham cloth wrapped around it.

“I didn’t know if you would bother with breakfast, so I brought these.”  Luna said, as she lifted the red checked cloth.  A wave of blueberry muffin goodness immediately filled the car.  Henry smiled, with his usually calm demeanor, while his mind was signing “yippee”.

He took the proffered muffin and took a bite, chewed it slowly, took another, and forgot about projecting his normal ‘tough guy image’, as he made what could only be described as a purring noise.

“Do you like them?”  Luna asked knowingly.

More purring with a hint of deep guttural grunting of approval.  Henry could take a punch and keep his cool, but he was powerless against baked goods.  He was sure that this day was on the right track.

The drove along in silence for a while, as both of them enjoyed the muffins.  Before Henry asked for thirds, he thought it best to discuss their plan.  “I have been thinking about what we should keep our eyes open for.  It could be anything.  If nothing jumps out at me, and I am sure it won’t, I may need to poke around more than the shop keeper would like.”

“It could be anywhere, in a drawer, under something….”  Luna said while staring off at the road ahead.

“Yes.  I may need you to distract him with your feminine charms.”  Henry said with an air of authority, as if he were talking to the troops before they stormed the castle.

“My feminine charms you say?  I didn’t think you noticed.”  Luna said, looking at him as she offered him another muffin.

Henry felt like a blush might be coming on, so he took a muffin, in part to hide from Luna, the fact that she had knocked him off his game.  Luna wasn’t fooled.

Henry ate the muffin and seemed to focus more intently than ever on the road ahead.  Luna wrapped up the basket and folded her arms across it.   She decided to have mercy on him and changed to a more serious tone.

“Do you think we will solve the code….and be able to put an end to all of this….I miss my father.”  she said in a low, now sad voice.

“I know we will!”  Henry said with confidence, though he had his doubts.  He had a nagging fear that they might not find the next clue, that this trip was just a snipe hunt.  That without the code to the journal, which ‘Tommy the Knife’ was under the impression had been destroyed, they would be out of luck.  As in chess, today’s move would be pivotal, one wrong misstep and all would be lost.

They drove past ‘Stowe It Forever’ gift shop, the one from the ad, and Henry checked his mirror.  Nobody had been following him, and everything had calmed down since the DA’s visit and the subsequent ‘journal’ incident, but he still favored caution.  Once more around the block, just to make sure, and he parked the car.  They walked slowly to the shop.  Luna took his arm to help steady herself on the icy sidewalk.  Herny reminded her, “Now it is going to be tough.  I don’t know what we are looking for, and I have no idea how we will find it.

A little bell over the door announced their presence, and a tiny man with a monocle, scurried from behind a curtain leading to the back room.  The shop was filled to the brims with boxes, cases, clocks, furniture, steamer trunks, lamps and possibly lost pirate treasure.  Henry whispered, “Oh god, this might take a while.”  Luna squeezed his arm in agreement, as she greeted the tiny man  behind the counter.

“Hello there, my name is Luna and this is my…friend…Henry…”  She said

“Excellent…good to meet you…I am Wolfgang the manager.”  He said with a slight German accent and a slight familiarity that struck them both as odd.  He spoke in short fast bursts with gaps too small to allow Henry or Luna to sneak a comment in.  “Wait right here…”  And off he went, though he continued to talk, “quite a storm last night….power just came back on…”  There was a rustling sound, then a loud wooden sound of a drawer being opened and closed, then another.  This went on for a couple of minutes, as did his ramblings.

Wolfgang reappeared behind the counter with a tiny box. There was a tiny red mat on the counter and he placed it in the center. “This is what you have come for.  I have, as instructed, not opened it.  It is paid for.  I hope you enjoy it for many years to come.  Good day.”  And he disappeared behind the curtain.

Henry and Luna looked at each other blankly.  Henry looked at the tiny box, then at Luna.  There wasn’t anyone else in the shop.  Luna reached over and took off the lid.  Inside there was a tiny folded piece of white paper.

Several weeks ago I purchased some pure Tung oil, and was disappointed to learn it wasn’t going to do what I had expected.  The nagging voice in the back of my head kept telling me, “Go ahead, try it.  All the cool kids use Tung oil in their woodworking.”  This logic was hard to argue with.  Having read countless blogs, forum posts, and even the comments on this blog, it did appear that everyone loves Tung.

Learning finishing, like woodworking, is not a simple task.  I decided that there were two good reasons to give the Tung oil a try.  The first, and most obvious reason was that I already had some.  The second was that since I had a dozen boxes, it seemed only appropriate to try it on one of them.  That was part of the point of building twelve boxes in the first place, to give me the opportunity to try out different building methods and to experiment with finishes.

I realize that I said I wasn’t going to finish the boxes.  I believe I had decided to just sand them to 1500 grit.  This would make them shiny and not risk screwing any of them up.  Last night I changed my mind.  I asked for volunteers.  Many of the boxes are still awaiting their lids, and as everyone knows, they don’t start to talk until they have the tops.  But there were 5 of them hanging out at my desk, one with a beautiful padauk lid, a couple made from oak and walnut, one from hard maple with a wenge lid, and brash young hard maple and walnut box.

The hard maple box immediately spoke up, “I will volunteer for the mission.”  He said with a bravado which made the padauk lidded box snicker.  The other boxes quickly encouraged me to pick the hard maple box.  I quickly realized two things.  One was that the box who volunteered would be named Major.  In fact, he would be named Major and given the rank of Major, in the tiny box army.  Though his personality is nothing like Major Major Major Major from Joseph Heller’s ‘Catch-22′, I felt a fondness for him, just as I do for that book.

The other boxes were thrilled to have not been chosen.  I realized another thing shortly after naming the tiny box, that it would make me much sadder if I screwed him up.  So a test was in order.  I had a nice 3 inch square piece of oak, which I had saved for just such an emergency.

I read the instructions, which were quite simple.  Opened the doors and windows in the house, to get good ventilation.  Cut up an old Detroit Red Wings t-shirt, which was past its prime.  Reread the instructions one more time, then diluted a small amount of Tung oil in a 4:1 ratio.

I wiped the Tung oil onto the test piece, a thin and even coat, and the tiny piece of oak looked pretty good.  I waited the 15 minutes suggested on the can, and then wiped it down.  I have to admit that my first thoughts were exactly what everyone says, “It really makes the wood grain pop.”  It did too!

Major was standing at attention and ready to go into finishing battle.  I started with the lid, which I had sanded down to 32o grit.  His lid had been sanded to 1500, but the instructions said to sand to 360, and since 320 was the closest I had, I went with that.  Wiping the Tung oil across the walnut lid made the wood look rich and inviting.  The box was next and the oil really made the splines look nice.  Major said, when I was done, “I think the Tung oil quite suits me.”  All the other boxes admired his new look too, even the one with the bubinga lid.

I have been playing around with tiny boxes for a couple of months now.  Major is the first one I have completed.  I set him on the book shelf, not far from Joseph Heller’s work.  He looks good there.  Though there are many more to complete, I feel a certain level of satisfaction at finishing this first one.  But I can’t bask in the glory for too long, as I now have a small pack of tiny boxes who all want Tung oil.  They are getting noisy.

For the last 30 days, there has been daily secret meditation.  Traveling the universe in my mind, searching for wisdom, has added a modicum of enlightenment.   The stacked waterfalls on the forest planet Vanteria, as the daylight faded, filled me with hope and inspiration.

I watched, from the Celeroni plateau on Alderonsa, a herd of over 2 million Hoggeraths, running through the grasslands.  It appeared they could continue on forever, trampling to dust everything in their path.  Then in a moment they stopped in unison, raised their heads, looked around, and were done running.  Spreading out, they grazed and tended to their young.

This spiritual journey made me hungry for continued understanding of the vast universe of social media…and cheeseburgers.  Meditation is hard work.  Did I solve the mysteries of the universe or a Rubik’s Cube?  Not so much, but that isn’t surprising as my meditation skills are comparable to my acting abilities.

[Editor’s Note:  In College at Iowa State University, Brian was in one play, ‘A Woman’s Place’, about Lucy Stone, the first woman to attend college, and a leader in the early days of Woman’s rights.   He played her brother and when the practice begun, he had 5 pages of lines.  Because of his special acting talent, it was trimmed to 3 lines by opening night.  He was not nominated for a Tony.]

When I awoke this day, I knew that it was time to move forward.  I decided to visit my Digg account and perhaps add it to my tools for promoting my Extremely Average Blog.

The first thing I noticed is that I joined on February 27^th 2007.  My handle is Ecocandle, which was my name when I made my living as Ecocandle Riel, in the virtual world of Second Life.  It appears that I joined, played with it for about twenty seconds, and did nothing else.  This is hardly a fair test.

The second thing I noticed, when I clicked on the ‘Friends’ Activity’, was the message, ‘Your friends haven’t done anything!’  This made me chuckle.  I have lazy Digg friends.  Perhaps I need some new Digg friends?

Digg is similar to StumbleUpon, in that one is able to find links to content which might otherwise go unnoticed.  I read an article about Stephen Strasburg, the pitcher from the Nationals, who recently injured his pitching arm.  I Dugg it.

When Digg, Delicious, SU, and all the other bookmarking sites arrived on the scene, Twitter had also just hatched.  Twitter has caught on, much more so than the others, but I believe that bookmarking sites still have a place in our social media lives.  I am convinced that the traffic, which is brought to my blog each day, has resulted in some new readers.  Perhaps Digg will do the same?

The next step is to investigate buttons, and to add one to my posts, so other people can ‘Digg’ them too.  After that it will be important to track my results with my favorite tool of external validation, Google Analytics.  And lastly, I will report my results to you, the reader of my daily nonsensical ramblings.   Now I must get back to my meditations (read:  watching preseason NFL football, followed by the Reds vs. Giants on Monday Night Baseball.)

The sharpening monk looked at my work, then looked at me.  He turned it over in his hands and ran his fingers across the handle.  He looked up at me after setting it on the router table and said, “This is a vast improvement over the last jig.  I would rank this, based upon the craftsmanship you displayed, as being somewhere between a pile of cat sick and ‘eh’.”

I nodded solemnly as I said, “Thank you master.”

To those who don’t know the sharpening monk, it might not be apparent that he was paying me a compliment.  He was.  I remember when I first started to visit him in slumberland, and a seasoned student was standing next to a Federal inlaid chest of drawers, which he had just finished, when the master said, “Your interpretation of the Federal period, makes me wish the icy hand of death would snatch me from this room, cast me into hell, and make me listen to Gilbert Gottfried singing a medley of Pavarotti and Taylor Swift songs.”

I was horrified.  The student seemed pleased.  After the master had left the room I asked him why he was so happy.  He said, “The monks are men of few words.  When the master says something like, “It is fine.” he is saying that we did not try to do something special.  When he compares the work to the ‘rotting entrails, which the vultures passed on.’ He is quite pleased.  It is his way.  The longer the rant the better.

“What does he say if something is really terrible?”  I asked the student, who was running a cloth the wood of his chest.

“If it is really terrible…”  he said, then paused, looked at me and smiles, “then he teaches.”

So I felt pretty good at his appraisal.  Personally I am quite pleased with the results.  It is much sturdier than the first attempt.  I enjoyed building it, especially the handle which took 90 minutes of carving with my micro-planes.  I connected the handle by drilling 3/8″ holes in both the handle and the carriage, and used dowels and glue.  The back plate is simply screwed to the carriage.  I did take great care to make sure that everything is flat and level, as this is important in cutting the splines.  The only downside with this jig, is that it limits the box size to one with a 4 inch high side.  Perhaps one day, I may make another one, for larger boxes.  For now, I have a wonderful jig, that is comfortable to use, safe, and just a little bit sexy.