Hi Pete,

Once upon a time my lathe was in a clear and unfettered space at the
open end of a two car garage. It was obviously the king of machine
tools. The king and I could turn and sweep up and generally mess around
with no lesser tools and gear to bother us.


To make tool sharpening gear too close to ignore, the grinding wheel
insisted on being moved in near the headstock. A stray wolverine took up
with it and if not tied close to the grinder would snap at my backsides.
An exhaust fan stood on its right to take over the back of the lathe
bench and a window fan with air condx filters insisted on being seated
up front so it could blow the dust about the entire garage. It did agree
to sit in the back, just not very far back.

Vacuum and air pressure hoses, dust exhaust pipes and 220 volts came
traipsing down from the balcony where the garage door opener had once
lived alone. A heavy steady hung by a pulley from a ceiling joist. We
thought about hanging an overhead lift, but never did because we used
its space for a huge overhead operating room light. I'm glad we didn't
add the lift since our big blank days are a faded memory.

The turning tools and turning accessories resided happily on their
movable cart and had easy access to the king. It wasn't long before the
cart was hemmed in with no room to move. The king wasn't pleased.

Extension cords, a broom, a big dust pan a lidded garbage can and a hand
truck all hung around near the king. The cords sometimes were crass
enough to get under foot. Several ready to turn blanks were always
waiting nearby. They planned to move out to the backyard, but never did.
Discarded sandpaper, greasy kitchen paper and a can or two of dried tung
oil had the temerity to lie on the end of the lathe bed or sit on the
bench while they 'temporarily' waited and waited and waited, to leave
the building.

I have tried several times to restore the once green, elegant and
pristine environment around the lathe to its once safe, unwarmed natural
glory, but each time the remaining one car garage became a no car
garage. My wife wasn't pleased.

I reckon the king and I are commoners and slobs at heart so now the
lathe is covered with dried lacquer, glue and chips, my face mask is
clouded and my shirt is dirty with pockets full of chips.

Somehow, we both seem not to mind our mess. We hope that at least it
shows that whether or not we do it well, we actually do turn wood.


Turn to Safety, Arch
Fortiter


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