Into the Wooden Heart of Darkness.

The unaffordable initial inspiration

We're slowly winding down from our home purchase (we may even move in one of these days...) and all its ancillary purchases (new furniture, power tools, yard equipment, etc...). To say that our bank account has seen a lot of action is putting it mildlyⁱ. Even in the financially exhausted state I find myself in, there are still a few things we need, including new desks for our study.

Our new study, picturing the previous owner's furniture

While out shopping for other furniture, I found a desk I liked, but the price tag was far more than I was comfortable with. In fact, after months of hemoragghing money, with hands in my pocket at every turn, dealing with amounts of money that are far beyond my comfort range, it was the final straw. I looked at the desk, looked at my hands, looked back at the desk, and said..

“I can build this...ⁱⁱ”.

I've never really shied away from doing something myself rather than spend money on it. It's an ethic I'm pretty drastically in favor of in general. What you create will always be more satisfying than what you consume. I know it's become the trendy thing in some circles, but regardless, I still think the recent boom of back-to-the-earth, handcraftsy, brew-your-own, revival of traditional skills is pretty damn coolⁱⁱⁱ. I never had a very solid grounding in practical skills. My grandfathers were able craftsmen, but I think around my Dad's generation, those skills started to dwindle for suburbanites. By the time I came around, the shift from working without your hands to working with circuits^iv was already in full swing. So what I have is either largely, and poorly, self-taught, , some dim and angsty memories of high school shop class terror, or a result of the fantastic reawakening enabled by the internet^v But in the new house I have a small shop area in the garage, and I have been inspired by some of my more serious DIY friends, so I am feeling ancestral urges to make things with my hands.

Previous oddities – Pottery Failure, wine cork board failure, Firestorm! - the sum of my current toolset.

My previous, limited^vi projects have had mixed results. My current desk is a solid affair, made completely from unfinished pine lumber straight from Lowe's. To my credit, it's lasted 9 years now, and is going strong^vii. However, it's based primarily on the Apocalypse Now school of technique:

(Willard: They told me that you had gone totally insane, and that your methods were unsound.
Kurtz: Are my methods unsound?
Willard: I don't see any method at all, sir.)

You get the picture. This desk is designed only to keep things off the floor. When you look up utilitarian in the dictionary....well, it gives a definition for utilitarian, but it would be REALLY applicable to this desk. It's so unassuming I didn't even take a picture of it to post anywhere.

My next furniture based outing was a guitar stand for my guitars. Like the desk, this is pretty utilitarian, but in an effort to grow, I tried to make it a bit more aesthetically..well, “pleasing” would be reaching, let's go with “acceptable”. Despite epic staining failure, it actually turned out nicely enough. Sadly, these two adventures gave me probably more confidence than I deserve.

Mutliple Guitar Stand, or, “how not to stain”.

Which takes us back to the present. I need a desk. After measuring our space, and looking around online, I had a basic idea of what I wanted to do. The rational approach would be to find some plans, follow them to the letter, and finish the project sometime before the sun goes nova. Too easy. Enter Google Sketchup. I had back-of-the-napkin'd a general design, based on a couple trestle desks I had seen. Sketchup fueled my unfortunately creative urges by allowing things to get..complicated. What went from a simple pine lumber affair is now gussified up to include exotic hardwoods, complicated latching mechanisms, and pocket-hole joinery techniques I do not understand but will be mercilessly applying to the piece.

Evolution of a design, from someone's else's idea, to my final plan(s)

So now I'm at the cusp of starting the project. I've picked out potential woods (curly hard maple as a reminder of home, walnut trim for contrast), picked out new power tools (orbital sander, Kreg jig and compound miter saw), and found local places to secure it all. I still need to decide what the final layout of the top will be...one solid maple top, or alternating broad maple and narrow walnut strips. But I'm pretty excited, with a completely unfounded confidence. And I think it will turn out well, regardless....I will have a solid wood desk^viii, and the tools to make it and other things, for far less than buying the new desk. And I think mine will be generally cooler, and will certainly have more satisfaction attached to it. I may tell grandkids about how I made that desk...I can't imagine regaling them with a tale of going out any buying it at pottery barn. Now the fun begins.

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Notes

iThe two words that best describe my debit card are “en fuego”.

ii And, in my head, “..I can make it better...faster...stronger....we have the technology...”

iiiEven if some of the participants are doing it ironically while drinking PBR. Ironically.

ivI can build you a new computer in nothing flat. However, making a birdfeeder completely stumped me.

vIt never fails to amaze me that a virtual medium has largely resurrected what is more akin to an oral tradition...informal knowledge diffused and passed directly from people to people.

viLimited by skill first and foremost, but also by limited space and a set of tools that includes : 1) hammer, 2) cheap cordless drill/jig saw combo unit.

viiThough, let's be honest, when something is made of 2X4's and has even a rudimentay support system, it's not exactly a fragile flower.

viiiThere is absolutely nothing these days that isn't veneers over generic hardwoods. Even in the pricey places. The only true solid hardwood without veneer I found was in an Amish place, and the price reflected it.

Temporary

 

The Dark is Rising 

Without wanting to be too terribly maudlin about it, I've been reflecting a lot lately on the permanent and the transitory. As a child, the walls of my world were a bastion of solid permanenceⁱ. We had always lived in that farmhouse by the creek and the woods. Mom and dad had always been married. The dense forest and meadows of our tiny landscape had always been forest and meadow. The old scratchy sofa had, and always would be, our old scratchy sofa. None of these things could change any more than the sun could drop out of the sky. Even as the minor details of childhood life swirled around in the constant sensory flux of a new world, those outer boundaries were stone, unyielding. In that sense childhood is a paradox; a fragile, constantly evolving thing that, at the same time, needs so desperately to cling to the unmovable. 

On a small enough time scale, most everything is permanent.

Growing up, then, is not just the gradual loss of fragility as we stack filters like walls between us and the sheer sensory overload of the world. In equally paradoxical fashion, it's also letting go of the illusion of permanence; learning to cope with a constant cycle of creation and decay at all levels. My parents have passed on. I have a new house and miss the meadows and forests. Our new sofa will eventually wear out and be replaced. On the adult time scale, nothing is permanent, and everything is transitory...especially those sun-fallingly large things that were the cardinal corners of our younger world.

This is not a new revelation for humanity. It's not even a new revelation for me, but the older I get, and the more of life is strung behind me, the more that inescapable cycle of transition peels away layers, and I see a new piece of it, a new facet, and I get a glimmer at least of a different understanding of it. Our time here is not marked just by the inherent smallness of our lifespan, but just that even within that time, everything is fleeting. I think it puts us at odds with our basest instincts. We don't want things to change. We want something to hold on to, to build our home on solid earth. But in a sea of shifting sands, our "mature" adult brain eventually realizes this isn't the case. Somewhere in the middle of our base animal rage and our cool intellectual acceptance is where most of us pitch our flimsy tents. I guess that means really being at peace with life can only mean accepting each bit in its own right. Enjoying things in their time, even though you know those bits are floating, like autumn leaves in a brook; small blazes of color that will pass one by one in the greater swirl of the waterⁱⁱ. It's not the endless happiness of our Madison avenue fantasies, nor is it the nihilism of zen buddhism's void. If anything, things mean more because they are both real and transitory at the same time.

Years ago, in college, in an inexplicable burst of creativity (or a reasonable approximation thereof) I sat down and jotted off a poem. I'm sure it was only half-realized at the time, fueled with too much Yeats and angst and NY fall scenery and unrequited lust for some damningly unobtainable coffee house alternagirlⁱⁱⁱ. But as I was mowing my new lawn today, it came back to me, and I found some bits of glimmer in its awkward and clumsy verses^iv. Just like everything else, I think the meaning of the things we make, the words we put down, they can be just as fluid. So here's a look at where I was a decade ago. And also where I am now, I suppose.

Leaves^v

Racing, blows the growing gale

through hidden autumn's greying vale

of dancing boughs and shifting space,

as heralded o'er^vi the valley's face,

the western wind is rising.

Across our stippled, sun-swept plain

the gusts show naught but cold disdain,

as every creature, man and kin, 

feel their passing cool the skin.

The western wind is raging.

Sturdy walls and fires warm

are built with care to thwart the storm.

Yet, even near^vii the hearthstone's light,

we cannot long postpone the night.

The western wind is changing^viii.

Dark seeps through cracks, comes under doors;

and bearing passion's new amours, 

drives us wandering from our room

to seek our place in evening's womb.

The western wind is ebbing.

Storm asks no quarter, nor does give, 

for things must change if things should live.

Mad chaos is our blustry bride,

our transient rest^ix, personified.

The western wind is laughing.

As the ether stills the course,

the storm departs in no remorse, 

for wending ways lead on to day,

and morning's light allows no stay.

The western wind is fleeting.

Yet, even leaving, part remains;

the soft, ethereal refrains 

that mark the passing wind's goodbye.

More like sidhe^x dancing than a cry,

the western wind is singing.

Cloud Study #14

Notes

iI say “my” because I know not every childhood was like mine, for all its angels and demons.

iiYes I realize I completely failed at capturing what I meant there, and ended up spewing out the prose equivalent of a Thomas Kinkaide painting.

iiiAlso, in grand tradition of poets, real and self-imagined, before me, possibly also beer. And for those who may not have come of age in the 90's, coffee house girls (before they sold out and became corporatized “baristas”) were a magical, mythical creature that occasionally one could approach but never quite grasp them, like mist in the air. They were just short of the word for God on the lips of all young angsty poetic college men of my generation. Which, given the sensitive man movement of the time, was most of us. For better and worse.

ivIn my defense, it is more of an homage to Yeats style. Which, not in my defense, is a way of saying I wrote like someone else because I couldn't find a way to do it in my own voice. That being said, the mimcry came from an innocent rather than jaded place, so it doesn't bother me quite so much. I wrote what I new...which was wooded vales and the first pangs of change and loss. I just happened to do it in more of a pseudo-19the century lyrical romantic sort of way. Though honestly, I'm not so sure that's a bad thing.

vLeaves/leaves..The leaves, or he leaves. Fun with Homonyms!!

viYes, “o'er” sounds incredibly archaic and pretentious and makes me cringe. But in my defense again, it really does sound better than “over” or anything else I could think to replace it with.

viiI did change this from the archaic “midst” to “near”. Though honestly, I'm not sure it has the same connotation. I really was trying to create a sensory image of being enveloped in light, being warm and safe and cradled in it. And the dark seeping in through the cracks, spreading out its tendrils inside our safety.

viiiI still like the endcap for each stanza, with “the western wind is (X)”. But the middle ones don't make as much sense as the starting and ending ones. I have it ebbing while I'm talking about storms, etc. Need to redo that at some point.

ix Another change I'm not happy with. Originally, “our fleeting stay, personified”. Buyt I use “fleeting” in one of the next stanzas, and I was trying not to repeat. Especially since it was important to me where it was, marking a change in the “western wind” snippets....all those before are actions...the western wind is doing x, the western wind is doing y. This is a description....the western wind is fleeting. An adjective, not a verb. Not sure why I think it's poignant, but it is to me.

xAhh Yeats and his sidhe. This is where the influence not just is apparent, but slaps you in the face and says “HEY, IT's YEATS. YEATS YEATS YEATS....did you get that this is like Yeats?”.

Amidst the noise and haste...

Short post...we've been living and breathing real estate for the better part of a month. So my hiking has been nil, and photography even less. Here's just a few odds and ends from that time frame.

Collage from my one little hike this month...a short 4 mile stroll in Terry Hershey Park. From Top, Swamp Rabbit, Crepe Myrtles in Bloom, Dragonfly motes and grassy knolls, Coneflowers, Brown Anole on rock, Pines in the Sun.

Coastal Plains Toas (Incilius nebulifer) I rescued from one of the seemingly innumerable contingent of feral black cats that live here.

Flag Display at Discovery Park

Shots from the Houston Zoo, from a trip with Kate's family.

A few Garden and Culinary products...from top: Garden Bounty, Homemade Hot Sauce and Pesto, Tomatoes!, My First Pot Roast.

Summer's Brewing

In days of yoreⁱ, the harbingers of my summer times were the sudden bloom of wildflowers, the incessant buzz of insect symphonies in their endless circadian rhythms, and the first warm days of late spring where the winds cut through you and stirred the blood, coagulated with the cold of winter, and everything was wet and green and alive.

Ok, so these are actually mostly from Texas. But you get the point. Green! Alive! Other cliché!

In my middleⁱⁱ years, the world now filtered through adult eyes, and in the vast eternal summer that is the Texas Gulf Coast, one has to rely on more subtle clues for the progression of the seasons. Some rely on the artificial boundaries of the school year, some on the three-digit temperature boundaryⁱⁱⁱ, and so on, each to his own private game with the universe.

Me, I rely on beer^iv.

More specifically, I rely on the summer seasonal brews. Now, I am a fan of beer. I have have mentioned this once or twice before. Now that I am older, I tend to enjoy the sort of beers that occasionally have seasonal specialties^v. Occasionally, that means sampling the sort of beer that would make my German friend Hellmut recite the 1516 Bavarian Purity Law^vi. However, since I am not bound to imbibe only those beers made with a strict limit of barley, water and hope, my summer beer vista is wide open and spectacular.

Like this, but with beer.

So that brings us to the crux of this post. As a celebration of all things summer in Texas, I sampled a six-pack of summer specialties^vii. Following are a few brief thoughts on each with a corresponding rating. Give his famous pronouncement^viii that God made beer because he loves us and wants us to be happy, I have elected to rate these summer potables on a scale of 1 to 5 Benjamin Franklins.

The contestants, post-sampling: a fine selection of local and national brews.

Sam Adams Summer Ale – In this case, I kinda cheated. Sam Adams Summer Ale is not new to me. I discovered it in grad school, where my friend Scott and I shared many a tall glass of it at the bar-below-the-other-bar (you know the one I mean, Scott). But it fit the category, so there you are. It's a nice light wheat beer, excellent very cold, with a touch of lemon like a nice heffe-weisen, and something called “grains of paradise”, an archaic brewing spice. Very Summer, very drinkable. I give it three Franklins.

Deschutes Twilight Summer Ale – Deschutes Brewery is hit or miss for me, and even the hits are rarely out of the park. While this beer purports itself to be a Summer Ale, there wasn't much to it that said “Summer!” to me. It was decent enough, but pretty forgettable. Also, the name is too reminiscent of Sparkly Vampires™. Sadly, just one lonely Franklin for you, Deschutes.

St. Arnolds Weedwacker – While I generally love this local Houston micro-brew (a statement I never thought would come out of my mouth...), I was hesitant to add it to my list. The Weedwacker is a variation of St. Arnolds Lawnmower, which, unfortunately enough, really did taste a bit like cut grass. These guys are beer fanatics (more on it here), and they've really stepped up the game on this one. They took what was the runt of their litter, supercharged it with some Bavarian yeast, and BAM! It hits you in the mouth just like you might expect of its drunken saint namesake. Equivalently, it has a nice, almost repentant finish...just like you'd expect of a drunken saint who has just hit you in the face. Not my favorite Arnold's by a mile, but a decent summer brew. Flavorful, if not light.

New Belgium's Sommersault – New Belgium is one of my favorite breweries. I really have to work hard to find one of theirs I don't like, and they have several places in my top ten. A really great macro microbrewery known for fantastic seasonal brews. Their summer seasonal, “Sommersault” is not among the best of the best they offer, but is a quality take on the fruit/beer junction (Sorry Hellmut, Bavaria, et al. ) There is just a hint of Apricot...and I do mean hint. Had I not read the label, I would not have placed it (as opposed to the also good Pyramid Apricot Ale), and a touch of ginger. It's a light, refreshing summer beer, and the citrus notes work well with the hops chosen. Unlike some others, the essences are not the show here, and the beer underneath the apricot and ginger traces could easily stand on its own.

Magic Hat Wacko – Magic Hat has moved beyond being just a novelty, but none of their brews really stands out to me. Great design, but the product is usually acceptable, but not noteworthy. Wacko is...well...aptly named. I understand wanting to set one's self apart from the Heffe-weisens and fruit beers that form the core of the summer offerings. But they went with beets. Yep, beets. Oddly enough, it kinda works. The beet seems mostly for coloring, and not to the point of looking like Kool-Aid. There's a slight earthy sweetness, but nothing recognizeable. It was a nice beer. Just nice. Nothing remarkable, other than the novelty of a beet-based beer, but pretty drinkable.

Shiner Ruby Redbird – Shiner is one of those great Texas traditions that has universal appeal^ix For my non-Texas friends, Shiner is Texas' Yuengling^x; perhaps even more so. The Spoetzl brewery puts out a pretty decent field of brews, including the only “light” beer on the larger producer side of things that's worth drinking, to me. You can tell these guys have a lot of fun with it, but really take their beer seriously. They specialize in beers that speak to east Texas' German heritage, but that doesn't stop them from going outside the lines now and again. Ruby Redbird is just such a brew. Not as odd as beets, but grapefruit is certainly not the first place one's mind goes as a precursor to “-flavored beer”. But the grapefruit essence is far from overwhelming, and really works well with the beer and the light touch of ginger. To me, this is what summer beer is supposed to be..light, refreshing, easy drinking and with a uniqeuly summary character. I got this one mostly as a joke, but ended up going back for a six-pack. It is some seriously tasty beer, despite its seemingly incongrous elements.

NOTES -

ii.e., ye olde 1980's, where if you don't allow for the somewhat rosy and overly sentimental bit to follow, one might assume was a time of rampant, flowery prose.

iiOr middling? Midden? Mediocre?

iiiNot the most helpful, as this is often broken by late May.

iv...and here you thought this was going to be another flowery, wistful reminiscence post..

vI am not a beer snob in the traditional sense of snobbery, as I will gratefully accept any cold beer with a good friend on a hot day. However, in personal preference, I lean toward the good stuff.

viIn Hellmut's defense, he never actually RECITED it...just referenced it occasionally when one of us was in danger of going astray.

viiOur supermarket gives me the lovely option of creating my own six pack from a sampling of beers that change on a weekly basis. This makes my summer sampler a much less time and cost-intensive process. And for the sake of SCIENCE (!), I did not sample them all at once. That may have improved the general levity of this post, but would have greatly reduced my ability, especially these days where two beers in a row is a “party”, to discern subtle difference and accurately make observations.

viiiWell, ok, so he didn't ACTUALLY say this...what he said, in a letter to André Morellet, was“Behold the rain which descends from heaven upon our vineyards; there it enters the roots of the vines, to be changed into wine; a constant proof that God loves us, and loves to see us happy.” When I looked this up, I almost decided to use Sam Adams (the Founding Father) for the rating instead. However, it turns out Sam was not an actual brewer, contrary to popular belief, but a partner in a malting business. Seeing as old Ben was just an all around cool fellow anyway, I went with the populay mythology.

ixUnlike other great Texas traditions like Lonestar beer, drilling every last inch of ground for oil, and Bush presidencies.

xFor those further North, a better Labatt's. For those further west...umm...like a beer version of In-and-Out Burger? Nothing fancy, but good all around.