The Finisher II and A Note to Ford

You may recall this post I did about finishing things. My first project was the thrifted table. I cleaned the sewing machine table, removed the machine, and spent 40 minutes trying to saw a board using a tiny handsaw to fit inside it as a shelf. I gave up sawing the board after Other Half made me see the futility of 40 minutes of work vs. four inches of sawed wood when my father has a perfectly nice table saw. "But I REALLY WANT to finish," I said desperately, calculating that I could be finished by 3 or 4 in the morning (tops.) He talked me out of it, and then moved the table upstairs so it can be my vanity (where I can open the window and survey the vast tracts of land behind my stately villa while applying MAC makeup and assessing the progression of what could be wrinkles, but most certainly are not, and all with natural light.)

The next day, I left work in search of soup for lunch after a morning spent at the dentist. As I was about to pull into the parking lot, I heard a giant CLUNK CLUINK CLUNK along with the usual grinding sound, and the car felt like it didn't want to move, as if the power steering had broken. I managed to park the car. Not knowing what else to do, I went into the soup place and ordered a cup of soup to go. I got back into my car. I sat there for about 10 minutes. Then, why not, I started it up to make it back to my office.

The CLUNK CLUNK CLUNK stopped once the car hit 25 mph. The horrible grinding, like someone had taken the belts in my car and replaced them with terrified robot cats, kept going. I tested the brakes and wouldn't you know, only the left side was working. It also sounded like some large hammer had broken free from the passenger's side and was hitting against the wheel, KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. I called up Other Half and we decided that if I could get the car home, that would be it, the end of the line.

Yes, for my second finishing project I FINISHED MY CAR.

I had wanted to surprise you all with some great picture of a NEW FANCY CAR ( you know, the kind without a hole) before I told you that my car died, but that's not what happened. What happened is that I drove home through rush-hour traffic on the side roads with my hazards on hoping and praying that the huge hammer (probably now with added sickle) wouldn't cause my car to catapult, kill me and some innocent, unlucky person whose only crime was thinking they could get a frozen yogurt at 5:00 on a Tuesday.

So we're down to one car...

Dear Ford,

I'd love to be yours....(read more.)