I did it. Finished the planter box. It took more time than I thought it would. The angles turned out harder to do than I had thought at first. I should have spent more time modeling the joinery in SketchUp. It would have made the construction a little faster. Here it is:
Finished planter box
Another angle
The next projects on the work bench include some shelving from recycled wood and a bit of marquetry.
If you need me – I’ll be in the shop,
Andrew
A wise man would just stop now, go put the pizza in the oven, open a bottle and move on without trying to write today.
I am not a wise man.
Today was great and I was about to sit down for a little writing session when it seemed like I’d forgotten my password. I kept typing but the Mac did that little shaky dance telling me that I’d entered the password wrong.
I tried it again, and again, and again. Little shaky dance kept going on like it was a computer party inside the CPU. Then my troubleshooting brain started working and I wondered if I had changed my password. Then I got afraid that someone had hacked in and changed my password. Then I worried that the whole computer has melted down and lost all my files, which got me thinking about when was the last time I did a backup.
Then in a flash I wondered if my keyboard was bad so I went and found my backup keyboard (yes, I have a backup keyboard). Plugged it in and like magic the password I just typed fifty times magically works. No little shaky dance going on anymore.
A little testing showed that typing ‘f’ on the keyboard puts the characters, ‘f0’ on the screen.
and no, ‘f’ is not part of my password, just part of the word I was thinking while trying to get things working…
What’s really frustrating is that I just bought that keyboard a month ago to replace the one I’ve had for about four years. I’ve had it for 33 days and bang, dead. So now I’ve got this wacky little Mac keyboard that I hate typing on and a couple of million things I want to write about.
Sigh…
Other than my keyboard deciding to die and consuming an hour of my writing time, today was a great day. Seriously. Heather and I spent the day out at the quilt show. I love to see all the quilts. I say quilts, but fabric art would be a better term, as most of the quilts there are works of art, depicting everything from abstract art, to portraits, to landscapes, to – well anything you’d see in an art gallery.
I find viewing the quilts to be inspiring. It’s part of that whole, “breathing in” thing and part of what might be my new motto, “Put yourself in the path of inspiration.”
The other reason to go was to support Heather as one of her quilts was in the show. This one:
Heather in front of her “British Train”
Yup, that’s a train coming out of a tunnel. Both Heather and I have a love for old steam trains. We’ve ridden on them, seen them in museums, read about them and Heather remembers them from her childhood in England. This quilt started in our kitchen where we have a train theme for the decor. The door to the hallway off the kitchen needed some kind of a curtain and Heather thought that it would be neat to have a train coming out of the normally dark hallway.
That’s when she started her research and spent many hours looking for pictures of British Steam trains and train tunnels. This is the final design she came up with. The curtain is in three long strips, each pieced together with blocks of fabric and then quilted. The effect is impressive. I love the way the steam comes out of the top.
I just knew this one was good enough to put in the show and the selection jury agreed with me and accepted it into the show. Sadly, the judges didn’t completely agree with me and we didn’t take home a ribbon.
Finally, I’d like to followup on my little story from last week. Yes, I’ll write more on this since a number of you are interested in knowing if Miguel and company gets that deer for the Captain. I was thinking of writing that tonight, but this whole keyboard thing has just left poor Miguel somewhere between the ship and shore waiting for his writer to get a replacement keyboard.
Till next week,
Andrew
Tendonitis
Just an inflammation of
the imagination.
As the brain works
and muse inspires,
the tendon feels every letter.
Every thought turned to pain.
Arm burns with creativity.
Mind’s clear thoughts
brought to painful birth
as muscle and tendons
move across the keys.
With each keystroke
the pain of failed vision
becomes a desolation of thoughts
that will never see the light
in a reader’s eye.
As the fire in mind
is drowned by fiery arm
imagination turns to ice.
Cooling ice
throbbing rest
ineffective pills
turn the desire of words
to tears of torment
as the writer is driven from this page.
I have a tendency to get tendonitis in my arm. I’ve got it bad this week. It comes from overuse at the keyboard and from using certain tools in my workshop couple with being over the hill. That means that I don’t have any workshop pictures this week and can’t write much this week, so you get a poem I wrote a few months ago during my last bout this this fun. Well I am off to get ice, pills and rest.
If you need me – I’ll be whimpering in the corner.
Andrew
This week I have a story fragment for you:
Miguel felt the gentle movement of the ship’s deck and heard the crash of the anchor as it hit the water. In the distance he saw a sandy beach with lazy waves washing seaweed and bits of wood ashore. The wind brought the smells of the shore. Above the masts, seagulls flew in lazy circles eyeing the ship. Miguel saw the Captain looking at the shore through his glass and soon he heard the well known orders of the explorer.
“Corporal, take five men, muskets, powder, shot and stand by to board the long-boat. You’ll lead the hunting party. The Captain wants a deer this time. No more rabbits,” said Mr. Sandoval, the ship’s first officer.
“Yes, Sir. If there are deer, the Captain shall have two,” replied Miguel.
“Corporal, watch yourself. You take too many liberties with your tongue. The Captain, he saw two wolves just above the beach on that point of land. Where there are the wolves, can the deer be not far? Tend to your men and your orders.”
Miguel stood at attention as Sandoval turned to give orders to the boson and boat crews. Miguel looked at his men – poor seasick soldiers. He didn’t need to give them orders to go ashore, they were always ready to put dry land under their feet and were already gathering the weapons and supplies for the hunting party.
“Corporal, how long will we stay ashore this time? I do not like these coastal waters of this California. Someday the waves are going to smash the ship against those cliffs,” said Juan as he handed Miguel his musket and power horn.
“Only God and the Captain know, Juan. Just find me a deer this time or we will find ourselves rowing the boats.” Said Miguel as he watched the deck crew pull the ropes lifting the long-boat from the deck. With shouted orders the crew swung the boat over the water and lowered it to the sea. Then the boson threw a rope ladder over the side.
“Corporal, we are ready,” said the boson as he threw his body over the side and barely touching the ropes managed to land feet first in the bow of the little craft.
“Monkeys, Juan. To be a sailor you need to be part monkey. Perhaps I should pray for a tail.” Miguel said quietly to Juan.
“Or perhaps you should pray for fins Corporal. Then you could just jump in the water and swim to shore,” said the priest who had just come on deck.
“Padre…”
“No need my son, we all need a bit of a jest from time to time to lighten our burdens. Tell me Miguel, why did you join this expedition? You seem to have no love of the sea.”
“It was for the love of King, Padre. I decided I loved his ships more than his prisons.” Said Miguel as he took hold of the ladder and carefully put one foot over the side.
Last Sunday Heather and I went to one of our favorite places, Point Lobos. This point of land sticks out in the Pacific Ocean just below the city of Carmel by the Sea. We love to walk by the ragged coast and watch the waves crashing over the rocks. It was a beautiful day at the Point, clear, warm and just a hint of a breeze.
A perfect day to “breath in” and fill one’s soul with the sights and sounds of nature. I find that this is an important part of writing. Often I read about writers not being inspired to write or having to wait until they are inspired before they can write. That kind of talk and thinking bothers me. I think a writer needs to put one’s self in the path of inspiration.
For me the sea has always been inspiring and always when I leave it, I feel the need to write. The above story fragment is part of what could be a larger historical novel about the Spanish exploration of the California coast line. From the 16th to the 18th centuries, Spanish explorers mapped the coast, started settlements (the missions) and made contact with the indigenous people who were already there.
It’s a heck of a story, filled with all the best and worst of humanity.
So what inspired me to write this story?
It goes like this:
I was wondering where the name “Lobos” came from. In the western US a “lobo” is a timber wolf and the name is Spanish in origin. In fact a lot of names here in California are Spanish. Next, we walked past a number of little hidden beaches that one can just imagine pirates or smugglers using. You see where a long boat or a jolly boat could land on a secluded spot. Then further out to sea you can where a Spanish Galleon could drop anchor and launch a small boat with a crew to search for water, wood or to hunt fresh meat. Then I wondered if it was some Spanish captain who looking through his glass spied a wolf on the shore and noted on his map, “punta de lobos.”
Then I wondered what a man in that shore party might be thinking just before he set out for shore.
Then this story happened in my head.
and that’s how I write sometimes.
Till next week,
Andrew
Andrew's View of the Week 