The sawing of the bulldog begins

January 19 2021 - Tuesday morning

12 degrees/cloudy/breezy

Pentoga Road

I'm not at all sure where I come up with these hair brained ideas, those where I attempt to create a life-sized English bulldog from a few pieces of scrap wood.

Possibly it's my inner self crying out that I'd like to have a real pup, but then I don't really want one. If the world ever gets back to spinning on its common sense axis, Sargie and I would like to spend a lot of time traveling, see the grandbabies, my sons and families, and the rest of the world. A dog would be prohibitive in such cases. 

Plus, I know enough people who would be more than happy to loan me their pups any time I want them. Macrea's offered Sadie a bunch of times and with the new baby due any day, she'll probably be a frequent addition to our Pentoga Road family, at least initially. Naw, I don't want a dog on a permanent basis.

When I had a piano, I used to sit down for hours and play, try different chords, even order sheet music. Other than playing in various bands during my college years and old rock 'n roll and country weekend bands later when the boys were young to earn grocery money, I knew I was never going to make it big time. That being said, creating music was something I felt compelled to do. 

I guess writing's the same. I'm going to take a break for a few days once this is uploaded, but I know it won't be long before I'll be back to wiggling my fingers over the keyboard, uploading pictures and writing.

Seems, no matter the medium, creating is just something I enjoy doing.

Heck, I have four sons. 

Point made.

Speaking of sons, I talked at length with Andy yesterday. He's had a change of plans and will be taking off to work in Norway after a two-week stop at the company headquarters in southern Louisiana. I know there's a sad, sad, little girl who worships her daddy in northern Maine this morning.

Most of Monday was spent in the shop. Sawing the bulldog is more of a challenge than I anticipated.

 

When enlarging the pattern, the lines blurred somewhat, not a big deal until one gets to the finer details, around the eyes, etc. I found myself stopping, looking at the smaller pattern, then drawing in the line freehand.

Bulldog's about half sawn and hopefully, just like Humpty Dumpty, he should be in a million pieces by today's end.

Mississippi Brother Garry has been working with me, trying to teach me how to figure angles for a circular bowl. He even sent me his super duper segmented formula chart.

Pi, circumference, diameter, division, multiplication, all that stuff, seems to be from an alien world to me. If any calculations exceed twenty, the number of fingers and toes still attached to my extremities, I'm in a world of hurt. 

God help me if I ever slice a finger off in a saw. There's hope though. Garry self amputated part of a thumb from his hand and he can still count to twenty I think.... 'er at least to nineteen. Nineteen and a half?

After no small amount of time spent on the phone and some serious cyphering, I practiced making the correct segmented pieces using poster board and scissors, then moved on to using scraps of wood.

After a week of careful calculating and countless mathematical possibilities, I finally sawed twelve segments, all 1.57 inches at their longest cut on a 15 degree angle.

Miracles never cease and we're going to award Mississippi Brother Garry an honorary PhD in Patience from the University of Pentoga Road.

Our institution is fully unaccredited and the degree's not worth anything other than the paper it's printed on, but at least it conveys my appreciation.

My Inupiaq brother, Elmer, just turned 80! A documentary was recently completed by (I think) PBS about Elmer and the old Inupiaq traditions. Elmer asked last night for our address. He's sending a DVD so Sargie and I may enjoy an advanced viewing of the documentary.

Elmer and I were inseparable for years. My cabin in the arctic is standing on his land and his children and grandchildren call me Uncle Tom. During our years together, we shared an Eskimo's most important commodity, food. We laughed together, cried together, and most of all, spent hours talking, drinking coffee, and smoking pipes, as he taught me the ways of the Inpiaq and arctic Alaska. Most of all, he taught me about life.

Congratulations on your 80th, brother!

OK, as mentioned earlier, I'm going to begin my quarterly break away from the blog beginning Wednesday. There's little doubt that my fingers will eventually get itchy and I'll be back before we know it, well, unless I'm deemed a threat to the country and am permanently banned. 

You know, free speech and all that. Ask the people in China how that works for them.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...