Oh Gracious Galoots,
I weren't payin'
proper attention as I was perusing the offerings in my Digested
Old Tools. Somebody was shakin' their head ruefully at the
finest plane ever offered this side of the Great War!
Being follicly challenged I am unable to shake my head ruefully
and might not if I could. It sounds slightly obscene and
besides if I shake my head - ruefully or not - about the only
thing that happens is the sawdust and woodshavings which are
stuck to yesterday's lunch in my flavor saver and my beard reach
critical mass and sometimes ruefully, maybe it's ruefully after
I think of it, and they go flyin' through the ether and land on
my belly. They stay there for a long time unless I get a
reason to move.
That brings me
back to that dainty-fied, gender-appropriately-whipped,
ultra-disgusting, cheap guitar finish looking plane which d&*n
near made me choke and drop that classically fried piece of
chicken/chook onto my keyboard!
Last time I saw
a $650 "for sale" sign on a tool it took 4 of us to load it on
the truck and there was beer money left over to boot. I'm
sittin' here gaggin' and frothin' until I realized that it
wasn't just an ordinary plane.
It was a French somethin'
or another. There was this pretty French word , let's see,
I think it was PetitPoutlailier - that's close - and no disrespect
to the French language. But, once I figured it was a
PetitPoul... that I had obviously misunderstood the ad. My
French is a little rusty, but I believe that translates as a
short French person will deliver this tool by train to your
location. With the weakened state of the dollar French
people just don't go around deliverin' this stuff for nothin'.
But, then you
gotta tip them $15. It don't matter much if'n that's Canuck,
Real French or the Almighty Dollar.
I was sorta put
out that there was only one of these planer tools to be had.
Mostly for the entertainment value, what I really wanted to see
just how many people really could be had! I suspect this
would be like shootin' fish in a barrel in some circles.
The picture-takin' sorta reminded me of the last Robert Redford
movie that he made, it was all swathed in this soft golden glow
so you couldn't see his Liver Spots, but it all kinda reminded
you of Fall in a spent Cornfield. You get so busy bein'
tuned into the golden light and the possibility of a celestial
visitation that you forget that you came to see the main
All I know is
that I ain't ever gonna be the same after this. I'm a
sorry excuse for a Quaker and they might "read me out" of
Meeting if they figured I'd really leave, but where I was goin'
with this is that I haven't fired a gun in 4 decades, but I got
a bunch of blunderbusses around here - high brass paper 10 gauge
shells. I am going to sit in the basement tonight - armed
- and guard those PetitPoutlaliers that I always thought was
your basic run-of-the-mill Stanley planes, until I can get to
the bank and rent me a bunch of strong boxes and put these
things away for posterity and the fruit of my looms, my adult
Paul in Normal