Time for a house project.
Making a pair of planter boxes for my wife. Using Black Locust because I read somewhere it is an excellent wood for withstanding the elements. Since the style of finger joints I’m using require 5/8” fingers, thought it best to remove most the waste for the fingers with the bandsaw and fretsaw before going to the router table.
Now all the router bit has to do is remove a small amount to leave me with nice fitting finger joints. And moreover, since I need to work with 35” long boards, figured better chance of precise cuts and no flying boards if the router bit isn’t working too hard.
Summary: The five stages of grief include denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.
Your eyes flutter open and as your brains begin to connect the dots, a giant grin grows on your face. You bounce upwards, immediately drawing back the blue curtains of your window and instantly a spear of sunshine blinds your eyes.
Opening the latch, you’re hit with a breath of fresh air and the scent of fresh soil. You can hear the buzzing of honeybees and chirping chickadees from their nests. You smile at the blooming daisies in your planter box, fresh dew rolling off the leaves. Dandelions litter your lush, green lawn and you wonder why your father has it so unkept. But none the less, you feel re-energized for a new day.
The angel comes outside quietly. The door sighs closed behind him, and his feet barely rustle the welcome mat.
It’s a cool, moonless night. The sky is patchy with grayish clouds and a lazy breeze is circling the motel’s parking lot. Mary is sitting on the narrow planter-box underneath their room’s window; tufts of bluestar and columbine are bristling against her back. Mud is caked on the soles of her brand new boots. They cost Dean close to a hundred dollars ─ enough for two weeks’ worth of groceries in 1981.
Castiel’s shadow cuts a wide stripe across the uneven, concrete path leading to the vending machines. Mary studies him for a moment, frowning at his unkempt hair and his shapeless coat. He has blood on his collar ─ Dean’s blood ─ and he needs a shave. In the last fourteen hours, Mary has seen him steal a car, knock a federal agent unconscious, and level an entire warehouse. He stabbed another angel, and he beat a man half to death to get information about Sam. He also rescued Dean from a Men of Letters ambush. He carefully healed Dean’s wounds, and he hovered beside Dean’s bed until Dean finally drifted off to sleep.
Dean had called Castiel a friend back at the bunker, but his voice had caught as he said it. Mary suspects it’s more complicated than that ─ that things between them haven’t always been easy. She asked Dean how they met, but Dean just grumbled and shrugged and changed the subject. Then two Men of Letters goons showed up and tried to stuff them into a van.
A train whistle breaks the awkward silence. Mary rests her elbows on her knees and says, “An angel. If my father was still alive, he’d owe me five dollars.”
“You believed?” Castiel asks quietly.
“I wanted to.” Mary had been raised as a hunter, and her parents had descended from families of hunters. As a child, she hadn’t questioned their interpretations of the lore, but as a teenager, it had seemed unfair for Hell to be real if there wasn’t a Heaven to balance it out. “You aren’t quite what I pictured.”
Pallet Planter Boxes revisited. I built these planter boxes on Mother’s Day as a last-minute gift and didn’t have time to put the liners in them. before they where hollow and had to be filled from the ground up with soil. this will make it easy to swap out several potted flowers through the season. should look nice.
the fence is coming along as well. more to come there.