My Contribution to Western Civilization

As you may recall, I collect records, with an emphasis on coarse-grooved records—what we used to call "78s." The hobby started when I was five, soon after I got my first real record player. It was a Show'N Tell, the deluxe one with the AM radio.

It was my first radio as well. Mine looked just like this. Funny, I don't recall its being made by GE, but there it is right on the top. This was one of the best presents I've ever gotten, in terms of the joy it brought me. It's kinda almost my Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle.

Anyway, Mom came into my room one morning with a stack of about two dozen records, saying, "Here, these have been floating around the house for a long time, and I thought you might like them."

I recognized the records as 78s, because they had only stopped making them at about the time I was born, and my parents still had some in their collection. These 78s, however, were a lot different from those I had seen. Most noticeably, they were not at all shiny; moreover, they were heavier, with bigger labels, and some of them were a swell brick red. I had no idea exactly how old they were, but they seemed positively prehistoric. I was intrigued.

So, I added them to the playlist, and I found that I liked about a dozen of them, and half of those I absolutely loved. Mom had planted a seed. She was always doing that, working subtly to introduce me to the things that she had loved when she was young. Dad did that too, but he was not subtle about it. Both approaches were effective.

Once I grew old enough to travel out and about by myself, I began to add to the collection. Back then, it was easy and quite inexpensive to do so; Honolulu Avenue was lined with junk shops, and they all had vast repositories of old records for a dime or so each. My initial motivation was simply to get new music to hear, but after a time I became interested in the historical aspect as well. I had heard of such illustrious performers as Caruso, Jolson, Paderewski and Rachmaninoff for as long as I could remember, and I was thrilled actually to be able to hear them perform—especially the last two, whose compositions Mom played all the time on the piano.

Once I hit teenhood in earnest, I put this interest aside for many years, until it re-emerged at age 40 with a vengeance, a consequence of the Farm House effect. To review, the Farm House Effect is the extension of one's historical purview that occurs as a result of the activity involved in the restoring of an old house. In other words, when you restore an old house, your mind naturally extends your sense of contemporary familiarity with daily life back to the time in which your house was built, as if you'd lived through it all. Put more simply, your grip on reality weakens.

Adding to my fervor for old records was my deep boredom with contemporary music at the time; it had been nearly a decade since I had found any new performers whose music interested me, and I was desperate to have some new-to-my-ears music to digest.

Thus, my motivations to collect records are the same as they ever were: to listen, and to learn. A significant obstacle to the learning part, however, is the fact that old records have very little information on them: usually just title, composer, performer, and maybe the name of the vocalist or a featured soloist. And so, I rely upon discographies to fill in the blanks.

A discography is a listing of recordings with all available relevant information noted for each recording. They can be organized by pretty much any relevant category, but for the most part one finds them organized by performer, label or musical genre.

Discographies are usually very expensive, because many of them are considered library reference books, and most of them are pretty large. I bought all the basic discographies used, and Lydia has given me some of the more scholarly ones. I duly record all relevant information in the catalogue of my collection, so that I can relate that information to what I hear on the records.

While I now have full discographical information for a great many of my records, there are still lots of them for which I don't know much more than what's on the label. Thus, I'm always looking for more information wherever I can find it on the Internet.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I discovered the Encyclopedic Discography of Victor Recordings (EDVR) online a few months ago. It's precisely what it's called, a comprehensive discography of all recordings on Victor and related labels, combining a thorough examination of the Victor ledgers with all the best scholarly research in one handy place online.

I was insanely elated. There are more than a few discographies covering Victor, and they're all pricey, and I don't have any of them. I had planned to get them eventually, because I have a great many Victors in my collection. Anyone who collects 78s had a lot of Victors, especially if he collects the period prior to 1920, because for most of that time there were only a few labels, and Victor was the biggest of them. And now, here was all that information for free! Well, to be precise, there were a few of our tax dollars at work in there.

And so, I immediately got out my own ledgers and went through them, updating all the Victors. This included the crown jewels of the collection, two dozen Victors dating from late 1900 to 1903, family heirlooms handed down from my great-grandmother. See, this collecting thing is hereditary (as is the packrat thing, apparently). Some of these records pre-date the incorporation of the Victor Talking Machine Company itself.

I have great affection for these records, for they are a connection to an ancestor whom I never met, but who has always been spoken of with great affection in my family. The records are not particularly valuable price-wise, but to me they are priceless.

Naturally, I was particularly interested to learn the history of these recordings. As I mentioned, the EDVR represents pretty much everything known about the discography of Victor. As it turned out, actually, I knew a few things about Victor discography that they didn't know.

You see, I found three of my great-grandmother's records that weren't in the discography. To be more precise, there were three releases not represented; the actual recordings were listed, but these releases weren't. I notified the EDVR staff, and after asking me a few questions about the records, they confirmed my findings and asked me to send some pictures for their files. The changes will be reflected in their next site update.

But you won't have to wait.

Two of the records bear altered labels. At one point early on, Victor changed their numbering scheme, retaining many if not all of their issues under new numbers and re-recording each for the new issues. In some cases, they pasted the new number on the old label and released the old recording under the new number, but until my discovery it was not known that this was done with these issues.

The first was "I Want to Go to Morrow" performed by Dan W. Quinn, recorded February 27, 1901; it was first issued under catalogue number 3150, but here issued with an altered label under catalogue number 12:

Note the obviously pasted-on catalogue number.

When I first saw this label,  I was fascinated by it, because not only does it pre-date the "His Master's Voice" trademark with the dog ("Nipper") listening to the gramophone, but it even pre-dates the Victor Talking Machine Company itself, having been issued under the name of the man who would pilot that company for its first quarter-century. You will notice that Johnson is already using "Victor" as a brand name, however.

Thanks to the facilities of the wondrous National Jukebox (more tax dollars at work), I can link you to a copy of this recording right here on this page:

It's quite a funny song, and I believe its humor has not lost any potency with age; in any event, if you like Abbott and Costello's "Who's on First" routine, you'll love this.

The other altered record is "Come Ye Disconsolate," recorded March 11, 1901 (hey, my brother Jon's birthday! That's the second time it's come up in these pages). It's credited generically, as a "Choir Record," but the EDVR reveals that it was performed by the Lyric Trio with Grace Spencer as the soprano. Its original catalogue number was 3196, but here we see it changed to 718:

Sadly, the National Jukebox doesn't have this one, and I haven't had a chance to dub it myself yet.

Take a look at the runout area right above "Monarch" on the label. Notice that the old catalogue number 3196 is handwritten in the shellac, and the new number 718 is stamped directly below. This indicates that the record was actually pressed after the number change, using the label made before the change and then pasting the new number over it. The other record above is the same way. I guess the labels, and the stampers for the old recording, must have been too expensive to waste.

Notice also that by this time "Victor Talking Machine Co." has replaced Johnson's name. By the way, "Monarch" was the designation for ten-inch records at the time; seven-inch records were simply labeled "Victor," and twelve-inch records were called "De Luxe." There were even some fourteen-inch records, that ran at 60 RPM and lasted up to six minutes; these were called "De Luxe Special."

The third record is by far the most interesting. 

Notice that Nipper has finally checked in; the Victor label would look basically like this until 1914, with "Victor" banishing "Monarch" for good in 1905.

The reason why this record is the most interesting to me is that, as far as the official discographical record is concerned, I discovered it.  The EDVR listed three takes, but each was noted "Believed not to have been issued." And yet, here it is, take 2 as indicated in the runout to the left of the label. You can't see that in this picture, but you can see under the label the recording date, 9-19-02; it's behind "RECORD". Here's a close-up of that area:

Can you see it now? The loop of the first 9 is above the E to the left, and its tail is touching the loop of the R. Once you find that, the rest should be obvious. If it isn't, well, just take my word for it. In any event, this agrees with the recording date noted in the EDVR for take M-2, the M prefix standing for "Monarch" to indicate a ten-inch master.

I hasten to add that omissions in the EDVR were not due to errors on the part of the scholars who created and maintain it; the errors were made by the Victor employees responsible for making the proper entries in the ledgers. The EDVR scholars transcribed the information from the ledgers as faithfully as possible. Recall that with the Arthur Collins record, they made the special notation "Believed not to have been issued" by each take; it seems safe to infer from the use of the word "believed" that they saw some anomaly in the corresponding ledger entries, and since none of their sources had reported seeing actual issues of any of the takes, they reported the situation as precisely as possible. My sighting was the first one that any of them had heard of.

That's one of the best things about collecting old records: every collector has the opportunity to contribute to the body of discographical knowledge. While the Victor production ledgers are the best single source for discographical information on Victor records, they are not enough by themselves. For one thing, they contain errors, as we have learned here. For another thing, no ledger notation can convey the information that the recordings themselves do—and after all, Victor was in the business of making recordings, not ledgers. A record label may contain errors that the ledgers can correct, but there is no trumping the physical possession of a record, no matter what the ledgers may say regarding its existence. Moreover, the ledgers might fail to mention the presence on a recording of a certain instrumentalist, but a trained ear might upon listening to the recording the unmistakable sound of his presence.

Yes, no scholarly discography can exist without substantial familiarity with the recordings involved, and there is no group alive today with greater familiarity with Victor recordings than the many scholars who have contributed to the EDVR. Nevertheless, with such a massive undertaking, involving tens of thousands (if not hundreds of thousands) of individual issues, certainly a few are going to fall through the cracks.

That's where the individual collector, the amateur discographer, comes in. By doing as I have, by assembling one's own personal discography of the records he has (and most collectors do), he can find the obvious errors and omissions, and make his own contribution to the general knowledge thereby. I am very, very happy that I've been able to make mine, thanks to my great-grandmother.

Oh, I nearly forgot: I've dubbed my "discovery" to the digital domain, and have given it the benefit of my modest restorative skills. I think you'll find it quite listenable; happily, the record is in phenomenally good shape, so it cleaned up quite nicely. You'll find it by clicking upon this sentence.

You will also likely find the lyrics mildly offensive near the end, but honestly I don't think it's anything terribly galling. Bear in mind that this recording was made in 1902, when the Farm House was only seventeen years old. Lots of stuff has changed since then.

Arthur Collins, the singer on the record, was one of the half-dozen most-recorded singers of the Nineteen-Aughts and -Teens. His sobriquet was "The King of Ragtime Singers." He's perhaps best known today as half of the team of Collins and (Byron G.) Harlan, whose long string of recorded hits can be heard at the National Jukebox and the Internet Archive. Besides this, Collins can be found in hundreds of recordings on all labels, under his own name or as part of the Peerless Quartet. That was all just beginning for him when he recorded this song.

* * *

"What an amazing sound! It's as if I could reach right out and scratch Caruso!"

Part of Our Heart

It grieves me to report that the CEO of our Pet Division, our cat Evangeline, has passed away. Mercifully, she went peacefully, in Lydia's arms, with me and the other dogs and cats around her. We don't know how old she was, for she came to us well into her adulthood over 12 1/2 years ago, but based upon all the evidence we think she was at least 17 or 18.

Evangeline was a special cat. One might with justification say that there was a bit of the miraculous about her. I'll tell her whole story at length in the Journal, but I think one incident in particular will show you why we considered her to be of a breed apart.

Lydia and I quarrel very seldom, and it is blessedly rare for any of our quarrels to get at all heated. The last time we got beyond lukewarm was several years ago.

I remember that we were in the kitchen. Evangeline was there as well; it was one of her favorite hangouts. I started the proceedings by bringing up something that upset Lydia immensely; although it was not my intention to start a controversy, she began to my utter shock to cry bitterly.

I was just beginning to plan my retreat when Evangeline strode over to Lydia with great purpose, reached up and laid her paw gently upon Lydia's leg, looked up at her intently, and meowed a meow unlike any she meowed before or after: whereas her normal voice was thin, reedy and a bit raspy, this meow was clear, full and—well, there's no other way to characterize it but comforting. It was the exact meow equivalent of "Don't cry! It's gonna be okay!"

Her intent was so clear, her actions so human, that we just stared at her for a moment, pondering what she had just done. The only way Evangeline's message could have been more explicit would have been if she had actually spoken in English, and we could hardly have been more startled had she done that. 

Then, we looked at each other and realized that neither of us could remember what we had been arguing about. To this day, we still can't remember. Evangeline's actions had completely eradicated the controversy from our memories.

In its place is the indelible memory of our little Evangeline rising heroically above her natural limitations to give comfort to Lydia when she needed it—an act of genuine love.

It is often said that our pets give back more than we give them. Evangeline managed that with this one act. Lydia and I never again have to worry about having an ugly argument, because as soon as we get anywhere close to one, I know that we'll both think of Evangeline, and poof! the ugliness will evaporate. 

That's quite a gift. You could even call it a bit of a miracle. At least, that's how we see it.

And with that, I am utterly out of words. There's a lot more to say, but that will have to wait until I can manage it.

I will leave you with some pictures of Evangeline. The first one is from this past Halloween; she's wearing her fetching little costume. As you can see, she never lost her looks! The rest are in chronological order from March 2004 to mid-November of this year.

Requiescat in pacem, Evangeline, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

* * *

Evangeline, c. 1994–November 20, 2012

The Forlorn Dormer

As you have already seen, the dormer I'm currently working on, the front left dormer, has required some serious work beyond the merely cosmetic. Our contractor did a sloppy job on the right side, and did absolutely nothing beyond that.

Here's the right side right after I re-installed the casing boards:

Inexcusably sloppy, really. They replaced all but the top piece of siding, which is swell, but they did a bad job of it, cracking the top piece badly, placing the inside ends right up against the shingles where they are sure to soak up water like a sponge, and cutting the outside ends haphazardly, making sealing that weight pocket a huge pain in the neck.

As a result, the new boards are all cracked and warped, with some large gaps at their bottoms which I am going to have to seal up somehow.

In their defense, however, they merely matched the previous level of work on the dormer.

Now that I've begun to work on the area above the siding, I'm learning that this particular dormer has always gotten short shrift, dating apparently all the way back to its construction. Look at this mess:

At first glance, it's a typical situation I've found over and over on the house, wood cracked and warped by age and the relentless pounding of the harsh Pasadena sun. But let's look closely at the gap between the front and side pieces:

Those nails you see in the gap did not help fix it at all. In fact, they may have caused it. They certainly perpetuated it, and cracked the wood in the bargain. Again, so far this is typical: shoddy repairs causing more problems than they fixed. What is not evident in this picture, however, is that these are cut nails, which indicates that this is a very early "repair". Cut nails became obsolete very soon after the Farm House was built, as the industry moved to the modern style of nail. That of course doesn't necessarily mean that these nails weren't driven much later—I have nails that are 25 years old myself—but these are the first cut nails I have found that are not unambiguously part of the original construction. It's hard for me to believe that this work was original, but it could be, and in any event it's probably from before the turn of the Twentieth Century.

Now let's move up and in a bit:

These are nails—cut nails—that have been driven from the side skirt right through the eave. Because the heads are underneath another piece of trim, they almost certainly were part of the original construction.

And look at this shoddy work!

See that open area next to the apron? That's without a doubt part of the original work, and it's the same on the other side. These gaps open to the inside. Shamefully sloppy.

¡Pobrecito! Poor little dormer! You've never gotten any love, have you. Well, never fear; Otis is here, and he's gonna make it all better.

The first thing I did was get out my trusty Dremel and cut off the end of those protruding nails below the surface of the eave:

There! A bit of putty, and no one will ever know there was ever a problem.

The mess at the corner will be a great deal trickier to resolve. The first thing to do was to remove the errant nails.

Here, I'm easing one of them out by grabbing it with needle-nosed vise-grip pliers and sliding it slowly back out.

There was also the problem of the lower part of the side piece, below the crack. As you can see in that picture, it has warped outwards. I tried to bend it back in and screw it back together with its upper counterpart, but the wood wouldn't have any of that.

You can see that the front piece took exception to my efforts as well. While that piece fell down and was carried off by the wind, I was able to retrieve the large chunk from the side and glue it back in place. As far as the protruding lower half, all I could do was to immobilize it, patch up the corner, then try to sand and sculpt the area so as to fool the eye into thinking it sees a nice, straight, square junction of the two pieces. Here's how I've done so far:

This kind of work is a long process of patching, sanding, and eyeballing. The side piece will have an unavoidable curve in it; the trick is to make the curve so gradual that the eye does not readily see it. I also have to come to some sort of compromise regarding the bottom edge of the junction. The pieces don't line up properly there either, but I can't curve the proud edge in because it's to the front, and from straight on any curve at all will be visible. I'll have to let it jog forthrightly at some location; the trick here is to find the most graceful location at which to do that.

At the bottom of the right side where the siding meets the roof, the shingles were riding up the siding in several places, such as this one:

This will not do, because it will trap moisture under the shingles there and rot the siding very quickly. I had to cut the shingles back neatly, so that the edit is not obvious. In this instance, the cut was simple: straight across.

In other areas, it was more complicated; I had to cut a notch that fit the shingle pattern, as in this example:

The dark area is where I cut.

This part of the work is always like this: myriad varied details to attend to. I have to admit, this is the part I like.

* * *

"I wanna see another Stooges!!"

The Other Side of The Blade

One of the design features I most admire about the Farm House is its generous windows. The first-floor windows are the size of a doorway, and in the dormers the windows are as large as the size of the dormer will allow.

Here is how dormers are usually built, with the windows set back enough from each side to reveal some of the siding. This dormer is from the garage, which is new construction.

This is, of course, the dormer I'm working on currently. There is no siding to be seen on the front; it's all window and casing.

Here's the inside of the same dormer. As you can see, the windows are as large as they can be, so large that there is only room for half of the casing boards on each side.

This emphasis on natural light and ventilation is reflective of the Victorian concepts of beauty of utility (it's useful to have large windows when you're relying on natural light and windows are your only form of ventilation) and beauty of fitness (large windows are appropriate for a human habitation). While I'm no scholar of Victorian architecture, I have examined a great many Victorian homes in detail, and in my experience, the way the Farm House's dormers are constructed is unique. It seems to me at times as if the windows are actually wider than the dormers.

In fact, when the casing boards are taken into account, they are wider, by nearly an inch on each side. That's why the casing boards are backed on each outside edge by a trim piece that tapers back down to the siding. It protects the ends of the siding and the exposed backs of the casing boards. This is the "one more detail" I mentioned last time that I still had to attend to before getting back to the painting prep. The contractors made a new one for the right side, but they didn't for the left, and the existing one is thrashed beyond repair.

I thus had to fabricate a new one myself. This is what actually sealed the deal for me regarding the table saw. This job was possible using a circular saw, but it would be exceedingly difficult, and I was dreading the task. I knew that with a table saw the job would be considerably easier.

It was however still a bit tricky, simply because the entirety of my experience with the saw was two simple tasks. This would be a fairly wide cut, two inches, at an angle, in a one-inch-wide piece of wood.

Actually, a 7/8" wide piece. Yes, it's our old friend, the 4/4 S1S board. I told you this size of board was used everywhere in the Farm House. A 2-inch-wide  piece of this was no problem; I simply ripped it from the same stock of salvaged beadboard from which I made the new window casing caps on the south side.

The one small limitation I encountered was that I was not able to bring the piece down to a point at the back end of the bevel, because then the blade would hit the rip fence.

I thus had to maintain a small distance between the two. I didn't worry about it, because the contractors had apparently had the same problem when they made their new piece.

The contractors did some amazing things with a table saw. I figured if they couldn't put a finer point on this piece, then I sure wasn't going to. Apparently, this was something you couldn't do with a table saw.

So without any further thought on the matter, I cut the piece, and other than ending up with a few saw marks, the piece came out quite nicely.

Then, I looked at the waste piece.

Oh. Apparently you can cut to a fine point with a table saw.

My error was in using the wrong side of the blade. If I had put the fence on the other side, there would have been no worry of its getting in the way of the blade, and I would have had no problem getting a fine edge on the piece. Funny that never occurred to me beforehand.

This kind of dopey mistake betrays the fact that this work is not in my wheelhouse. The ability to think spatially, to work problems out in three dimensions, does not come naturally to me; it's a facility I've had to develop on the fly. As you can see, I have more work to do on that front.

This mistake also illustrates the underlying message of this blog: If I can do it, you can do it. I show you these mistakes because I don't want you to think I'm some sort of Norm Abrams or Bob Vila. I'm just plain Otis, a simple homeowner who needs work done and would rather save his money for better things.

Of course, once I had figured out my mistake, I had to rectify it. I ripped another two-inch strip from the old beadboard, then set up the saw with the fence on the other side.

Then, I cut the new piece.

Thus illustrating the old saw: Measure once, cut twice.

* * *

Gesundheit.

Closing Things Up

Something tells me I'm going to be needing some more Brushing Putty. Happily, my new favorite place Ganahl Lumber stocks it; most Fine Paints of Europe dealers around here don't. In any event, here's what the can looks like now so you know what to look for:

New can, same old stuff.

At the time of the last post, the new siding pieces and the rehabilitated casing boards were ready to be installed, but before I did that I needed to take care of a few things. The first order of business was to repair a crack in the right window frame.

This went unnoticed for a long time, because it was hidden behind the strip separating the top and bottom sash. I at last discovered it when I noticed this:

Happily, at this point it was a simple thing to fix. I just blew out the debris from the crack with some compressed air, applied some 5-minute epoxy, and clamped it together.

Good as new!

The other matter I needed to attend to was to rehabilitate the sill. While the dormer sills are considerably less eroded than were the sills on the south side, they are twice as long, and I didn't have the clearance needed to clamp guide strips to speed my work. Because of this, I had quite a difficult time getting the job done properly. I tried screwing guide strips directly onto the sill, but I couldn't seem to get them in the right place because I really didn't have anything concrete to line them up with. I went through several cycles of placing a strip, puttying, removing the strip, sanding down to find I hadn't done it right, puttying up the holes, and then starting all over again. I really needed to have strips of precisely the right width, because then I could easily line them up with the largely intact bottom edge. My problem was that I simply didn't have the tools to get this done; I knew I couldn't get the kind of straight, clean cut I needed using my circular saw.

By a happy coincidence, when I was at Ganahl to buy the Brushing Putty, I noticed they were advertising a small table saw, a "contractor's saw", for an insanely good price. Usually, contractor's saws in this price range are obvious pieces of junk, but when I inspected the display model carefully, I found that the basic mechanism of the saw was quite solid. The machine certainly wasn't fancy, but neither was it flimsy, and it had all the necessary features. And so, after some serious cogitation, I bought one.

It took a lot of test cuts, and I ended up having to buy a fine-cut blade, but with this and some careful adjustments to the fence and blade guard, I was able to cut myself precisely the pieces I needed.

After this, it was a simple matter to finish the sill. I still have to putty up the screw holes and a few remaining small divots, but I can take care of that business the next time I mix up some epoxy putty.

I wasn't yet ready to put the boards back up, however. First, I had to re-do the flashing along the left side of the dormer behind where the new siding pieces were to go. As you will recall, this area was a particular mess when I first started working on the dormer. Here's how the flashing installation looked after I removed the broken siding pieces and the casing boards:

Yeesh. They had routed the runoff around the sill (and behind one of the trim pieces, remember), with a huge glob of caulk to seal the deal. Before proceeding, I removed the two bottom flashing pieces and the caulk; when I had finished rehabilitating the sill, this is what I had:

By inspecting the analogous area on the other dormers, I had learned that the runoff was supposed to go straight down and under the end of the sill. Sadly, as things stood, I didn't have the materials to do this; I didn't have enough flashing, and I didn't have any extra shingle material.

As longtime readers know, when the going gets tough, the tough go ad hoc. I noticed that above the area to be patched, the flashing pieces were extensively overlapped, far more than was necessary. So I removed some staples, repositioned the next two flashing pieces so that they reached further down while still overlapping safely, and stapled everything back down again. For the small void that needed shingle fill (for cosmetic purposes only, because it was covered by the flashing already), I cut a small piece out of the back of one of the shingles from an undetectable area. Each of these shingles is several layers thick, so this did not compromise watertightness at all. I stapled this small piece in place, and voila!

To tell you the truth, this part of the job had been troubling me for weeks, so I am greatly relieved that I was able to figure it out, with the help of my old pal ad hoc.

With this I thought I was ready to attach the new siding pieces, but I discovered that one more obstacle lay in my way. When I had added 3/16" to the back of the new pieces to shim them out to the thickness of the existing siding, I hadn't noticed that I had made the top of the uppermost piece 3/16" too thick to fit behind the piece above. I thus had to cut a rabbet into the topmost new piece, 3/4" wide and 3/16" deep, before I could proceed.

My heart sank at this discovery: so near, and yet so far! I'd have to make this rabbet the old-fashioned way, with a hammer and wood chisel. With my ruined hands, that would take at least a day. Then I remembered that I had a table saw now. I could do the job with that! A half-hour later, the rabbet was done, and I attached the new siding pieces onto the dormer.

As you can see, the blade height is a bit unstable. I'm going to have to tighten that up. Happily, it doesn't matter in this case.

The rabbet is completely hidden from view, and from the ground the slight difference in profile between the old and new pieces will be unnoticeable.

With the siding installed, it was at last time to install the rehabilitated casing boards. I had to be extremely careful to line the boards up correctly, because they are warped. I measured and marked very carefully and thoroughly, and managed to put the boards back right where they belonged.

Even so, I've only put screws at the four corners of each one in case I have to adjust their placement later on. 

And with that, I'm almost finished with the unscheduled fabrication work. There is one more detail I must attend to before I get back to the painting prep, which I'll deal with next time.

* * *

"Left-two-three-dip-two-three. . ."