Wating for Spring, and a Poem
Nothing much going on here. I went down to the beach see the lunar eclipse on Saturday night, and it did look nice over the water. I tried to take a few photos, but they are as crummy as I feared they'd be. I should have used a tripod and my "real" camera.
Project wise, I've started stripping down the lid to an old cedar trunk that my Mom picked up at a thrift store 15 years ago. The top had a pot-sized water stain that had taken off the stain and finish. We used it as a coffee table-slash-footstool, giving it no respect (or coasters, for that matter), so it was in really bad shape. I decided to give it some love, so I took it to the shop one night to sand it, but the palm sander's paper just kept gumming up, and it left little swirly marks on the surface and barely took off any finish at all.
I brought it back home, where I could use our ancient non-orbital sander. I had to work outside, though, so I had to wait for a reasonably warm afternoon. This past Saturday was nice, so I gave it a go.
For 5 minutes.
It was making good progress, but when I stopped the sander to check for gummy bits, (there weren't any) and then restarted the sander, the motor hummed happily (it had been noisy) but the sanding bed was now DEAD. No movement at all. Fried. This project is cursed.
So I will borrow my sister's sander next, and I guess this means that it will die too. I will post a photo of the lid sans finish once I get to work on it again. Bad blogger, me--- of course I forgot to take it's picture in it's original ugly state.
Now a peaceful little poem for your enjoyment, by Christopher Morley, (whose heirs I hope will not sue me):
Song for a Little House
I'm glad our house is a little house,
Not too tall nor too wide:
I'm glad the hovering butterflies
Feel free to come inside.
Our little house is a friendly house.
It is not shy or vain;
It gossips with the talking trees,
And makes friends with the rain.
And quick leaves cast a shimmer of green
Against our whited walls,
And in the phlox, the dutious bees
Are paing duty calls.
Ah, it makes me think of summer... Can't wait!
Project wise, I've started stripping down the lid to an old cedar trunk that my Mom picked up at a thrift store 15 years ago. The top had a pot-sized water stain that had taken off the stain and finish. We used it as a coffee table-slash-footstool, giving it no respect (or coasters, for that matter), so it was in really bad shape. I decided to give it some love, so I took it to the shop one night to sand it, but the palm sander's paper just kept gumming up, and it left little swirly marks on the surface and barely took off any finish at all.
I brought it back home, where I could use our ancient non-orbital sander. I had to work outside, though, so I had to wait for a reasonably warm afternoon. This past Saturday was nice, so I gave it a go.
For 5 minutes.
It was making good progress, but when I stopped the sander to check for gummy bits, (there weren't any) and then restarted the sander, the motor hummed happily (it had been noisy) but the sanding bed was now DEAD. No movement at all. Fried. This project is cursed.
So I will borrow my sister's sander next, and I guess this means that it will die too. I will post a photo of the lid sans finish once I get to work on it again. Bad blogger, me--- of course I forgot to take it's picture in it's original ugly state.
Now a peaceful little poem for your enjoyment, by Christopher Morley, (whose heirs I hope will not sue me):
Song for a Little House
I'm glad our house is a little house,
Not too tall nor too wide:
I'm glad the hovering butterflies
Feel free to come inside.
Our little house is a friendly house.
It is not shy or vain;
It gossips with the talking trees,
And makes friends with the rain.
And quick leaves cast a shimmer of green
Against our whited walls,
And in the phlox, the dutious bees
Are paing duty calls.
Ah, it makes me think of summer... Can't wait!