The kitten has two settings. It’s either wide awake and about to attack or zoned out and half asleep. He can cycle between the two settings in a flash. I didn’t want a new pet but he’s a fun little critter.
Photo A: Z0nked out.
Photo B: Wide awake and about to launch a barrage of chaos. Elapsed time between the two photos, about 1.5 seconds.
The kitten had a wonderful Christmas, as did we all.
I love the Cato refrigerator attack!
My last post mentioned I was enjoying Christmas in quiet contented domestic bliss. I am.
As an expert in overthinking things, I fret that such a state doesn’t come naturally. I find myself most contented right after or during a big challenge. Last year, for example, my greatest moments of peace came by the campfire after exciting days riding dirt bike on the WYBDR.
This year I turned the dial back; not out of weakness of sprit but in wise conservation of limited health. The whole thing makes me nervous. Under normal (ideal?) circumstances I might be snowshoeing across a lake this weekend. I’ve been planning to camp on the ice with my “new” (now a few years old) winter tent. Sadly, it’s not a good idea and I’m holding back. I wonder how long I’ll be “patient”?
Since I’m not generally a “quiet and contented” guy, I’m a little suspicious of unexpected moments of Zen. Sitting in a chair by the fire, I pondered my situation:
“I always prefer challenge and excitement yet right now I’m sitting on my ass like a schlub. How has it come to be? Why am I not bored and annoyed?”
I sighed.
“Is this it? Am I just an old guy getting boring and sleepy?”
This whole line of thinking was unwise. Never ever pitch one across the plate like that! Give fate an opening that wide and you deserve to be your own punchline. I’d practically willed God’s banana peel under my feet!
What I haven’t blogged about is the feral kitten I mentioned in late October. It has moved into the house and rules the roost… as a kitten ought. I couldn’t keep the little scoundrel out of the house, it invaded my peace, it owns the cozy woodstove, it delights Mrs. Curmudgeon (and grudgingly me too), and the floor is littered with various cat toys. It wasn’t what I wanted or planned, but it’s what happened. We like critters in general and clever tricksters doubly so. So it’s here to stay.
I’m just glad the cat lets me live in its house!
So there I was, resting by the fire, completely relaxed but wondering if I was shirking some sort of cosmic duty to rise to challenges; with a cat sleeping on my lap.
Cats exist to stir the pot and (in my life at least) God has an excellent sense of humor. With no warning at all*, the kitten burst up from what had seemed like deep slumber, unsheathed ten tiny little claws, and attacked my beard!
I jerked back, which gave the little hellion just enough space to launch. The first attack had given it a good solid two paw grip on my beard. The full launch propelled it through (!) my beard, over my face, across my head, down my back, and across the room.
BLAM! The universe had provided the excitement I didn’t know I needed.
There was no more perfect time for a harmless but unexpected Honey Badger attack on my face. The universe knows when to swing for the bleachers!
The chair nearly went over. The book I was reading flew into the air. A cookie I had balanced on the chair’s arm went flying and disappeared. (I suspect the dog had something to do with that.)
I found myself on my feet in a fighting stance and facing the furry missile. I looked like Inspector Clouseau after being jumped by Cato.
I was alert, awake, and ready to rumble. The cat had no malice toward me. It had burst into action like a firecracker for reasons that only a kitten would understand. It had forgotten I existed. It was zooming all over the room… exactly like a spastic unpredictable kitten should.
The dog was barking. The cat was running in circles, sometimes underneath the dog. Mrs. Curmudgeon was calling into the room to see if I was ok, assuming probably that something had exploded.
Boring and sleepy indeed!
The world is exciting and vibrant! And my forehead has the scratches to prove it!
I fished a laser pointer out of my pocket and redirected the Tasmanian Devil at my feet. He obliged by zooming around, crashing into walls, and knocking stuff over.
I wasn’t mad. I was laughing my ass off.
God knows what you need. I hadn’t precisely expected an inexplicable grenade made of fur and claws exploding out of my lap… but it sure did get the blood pumping!
The cat and I had a merry time trashing everything in sight. After a good ten or fifteen minutes of concentrated mayhem me and the cat started winding down. The little maniac was tired. And so was I.
I flopped back into the chair. Without invite, the cat leapt up into my lap. As far as the cat’s concerned the chair belongs to him and I’m just sitting in it as a convenient space heater.
Five minutes later the cat was sound asleep. It was surely storing energy for the next round of chaos. I was no longer fretting! Was I was dodging some universe decreed allotment of fun? Nope. Shit would happen that keeps things interesting. I don’t have to worry my pointy head about it.
Unlike the cat, I didn’t drift off to sleep in the chair. Why? Because I had a cat in my lap that might detonate again without warning. However, I slowly got absorbed in my book and was once again contented and at peace.
God apparently knew I needed something to keep me active and responded eagerly. He unleased a furry Claymore mine in my living room and eased my worried mind. Can’t complain about that.
AC
*Except the obvious reason that cats are chaos wrapped in fur.
P.S. Here’s links from when the little critter showed up: Well That Didn’t Go As Planned and Pics Or It Didn’t Happen: Kitten Edition.
If you didn’t know me, you’d think I’m being a Grinch. I haven’t hung up lights. There’s no tree. I’m not listening to carols (though I’ve been Whammmed three times so far). I haven’t cleaned the house. Mrs. Curmudgeon and I don’t exchange presents. (Some caveats to that; I did treat myself to a new miter-saw a few months ago and I’m sure Mrs. Curmudgeon has Amazon-ed herself some nice stuff and I’m glad she has. We just don’t do the “surprise and wrapped box” thing.) There’s no outward sign of the season. If you were judging by Hallmark movie standards we’re nearly zombified.
But that’s a false surface appearance. Below that we’re both having a great holiday season. In fact, I’m off the charts happy. It’s one of the most Christmas-y Christmases I’ve had in years. I’m an empty nester and I’m enjoying the total lack of pressure. There’s no stress. I don’t have to do shit. I’ve got a forest full of trees. I meant to bring one in and decorate it… then I didn’t. Why? Because I’ve earned the right to not. The trees can stay out there with the chickadees.
I even had a brief flurry of activity with my 3d printed jig sales. Very fun. For a while my workshop had a Santa’s elves vibe to it. Then I caught up. Well mostly caught up. I have one last order to ship and that’ll hit the mail in the near future. (3D printers are not fast.)
In the main, I’ve been checked out and relaxed; kicking back by my woodstove. I’m burning wood I cut myself and reading. That’s it, just reading. Not even reading anything deep. Just fluff. I even slacked off on blog posting. (Forgive me.)
I’ve got lots to be happy about. I’m deeply appreciative of the fact that my health scare of earlier this year didn’t plant me in the ground. Not being dead is awesome. I hesitate to even mention my tribulations. What knocked me down is nothing like the horrors many people have endured. Regardless, it was real to me. A thing happened that really sucked and now it’s mostly handled and so I’m beaming like a little kid. Life is simple that way. Who wouldn’t be fuckin’ ecstatic to be getting better?
A note on that; I thought I’d bounce back. Nope! It’s apparently a marathon not a sprint. I planned to be ice fishing and winter camping by now. But that’s just unwise so far. I’m getting better day by day at a snails pace. Slow and steady; on a schedule that’s not mine. There’s not a damn thing I can do to accelerate things and that’s fine. I suppose God had it in his plans to clip my wings a bit and maybe that’s something I needed. Who am I to reject a present of humility?
Speaking of humble acceptance, I somehow threw out my back and picked up a head cold all at once. Ouch! It sucks. But I’m practicing my new lessons in letting things take their time. I cancelled a few plans, bought another fluff book on my kindle, and parked my ass by the fire. It’s all very cozy and domestic. Some sniffles and hot cocoa, not too bad a fate. Statistically speaking I’ll get better in 7-10 days. My old self would be pissed off and my new self is like “whatever”. My old impatient opinion was dumb. 7-10 days is what it is, no point in freakin’ out.
I’m not sure why 2025 is such a time of quiet thankful joy. Maybe the shock of society shitting itself in 2020 faded? Or maybe I further distanced myself from a society dumb enough to be like that? Maybe it’s my health? Maybe some hard earned wisdom has kicked in? I changed my work situation and that definitely didn’t hurt. It could be all of that or it could be something else. I guess I don’t know why I’m so happy. I don’t even care. It just is.
Merry Christmas y’all!
“You’re literally asking them to send you mail!?!” He asked.
I was talking with someone much younger than me. I’d explained that I’d sold a bunch of sawhorse jigs and rigs which was super cool. But I’d flubbed the whole “online marketing” part and that was a bummer.
I described what folks had to do to order a jig. As you know, it’s nothing like the usual electronic shopping cart and checkout software we’ve come to expect. He reacted to my description as if I had antennae coming out of my head.
“I tried this online form thing but it crashed so…” My excuses were lame and getting lamer.
“…this is your URL?!?!” He demanded.
He was looking at https://adaptivecurmudgeon.com/sawhorses/.
Seeing it second hand, shrunk on his tiny cell phone screen, it looked dismal. I’m not even in the same planetary hemisphere as a “normal” presentation. “I’ve seen graffiti more skillfully executed.” He concluded.
I nodded. I had that coming. “I was kind of in a hurry and so I…” I didn’t even get to finish the rest of my rationalizations.
“You told people to cut and paste? Into an e-mail.” He was squinting at the tiny text. “It’s like a caveman did this. Do you have a Flintstones car with your feet sticking out the bottom?”
He was right. “Well, I…” I stopped and just embraced the learning experience. “It was pretty pathetic. I had no plan B when the online form croaked.”
“Wait, what?” He was flummoxed but I didn’t notice and was babbling.
“… on the other hand all of my customers were delighted. Most of them e-mailed when they received the package to say they were pleased.”
“Um…”
I still hadn’t noticed his silence. “And I put in a funny little instruction thing. Folks liked that so I put it free on my blog. Mostly it was jokes and bitching at people to turn off their cell phone.”
He had come to a screeching halt in all his complaints. He was also eyeing his cell phone, which has probably never been off.
“Yah, I fucked up.” I concluded.
“You admit it sucks…” He had a thoughtful look.
“What am I supposed to say ‘Mistakes were made?’. I really did make a goofy order form.”
“Mistakes were made?” He was smiling at the joke. “Sounds like a politician.”
“I think it was Robert McNamara.” The discussion had gone off the rails but I didn’t mind.
As always the younger generation was “fact checking” with their phone. “Looks like everyone said that.” Somehow I’d impressed him anyway. “Man, you just said your own form sucked… just like that.”
“Well yeah, when you fuck up you’ve fucked up. I’ll do better next time.” I chuckled.
We both paused, lost in thought. We were both silent for about a quarter of my cup of coffee.
“It’s nice when people say ‘That wasn’t ideal. I’ll do better next time’.” He had the dreamy look of a youth who’s been put through the wringer by modern society.
That kind of made me sad. It’s 2025 and nobody knows how to be wrong anymore. I mean, except for me who’d just done it. That’s hard on everyone.
“You whippersnappers just don’t know how hard things were in the old days!” I hammed it up to break the tension. “Why in my day we had to pan for gold and then send the flakes wrapped in wax paper. We’d buy things from the Sears Roebuck catalog and also use the catalog for toilet paper.”
The great part was he had no idea how much of my exaggerations were true and how much wasn’t. I decided to offer some true “geezer lore”:
“Not too long ago the commercial would be on TV. It would have a phone number to call but long distance was expensive and nobody had a credit card. So they’d tell you the address to which you’d send a check.”
He blinked. It was all too unbelievable.
I grabbed his phone and surfed up an example. Here it is.
“Mail your check to this place and there’s a money back guarantee…” He was laughing at the ad. I was too.
“No wonder people fell for Nigerian scams. You had to do all that to get a damn song.”
He mentioned about a dozen online software gizmos to process transactions. I knew they existed but mostly ignore them. They all had stupid names. It sounded like:
“Get the Flimflam plugin to Spazzer and that’ll send your purchase data through Nurtburst. Then you can ship it either by FedEx or Snorfdoodle.”
I think I’m going to try something called WooCommerce; which is also a dumb name.
Anyway, that’s my plan. No rush, no hurry, I’m enjoying my Christmas nice and slow, but after that I’ll try to list the jigs in some sort of sane manner. If y’all already bought all you’ll want that’s OK. I like anything that helps me learn.
I said “The past is a foreign country” and insisted we re-watch the old TV ad. 1985 really isn’t that long ago, but it’s also very long ago.
Wish me luck with WooCommerce or whatever the hell it is.
As y’all know I’ve been selling sawhorse jigs and rigs at https://adaptivecurmudgeon.com/sawhorses/.
What you don’t know is I tossed in a little half page printed document. I considered it sort of a “value added” thing. In private responses everyone seemed to like it. One person who ordered some jigs asked that I post the document so he could include it as he distributed jigs as gifts. That’s a reasonable request and I’m happy to comply. I’m pasting it below:
[This post is basically a pointless ramble. You’ve been warned.]
I’m not a misanthrope.
The point is I wish the best for people but need plenty of solitude. I’m happiest if everyone’s pleasant and fulfilling lives have nothing to do with me. This is why I do weird shit like start a post with “I’m not a misanthrope”.
Anyway, the house has been under construction lately and it’s driving me nuts. The dog and I are both grumpy about it. The dog growls; “There are people within the allowed perimeter, totally uncool man! Bearded one, please chase them away.”
I growl back; “I agree, they’re in restricted territory. But I want the kitchen floor repaired. We must endure!”
Mrs. Curmudgeon is a voice of reason. “Why are you and the dog both growling?”
I can’t help my grumpy attitude. I chafe under the intrusion even though I rationally know it’s necessary. In fact I like our contractor. He’s a nice guy. He does a fair job. The last thing he needs is me pacing back and forth glaring at him like I’m some kind of barely controlled serial killer.
The good news is I think he’s aware that I know I’m the nutjob. I tell him I’m pleased. Even if my body language says “I want to toss you off a cliff” my actual words are “good job on the molding”. He seems to get it.
But still, I’m a wreck. Too many people are being too people-ly on my property! (And that’s in addition to the FedEx dude who had driving issues and flaked out spinning his wheels on my lawn!)
I’m not a shut-in. I’m perfectly happy wandering the earth. (Indeed I was bummed out when I cancelled planned motorcycle wandering this summer for health reason.) But I can cover a lot of ground and still maintain a people-limited situation. I miss that.
What’s the word for a guy who would happily travel a thousand miles amid humans but his ultimate destination is some deserted canyon rim somewhere? I feel like society puts a negative connotation on “loner”; which isn’t fair. “Solitude” is not “lonely”.
Anyway, I’ve had my house torn up all week and then there was a blizzard and a cold snap. All this has been a bit much. I spent as much time as I could hunkered down in my workshop (with the dog at my side) but the overall vibe has me pretty jittery.
I wish I was healthy enough to be camping in a snowdrift somewhere. It feels like I should be ice fishing or something.
Ah well, at least it’s Christmas-time. I very much like Christmas. Speaking of which, I’ve caught up with all my Christmas orders but am still happily 3d printing “not due by Christmas” objects. (I’m definitely open for business at https://adaptivecurmudgeon.com/sawhorses/. Feel free to order!)
Also Christmas this year is particularly sweet. I’m pleased to not be dead. Also it’s grand that I didn’t piss off Mrs. Curmudgeon during my illness, or drive us bankrupt. Beyond that I made a very fine anticipatory move in fixing up my shop. Last week a few mornings were down to -20f and I had crowds in the house, yet I could escape to my shop and peacefully percolate coffee on Betsy. What more could a guy want?
Tomorrow is Monday. The contractor is coming back. I plan on bailing out for the workshop asap. I’ll take the dog with me. I may pre-stage my percolator ready to go. Maybe a frying pan and some eggs too. Just to ease my morning.
Wish me luck.
AC
It’s been snowing pretty hard but it’s not that big of a deal. Me and the tractor have been putting up a good fight. Also, it’s fuckin’ winter. What do you expect?
Today, I plowed the driveway and it was fairly navigable. Right on my tail came a FedEx dude in an overflow rented U-Haul.
The FedEx dude zoomed in exactly like a guy who’s never seen snow. Rather than menace him with my tractor and the snow bucket I parked well out of the way and sat there to let him do his thing.
Over the next few minutes, every decision he made baffled me. It was so bad it was almost art.
“That’s odd, why is he putting his tires there?”
Slide, spin.
“Oh, because he’s a fool.” I observed from my idling tractor. “Still, all he needs to do is gently roll it forward and…”
He cranked the wheels like he wanted to plow a furrow and floored it in a manner that made it clear he wasn’t responsible for vehicle maintenance budgets. Predictably, this dug a divot for his spinning rear tire. He kept it floored until he’d polished the divot’s surface like he was going to play hockey there.
“Has he never seen ice?” I wondered.
Then he rocked forward and back; which makes sense. Except he was doing it all wrong. He’d rock forward, which is good. But then he’d let the tire slide backward into the exact center of his divot… as if that was his goal. Then he’d rock backward, making progress just like he’d made going forward but specifically let it roll back to center. It’s like someone had heard of “rock the car back and forth” but had never seen it in real life.
His timing was way too slow. It was literally “retarded timing”. I amused myself thinking about retarded drivers having retarded timing.
But then I noticed his eyes. They were getting the wild panicked look of a man who’s about to do something impressively stupid. I couldn’t think of anything stupider than his current actions but lets face it, stupid panicked people are incredibly creative with their mayhem.
Time to diffuse the situation.
I drove up slow and steady; trying to smile and look unthreatening; which probably just terrifies people more. So now there’s a scary bearded redneck Gen X in his tractor trying to calm a spastic Millennial before the Millennial performs some unholy act that defies physics and sets a U-Haul on fire.
He obviously didn’t appreciate me “helping”, or rather he didn’t like needing help. Then again he wasn’t going anywhere and wasn’t showing any signs he would ever learn enough to figure it out. He’d done nothing right, tried nothing clever, and was clearly willing to drill to the center of the earth. I had to intervene.
“Woah there! Just relax! I’ll plow a nice clear path in front and behind. Then I’ll give you a nudge. It’ll be fine.” In retrospect I sounded like Foghorn Leghorn.
He looked like he’d freebased 30 Redbulls. I wasn’t sure if he’d just stomp on the gas and run into my slow tractor. I knew stomping on the gas wouldn’t do much but make him more stuck but I kept a careful eye on him just the same. Like I said, the guy just looked, acted, smelled, and radiated “I’m going to turn the minor annoyance of a spinning truck wheel into a world class cock up.”
I cleared out a generous area fore and aft… I tried to explain that all he needed to do was go straight and get into clear traction. In hindsight I think he might not have known what “fore and aft” meant? I also gave him a warning. “Be careful. You don’t want to damage your truck.”
That was pointless. He’d gladly set the truck on fire. It was a U-Haul. Fire would probably improve it. But also he just didn’t seem to have the “solve problems without making it worse” circuit in his brain.
I nudged with my tractor and with only the tiniest force the truck rolled out. I swear a Chihuahua could have pushed that truck out of its rut. Unfortunately, the driver felt this and gunned it while turning the wheel as hard as he could… two choices which were just about the dumbest things he could do. The truck’s rear broke loose because of course it did! His truck made a wild and quite impressive spin. It had to be 40 degrees! If he was in a parking lot of a bar at 3 am someone would have clapped.
Of course, he was now ten times more stuck. And still spinning.
What the fuck was this idiot doing with the endless spinning? If the truck is spinning at quarter throttle, only a blithering moron stomps on it full power as if it’s going to sprout wings. More and harder might be the name of a porn movie but it ain’t the solution to ice!
I tried a little more coaching. “Relax. You’re gonna’ get out. First get the rear wheels on sound traction. Then, worry about steering with the front wheels.”
The driver was kind and polite and obviously hard working. He was simply an awful driver. They aren’t mutually exclusive. Great employee in bad fit for a particular job. Seeing his driving I wouldn’t trust him with a golf cart. That doesn’t mean he was morally at fault or not trying his best. Maybe he needs a desk job? (A desk that’s not accompanied by one of those chairs with wheels… which he would probably roll out the window.)
Possibly he’d be a world class photocopy repairman? Short order cook? For all I know he might be an excellent concert pianist. But he should never live beyond the reach of mass transit.
What I’m saying is that some folks, no matter how dedicated and well meaning, are absolute fuckwits around machinery. This guy’s exposure to mechanical devices probably topped off at playing Minecraft.
He could improve. Ideally learning very slowly, with lots of training, and with less complex things. Maybe if a shock collar were used? Judiciously mind you, I’m not saying he was a bad guy that needed to be zapped a lot. Just that he was panicky like a hyped up housecat on crack and that’s not a good mind-state for full sized vehicles. A quick hit with a Taser wouldn’t have been the worst thing for someone totally losing their rationality.
The point is, this kid was maybe a good employee but he needed to practice with an electric can opener for a few years before he moved up to… I dunno’ maybe a lawn mower? Operating a delivery truck alone in a blizzard was so far out of his league it might as well be in Jupiter.
I hate to see that total lack of awareness. I operate motorcycles and chainsaws and wood splitters and tractors and miter saws. When I recognize a difficult situation I slow the fuck down. I start thinking very carefully about my next move. If I panicked like this guy I’d be missing an arm by lunch. A machine will gladly kick your ass and this guy had it coming!
Thank God I have a huge, flat, relatively level lawn and I’m more than happy to let someone tear it to bits spinning around in circles. I don’t know any environment so forgiving of such shenanigans.
Four or five times I cleared the snow around him. Four or five times I told him to roll gently forward or reverse… “just a few feet dude. Just roll a few feet. Only after you’ve got the truck moving turn it very gently. Like really gently.” Four or five times he nodded and did absolutely the opposite. (I know he spoke English.)
Each time I used the tractor to give a tiny nudge and the truck rolled free right away. It wasn’t stuck that bad. I wouldn’t have even needed the tractor if I were driving.
But every stinking time he got under way he turned the steering wheel like he had to pull a U-Turn in the next eight feet and simultaneously he stomped on the gas like Ricky Bobby doing NASCAR. This never worked because physics ain’t like that.
Every near release followed by failure just freaked him out more.
I prefer extracting a stuck vehicle with the minimum force and stress. Unfortunately, this dipshit wasn’t getting the point. Here’s where I should step back and assess the whole situation.
Let’s be charitable about it. Maybe that kid couldn’t get the point? All humans are equal in the eyes of God but that’s not an intellectual assessment. Some humans are dumber than a box of hammers and we know it. That’s just the way unfortunate genetics played out. I suck at languages and blues guitar. That doesn’t make me evil. This kid shouldn’t be responsible for a truck in the hinterland. Nothing wrong with that. He didn’t really want to strip mine my lawn with a set of tires… it’s just that he could do no other. I bear no ill will. Whatever that kid was put on earth to do, managing a truck isn’t it.
Since he was going to keep fucking up until his truck needed a helicopter extraction, it was up to me. I put the tractor snow bucket gently on the truck’s rear bumper and pushed. As always, his truck rolled free. In a nanosecond he stomped on the gas like spinning the rear wheels was sexually pleasing. At the same time he yanked his steering like he was paid by the broken tie rod end.
This time I kept in contact. Still pushing; very gently. Moving an inch at a time with judicious tractor power while the driver was desperately trying to get his truck stuck as hard and fast as possible.
I use machinery like I know what I’m doing. With a slow gentle crawl I pushed him like 20′ and I adjusted the angle as I went. While he spun and steered and faffed about I gradually shifted his truck until it was pointed where he wanted to go (thus negating his desire to steer like a monkey). That’s all it took.
He rolled away. Here’s the funny part. He never let off the gas!
He kept fishtailing all the way down my driveway like a Dukes of Hazzard scene but with a lot less driving skill. He never ever stopped spinning. Even though it clearly wasn’t necessary. I think he got confused and thought he was in deep mud, or on a sand dune, not a freshly plowed, flat, straight, dirt driveway.
In my tractor, I followed him to the road. (At a generous and cautious distance.)
My driveway is perpendicular to the road. Given he wasn’t going to let off the gas ever and that his only demonstrated steering inputs were straight (rarely) and dive off a cliff (constantly) I gave it 50/50 odds he’d blast full speed to the road, pull the wheel like it was a ripcord, and impale himself on my mailbox.
To my surprise me made a simple right hand turn without killing himself or anyone else. I was not surprised that he showed no sign of looking either left or right. He simply plunged onto the road. Because I live in the middle of nowhere, there weren’t any vehicles in the area for him to hit.
I breathed a sigh of relief when he was off my property. I made a little prayer that he gets another job before he kills someone at this one. I don’t know who that guy was or where he was from. He spoke clear English, was well dressed, and said he’d seen two (!) winters. (I tried to start a rapport with “First winter eh?”) I’m going to assume he had a legit license.
I don’t think I’ll see him again. My prayer notwithstanding, I’m not sure he’ll live out today’s blizzard.
Anyway, that’s my day. How was yours?
This morning I feel like posting random photos from my workshop. (If you’re interested in ordering a 3d printed sawhorse gadget or jig please go to https://adaptivecurmudgeon.com/sawhorses/.)
A “rig” in translucent blue:
The “rigs” have magnets. Screw up the polarity and many little parts that “want to come together as a sawhorse” turn into “misdirected bits that repel the thing they most need”. (Why does that sound like an analogy for current society?)
I printed red and blue “magnet dispensers” to keep track of polarity. Also they help with handling the tiny 6mm x 2mm magnets. (The dispensers aren’t my design, I just downloaded it.) I don’t know if anyone cares about 3d printed magnet esoterica but here it is:
I accidentally put reverse polarity magnets into this piece. I discovered it when it absolutely refused to go together with the other pieces. Since then I’ve assembled every “rig” to prove I got it right.
In case you’re wondering, it’s impossible to pull the magnets out once they’re glued & inserted. I could have made an entire “reverse polarity” rig but I decided not to. It was worth “the loss” to just toss the single part rather than creating the possibility of warring of polarities in different object sets.
My dog wants to know why I’m making coffee in the workshop instead of the kitchen?
Percolated coffee really is the best possible coffee. I like my coffee maker but it can’t compare with a plain old percolator. Pay no attention to the Predator 212 clamped to the bench, that’s a topic for a different day.
House grouse. Don’t blame me, he’s the one that sucks at flying.
Finished projects en route to the Post Office. Ain’t that awesome! Some orders were larger and went in newly purchased (larger) boxes. Other smaller orders fit in recycled boxes. I had a plan to recycle everything into filament spool / refill boxes from Bambulab. I think those boxes are a pleasing size and they’re very well built. (I thought using the filament box to mail a finished project would also have a nice symmetry to it.) Alas, this project’s dimensions were determined by a 2″x4″ and it just didn’t happen that way.
Yesterday I shipped all my “by Christmas” orders. I’m open to new orders. “By Christmas” orders are first come first served and it’s only December 9th. I think it would make it. Then again we’re talking about the USPS here and there’s a blizzard going on; so I could be wrong. “After Christmas is OK” orders are also very welcome. If you’re interested please go to https://adaptivecurmudgeon.com/sawhorses/.
Yesterday was so chill. How was I to know today would go “full apeshit”? One crazy thing after another has hit in rapid succession. In lieu of a logical progression I’ll just relate random things.
First story is just a follow-up. The grouse that ran full tilt into my house was delicious! Mrs. Curmudgeon baked it with some sort of citrus. Yum! It made my day!
“House based roadkill” is the exact opposite of the whiny woke Karen-world that hassles us so much. There’s a redneck out there that eats birds that fly into his house! The whole planet would be a happier, mellower, less uptight, place if we all could say “a gamebird pancaked into the window… lunchtime!” No handwringing. No bullshit. Just a resource thrown at me as if God decided I needed a chicken dinner.
I nicknamed Mrs. Curmudgeon’s recipe “house grouse”.
Second, I installed the snow bucket just minutes before a snowstorm hit. Win!
My tractor’s front bucket is super handy but I need to swap to my “snow bucket” to plow snow. I put that off as long as possible.
Last year I waited too long! The snow bucket froze down. I’d already removed the regular bucket and done the painstaking hassle of hooking up the snow bucket only to find out I’d pinned my tractor to the earth. It was a struggle akin to pulling Excalibur from the stone. (You’d think my tractor would just yank a frozen bucket off the ground. It can’t.)
I learned from that. This year I rolled up to my snow bucket and gently nudged it with my still installed regular bucket. Was it froze down? Yep. Dammit!
Since I’d left the regular bucket on I had persuasion! Without leaving the cab I nudged here and pushed there and lifted a smidge and otherwise used every axis of rotation and torque factor on slippery snow. The ice gave way after a couple minutes. With the regular bucket I flipped the snow bucket, then flipped it back. Boom!
After that swaping implements was no big deal. Last year’s multi-hour struggle became this year’s 10 minutes of tricky driving.
Not ten minutes after I’d swapped the skies opened up and dumped snow like heaven was pissed at humanity. I’d just barely swapped buckets in time.
Next strange (odd?) event? I bugged out of our kitchen to my workshop.
Here’s the story: Our house is a shambles and ignoring a decrepit kitchen floor and ceiling had gone about as far as it could go. (No regrets! My house may be a dump but that’s why I can afford the mortgage.) We’ve got a contractor who knows our situation. We’ve been begging him to deal with it. After ignoring us for months he showed up hammer in hand. Nice! He disassembled the floor and ceiling like a total boss!
Then he vanished.
That was five days ago (I suppose the weekend doesn’t count.) I get it. He had an emergency frozen pipe situation to handle. Plus the weather has been a pain to everyone. But our kitchen is stuck in limbo somewhere between inconvenient and unusable.
What’s worse, the coffee pot was unavailable!
To stay alive, I’ve been cooking coffee with my camping percolator. Percolators make the best damn coffee but reaching for the kitchen stove over construction debris was a hassle. On the other hand, “no coffee” is simply unthinkable!
Eventually I got too stressed out over the kitchen. I bugged out for my workshop. Betsy the stove was ready to serve (just as she’s been for longer than I’ve been alive). Today’s breakfast and coffee was cooked on an antique kitchen woodstove in my “cluttered but cozy” workshop. Inconvenient? Yes. Delicious? Absolutely. Appreciated? Deeply!
I’ll probably make dinner there tonight too. (Update: I did.)
I have another story about a stuck truck… but it’ll wait.
