Apples, Cheese and Gravity...

Enjoying a sliced apple, with cheddar cheese, while trying not to obsess about gravity, adhesion, and time.

The apple is a Pink Lady -- crisp and a bit tart, a perfect foil for the crumbly sharp cheese.  This tasty combo has become something of a guilty pleasure for me lately (after all, I don't smoke, or drink, or gamble, or...), and as is usual for me, I'm a little compulsive about slicing the cheese first, as thin as possible.  And then cutting the apple into 32 slices, to give me more surface for more cheese, don't you know.  And then I try to figure out which slices I want to eat first, and how much cheese each sliver will bear.  The same way I used to insist on eating jelly beans in groups of even numbers only.  But don't tell anyone.

[The gravity issue concerns the artwork I'm displaying at John's church tomorrow.  He's put together a Lenten program of music and art, organized into four 'tableaux', and my sculpture will be the second body of art we'll contemplate, while Renaissance music is sung and we have a couple of readings.  My suspended pieces are (relatively) okay; the supports I built are doing their job, and I've even worked out a nice clustered arrangement of the three hanging figure-like pieces, which will allow the choir to see John conducting. 

The angst sets in when I think about mounting some of my newer, smaller wall units, without creating any marks on the church walls.  I'm currently testing some double-sided adhesive squares on one of the smaller pieces -- I'd rather it fall down here at home, than launch itself off the wall during the program.  Of course, wall surfaces will vary...]

The knife I use, to slice the cheese and the apple, is one of my favorite things.  I bought it at a local kitchen ware store, down by the supermarket that finally opened, after years of promises...  The kitchen store is small, but carries an impressive array of really fine goods.  I used to favor a black-handled Henckel model, but I didn't realize I wasn't supposed to put it through the dish washer (when it was still working, that is), and the handle cracked.  Making it less pleasant to use.  So, while I was in the kitchen store, probably looking for a soup bowl to replace the one John likes, but which has a crack in it that's likely to give way completely one morning, spilling oatmeal everywhere, I spotted an attractive display of knives with irresistible marbled red and black handles.  Sold! 

The first one I bought was the wrong shape somehow, and I still haven't figured out what it's best for.  But the second is perfect.  It's like an extension of my fingers, in a way.  It's a Lamson Sharp, in case you're interested -- manufactured in New Hampshire, no less.  I liked the second one so much, I bought a little paring knife too.  Just in case.

[So my current adhesion tests are proving to be abject failures.  The temporary double-sided patches lasted longest -- about twenty minutes.  The 'permanent' squares, and the strip version of the same material, lasted about seven.  I've got a priceless little tub of museum wax, that I was sure would serve -- it's what the Dale Chihuly shop in Las Vegas uses, to keep his multi-million-dollar glass works from plunging to the floor.  But no -- the infallible museum wax was the weakest of all.  I have one more option at my immediate disposal.  And if these don't work, I may have to mount some temporary hooks on the church walls.  Ah, the torment...]

Another one of my favorite things, in the apple-and-cheese routine, is the bamboo cutting board.  I don't even remember when or where we got this.  If it came from Bed Bath and Beyond, I didn't buy it -- that place gives me a migraine, just walking in.  Too much visual stimulation for me.  But wherever it came from, the board is a pleasure to use, even though all it does is lie there under the cheese.  I can't actually tell that it's bamboo, really -- maybe it's compressed or something?  But it has a lovely striated surface, and sits so nice and flat, and is not too small and not too large.  Simple assets, in a simple object.

We keep all our cutting boards (why on earth do we have so many, I ask myself?) leaning against the microwave, and next to the coffee maker.  I keep meaning to make a suspended holder for this collection, to hang from under the cabinets, so we don't have to keep pushing them back into place every five minutes.  Although I did follow through on a similar project, by installing a small wine rack, beneath another cabinet, the cutting-board idea seems doomed to remain just an idle notion, that only comes to life when I'm annoyed at seventeen cutting boards sliding across the counter top. 

[My last adhesive option, in the battle with gravity, is some reusable 'mounting putty', which sounds like museum wax without the pedigree.  I'm going to try it out right now.  Three minutes and counting...

What I really need to do – and am loathe to ask about — is put a single dry wall screw into the wall where I want the works to hang, and then repair the (minimal) damage tomorrow.  With the magic spackle I love so much, and a bit of the house paint.  If there is any.  But as the church is an historic building, I'm not sure I'd get permission.
 
Reusable 'mounting putty'?  Good for, maybe, five and a half minutes.  Maybe I'll just wear the work around my neck...]

Boy, that apple and cheese tasted great.  I'm so glad it took my mind off everything else...

[Or lean the artwork against the floor.  Or tie it to the pillars under the organ loft.  Or... hot glue!  Why didn't I think of that before?  I'll just have to bring my super-long extension cord, and make sure the sexton is on an errand in a neighboring county, and I'm golden.  For... how many minutes this time?]

Maybe I should get out the cutting board, the red-handled knife, the sharp cheddar and another apple, and try that oral distraction technique again.  Because I have the nagging feeling I've been fooling myself...  

©  2012       Walter Zimmerman