Current mood:

accomplished

I Am Inordinately Proud of Myself Right Now
I have books. I am, however, a cheap bastard, so I've never invested in "nice" bookshelves. As a result, I sometimes fashion plywood shelving and not bother to finish it because it is, after all, plywood, or out of desparation I spring for some Ikea monstrosity and call it good. Sadly, because these are Ikea monstrosities, I never buy enough shelves for my books, leaving most of them in boxes in the attic. I vowed long ago to actually do as my sister and brother-in-law do, buy nice wood and take some time with all the power tools I have cluttering the garage, but I don't. Why? Again, I am cheap.

Almost a year ago a solution got dumped on my lawn by a good friend. You might remember that I mentioned getting some old lath and having to tap out the nails. Well, before that, this same friend brought by "some old paneling" he was ripping out of the walls. I said, "Sure, dump it here."

When the wood arrived, however, I was astounded. This was indeed old paneling, but it was also great freakin' wood, 3/4" tongue-and-groove knotty pine from the 1940s, fairly tight grain and with a minimum of abuse. For starters, I finished a bunch of it with another friend's planer and, just for chuckles, paneled a corner of a little room we seldom use. Next, I got busy with the sketch pad and the tools.

The result:

Shelves!

I know, I know, it's a weird design. Mostly that's intentional. By making a rigid corner shelf I appease The Wife's insistence that we secure shelves (we live in an active fault zone, after all). The tripod design stabilizes the unit nicely.


Rigid Corners!

Those 45 degree joints are solid, fixed with pocket screws. In fact, the whole assembly used pocket screws. While I am a bit chagrined I couldn't find an adjustable shelf level fastener system with my weak building skills and shallow pockets, the amazing rigidity pocket screws produce makes up for it. The thing is not going anywhere.

And now, I direct your attention to something I'm sure caught your attention in the first picture. Has it been photoshopped to include a box in the middle?


No, There is a Box

That is another little touch that will come in handy. You see, shelves should have build details that seem impractical. Then one can find a purpose for the impracticality, and it all seems natural. All one needs is an artifact that fits the box.


Purple Glass Heads need homes, too.

Once it's there, it becomes a very, very useful place for stuff that has never had a place in the traditional home.


A Headset, Set on a Head . . . The Headset Head Set.

I do confess that my build is fairly simple by my family's standards. The wood, while in pretty good shape for firewood, did have nicks and gouges, old nail holes and the like. I like that, actually. It shows that the wood had humble beginnings before its re-purposing. It gives the shelves a history new, perfect wood just wouldn't have. No, my pride lies not in building the damn thing, but in the fact that I built the damned thing. . . and finished it! Trust me, around this house, that's a rarity!

*It's funny. My brother-in-law the woodworker is not married to my sister the woodworker, but to my other sister. Woodworking sister serves as a project manager overseeing telephony IT projects by day, and builds stuff out of wood the rest of the time. She also designed her house, just like Mom did decades ago. Brother-in-law builds wood stuff for a living. High-end wood stuff. He got back from California a few months ago. His aunt introduced him to some of her friends -- all with way too much money, and many who get that money in front of cameras -- and came back with probably over a year's worth of orders for custom furniture. Here's a table he built.


What real woodworkers make.

He made that Escher pattern with rare-hardwood marquetry. All joins are by hand, with only glue used to secure. Only the pull is metal.

Still, I take some solace in the fact that he probably had to buy his wood.