Sugar Bowl Past

For my parent’s 25th Wedding Anniversary (their “silver”) I decided to make them a solid sterling sugar bowl. I’d been taking silversmithing classes for a few years, and thought I was ready by my penultimate college semester. The process started with a few days sketching (often during Systems Science or archaeology class). Then I borrowed a car and went out to a precious metals foundry and bought the biggest piece of silver I’d ever acquired. It was a full square foot of 20 gage sheet metal in sterling. Plus a foot of quarter inch square bar. Silver was still slowly recovering from the Hunt Brothers, so it cost nearly a month’s rent. This was a big bite for me.

To begin the weeks of part time (art studio hours) smithing, I had to anneal and then face my big, flat, still-returnable sheet of metal. I held it in one hand on a stake, the five pound hammer raised up to my shoulder. I hesitated for the decisive moment.

Then I did smite it: “Bam!” No longer returnable. Oh well, onward…

Silver sugar bowl and spoon on copper standThis went on into fall finals, while I was taking a 21 hour course load to finish an engineering degree at a fairly high end university. The whole process was actual smithing: Pure hammer work, both cold forging and shell forming. Not a cast to be poured.  I turned in the finished object as my final project in silversmithing class.

My parent’s anniversary is between the winter solstice and the end of the calendar year (to make it harder for hackers to guess at security questions). I also made a batch of cookies, with a chocolate “25” embedded in a pale orange roll, so each sliced cookie had the number. It was my first attempt at such an embedded pattern two-tone cookie, so the shapes and sizes were a bit variable. But readable and tasty.

Anyway, the morning of their anniversary, I walked the snowy mile from my apartment to their house (convenient in-town college) carrying the cookies and artwork in my ratty backpack. They were not expecting me, nor my presents. After greetings and salutations, I pulled out the cookies and presented them on a silver-Mylar platter, and let them get past the initial “clever boy” sounds that always seemed so much to me like when a kindergarten presents a finger painting.

Then I pulled out the sugar bowl. Sure it’s weird. They didn’t know what to say. I think they appreciated the gesture. I suspect my father appreciated the form, and my mother the execution.

But as my own 25th wedding anniversary is imminent, this seemed an appropriate Object at Hand to share. I pulled it from the depths of a cabinet (where I stashed it after my last parent died almost a decade ago), dusted it, polished it up, and snapped some pictures on the kitchen counter using just natural light.

Several images of it below. The base is copper that I rolled into slightly tapering tubes from flat sheet metal. The black coating is copper sulfide (via liver of sulfur) then varnished. The pads are little bits of ebony wood. The spoon is hammered from a 1/4″ square bar of sterling, a process that I find soothing. I did not try to hide the reflected clutter, camera, or my face.

Click on a picture to see it larger.

Silver sugar bowl and spoon on copper stand

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A Chip Off the Old Stack

I recently dropped the memory card for my camera, and it split apart into 4 pieces. Two of them form the shell, the part most people are aware of. The tiny slider that allows a device to write to the card vanished; I scavenged one from an inferior card to replace it when I fixed this card, but that is not the point.

My Object at Hand today is that little circuit card, the actual memory for my fancy camera. I bought it a couple of years ago, making sure it was rated U3 (fast enough to record 4K video or a continuous stream of 20Mp jpgs at the rate of 60 per second). But this was not my point, either.

When I saw that little circuit board, the wrapper for the tinier chip of silicon inside, I had a personal memory flash of how many floppy disks it represented. Back before flash memory, some early digital cameras stored to a floppy disk.

My little 32GB card holds the same amount of data as a stack of about 88,000 5-1/4″ double sided, double density diskettes. These ruled through the early 1980’s, when the floppies actually seemed floppy.

If you aren’t old enough to remember those, you could picture it as a stack of about 22,700 3-1/2″ rigid “floppies” that took over in the later 1980’s. I managed to barely miss the era of 8″ floppies (some of which held almost as much data as the later 3-1/2″ floppies). Those were mainly used on pre-desktop computers.

After that, came optical media. This SD card could be copied onto only 44 CDR’s; those cost about $20 each when I first was using them in the early 90’s. Then came the DVD-R, of which only 7 would be needed.

And this is no longer considered a big SD card. As of today, one can buy a 2TB (2,000GB) card at most electronics outlets. My main computer hard disk is only 1TB (although I am thinking of upgrading).

So this was just a “back in my day, dadgummit” post.

Well Read Journey

Today’s Object At Hand is a book, Henry Reed’s Journey. I’ve probably read this book more often than any other (starting as a child). There is irony behind that: I was usually car sick as a child, thus hated actual travel. So, why would I so regularly read a book about an epic trans-American car trip?

Well, I first read this book in entirety when I was ten, and had discovered recreational reading and a nearby public library. Before that summer, reading was just something I did for information, or for school requirements.

The first time I read this book (selected pretty much at random), I recognized one chapter in it from when I had to read aloud in a group in third grade. Back then, kids were divided up into small groups based on reading skill, from brown, red, green, etc. up through silver and (my group) gold. The teacher used an anthology text, chapters from various sources. In this case, we third graders were reading stories (like this) meant for 12 year olds. But once we were reading at Junior High level, the reading circles ended. Fine with me; my mouth could never keep up with my reading speed. I was probably an unintelligible orator.

Anyway, there is a whole series of these Henry Reed books, and this is the second in the series. Once I discovered them at age 10, I re-read them each summer until I was old enough to feel foolish going up to the children’s section of the library.

So in the new millennium, well into my second marriage, and with many cross country road trips under my belt, I had a yen to read this book again. I got this copy on eBay and have resumed my childhood habit of reading it once each summer.

I still enjoy it. But now more for the nostalgia for the road trip world of the 1960’s than for the potential adventure it had evoked when I was young.

In for a Penny: A Father’s Day Memory

One of my early memories involves wheat pennies and Father’s Day. In 1965 my mother wanted to surprise my father with a hammock, for him to better enjoy his summer weekend afternoon naps. His birthday is in mid winter, so Father’s Day seemed the appropriate occasion. To this end, she had been saving the change from all household purchases for months. Back then, most retail transactions were in cash.

I remember her sorting the coins into rolls in the morning, and then taking my brother and me along to the department store (probably Sears at Crestwood Plaza) after lunch. My brother (13 months old) was in the stroller and not yet toddling. I remember her telling me (an undersized and solemn four year old) that this trip was a secret. We walked in to the garden department, where I absorbed the view of the patio tables and benches and colorful umbrellas from my point of view just below table height.

We waited by the display model of the canvas hammock, on its beige steel tube stand, with green longways stripes and white fringe hanging from the wood supported ends right at eye level. A salesman finally appeared, talked to my mother carefully (she had a pretty thick accent), and then fetched a big box with a picture of the same hammock on it. My mother carefully  counted out rolls of quarters, nickels, dimes, and pennies on to the glass counter by the register to pay for it.

Now a bit of back story: My mother had been coin-collecting wheat pennies for years, since the change to memorial backs in 1959. Carefully segregating them from the modern memorial back pennies. Unfortunately, she had not specifically labeled the “special” penny rolls kept in her desk drawer.

So it was some time after the Father’s Day-of-the-hammock that she discovered that her squirreled away special wheat-back penny rolls were gone, and that she had probably spent them on the hammock. It was a personal crisis for her, a loss that I could feel, and still sharply remember.

So today’s Object at Hand is the (no longer common) wheat penny. Every time I receive one, this memory flashes through my mind. And I also carefully stash them away, separate from the other copper pennies (as opposed to the zinc filled ones from 1982 through  the present).

Not a peeling

I made a little kitchen mistake the other day. Mein Frau and I were making a salad. My “job” was just to make carrot shavings with my new, fancy vegetable peeler. That is today’s Object at Hand.

I tried it on the top and the side of the carrot. But what worked best was using it below the carrot, so the peels dropped neatly into the bowl. But then I looked away for a second, probably to say something. I don’t really remember.

Sudden, sharp pain on the tip of my thumb! I pulled it away, and watched the newly corrugated corner of my thumb gloss over in red. I grabbed a tissue to staunch, and quickly left the room. You see, spousal is squeamish. I got a band-aid and applied it, and then returned to look for the missing piece of thumb. Just a chip of skin, mind you, shy of a centimeter across, and maybe 3mm thick at the center.

I found said remainder, and noted with my usual childish wonder, how the straight furrows on one side contrasted with the swirls on the other.

 

But my band-aid floweth over. And I considered that I had a reasonably well fitted patch for my now bare and exposed inner dermis. So I peeled off the soggy bandage, and slapped the chip over the divot. I tried to align the grooves, but I was hurrying, and reasonably confident that I would not get the orphaned structure to reunite. So quick trumped accurate.

Oddly, it started hurting less as soon as the skin covered the raw area. A fingertip band-aid (our last on hand) covered it and held it in place.

The next day, I had to consider how to bathe. We had no large finger-cots, nor convenient disposable gloves on had. So what did I find to put on my had? One of the 2×4″ bags that I use to hold some of the small items that MrTitanium sells.

After bathing, I took an “after” picture to show the crudely stuck-on bit of skin now protecting the sensitive area. I figure that it will probably come off in a few days, as new skin comes in from below.

 

Quality Depends on Good Communication

Well, I had to hire a contractor to do a job that was a bit too big for me, even when I am well. When that was done, he asked if there was anything else he could do. The exterior basement door was sticking because of some settling and the hinge screws getting loose in the wood after 125 years. I showed him the door and figured he would understand what was needed. Clearly, fill the holes with structural filler and adjust the shims. After all, he was a professional.

Oops.

I had to take a call from work and do a quick fix for them. Less than an hour later, I returned to find he’d smashed off (not unscrewed) the antique cast iron steam-age hinges and put some modern, thinner, plated, light weight hinges in the original mortises! He was about to shave off some of the wrong side of the door when I intercepted him. He left for lunch.

Aarghh! Had he checked with me, I would have explained that the hinges themselves were not the problem. And clearly he has no idea what the market is for genuine steam-age hardware in usable condition to restorers, collectors, and steam punk folks. So rather than just cry about split milk, I thought I’d fume about it here, and share a snapshot of the piece that I was able to pull out of the trash.

The Object at Hand is therefore the remains of this hinge from 1890.

Circumventing Darwin

I picked up a free flashlight from a cheap tool import shop. This handy, hand held Object at Hand is a flashlight, with a  warning label. 😀

To prevent serious Injury:

  1. Wear ANSI-approved safety goggles during use.
  2. People with pacemakers should consult their physican(s) before use. Electromagnetic fields in close
    proximity to heart pacemaker could cause pacemaker interference or pacemaker failure.
  3. Position batteries in Proper polarity and do not install batteries of different types, charge levels, or capacities together
  4. The brass components of this product contain lead a Chemical known to the State of California
    to cause cancer and and birth defects or other reproductive harm.

Let’s set aside that I went to Harbor Freight; I do know the quality of their tools. I’ve been mail ordering from them since they only had an outlet in California, over a decade before the Web.

But here we have a hand held flashlight that uses significantly less power than the old EverReady flashlights that we got for free with a two-pack of “D” batteries back when I was a kid. I’m old enough to have gotten the ribbed metal flashlights, before the orange plastic. Those rusted away when a battery leaked.

But the point is not about the flashlight, but about the silly warning label. Sure, I’ve seen the toaster oven warning not to use it in the tub. But these warnings are even more absurd:

Let’s begin with, safety goggles to use a flashlight? Really? This is not a laser pointer, nor does it have the capability to explode. The alkaline batteries that one would find in here cannot be made to explode unless you throw them in a pretty hot fire. Maybe the flexible plastic hook that swings out from the back could do eye damage during roughhousing?

Pacemakers? Granted, they probably use a switching power supply to boost the voltage for the LED matrix. That is, this device probably does produce a barely detectable electromagnetic field. Probably orders of magnitude less powerful than a cell phone. But technically it does produce some radio noise, and by law that means it must need a warning. I suppose.

Then there are several warnings about how to use batteries that I would have thought most kids old enough to read would already know. But what they don’t tell you is, What Kind of Batteries does it need?

And finally, because of California, a warning about the minute trace of lead one finds in brass. Brass is the group of copper alloys with 55-75% copper with most of the rest being zinc. As with any metal outside of the semi-conductor industry, it will have small traces of other elements, including lead. The (WAG) gram of brass in this flashlight would have up to about 0.004 grams of lead. (Here’s an actual analysis of some unspecified brass alloy). But that trace of lead is in there because the extreme chemical processes used to purify the copper and zinc were unable to get the lead out. What are the odds that anything you could do would extract any measurable amount of it?

IMHO, this warning label is somewhere between specious and laughable. Yet apparently required by law in California. Good luck to those members of our species who may need it.


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