Adding a pipe onto an axe or sledgehammer does two great things- adds a little more weight, and helps to extend the life of the handle. Missing and hitting the axe near the head puts a ton of stress on the handle, this protects it.
I also built up the bottom edge, which had worn away, with TIG welds, and then ground it back into shape.
Playing with Adobe Illustrator. Gotta love vector images.
When a shoulder bolt and a ball stud love each other very much…
Laser cut, hand painted.
creative, and smart, I’m also witty, charming, and super humble.
My husband is a bit of a city boy, which often brings some bits of amusement into my life. This particular conversation about eggs jumps out…
Michael insisted that “you don’t need to refrigerate them, they come out of the chicken hot.”
This is technically true, if you don’t wash the protective film off and they have never been refrigerated. But I think the subtlety of that was lost on him based on his next statement.
“I know, I know… Chickens are cold blooded.”
It kept getting better. Weeks later, the following happened as we sat in the food court at the mall.
“What is feta made from?”
“Cheese.” I wouldn’t disagree if someone were to diagnose me as a smartass.
“From what animal?”
“I dunno. Cow. Goat. Chicken.”
“Chickens don’t give milk. ”
“I don’t know that you know that. You thought chickens were cold blooded. ”
“Birds are cold blooded. They are amphibians. There’s more than one kind of cold blooded.”
I’m kinda curious how many kinds of cold blooded that there are.
If you want to communicate effectively, you have to be very clear. If you want to communicate artistically, the rules are a little more
confused
lost
sideways
sidewalks
sliding down
broken dreams
run for your life
if you ever had one
and ever will.
After her husband refused to join us at the buffet, Krista explained how he was a picky eater. “He only wants to eat healthy stuff.”
My father is always prepared to unleash his deadpan wit. “I can tell you right now, that chicken I ate wasn’t healthy. It was dead.”
My mom shows my sister and I an ad of a young woman in a tiny blue bikini with dangly fringe. “That’s gonna be my swimsuit this year.”
I stare blankly at her. “Okay.”
She steps back, grinning with exasperation. “It was supposed to be a joke, it’s funny, laugh!”
“I’m trying to not make assumptions about your comfort level with your body.”
That got laughs.
(But not for me)
This is the second time that my birthday has been celebrated with the castration of animals.
I brought Frankie in to the vet and asked what kind of dog she thought he was. She pondered for a moment, before declaring “Heinz 57. If you want, we can make something up. Call him a Bavarian Hopslinger.” That sounds like an employee at a brewery to me.
Rexicorn 