18 December 2007
06 December 2007
Thanksgiving 2007
Thanksgiving 2007 (LINK), Arkansas style. Watch your back Christmas because Thanksgiving looks like it could be my new favorite holiday! What made it special this year was that we celebrated it at our own house. Fran cooked the turkey on the barbeque with his patented basting sauce. The man is a legend. We fired up the woodstove in the back garden and drank as the turkey cooked to perfection.
Meat, beer and fire, what more could a man want?
Meat, beer and fire, what more could a man want?
01 December 2007
Mo Bothán Adhmadóireacht
Example of some cutting boards (LINK) I am whipping up for Christmas gifts. The deal is that the recipient will get a decent homemade object that means more to them than some expensive junk I bought at a kitchen shop and in the process of fabricating said gift I will acquire some new woodworking skills, namely laminating dissimilar woods.
I think I might have a go at selling a few next year. I have absolutely nothing to lose.
29 November 2007
28 November 2007
New baby!
Clara Julia Dunne was born yesterday at 3:50pm. She weighs 8lbs. She is 20 inches long. She was 11 days late! Labor lasted four hours while the actual pushing lasted less than four minutes. We got a pretty sweet little baby out of the deal and we can't wait to get her home.
During the very early stages of labor I decided to run over to Starbucks to get some tea and a chocolate chip cookie the size of a manhole cover. Abusing the free condiments (ketchup packets, soy sauce packets, sugar cubes, mayo packets) is an all too frequent practice of mine. A petty shoplifter never looses his touch.
The loot this time was about 30 packets of raw brown sugar. The stuff makes all the difference between a good cup of tea and a great cup of tea. At some coffee shops you have to ask specially for it, it's that coveted.
During the very early stages of labor I decided to run over to Starbucks to get some tea and a chocolate chip cookie the size of a manhole cover. Abusing the free condiments (ketchup packets, soy sauce packets, sugar cubes, mayo packets) is an all too frequent practice of mine. A petty shoplifter never looses his touch.
25 November 2007
Crud
Master (LINK) for my first and probably my last print using Martha's new Gocco print maker. I think I'll call it "Six Chairs Getting Fucked Across A Room". I intend to print it onto the back of a plain dark grey t-shirt that I have. Martha already got me the correct ink that I'll need to print onto cotton.
Warranty (LINK) for Martha's 1958 Remington Travel-Riter typewriter. I guess it no longer counts for much but it does look cool. We got it at a rummage sale this summer. If only I had time to list all the amazing finds I've picked up for nearly nothin' at rummage sales. Set of 60 taps and dies for $8, unused block plane for $3, Ennio Morricone LP for $1...
Warranty (LINK) for Martha's 1958 Remington Travel-Riter typewriter. I guess it no longer counts for much but it does look cool. We got it at a rummage sale this summer. If only I had time to list all the amazing finds I've picked up for nearly nothin' at rummage sales. Set of 60 taps and dies for $8, unused block plane for $3, Ennio Morricone LP for $1...
18 November 2007
No baby yet
New baby is two days late and seems quite happy to continue her stay in Martha's belly. Elise was more than a week late so past history (n=1) indicates that we could be in for the long haul. All this waiting has not been in vain. I have learned two very important new skills related to woodworking.
1. Cutting hardwood end grain, specifically maple, without burning the wood with the saw blade is best accomplished by pushing the wood over the table saw as fast as possible. Of course, the sharpness of the blade is also a major factor but I am very happy to know that I can now cut end grain without having to sand off the burn marks later. This is probably elementary stuff to you more learned woodworkers but I am mostly self taught and learn by trial and error. Every victory is a welcome one that opens up new avenues.
2. The maple I spoke of above was used to make a cutting board (LINK) as a Christmas gift for someone. Since food will be prepared on its surface it is very important that the finish be organic or inert so that it will not taint the food. I took a risk on using extra virgin olive oil as a finish. Best move of my life. The wood looks like solid gold and the finish is very flat/satin so there is no evidence of brush strokes.
It's not (LINK) just spice racks that get knocked up around here.
1. Cutting hardwood end grain, specifically maple, without burning the wood with the saw blade is best accomplished by pushing the wood over the table saw as fast as possible. Of course, the sharpness of the blade is also a major factor but I am very happy to know that I can now cut end grain without having to sand off the burn marks later. This is probably elementary stuff to you more learned woodworkers but I am mostly self taught and learn by trial and error. Every victory is a welcome one that opens up new avenues.
2. The maple I spoke of above was used to make a cutting board (LINK) as a Christmas gift for someone. Since food will be prepared on its surface it is very important that the finish be organic or inert so that it will not taint the food. I took a risk on using extra virgin olive oil as a finish. Best move of my life. The wood looks like solid gold and the finish is very flat/satin so there is no evidence of brush strokes.
It's not (LINK) just spice racks that get knocked up around here.
11 November 2007
Lake Street, Minneapolis
Martha took these photos on a recent walk down Lake Street in Minneapolis. The neighborhood we explored is mostly made up of Mexican businesses and restaurants. The smell of great food was heavy in the air and made me want to smash my fist through the window of a chicken place and grab one of the chickens that was roasting on a spit. Next time. I walked past a Chinese take-away and observed that the staff were all Hispanic. I'm still trying to work that one out. Was there Chinese people cooking in the back and Hispanic people taking orders up front? Was English the common tongue? It must have been.
I'd love to know another language (aside from my limited prowess in Deutsch and Gaeilge). I think Icelandic would be cool to learn. I often fantasize about living there. Two hours in Reykjavik airport a few years ago is my entire Icelandic experience. Beautiful airport though. Maybe I'll pursue this pipe dream further when the energy crisis hits in about 20 years. The Icelanders are no gobshite's. Geothermal energy will support their economy for many a millennium.
It was a busy weekend here, the best kind of weekend. On Saturday I raked enough leaves to fill 11 large black bags. Might not sound like much but it was nearly three hours pseudo-solid work (stopped twice for a beer, once for tea, once to go and get some free windows that I will build into kitchen cabinets next year) and I still have to do the front garden. Screw it, I'll just go over the leaves with the lawn mower. Martha will never notice. She's thick like that. Each bag is really compressed. I didn't want to try and drag 40 bags to the city compost site. St. Paul recycles its leaves into mulch that is then spread around the city. There is a lot of leaves in this city and they all come off the trees at the same time so serious effort is put into getting them off the street to prevent them from clogging the drains.
Our new baby is due next Friday. I had a dream/vision about her the other night and was able to see what she looks like. I wonder if it will be true.
It was a busy weekend here, the best kind of weekend. On Saturday I raked enough leaves to fill 11 large black bags. Might not sound like much but it was nearly three hours pseudo-solid work (stopped twice for a beer, once for tea, once to go and get some free windows that I will build into kitchen cabinets next year) and I still have to do the front garden. Screw it, I'll just go over the leaves with the lawn mower. Martha will never notice. She's thick like that. Each bag is really compressed. I didn't want to try and drag 40 bags to the city compost site. St. Paul recycles its leaves into mulch that is then spread around the city. There is a lot of leaves in this city and they all come off the trees at the same time so serious effort is put into getting them off the street to prevent them from clogging the drains.
Our new baby is due next Friday. I had a dream/vision about her the other night and was able to see what she looks like. I wonder if it will be true.
02 November 2007
Part time connoisseur
I don't go to pubs much anymore, maybe five times per year and I am quite happy with that. Family, work (love me new job (LINK) by the way), shed, sleep is where it's at for this man, in those respective orders of priority. Our new baby is due two weeks from today. I can't wait to hold her and see what she looks like. We think she'll have dark hair but we don't know why we think that.
I do enjoy a six pack every weekend though, or sextet of ale as Homer once said. For whatever reason, I rarely pick the same beer two or more weeks in a row. One week it'll be Becks and next week it'll be Heineken, then Pilsner Urquell, then Stella Artois, then Point Special, then Amstel Light, then Linenkugels Honeyweiss... Yes, all those beers fall into the same category of lager and are best served very cold but I think there is a connection between mood and choice of beer. I can't put my finger on it but there is a reason I choose one over the other even though the argument could be made that “they all taste the same.” Philistines.
I do enjoy a six pack every weekend though, or sextet of ale as Homer once said. For whatever reason, I rarely pick the same beer two or more weeks in a row. One week it'll be Becks and next week it'll be Heineken, then Pilsner Urquell, then Stella Artois, then Point Special, then Amstel Light, then Linenkugels Honeyweiss... Yes, all those beers fall into the same category of lager and are best served very cold but I think there is a connection between mood and choice of beer. I can't put my finger on it but there is a reason I choose one over the other even though the argument could be made that “they all taste the same.” Philistines.
10 October 2007
Tomato Paella
Why is it that any time I fantasize about making this probably very simple dish I just end up on the couch eating dry crackers in my underwear?
3 cups water
2 cups short grain rice
1 1/2 lb ripe tomatoes, cored and cut into thick wedges
1 medium onion, minced
1 tablespoon garlic, minced
1 tablespoon tomato paste
1 teaspoon Spanish pimentón
1/2 cup white wine
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Large pinch saffron threads
Minced parsley and basil for garnish
1. Preheat oven to 450F. Warm water in a saucepan. Put tomatoes in a medium bowl, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and drizzle them with 1 tablespoon olive oil. Toss to coat.
2. Put remaining oil in a 10" or 12" oven proof skillet over medium-high heat. Add onion and garlic, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and cook, stirring occasionally, until vegetables soften, 3 to 5 minutes. Stir in tomato paste, saffron if you are using it, and paprika and cook for a minute more. Add rice and cook, stirring occasionally, until it is shiny, another minute or two. Add wine and let simmer until it is mostly absorbed, then add the hot water and stir until just combined.
3. Put tomato wedges on top of rice and drizzle with juices that accumulated in bottom of bowl. Put pan in oven and roast, undisturbed, for 15 minutes. Check to see if rice is dry and just tender. If not, return pan to oven for another 5 to 10 minutes. If rice looks too dry but still is not quite done, add a small amount of stock or water (or wine). When rice is ready, turn off oven and let pan sit for 5 to 15 minutes.
4. Remove pan from oven and sprinkle with parsley and basil. If you like, put pan over high heat for a few minutes to develop a bit of a bottom crust before serving.
2 cups short grain rice
1 1/2 lb ripe tomatoes, cored and cut into thick wedges
1 medium onion, minced
1 tablespoon garlic, minced
1 tablespoon tomato paste
1 teaspoon Spanish pimentón
1/2 cup white wine
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Large pinch saffron threads
Minced parsley and basil for garnish
1. Preheat oven to 450F. Warm water in a saucepan. Put tomatoes in a medium bowl, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and drizzle them with 1 tablespoon olive oil. Toss to coat.
2. Put remaining oil in a 10" or 12" oven proof skillet over medium-high heat. Add onion and garlic, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and cook, stirring occasionally, until vegetables soften, 3 to 5 minutes. Stir in tomato paste, saffron if you are using it, and paprika and cook for a minute more. Add rice and cook, stirring occasionally, until it is shiny, another minute or two. Add wine and let simmer until it is mostly absorbed, then add the hot water and stir until just combined.
3. Put tomato wedges on top of rice and drizzle with juices that accumulated in bottom of bowl. Put pan in oven and roast, undisturbed, for 15 minutes. Check to see if rice is dry and just tender. If not, return pan to oven for another 5 to 10 minutes. If rice looks too dry but still is not quite done, add a small amount of stock or water (or wine). When rice is ready, turn off oven and let pan sit for 5 to 15 minutes.
4. Remove pan from oven and sprinkle with parsley and basil. If you like, put pan over high heat for a few minutes to develop a bit of a bottom crust before serving.
21 September 2007
Death Ball 3000
Summer is over and I am pretty dang happy about that to be honest. I heard a weather dick on the radio (you know who you are… Mark Sealy of Minnesota Public Radio) say we experienced 30 days above 90ºF this summer. I doubt 30 days is a record but it sure was rough and according to the climatologists it's not going to get any better until the next ice age. Thank God for cold beer, ice cream, the garden hose, drinks with little fucking umbrellas in them and the best respite of all, Elise's ankle deep swimming pool. I would also be praising the Lord for air conditioning but we don't have it, nor do we plan to get it. If we were unfortunate or mental enough to live in the desert or in the Deep South it would be a necessity but 30 hot days out of 365 is manageable and makes those cool days all the sweeter. Martha has been preaching that line for the three summers I've lived here and I was finally won over this year. Also, our house was built in 1889 and for sure doesn't have insulation efficient or fancy enough to make AC viable. Legend has it that insulation back then consisted of newspaper and straw. Yes sir, I'll take straw and newspaper over your new fangled R30 polystyrene foam any old day of the week.
Elise has a new boyfriend, goes by the name of Tim, or Young Tim. He's definitely marriage material. It doesn't take an idiot to figure this one out. His dad is German and his mother is Russian or possibly Soviet Block. I can't distinguish certain eastern European languages from each other, one of my many failings. Suffice to say that growing up in a multilingual house will guarantee Tim a place in a good college, maybe even one that has ivy growing all over it and is considered in the same league as other establishments with generous ivy coverage, an Ivy League college if you will. He needs to work on his chivalry though and they don't teach that at Harvard, Yale, Princeton or even at Ripon. Tim may only be 14 months old but there is no excuse for the disrespect he showed Elise last night at the park, no excuse. It was a basketball that drove a wedge through their budding friendship, a basketball.
About 20 minutes prior to the incident I found a basketball that some kid must have left at the park. Knowing that Elise likes to play with a ball now and again I entertained her with some dribbling and hoop shooting, Larry Bird style. She got most pleasure out of me simply lobbing the ball in her direction so that it bounced toward her at her eye level. We threw the ball back and forth to each other for a while. Martha, who is 31 weeks pregnant, joined in the game and demonstrated a level of sport know-how equally pathetic to mine. Soon all three of us were laughing and chasing the ball around the court. Having a family is the greatest thing in the world. Why the hell are more people my age not having kids? Every time we go to the park with Elise we meet parents of other young kids but the parents are always 10 or more years older than us. We have nothing in common. It stinks. Whatever.
Elise started to yawn meaning it was time to go home and put her to bed. We hadn't decided yet whether we'd keep the free ball or not so we continued to play with it as we walked toward the car. Walking through the playground I thought I'd show Elise one last trick. I rolled the ball up the twisty slide and let it fly down the slide on its own. She laughed and the ball rolled over to where Tim, his sister and his mother were playing. Tim picked up the ball and started to play with it, thinking it had no owner and had just decided to roll down the slide on its own. Elise ran over and took it back from him. He got mad and took it back from her… and she cried. Tim's sister, being about three years old and understanding the concept of sharing, played the peace broker. She took the ball from Tim and rolled it to Elise. She made her own brother see that there was more fun to be had from everyone playing with the ball than from him having it to himself and trying to defend it from our crying daughter. Elise's tears evaporated as she got into the game. She rolled the ball to Tim's sister. She rolled it to Tim. Tim rolled it to Elise. Elise rolled it to Tim… you get the picture. It was very interesting to witness the situation unfold, to watch a dispute erupt and then see three little people find a solution, by themselves, that gave everyone what they wanted. Idiots at the UN take note.
Our family is set to grow by one new member on November 16th, give or take a few days. Elise was over a week late. We already know that the new baby is a girl. If this happens again Martha might have to get the Henry VIII treatment. Tough but fair.
Elise has a new boyfriend, goes by the name of Tim, or Young Tim. He's definitely marriage material. It doesn't take an idiot to figure this one out. His dad is German and his mother is Russian or possibly Soviet Block. I can't distinguish certain eastern European languages from each other, one of my many failings. Suffice to say that growing up in a multilingual house will guarantee Tim a place in a good college, maybe even one that has ivy growing all over it and is considered in the same league as other establishments with generous ivy coverage, an Ivy League college if you will. He needs to work on his chivalry though and they don't teach that at Harvard, Yale, Princeton or even at Ripon. Tim may only be 14 months old but there is no excuse for the disrespect he showed Elise last night at the park, no excuse. It was a basketball that drove a wedge through their budding friendship, a basketball.
About 20 minutes prior to the incident I found a basketball that some kid must have left at the park. Knowing that Elise likes to play with a ball now and again I entertained her with some dribbling and hoop shooting, Larry Bird style. She got most pleasure out of me simply lobbing the ball in her direction so that it bounced toward her at her eye level. We threw the ball back and forth to each other for a while. Martha, who is 31 weeks pregnant, joined in the game and demonstrated a level of sport know-how equally pathetic to mine. Soon all three of us were laughing and chasing the ball around the court. Having a family is the greatest thing in the world. Why the hell are more people my age not having kids? Every time we go to the park with Elise we meet parents of other young kids but the parents are always 10 or more years older than us. We have nothing in common. It stinks. Whatever.
Elise started to yawn meaning it was time to go home and put her to bed. We hadn't decided yet whether we'd keep the free ball or not so we continued to play with it as we walked toward the car. Walking through the playground I thought I'd show Elise one last trick. I rolled the ball up the twisty slide and let it fly down the slide on its own. She laughed and the ball rolled over to where Tim, his sister and his mother were playing. Tim picked up the ball and started to play with it, thinking it had no owner and had just decided to roll down the slide on its own. Elise ran over and took it back from him. He got mad and took it back from her… and she cried. Tim's sister, being about three years old and understanding the concept of sharing, played the peace broker. She took the ball from Tim and rolled it to Elise. She made her own brother see that there was more fun to be had from everyone playing with the ball than from him having it to himself and trying to defend it from our crying daughter. Elise's tears evaporated as she got into the game. She rolled the ball to Tim's sister. She rolled it to Tim. Tim rolled it to Elise. Elise rolled it to Tim… you get the picture. It was very interesting to witness the situation unfold, to watch a dispute erupt and then see three little people find a solution, by themselves, that gave everyone what they wanted. Idiots at the UN take note.
Our family is set to grow by one new member on November 16th, give or take a few days. Elise was over a week late. We already know that the new baby is a girl. If this happens again Martha might have to get the Henry VIII treatment. Tough but fair.
11 September 2007
02 September 2007
Books, books, books...
I came across this (LINK) funny photo the other day. On the morning of Elise's first birthday we thought she'd enjoy the surprise of coming downstairs to a sea of balloons. Not so, she chose to read a little book instead, being the huge bookworm that she is. Here is another case of chronic book reading syndrome (LINK), this time in a dirty but seriously cool Puerto Rico hotel.
07 July 2007
Meat diaries
The ultrasound revealed that the next baby will be a girl. A sister for Elise. I got the doctor to double check because there was a moment when I thought I saw something that resembled a wee tool but alas, I was wrong. Not to worry, plenty of time to produce a male heir.
Martha and Elise have gone to Waupaca for the weekend. I've been left at home and am trying hard to stay out of trouble. It's not easy. It may sound cruel but it is a little bit nice to have the house to myself. I'm always glad I have this (LINK) handy reference for times when I am alone. It's gotten me out of and into many a hairy situation. If you happen to pick up a copy you should go straight to the section on how to cook “Spaghetti Bolognese Divorce Style.” Priceless.
I entertained last night in the form of a casual get together. That's right, I hosted a party. Kelley and her gentleman friend, Dean, came over. Earlier that day I took the steaks out of the freezer and chopped up some vegetables. These steaks were a birthday gift from Martha's grandparents to me. Rosie bought them off the Internet and they came by FedEx packed in dry ice! Now that's what I call the perfect in-laws. I cooked the steaks on the barbeque. I'm not well known for my cooking skills but I will let you in on one secret to the art of cooking steak over charcoal. One should constantly brush the meat with water. It prevents the steak from getting dry or burning. Keep that under your hat for God's sake.
The culinary magic didn't stop there. Fuck no. Not long after the meat was cooking nicely the host came out with a bowl of vegetables that had marinated for hours in a ginger mandarin sauce. These vegetables were then skewered with wooden chop sticks that the host sharpened on a belt sander and soaked in water for a few hours. Again, water played a key role in the cooking. Soaking the wooden chop sticks means that they don't burn when the vegetable skewers are thrown onto the barbeque. “The man is a God damn genius,” I heard one of the guests whisper, or maybe the wind rustled the leaves on the oak tree making me think I heard something to that effect. It's happened before. The dozen beers I drank may have also had some influence. I doubt it though.
Much earlier in the day Martha sent me a text from Wisconsin. “Make sure everyone goes in the photo booth tonight.” We own a Polaroid photo booth and it is a rule that all visitors must have their mug shot taken in the booth. So, after we were done eating we followed the wife's orders and posed for the camera (LINK). The film expired in 2002, hence the quality issues but they don't make it anymore so this is as good as it gets. The experience is more important than the outcome. How many people can say they got drunk, ate perfectly cooked steak and then had their picture taken in the personal photo booth of a friend of their's?
There are many more stories to tell but it's hot right now (97°F/36°C) and I need to go cool off.
Martha and Elise have gone to Waupaca for the weekend. I've been left at home and am trying hard to stay out of trouble. It's not easy. It may sound cruel but it is a little bit nice to have the house to myself. I'm always glad I have this (LINK) handy reference for times when I am alone. It's gotten me out of and into many a hairy situation. If you happen to pick up a copy you should go straight to the section on how to cook “Spaghetti Bolognese Divorce Style.” Priceless.
I entertained last night in the form of a casual get together. That's right, I hosted a party. Kelley and her gentleman friend, Dean, came over. Earlier that day I took the steaks out of the freezer and chopped up some vegetables. These steaks were a birthday gift from Martha's grandparents to me. Rosie bought them off the Internet and they came by FedEx packed in dry ice! Now that's what I call the perfect in-laws. I cooked the steaks on the barbeque. I'm not well known for my cooking skills but I will let you in on one secret to the art of cooking steak over charcoal. One should constantly brush the meat with water. It prevents the steak from getting dry or burning. Keep that under your hat for God's sake.
The culinary magic didn't stop there. Fuck no. Not long after the meat was cooking nicely the host came out with a bowl of vegetables that had marinated for hours in a ginger mandarin sauce. These vegetables were then skewered with wooden chop sticks that the host sharpened on a belt sander and soaked in water for a few hours. Again, water played a key role in the cooking. Soaking the wooden chop sticks means that they don't burn when the vegetable skewers are thrown onto the barbeque. “The man is a God damn genius,” I heard one of the guests whisper, or maybe the wind rustled the leaves on the oak tree making me think I heard something to that effect. It's happened before. The dozen beers I drank may have also had some influence. I doubt it though.
Much earlier in the day Martha sent me a text from Wisconsin. “Make sure everyone goes in the photo booth tonight.” We own a Polaroid photo booth and it is a rule that all visitors must have their mug shot taken in the booth. So, after we were done eating we followed the wife's orders and posed for the camera (LINK). The film expired in 2002, hence the quality issues but they don't make it anymore so this is as good as it gets. The experience is more important than the outcome. How many people can say they got drunk, ate perfectly cooked steak and then had their picture taken in the personal photo booth of a friend of their's?
There are many more stories to tell but it's hot right now (97°F/36°C) and I need to go cool off.
15 June 2007
Paradise
Let the sand castle building, drinking beer from a coconut, grass skirt wearing antics begin! On Sunday we head to Tortola, British Virgin Islands, for the wedding of Martha's step brother Noah to his long time lady friend Tegan. I guess that makes him my step brother in law and her my step sister in law through marriage.
I've never been to the Caribbean so my only frame of reference on life in paradise is what I've seen in movies. I expect to befriend monkeys, eat a lot of fruit, talk with parrots, not wear a watch because according to TV ads for Bacardi nobody has jobs down there and nobody cares what time it is because when you've got nothing to do you've got nowhere to be. I'll most likely also swim in turquoise colored waters, light fires on the beach, get tangled up in some romantic misunderstandings... It's all good in the 'hood.
I've never been to the Caribbean so my only frame of reference on life in paradise is what I've seen in movies. I expect to befriend monkeys, eat a lot of fruit, talk with parrots, not wear a watch because according to TV ads for Bacardi nobody has jobs down there and nobody cares what time it is because when you've got nothing to do you've got nowhere to be. I'll most likely also swim in turquoise colored waters, light fires on the beach, get tangled up in some romantic misunderstandings... It's all good in the 'hood.
04 June 2007
Bookcase made from "shite"
Not finished yet. Still have to put glass in the doors, polish the steel on the sides, make a top, rub mineral oil into the top, doors and sides. I made this bookcase from wood I found all over the city. There are some maple floor boards with the tongue and groove cut off, some cherry skirting boards glued together to make 3/4" boards, steel sheet pulled out of a recycling dumpster at a local factory, glass pulled out of a dumpster behind a window and door factory...
Hopefully I can sell her for $300 this summer at the Waupaca Arts Fair. I aim to have a few more bookcases made by then. This one is the biggest I'll do for now. 50" tall and 30" wide. The doors for this one I made myself but the next ones will have doors I found around the city. It's amazing what people throw away and what I can turn into cash for the family.
Better get back to the shed, me cup of tea is going cold.
Better get back to the shed, me cup of tea is going cold.
20 May 2007
Farming in St. Paul
Have I told you about our community garden plot? Basically, Martha wants to grow vegetables but our back garden is too shaded because of the shed and the big oak tree beside the shed, neither of which is going anywhere. In addition to this we will be tearing up the back garden in the course of the construction project we are going forward with this summer. Therefore if we want to farm we need to farm somewhere else. Hence the plot we now own for the next 12 months. It's 12ft x 15ft and is about half a mile from our house. It is one of about 50 plots all fenced in together to keep out rabbits, squirrels, chipmunks, deer, bears, sharks, snakes... It's boarded on one side by the street and on the other by the railroad. I'd say the total size of the community garden is no more than an acre or so. I'm new to agriculture so I am probably off by a few fractions of an acre. It's a highly productive thin sliver of land in the middle of the city. If you live in Europe then this concept is the exact same as owning an allotment. In Europe I believe that people who live in homes with no gardens would be your typical allotment owners.
It's nice to have control over the price of our food. Nothing worse than being subjected to price hikes on stuff like red bell peppers due to poor crop yields in California. It is also nice to know where our food comes from and to eat it with pride knowing that "I grew this from a feckin' seed." The point of this story is to tell you that I actually enjoy turning over soil with a shovel, building a chicken wire fence around the perimeter, being part of something that involves patience and careful attention to detail. I'm an urban farmer!
Now let's get to the youngest urban farmer of them all, Elise. We brought her down to the plot on Monday evening after I got home from work. I worked on the fence while Martha turned the soil and got it ready for planting. Sitting close to us in the muck was Elise absolutely lost in thought and completely content to dig at the soil with a rock. It was like watching a kid play with Lego. I've never see her that focused on anything. Pretty soon I had the fence up and without provocation or suggestion she began to pull stones out of the soil, stumble to the fence and drop the stones on the other side of it. She continued this for a few more minutes but then discovered that muck didn't taste too bad so she ate a few handfuls. We put a stop to that pretty quick. From time to time she would rub her face with the palms of her hands which were filthy. It wasn't long before she looked like she'd been down a coal mine.
We went back to the plot again last night. Martha planted about a dozen tomato plants. I finished the fence. Elise worked on the muck with her new shovel (a tea spoon) which understandably led to confusion as she began to spoon the muck into her mouth. I quickly replaced the spoon with a garden trowel which is half her size! She dug away with that for a while and continued the important work of stone removal. We'll go back tonight to plant some more stuff.
It's nice to have control over the price of our food. Nothing worse than being subjected to price hikes on stuff like red bell peppers due to poor crop yields in California. It is also nice to know where our food comes from and to eat it with pride knowing that "I grew this from a feckin' seed." The point of this story is to tell you that I actually enjoy turning over soil with a shovel, building a chicken wire fence around the perimeter, being part of something that involves patience and careful attention to detail. I'm an urban farmer!
Now let's get to the youngest urban farmer of them all, Elise. We brought her down to the plot on Monday evening after I got home from work. I worked on the fence while Martha turned the soil and got it ready for planting. Sitting close to us in the muck was Elise absolutely lost in thought and completely content to dig at the soil with a rock. It was like watching a kid play with Lego. I've never see her that focused on anything. Pretty soon I had the fence up and without provocation or suggestion she began to pull stones out of the soil, stumble to the fence and drop the stones on the other side of it. She continued this for a few more minutes but then discovered that muck didn't taste too bad so she ate a few handfuls. We put a stop to that pretty quick. From time to time she would rub her face with the palms of her hands which were filthy. It wasn't long before she looked like she'd been down a coal mine.
We went back to the plot again last night. Martha planted about a dozen tomato plants. I finished the fence. Elise worked on the muck with her new shovel (a tea spoon) which understandably led to confusion as she began to spoon the muck into her mouth. I quickly replaced the spoon with a garden trowel which is half her size! She dug away with that for a while and continued the important work of stone removal. We'll go back tonight to plant some more stuff.
07 May 2007
Conky!
"Ohhhhh... myyyyyyy Julian....... my handsome Julian Patrick Swayze you were so fucking sexy in Roadhouse and fucking Dirty Dancing."
01 May 2007
The swing
She stands on the little stool in the back porch and yells out the window at her swing. It doesn’t matter if it is raining, snowing or pitch dark outside, that’s where she wants to be. It provides never-ending joy.
I pick her up and drop her into the swing seat. I push her back and forth for a few minutes. She enjoys it and wants to be pushed higher. I oblige but my safety limit doesn’t match up with hers. There is no such thing as danger to her. Be it object, animal or person, everyone is her best friend; from friendly strangers in restaurants right down to the homeless people invisible to the majority of us. King or street sweeper, they all get a frantic wave and smile. It’s reciprocated with equal enthusiasm, most of the time. Some put up a cold front, refusing to be humored by the little red head that has so much love for everything that it has to be shared or she’ll burst. We see it all the time at home too. Martha and I have only so much capacity. We soon fill up with what she is dishing out in spades. The excess is spread out around the house in the form of adoring hugs and kisses lavished upon chairs, the coffee table, the floor, radiators…
We hung the swing from the smaller of the two catalpa trees in our back garden. It swings a little to the left and has been known to get dangerously close to the trunk. A shoddy installation job not helped by the sloping branch it is anchored to. There was a more suitable branch on the other side of the tree but we lack a ladder of sufficient height to get up there. She won’t hold it against me. When swinging seems to be getting old we switch to slowly turning the swing clockwise so that the ropes are braided tight together. The anticipation builds. The giggles leak out and break the nervous silence. She knows what’s coming. A few more twists and there is enough stored energy in the ropes. The swing itself has lifted up about 18” like the seat in a photo booth. I let go. The swing unwinds and with each rotation it accelerates more, as do the squeals and laughter. It’s all over in less than a minute. She is laying back in the swing, unable to sit up, paralyzed by bliss and dizziness. We go again. We do it maybe five times total. Then she pukes, but it’s only water because dinner was ages ago… so we go again.
I pick her up and drop her into the swing seat. I push her back and forth for a few minutes. She enjoys it and wants to be pushed higher. I oblige but my safety limit doesn’t match up with hers. There is no such thing as danger to her. Be it object, animal or person, everyone is her best friend; from friendly strangers in restaurants right down to the homeless people invisible to the majority of us. King or street sweeper, they all get a frantic wave and smile. It’s reciprocated with equal enthusiasm, most of the time. Some put up a cold front, refusing to be humored by the little red head that has so much love for everything that it has to be shared or she’ll burst. We see it all the time at home too. Martha and I have only so much capacity. We soon fill up with what she is dishing out in spades. The excess is spread out around the house in the form of adoring hugs and kisses lavished upon chairs, the coffee table, the floor, radiators…
We hung the swing from the smaller of the two catalpa trees in our back garden. It swings a little to the left and has been known to get dangerously close to the trunk. A shoddy installation job not helped by the sloping branch it is anchored to. There was a more suitable branch on the other side of the tree but we lack a ladder of sufficient height to get up there. She won’t hold it against me. When swinging seems to be getting old we switch to slowly turning the swing clockwise so that the ropes are braided tight together. The anticipation builds. The giggles leak out and break the nervous silence. She knows what’s coming. A few more twists and there is enough stored energy in the ropes. The swing itself has lifted up about 18” like the seat in a photo booth. I let go. The swing unwinds and with each rotation it accelerates more, as do the squeals and laughter. It’s all over in less than a minute. She is laying back in the swing, unable to sit up, paralyzed by bliss and dizziness. We go again. We do it maybe five times total. Then she pukes, but it’s only water because dinner was ages ago… so we go again.
15 April 2007
Furry little fellas with beady eyes
I've posted many times before on my love of scavenging used building materials, furniture and other random junk (LINK) from the streets of the city. There are many driving factors behind my motivations. There is the reuse/recycle/repurpose element. There is the money saving element. There is the desire to be the opposite of every dick who lines the pockets of Home Depot with their hard earned dollars every time they need a few planks to do some job around the house. I can tell you a dozen places where there is an infinite free supply of planks and getting them will not involve having to deal with the over enthusiastic store greeter two seconds after walking through the front door of the store. I gave up on feeling I have to be nice to those people years ago. I'm still convinced that the role of the store greeter is totally pointless in a similar vein to the old men in Dublin who are paid to sit on a chair in the middle of Grafton Street holding signs for local businesses between their legs. Couldn't a bucket filled with concrete with a hole for the sign do an equally proficient job? Maybe I'm being cruel because the sign holders differ from the greeters in that they don't give a shit about how you are doing today or whether you need to know all about the "patio furniture on sale in the garden section to the rear of the store."
I've finally realized that the main reason I do it is the surprise factor. I never know what I will come across in the course of my rummaging. A few blocks from our house a local church is being renovated. Outside is a big dumpster into which the contents of the building are being tossed. I took a look inside the dumpster not really looking for anything in particular. I found a great little safe with the door missing! What I will do with this I'll never know but the excitement of the score is what it's all about.
This evening my career was nearly cut short. I was out looking for some plywood in dumpsters around Minneapolis. I came across one that was packed full of wood. As I began to climb in a giant crow flew out. I suspect he was digging for food as there were a few rubbish bags among the wood. The evidence of food waste and avian scavengers should have been my hint to let this one go but my senses were jarred by the bounty before me. I swung my leg over the edge of the dumpster and was about to jump in when a rat the size of a dog came out from under some crap. I got the hell out of there as if a swarm of wasps were after me. The size of the hospital bill for fixing a dose of rabies scares me to death when I think back to the $800 I had to hand over for two stitches needed to address an apple peeling injury. I didn't learn from that incident either because I still peel the skin off apples.
Seems like some ground rules have established themselves. If there is food in a dumpster then the rats own the food but they also own everything else in that dumpster. I can respect that.
I've finally realized that the main reason I do it is the surprise factor. I never know what I will come across in the course of my rummaging. A few blocks from our house a local church is being renovated. Outside is a big dumpster into which the contents of the building are being tossed. I took a look inside the dumpster not really looking for anything in particular. I found a great little safe with the door missing! What I will do with this I'll never know but the excitement of the score is what it's all about.
This evening my career was nearly cut short. I was out looking for some plywood in dumpsters around Minneapolis. I came across one that was packed full of wood. As I began to climb in a giant crow flew out. I suspect he was digging for food as there were a few rubbish bags among the wood. The evidence of food waste and avian scavengers should have been my hint to let this one go but my senses were jarred by the bounty before me. I swung my leg over the edge of the dumpster and was about to jump in when a rat the size of a dog came out from under some crap. I got the hell out of there as if a swarm of wasps were after me. The size of the hospital bill for fixing a dose of rabies scares me to death when I think back to the $800 I had to hand over for two stitches needed to address an apple peeling injury. I didn't learn from that incident either because I still peel the skin off apples.
Seems like some ground rules have established themselves. If there is food in a dumpster then the rats own the food but they also own everything else in that dumpster. I can respect that.
12 April 2007
Crippling Balloon Payment
Recent financial analysis (with spreadsheet of course) for the Dunne family made me think of a classic Simpsons moment.
Canyonero Salesman - "Ok, here's how your lease breaks down... this is your down payment, then here's your monthly, annnnnnnnnd there's your weekly."
Homer - "And that's it, right?"
Canyonero Salesman - "Yup... oh, then after your final monthly payment there's the routine CBP, or (mutters almost inaudibly) Crippling Balloon Payment."
Homer - "But that's not for a while, right?"
Canyonero Salesman - "Right!"
Homer - "Sweet!"
Life moves fast around these parts. Financial goals for fiscal year 2007 are pretty basic: double our mortgage to pay for 750sq.ft addition to house, clear loan on our Honda Civic Hybrid, buy new Honda Fit (for Martha, Elise and Seamus). The ultimate but probably impossible goal is to buy the new car outright and have no loan on it... We'll see what happens.
Casual meeting with architect (LINK) went well this evening. Elise charmed them good.
Time for bed. Exhausted.
Canyonero Salesman - "Ok, here's how your lease breaks down... this is your down payment, then here's your monthly, annnnnnnnnd there's your weekly."
Homer - "And that's it, right?"
Canyonero Salesman - "Yup... oh, then after your final monthly payment there's the routine CBP, or (mutters almost inaudibly) Crippling Balloon Payment."
Homer - "But that's not for a while, right?"
Canyonero Salesman - "Right!"
Homer - "Sweet!"
Life moves fast around these parts. Financial goals for fiscal year 2007 are pretty basic: double our mortgage to pay for 750sq.ft addition to house, clear loan on our Honda Civic Hybrid, buy new Honda Fit (for Martha, Elise and Seamus). The ultimate but probably impossible goal is to buy the new car outright and have no loan on it... We'll see what happens.
Casual meeting with architect (LINK) went well this evening. Elise charmed them good.
Time for bed. Exhausted.
09 April 2007
Winter blues
Would you believe that we are expecting more feckin' snow this week? This winter business is literally breaking my heart. It's been going on since November for Christ sake. I don't ask for much, that's not true, I ask for too much but some non coat and hat weather for the first time in six months isn't too greedy.
Anyway, enough griping out of me. I don't control the weather... yet.
30 March 2007
Home improvements
I'm eating chocolate covered raisins by the handful. They're not good for me. I don't care. I can't get fat for some reason and I suppose that's a good thing. Maybe not. I'm drinking Heineken. I'm listening to God Speed You Black Emperor. I've just finished my first week of my new job at Boston Scientific.
I'm thinking about our new baby that will be born in November. Martha jokes about it being a boy even though it will probably be a girl. She calls him Seamus and says that he'll be lighting fires, breaking windows and kicking people by the time he can walk. We all have dreams.
We had a partner from Minneapolis based Shelter Architecture (LINK) over this evening to give us some early stage design advice on bringing our 19th century house into the 21st century. Our house was built in 1889 and is solid as a rock but only has two bedrooms and I can't see Elise sharing a bedroom with Seamus. They'd kill each other for sure. We need another 500sq.ft pretty quick.
So the plan is to add two new bedrooms upstairs, put in a bathroom with shower downstairs, extend the kitchen, move the back porch out about 10ft, heat the addition by passive solar energy and overhaul the upstairs bathroom which is Martha's biggest wish. It's one ugly feckin' bathroom right now and she wants to do a tile mosaic. And yes, believe it or not, Polaroid photography can be transferred onto ceramic tiles that are then glazed and fired.
I'm minding Elise on my own tomorrow for a few hours so I better go and get some sleep. Playing “bus,” “octopus hat,” “cups,” “the bear is gonna getcha” is more tiring than you'd believe. It's also more gratifying than a cup of tea with your granny's fresh brown bread covered in butter, if that's possible.
I'm thinking about our new baby that will be born in November. Martha jokes about it being a boy even though it will probably be a girl. She calls him Seamus and says that he'll be lighting fires, breaking windows and kicking people by the time he can walk. We all have dreams.
We had a partner from Minneapolis based Shelter Architecture (LINK) over this evening to give us some early stage design advice on bringing our 19th century house into the 21st century. Our house was built in 1889 and is solid as a rock but only has two bedrooms and I can't see Elise sharing a bedroom with Seamus. They'd kill each other for sure. We need another 500sq.ft pretty quick.
So the plan is to add two new bedrooms upstairs, put in a bathroom with shower downstairs, extend the kitchen, move the back porch out about 10ft, heat the addition by passive solar energy and overhaul the upstairs bathroom which is Martha's biggest wish. It's one ugly feckin' bathroom right now and she wants to do a tile mosaic. And yes, believe it or not, Polaroid photography can be transferred onto ceramic tiles that are then glazed and fired.
I'm minding Elise on my own tomorrow for a few hours so I better go and get some sleep. Playing “bus,” “octopus hat,” “cups,” “the bear is gonna getcha” is more tiring than you'd believe. It's also more gratifying than a cup of tea with your granny's fresh brown bread covered in butter, if that's possible.
21 March 2007
My shed
It might not look like much (LINK) but it's my favorite place to go and forget about everything for a while. Plug the iPod into the stereo for music, drink scalding hot tea, pound a few nails into something, debate where I'll put the lathe, sweep the floor in a half ass fashion, consider but never go through with taking up smoking again because sometimes the moment just feels perfect for puffing, eat Jaffa Cakes, sit, relax and just shut the fuck up for an hour or two.
Martha took the shed photo with her Polaroid 340 Land Camera which is similar to the one you see above.
25 February 2007
Projects
Recent adventures ((LINK), (LINK), (LINK)) describe a continuing interest in our built surroundings.
Other active projects include building furniture from discarded materials found in the city. It's insane what we throw away. Cross section of an oak board (LINK) once part of a pallet but currently waiting in my shed for reincarnation. Note the medullary rays.
Other active projects include building furniture from discarded materials found in the city. It's insane what we throw away. Cross section of an oak board (LINK) once part of a pallet but currently waiting in my shed for reincarnation. Note the medullary rays.
09 February 2007
Death of an octet of ale
I made a 1:40 scale model of our house (LINK) and then sprayed it red, red as the fires of hell. I didn't attach the front porch that wraps around the north and east sides of the ground floor (LINK) but I might get to it if the cold weather ever relents. Like I mentioned before, it's hard work trying to mess around in the shed when the mercury reads -20°C or worse.
On that same note, a cruel fate was served me last night. I left my case of Point Special beer in the front porch but due to the cold temperatures some of the beers froze, expanded and eight good bottles popped their caps. A tragedy of Titanic proportions you will understand. Eight good men lost... and for what? It's times like these I thank God for the family and friends that surround me.
On that same note, a cruel fate was served me last night. I left my case of Point Special beer in the front porch but due to the cold temperatures some of the beers froze, expanded and eight good bottles popped their caps. A tragedy of Titanic proportions you will understand. Eight good men lost... and for what? It's times like these I thank God for the family and friends that surround me.
03 February 2007
Crazy stairs
I want to cut windows in some of the steps in our staircase. Underneath each window will be a little wooden box which will contain junk/photos/weird stuff. The box will be covered with glass.
Martha won't let me do this to our house though. She suggested I do it to the staircase I built in my two story shed. Yeah, right.
28 January 2007
Furniture from what we waste
AutoCAD & Photoshop (LINK) used to produce design for cabinet to be made from salvaged materials. Dimensions are 45"h x 30"w x 10"d. I'm thinking maple, harvested from a pallet, for the door frames and either frosted/opaque glass or rusted 1/8" steel plate for the door panels. I'd have to buy the glass but everything else the city has given to me. The city feeds me when I am hungry for materials. I try to save the city from choking on what we discard.
It's way too cold to go out to my shed and work on it though. Today's low was -23°C. No amount of tea and not even five layers of underwear can keep a man warm for long in those conditions. Wait for a better day.
It's way too cold to go out to my shed and work on it though. Today's low was -23°C. No amount of tea and not even five layers of underwear can keep a man warm for long in those conditions. Wait for a better day.
14 January 2007
Reflow
I have this idea for starting a consulting business. It's not a crazy idea. A much needed service would be provided to both young and established medical device companies that struggle with melt processing (reflow) of catheters. There are many ways to cook a catheter but there is only way that materials science will allow and it is knowledge deficiency in this key area that kills many catheter projects and companies too.
Anyway, there's a snow storm happening right now so I'm going to stand in the back garden, drink a beer and enjoy the peace that comes with snowfall.
12 January 2007
07 January 2007
Beer served at 34°F
The perfect beer temperature for maximum satisfaction is 34°F, not 40°F - 45°F like they say on the back of the bottle, idiots. That 10°F difference is enough to warrant the bold statement that “swallowing beer served at the recommended temperature is akin to drinking lukewarm piss”, which I’ll say (without proof) is worse than drinking warm piss.
I know this because I keep my beer on the back porch and 34°F is what the air temperature read when I drank a few the other night. If I was to drink a glass of water at that temperature surely my teeth would ache like hell but the icy beer slid past my teeth without protest from them and ended up deep in my guts leaving a beautiful tingling sensation all the way down to my toes. It was how I imagine feeling after drinking a mug of liquid nitrogen, and surviving. I felt cleansed with the added bonus of inching closer to that state that exists before actual drunkenness, a buzz I believe the young kidz call it. I rarely cross the line these days, too busy with my young family, too guilty to invest time in a hangover when that precious time could be spent much more wisely on shed related projects and too disinterested in being a messy asshole capable of nothing but sleep, loudness and accidental destruction of others belongings. It’s better to have your fun, be nice, be coherent, go to bed on a high and wake up the next day fresh in my opinion. Like cashing in your winnings at the casino instead of spinning the wheel one last time then kicking yourself for not getting out on a high. They call it a win-win situation and I’m living well by this method.
I know this because I keep my beer on the back porch and 34°F is what the air temperature read when I drank a few the other night. If I was to drink a glass of water at that temperature surely my teeth would ache like hell but the icy beer slid past my teeth without protest from them and ended up deep in my guts leaving a beautiful tingling sensation all the way down to my toes. It was how I imagine feeling after drinking a mug of liquid nitrogen, and surviving. I felt cleansed with the added bonus of inching closer to that state that exists before actual drunkenness, a buzz I believe the young kidz call it. I rarely cross the line these days, too busy with my young family, too guilty to invest time in a hangover when that precious time could be spent much more wisely on shed related projects and too disinterested in being a messy asshole capable of nothing but sleep, loudness and accidental destruction of others belongings. It’s better to have your fun, be nice, be coherent, go to bed on a high and wake up the next day fresh in my opinion. Like cashing in your winnings at the casino instead of spinning the wheel one last time then kicking yourself for not getting out on a high. They call it a win-win situation and I’m living well by this method.
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