At last count I have somewhere above thirty unique user names and passwords to remember that I can’t retain so a regular routine for me is password reset. Each time I build a new highly secure password that is so good I can’t remember it later. When you live on a planet infested with people who take what isn’t thiers, it’s one of the unavoidable annoyances.

So now, a half hour after I began, I’ve thrashed my way into the blog. That’s a very nice improvement, cutting the usual time in half.

My brother and I did some swapping tonight. I took him the new garage door opener that it turned out I didn’t need because all that was wrong with mine was a stripped plastic gear set that I replaced for $35. I brought home his boat and car shelter that he really never used. Fair trade.

He had a couple of little trinkets in his showcase that I recognized instantly. Both were carvings that I’d done in bone thirty eight years before. Dad must have had them in his collection of artifacts. He was the one who introduced me to the dremel tool when I was in high school. Not many years before, dad had a hobby that was popular at the time that involved carving coins to turn them into pendants. It was legal to modify the coins for jewelry. Mostly people would remove the space around either the head of a dime or penny.

Even though I was in my teens, I still made little craft trinkets for my father

The bunk house and forest where I lived with full moon. Carved from bone. Probably from an elk. that died in the woods.

Sports car, plant, date, and a TV screen. The staples of life in those days! The holes are for mounting it somewhere

This is the other side of the one with the sports car and little weed

My pleasure was to make pendants from bone that I sourced from a bone-in dinner roast or scavanged from the woods. A couple of times I found leg bones among the boulders. I brought them home, cleaned them up, and boiled them. Then I made crochete hooks and other interesting items.

Two of them are in my hand tonight. They were just for fun. I discovered that the bone carved up nicely and could be polished smooth with a felt wheel and red rouge.

One carving shows the little bunk house that was my bedroom the last year of high school. Behind it see tall trees and the moon. In front  was a little plant that never seemed to grow. As I told Marty, the inspiration may have been a long walk I had to take as my reward for helping someone find their way after not letting her help me lose mine.

A girl I’d been acquainted with since she was 14 had come out to see me in my fathers forest home where I was trapped with no working vehicle of my own a few months before I left for art school. By then she was gloriously arrayed in the visual perfection of her young adulthood and was a stunning beauty. Her features were an exquisite blend of Chamorro, Spanish, and Japanese and her voice was so beautifully feminine that it would be impossible to improve upon. I think she didn’t drive out for a casual visit, so when she failed to meet her objectives with me, though not for lack of effort on her part, she asked for directions to the freeway. Somehow she just could not seem to retain or understand me, so I rode with her the ten miles and she let me out and drove away, stranding me far from home. I walked back under a full moon, finally reaching the house in the early hours of morning.

Most of the way through those hilly country roads  illuminated by the gigantic lunar orb was a solitary quiet walk. Few vehicles drove past. I had the road to myself. In the weeks after, I painted a little picture of me making that same trip in a Lotus Europa. One can dream.

In fact I did buy a vehicle soon there after: a hulking 1959 GMC Pickup truck with notable features which made good story material later.

My first truck

The relief carving of my then home sweet home was patterned after the walk where quite often the moon was centered over a road which seemed to cut through a wall of tall firs. In Simon and Garfunkle’s song, the moon rose over an open field and I sang the lyrics out loud as I walked.

The other pendant actually has the standard little sports car of the day depicted coming right at you with it’s little mouth and round headlights aimed your way.  I was and still am smitten by the XKE look. That explains why I drove a Fiat 859 Sport Spyder to college.

A seriously likeable car that I wish I’d held on to. Engine slightly larger than the ones on lawnmowers

The pendant design also has a plant of some sort. I don’t recall the significance but I would not be surprised to learn that it had something to do with an herb or that little field of radishes that I planted all on the same day rather than staggering them. They all ripened at the same time too and I was intent upon consuming them in total, which was a lamentable attempt.

The year is carved into that side of the pendent. 1976.

The other side has symbolic wings, a sword, and my dad’s name and initials. I’m sure I made them just for fun with the intent of gifting them to dad so there is no deep meaning in any of the imagery.

He and I did share interests and carving little art works was one. A couple of years after I did the little bone artifacts, I followed dad into the trades, working a dozen years in metal shops mostly welding. Tonight I brought home his welding hood. It’s a strictly old school heavy fiberglass Jackson hood, like the one I used when doing seriously hot welds. When you’re laying down a smouldering puddle from 1/8″ flux core, these hoods protect your face from the intense heat. I never trusted the “new” quick change lenses that were nearly clear then instantly darkened when an arc was struck. And yes, I know that all moulten metal is hot, but know this – there’s a huge difference between the lava-flow puddle of structural steel production welds where the metal is literally poured as the metal penetrates deeply  and the cute little precision TIG welds where you’re deftly fingering in bare wire where the melted metal is just large enough to do the delicate join. For that, I still have my Huntsman paper hood. Dad didn’t TIG weld. His jobs called for the gritty, manly environment where a Jackson hood held up to the abuse. So now, I have the hood collection. His, with the hard hat as part of the suspension. Mine, no hard hat. And my wee little huntsman with “if it is to be its up to me” or “strictly top of the line at all times” written on the rim with tiny white letters.

As dad would have done with this hood, I positioned the electrode with the hood up and when ready to strike an ark, a nod of the head brought the entire hood down and the fun began. The lens lets just the perfect amount of light through so that the puddle can be monitored and directed. It’s also good for witnessing solar eclipses. When I flip up that lens, I find what appear to be prescription lenses where the safety plastic is installed.

Dad’s heavy duty Jackson welding hood with prescription safety glass

The flip down lens is in place for welding. These are also great for watching solar eclipses. Note the leather. That’s an add on by the user.

To affix the leather without stressing the helmet, he made a backing strip.

We liked to add a flap of leather to our hoods. As usual, dad’s method was unambiguously permanent. The flap was instrumental in saving him from a neck burn. Welding is bright like full sun. We often had a little red triangle burned in to our necks where light could get through despite all our efforts.

While examining the new treasures, I had what must certainly be a once the rest of my lifetime experience. I dined on chile that dad made scant days before he got tangled up in the car wreck that took his life. He dated it and stuck it in the freezer. Now I have some good ideas for my own chile. His was pretty good.

Thanks dad! You’re a good cook, as your meals reminded me many times. Who’d have ever thought he’d fix me dinner months after he’d left us!

The last meal from dad. Freezers be blessed!

I hope I follow his lead in this other thing that he did: no bad memories. I can’t think of a mean thing he ever did.

I also took a my brother a print of a recent sketch I’d done of dad. We agree that it conveys him well. Memories are a good thing.

Dad, at my age

Dad left on good terms.