Another Bed

As it turns out, making a nice bed out of wicked bad knotty pine is about as hard as making a nice Sunday School class out of wicked bad naughty boys.

Here's my best effort. The wood gave me fits. I sanded, I stained, and I sanded some more but at the end of the day I was dissapointed. To add insult to injury, my daughter, Mary, for whom the bed was made, still prefers to sleep on the floor. 

Lesson learned: don't trust the fella's at Ace hardware to lash the best wood to the roof of your car.

But it was still fun to make.

Pinewood Derby

The pinewood derby has come around again, that time honored tradition of encouraging eight year olds to use saws, hammers, and power tools with finger severing potential. I respect the cub scout program, but come on; do you really expect responsible parents to allow their children to make these things themselves? So, like the rest of the dads in the ward, I was up late hacking and sawing at blocks of knotty pine, trying to fashion something that would meet my children's  elaborately imagined designs. This year Matthew went with a local theme and requested a canoe. We wanted an authentic outrigger, but couldn't make it work and still fit on the track. Here are the results, complete with q-tip paddle. 

Benjamin decided on a less traditional design -- he wanted a finger. Helen, with an ego-crushing lack of confidence in my wood-carving skills, feared that the car would end up looking like another finger-shaped appendage, so we added a diamond ring to avoid any confusion. 

Quick and Dirty

So, before school started, Helen wanted some cubbies or shelves for the kids. So, I put these up late one evening. Nothing fancy, but they're sturdy and do the job. No plans (other than in my head). I'm pretty proud of myself for working around both the light switch and the outlet. 

Creepy Ad

So, I go to check my hotmail account this morning and there is an advertisement on the side of the screen informing me that this guy is searching for me here in Pago Pago. If that is really the case, I'm changing the locks at the house and purchasing a firearm. Seriously MyLife, why are your computers showing that I would fit in the same demographic as middle-aged women who are attracted to either (a) Earnest Hemingway or (b) escaped convicts? I'm just saying.