C’s sister and her partner are visiting for a few days. We went to some museums including a steam-powered water pumping station from the 1850′s.  The architecture is so satisfying, laid out with the symmetry and precision of a cathedral, all cast iron, white oak and polished brass.   It’s filled with the most restful, contemplative natural light and you can tell how fastidious the workers were. Every one of the hundreds of bolts has crisp, sharp corners – they were careful with the wrench.  Each apparatus is so pleasing, the proportions all perfect, 
I think it might be one of my favorite places.

lachrimaestro:

It’s hard to sleep.  Legitimate stresses sometimes give way to bizarre perturbations, like calculating how far I’d fall if my bed and the house structure supporting it somehow dematerialized instantly and without warning.

*****EDIT:   Initial estimates were way off.  The figure is closer to 20′,2″  (6.16m)

It’s hard to sleep.  Legitimate stresses sometimes give way to bizarre perturbations, like calculating how far I’d fall if my bed and the house structure supporting it somehow dematerialized instantly and without warning.

*****EDIT:   Initial estimates were way off.  The figure is closer to 20′,2″  (6.16m)

-Dammit.  Why is it always my most hasty, poorly drawn posts that get picked up and popular?   At least there were no spelling errors.  (grumble)

-I feel like I’ve been a little MIA on here the last little while.  I’ve been finding it difficult to document my “real” work and get it out there on social media for my guitar making/restoration accounts.  It’s a strange phenomenon – cobbling together a living in craft these days depends on one’s ability to describe the process in real time, and the crafter becomes a performance artist. The craft itself feels almost like a byproduct.  I’ve never been great at selling myself.

I could talk about electronically filing my business sales tax remittance, or how I cleaned the oven and replaced the baking element (a topic I actually covered in a doodle some years back).   There was a sparkling moment when an octogenarian cut in front of me in the grocery line but I didn’t make a fuss because the only thing he had was a cucumber and I found the situation funny.

-My graphics software updated yesterday and it forced a video game screen-capture program on me.  I’m ecstatic. I can finally upload and share scintillating videos of Spider Solitaire.

-The baking element in my stove gave up and the parts supplier wasn’t open today.  I was going to make pizza. C. is convinced that my scheme involving judicious on and off cycling of the broiler could never work.  I’d fashion a solar oven but it’s overcast and raining…

-I would very much like to eat a chocolate Easter bunny.  A Mr. Solid bunny, if for no other reason than “Mr. Solid” is a fantastic trade name for confections.

-I just spent an hour and 20 minutes with my hand inside a guitar poking and touching and prodding and cajoling all the while plucking the same damn note over and over and over again trying to find the place that was causing a strange kazoo-like harmonic buzz.     “B”….. “B”…. “B”…. “B”…. “B”….      It’s another one of this instances where ten minutes in I know I can’t charge for the work, but it becomes like a fight to the death and I’m honour bound to get to the bottom of it.   In this case the bottom being the side of a plastic case which houses an onboard tuner.

-I sure could go for a cinnamon roll right about now.  You know the kind where the sugary stuff gets slightly past caramelized and sticks to the bottom of the pan just the perfect amount?

-I’d like to be on a boat.  It’s been a long time since I was on a boat.