The Northward Contrail

Almost there

Last night the O-47 got its primer coat, and I was relieved to find very few areas need finessing before the finish coats go on. The O-52 is more complicated, but I believe with a little bit of work and a little bit of luck, it may make the deadline. The odds are better at the moment for the O-47, but you never know. I screwed something up on the lower observation windows, but I think I've figured out a way to fake a repair, so it should all work out.

The other bit of effort involved the decals for both, but that was knocked out last night in about 90 minutes of effort in Illustrator. They're not perfect, but they'll certainly do, and between the kits' decals and the stuff I worked up they'll look better than average when they're done.

The only real variable is finding the time to get it done. Today's goofy in that regard, as I basically spend five hours sitting in my office not doing much other than babysitting. I have a few grading tasks, but they shouldn't take that long. I'd take an early out today, but I'm obliged to be present during posted hours. I'll probably take a half-hour around lunchtime to walk to the post office, sure, but most of today will be spent sitting there flying my desk for hours on end. At least the term's almost over, and with the exception of a weeklong trip, the brief respite to come will be all mine.

Cautious optimism

I managed to get through a couple hours' work on the O-47 and O-52 without inflicting further injury on myself. That's good. It's also helped by the fact they're mostly buttoned up now, and just about where I want them to be in the construction process. The O-47 has its big greenhouse of a canopy in place. The O-52 has that goofy high wing with a clear part over the top, with two thin spars holding the wings together, and because of the way the kit's engineered I must do some intricate fitting and shimming and filling before I can paint the thing.

It's been a while since I've had to do so much to a kit, and the O-52 in particular is a refresher course in a lot of things I haven't had to do in a while. For instance, the actual O-52 has leading edge slats that are visible when the aircraft is at rest. The Pavla kit has a hard wing. Some people wouldn't be bothered by that, but I am, for I notice these things. I therefore have had to carve slat channels in the leading edges (a task requiring a motor tool, some files and a very steady hand) and make slats from thin plastic. The result I've come up with is not perfect and perhaps not exactly accurate, but it's an improvement regardless.

It's all a reminder of how much I simultaneously love and hate these little limited-run kits, especially the ones in 1:72. I look at the box art and I get excited by the obscure, offbeat subjects. I fondle the plastic and think about how neat the little kit is, and how some of the solutions to the problems of low-pressure injection molding are actually sort of neat. Then I start building, and realize there are fit problems and shapes that are off and details that aren't there, and that some of those ideas that are neat on paper are a pain in reality.

On the other hand, these little kits - especially in 1:72, which is secretly my favorite scale - can be addicting. When you solve a problem or beat a tricky fit issue, you feel like you've won a battle. And few other kits are as rewarding when you've completed them. You don't get the same satisfaction from a Tamiyagawa wonderkit - sure, those are a lot of fun to build, but they're so well-engineered and really have no guesswork to them, and therefore the pleasure you get from one of those is different. But complete one of those little limited-run kits, solve a few problems along the way, and you feel you've climbed a mountain. As aggravated as they can make me, I'm excited I have more of them in my stash.

$#*@&%!

For the last few nights I've been working rather industriously to get one of these and one of these completed for an event that's coming up Saturday morning. I'd had the kits for years, because airplanes that ugly look cute to me, but the thing that's coming up gives me an excuse to get them built.

Things were going reasonably well until Sunday, when a moment of fumble with my hobby knife sent it out of my hand, pointy end down, into a fleshy part of my lap. Not very far, and not enough to cause serious injury, but just enough to make me bleed for a bit. I did the first-aid stuff: stop the bleeding (elevating the wound above heart level), clean the wound and put a bandage on it. Inconvenience, but no permanent damage. Just to be safe, I went to the doctor Monday and had a new tetanus shot. It had been a little more than nine years since my last, so it was a good idea anyway, but I wanted to take no chances after that moment of oops.

Last night I'm upstairs working away on a troublesome little area on that Owl (and, believe me, there are several). It's hard to explain, but for one second just the edge of the tip pad of the middle finger on my right hand tried to occupy the same space as the very edge of that brand new #11 blade. Anyone who's ever worked with those knives knows that, especially with a new #11 blade, it takes no pressure at all. It was only a shallow, grazing cut, but the pain was instant (and still makes me physically cringe when I think of it) and the bleeding was profuse. I stood up, finger wrapped in a paper towel, and in frustration yelled a short but incredibly bad word at the top of my lungs. Downstairs to do the medic deal (after pacing around for several minutes for the blood and pain to subside, at one point soccer-kicking the mattress because I was so mad). But nothing I haven't been through before. The bleeding stopped and the pain subsided, and now I have a finger wrapped in gauze and tape.

A little while later, I went back upstairs. The first thing I did was remove the blade from that knife - it was, after all, the same demon blade that caused Sunday's carnage, and as a friend pointed out, it obviously had developed a taste for blood - and discard it. I worked a little more last night without further damaging myself, so there's some hope, I suppose. And I've thought more than once that Monday's tetanus shot couldn't have been more timely.

Happiness

Happiness is being inside a warm house in the woods on a cold, rainy night.

Happiness is being on the couch with a warm cup of coffee, a good new book in your lap, and a purring cat snuggled next to you.

Happiness is the really cool guy in the next room, the one with whom you share your life.

Happiness is a doctor telling you there's no need to schedule another appointment, because you've conquered what was ailing you.

Happiness is knowing that on the last day of the week, a debt you've had for seven and a half years will be paid in full.

Happiness is completing the final lecture for the course. Taking up final projects. Starting to calculate course grades. And knowing that when the new semester starts, you'll be past halfway on the school year.

Happiness is knowing that regardless of whether you get the promotion, you put your all into the materials you submitted - and knowing that although you're the type who would never say it out loud, you're good at what you do.

Happiness is knowing there's a new and exciting challenge waiting, only a couple months away, and that it's going to be fun.

Happiness is knowing that although there's still a lot you'd enjoy having, the things in life that are truly important are those with which you're blessed in abundance, those which make your cup runneth over.

My life's imperfect. But in its own imperfect way, it's perfect, and it has an awful lot of happiness. I wouldn't trade it.

Back to it

This morning I'll be back in the office, somewhat reluctantly, but at least knowing there's not that much left to go. It was a wonderful five days. I got two somewhat troublesome models in shape for possibly being completed this week. I got the majority of my Christmas shopping done, either online or in person. While out and about Wednesday morning I treated myself to a copy of this, and read the entire beast over the five-day weekend. (The rave reviews are justified. I don't read fiction, but I all but devoured this book. It's amazing.)

Thanksgiving itself was nice, and everything I hoped it would be. The family was together, there was no shortage of stuff to eat (as the Thursday evening bloat attested), and it was all fun. We didn't dare attempt doing anything Friday, for the obvious reason. Saturday we just went and had lunch in the nearest little town, and that was sufficient. I got to spend a lot of time with hubby, which I hadn't in a long time, and that was nice.

It was a wonderful little bit of time off, and I believe I made the most of it and enjoyed it the best I could. Which, of course, makes it all the more difficult to get back to the old routine this morning. At least I have the satisfaction of knowing it was time well spent.