Our newest grandbaby, a girl, screaming, LET ME OUT!

January 8, 2021- Friday morning

25 degrees/cloudy/calm winds

Pentoga Road

I don't blame that little one for wanting her freedom. Look at her, for cryin' out loud, squished, her hand on her head... and there's hardly any room for her chubby cheeks.

We call her Bessie. Macrea and Mel swear that's not her real name, but they are keeping that a secret.

I've already given her the Pawpaw name of Cheeks. Her brother, Hambone, was given his moniker as he had thighs that put most ham hocks to shame. 

I can see their names in lights at the Grand Ol' Opry now. Brother and sister, Hambone and Cheeks. Sigh. Sounds like a perfect country duo. 

Yesterday was spent in the shop. I worked my little boy backside off finishing the next to the last plaque of the Lord's Prayer and the first line of the final one.

My eyes were screaming MERCY by the time I called it good 'nuff, but I'm happy to have made the progress. With any luck at all, I'll complete sawing the letters today.

I turned my attentions to a very rotten and spalted blank that had been mounted in the lathe. Turning a bowl from good, hard, wood is a challenge, working with the grain and shaping it as it turns.

To turn a bowl from beautiful, rotten, spalted, wood is even more difficult. First, one has to keep the bowl from falling apart. That didn't happen yesterday with an aged piece of birch. The blank has been curing (to keep from splitting) for almost a year.

With tiny unseen cracks running completely through, it fell apart just a few minutes into the shaping process.

Oh well, as I told Mississippi Brother Garry, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Last night was the usual quiet one spent in front of the tv. At least I eluded Sargie's invitation to play Rummy, so I went to bed bruise free with all my bones intact.

I'm heading out for my walk fairly soon before returning to the shop. I want to finish the letters in the prayer today if at all possible. Also, mounted in the lathe is a large piece of very aged, red pine, one with a unique pattern in the grain that's been sitting for almost a year. Hopefully it will stay together long enough to make something or the other. 

Time to get to walking. The day ain't gettin' any younger and neither am I.

After all, a man's work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...