My name is Bob Methelis and this is my blunder:

A NEWBIE'S TALE

After a lifetime of limiting manual work to changing light bulbs (while mumbling "Right is Tight and Left is Loose") and calling repairman, yours truly decided woodworking would be a fine hobby to carry into the retirement years. At the tender age of 51, the corporate business world said, "Bob, take this super early retirement incentive package, 18 months of full salary, and be gone with ya'." Not being hard of hearing -- this was pre-router whine, shop vac roar and radio blare -- my head said, "Hmmm, maybe you could keep your job and escape downsizing for nine more years or take the package now, not work, and get retirement pay as though you had worked 9 more years.”

Not wanting anyone to think badly of my dearly departed mother as a breeder of idiots (savant or otherwise), I said, "Oh, great financial empire, I beseech thee. Give me the money; I can find the door myself." And it was done.

With a pocketful of advanced salary, a working wife, a Woodworkers Warehouse and five Home Depots nearby, a kazillion catalogs and a score of books and magazines, I will become a gentleman woodworker.

Soon I discovered that I probably would not be able to match the colonial cherry Queen Ann pieces in our bedroom. So maybe my first project shouldn't be a Queen Ann highboy with cabriole legs, carved shells and inlays.

How about an Adirondack chair?? It's big and sturdy and, with all the woodworking I will do, I will be able to add "sturdy" to my self-description.

Plans, plans and more plans for Adirondack chairs. At last I found Jake's Chair, designed by a certain Tom Gauldin, a Renaissance man who went by the handle of "Scoundrel.” By the way it is a GREAT chair - comfortable and good looking.

After much sawing, swearing, drilling, swearing, routing, swearing, screw-drivering, and some swearing, the chair was built! Now, to make it look "professional," I countersunk, puttied or doweled everyone of the almost 100 screw holes. Much sand papering, primer and two coats of a glossy forest green oil enamel that would make Ireland's 40 Shades of Green envious; the work was complete!

"Come, working wife of mine. Come admire me and what I have created!" And indeed, it did look mighty spiffy. "Now, dearly beloved, bend to and we shall carry it onto its rightful place on our deck. There I shall languish and praise the corporate reorganization that brought me here!"

Ooops, the basement stairs are narrow and they have an evil witch's nose bend to them. Perhaps if we catty corner the throne? Perhaps, if we try it on its side? Perhaps, upside down? Perhaps, it won't go up the %*#%$ stairs!

"May I suggest you take off the arms, my woodworking hubby?"

"What and ruin the shiny green, my beloved? But yes, I shall because I have more paint!"

"Where are those screw holes anyway?" Much scraping and, gouging later. "Ah hah, there's one screw, only 15 more to go to take off the arms."

Days later, a badly beaten, much troubled Jake's chair was armless.

"Hey, Suzanne! Don't look at it! Just help me carry the damn thing up to the garage which has a real door and I'll try to rectify it there. And stop saying, 'What a shame.'"

"Hold your end higher, woman!" "Lift and then turn, I say!" Perhaps sideways? Damn, damn! It still won't go up the stairs!

And so it remains to this day, down by the woodpile, under a good reading light, with a stack of catalogs nearby. And, what's even worse, high gloss forest green enamel really shows the sawdust!

Postscript: The travesty continues

That very true and even sadder tale took place some eight years ago. Three years ago we decided to move permanently from New Jersey to Cape Cod , Massachusetts . Would the new home owners want a mostly green and gouged Adirondack chair in their basement? “No way,” said the realtor. ”It must be empty.” Somewhat sadly, but with a touch of gleeful vengeance, a circular saw made short work of the creation.

Once my workshop was packed, some industrious and strong-backed high schoolers were hired to cart away the trash. I saw but a flash of green in the back of their pickup.

On to the moving in with the unpacking and putting away. About two weeks later as the goodies from the last few boxes had been distributed into their rightful places, my dear companion, SWNCNBO (She Who Never Considered Not Being Obeyed) called me into the back yard. “So, Bob, what do you think?”

And there against a tree was the green glow of the chair back. “Won't it make a great trellis?”