last man standing

Or at least it felt like that in the shop today. A string of illnesses, bizarre and otherwise, of shopsters (as we like to call ourselves), or mates and friends of shopsters, or every private client wanting tunings or work done, has left me fending for myself. And at 9:30am I was informed a not finished piano was being picked up for delivery at noon. Our re-finisher was there madly working away. Can you help me he me said? Sure. One of our tuners showed up and I handed him a job I had never done before but was about to attempt, in favor of doing the job I had done once before. Three hours later, after a lot of screw buffing, lid assembly, lyre assembly, bench assembly, and a nasty squeak in the soft pedal the piano was actually together. And of course the movers didn't show up for another hour. It's a good thing I practice yoga, for both physical and mental health. I'm pretty limber crawling under pianos. And breathing deeply was the order of the day. When I did a Google search of how many parts are in a piano some one came up with a number of 8088. Now does that count the felt bag with the three short sticks and the three caster cups I sent off with the mover today?

30 year benchmark

Welcome the first day of spring, and our 30 year wedding anniversary. Awhile ago Mike said he had a truly unique gift for me for this occasion and he was right. I don't know anyone else who has their own benchmark.

what is the meaning of this photo?

Any guesses?

Well I will explain. This is our old paper towel holder. Our shop kitchen recently received a bit of a remodel. Some of it well appreciated, we have a lovely new toaster oven, a new dish drainer, and with a rearrangement more counter space. But we got spiffed up just a little too much. The new and proper paper towel holder and paper towels lasted one day past the party and now resides under the counter awaiting the next party. And the dish soap lives on the counter at the ready. We have taken a stand that we are a shop.

my first piano party

These are the two pianos, a Steinway Model L and a Steinway Model B, from the 1920's. We've pushed everything out of the way to feature these full restorations. And we have a piano out in the hallway well along it's way to completion, and two more, playable, but not complete in cell one next door. This involved much pushing and shoving.

This is our "belly room", as it is called, kind of our space under the bed. Much machinery and tools got relocated.

We bring in Yahirha, known as the "tornado". This woman is fearless, and fast, don't get in her way. And the clean windows are being enjoyed.

We all needed a calm break, and Douglas sat down to play, while Rhys and Grant listened.

Soon we were into another round of work, setting up the bar, and then the all important food.

The setting sun was there to start welcoming our guests, and we could get ready to enjoy some music.

The owners of the Steinway B, in the middle and the far left seemed to be enjoying themselves.

And I didn't have to wear a name tag, thanks to my lime green bowling shirt, which I only wear on very special occasions.

some of my favorite photos from 2011

  The Owens  River in April

  A garden party

 Yellow Creek, with Java Rhumba coffee

  My dragonfly on a gladiola

 

 September bicylist on the eastside of the Sierra

 Douglas replacing a broken string on the Bosendorfer Imperial

the lightning field

Walter De Maria 1977 installation   This was the subject of a book and a lecture yesterday at the Berkeley Art Center by Kenneth Baker. Two things, the four of us who attended have lived in or around Berkeley for too many years to even mention and none of us had been to the center. And I expected Kenneth Baker (art critic) to be this stuffy, snooty individual. In fact he was funny, casual, and a very good speaker. The four of us were all aware of the Lightning Field, and had looked into a visit. At the end of the lecture we realized that none of us had any interest in going and spending the $150-$250 per person a night. That, in fact, we didn't need to. Evidently it really doesn't even attract lightning. Although the rather reclusive artist will not speak of his "motive" behind the piece, Kenneth Baker had his own ideas. One of those ideas was the connection of earth and sky, and the purpose of a visit was to observe the sun falling and rising. The four of us realized we have spent enough time outside in landscapes that deeply connect us to the natural world and have witnessed the expansive skies that keep us going back to experience these relationships. And we all like lightning. Mike had a theory that maybe the reason De Maria won't talk about it was the failure as a lightening attractor. But the lecture was interesting, thought provoking, and it got us out of the house and into the art world. We joined for a potluck dinner afterwards and kept the discussions going.

I've included this photo taken on the upper Owens River September 2011. While I was standing on the hill with my camera, the clouds were getting blacker, and Mike was out on the river, fishing rod in hand. When a large clap of thunder echoed over our heads, he decided perhaps, standing with a lightning rod in his hand was not a good idea, and I thought being on the top of the hill was also a little fool hardy. We never saw the lightning, but I am sure it was close.

women in shops

Over the course of my life I have been in many shops, but this is the first time I have worked in one. Shops could be cabinet, furniture, automotive, machine, piano or upholstery. There is a different atmosphere than an office space, usually a collection of machines, tools, work benches, along with a collection of dust, grease, scraps of fabric. My shop is like that. There are special tools associated with pianos, as well as an array of power equipment, large and small. It has a sense of order unto it's own. And in my experience the inhabitants are predominantly men. But not all. I know several female woodworkers in Building 14, all very competent at their trade. There is a balance of maintaining femininity while not being a girl. Sometimes you just have to get dirty, and sometimes you have to ask for help lifting something. My shop is unusual in that baked goods are brought in more often by men than by me. But the touch of a woman is often needed, because for some reason we just seem to be able to find things when men can't. A slight hard edge is needed though to survive in a shop. Temperatures can be cold, or hot. A certainly level of dirtiness just has to be accepted or no work gets accomplished. Women who survive in shops probably have a certain sense of independence, will go camping, can fix their own computers, and don't worry about their finger nails. Someday I'm going to sit down with Liz, and Dixie, and Kerry, and discuss all this.

bead blasting

This is our bead blaster. It is exceptionally large, having two stations and two bead blasting guns inside. We have decided the ideal height to use this machine would be 5'8", or roughly half way between Steve and my heights. Steve is too tall and has to bend over to see in the window. I have to stand on a box. Now standing on a box is difficult in that there is a foot control to activate the blowing of the beads. So the foot control has to stand on the box too. And when I move from side to side I have to move the box with me. But none of us are 5'8", and blasting has fallen into my job classification. The main thing we blast is the stack, or "action frame".  It is the width of the keyboard and extremely unwieldy, making the job a challenge. I am developing my technique however. I am realizing that the key to shop work is developing techniques.

My project this week was to sift the beads that have all ended up in the hoppers on the bottom of the blasting cabinet, remove the debris and then add more beads. This has not been done in awhile, judging from the job labels I found in the sifting. I developed my technique for this too. And given the weight of the sifted beads, Steve was called in to help me pour the beads back into the blaster. This was actually an amusing scene, because we both were wearing respirators, and I was trying not to laugh at the piece of paper towel he had stuffed on top of his nose because the spare respirator had some sticky substance in the nose piece. I think maybe our respirators could use some sifting.