Generacions

Back in action, this time with a belt sander.


Now this isn't your father's belt sander. 'Cause it actually belongs to MY father. Unlike my grandfather's finish sander, which actually belongs to me. That's because my grandmother (on my mother's side) gave it to me last year -- my grandfather (also on my mother's side) having passed on years ago.


Before SHORTING OUT last night after a few days of operation, Grandpa's finish sander hadn't been used since (at earliest) the first half of '95.  Probably more like '85.


Enter the belt sander that belongs to my father (on my father's side), which is technically on loan, but in a "I'll never want this again" kind of way.  Just a few days ago, the belt sander had been spurned, in favor of the finish sander. Yes, It seems this simple paint-prep job is shaping up to be an epic generational contest.  At the moment, the advantage is clearly with the fully functional and reasonably safe baby boomer tool.  Okay, that's what I must use to make some progress tonight.  But after only a few square feet, it is obvious that the belt sander is way too ham fisted for use on paint.  Of course, Don knew that already.


So should I try to repair the metal behemoth that NEARLY FELLED ME last night?  Or buy a new tool just to finish the last hour's worth of work?  My father-in-law (on my wife's side) just arrived in town, and told a harrowing tale of an old acquaintance who was fatally electrocuted by a metal-chassis power drill.  After that, my father-in-law gathered up all his all-metal power tools and dumped them in an all-metal trash can. 


Hmm.


But now I am SURE that I hear the sound of a band rehearsing in a distant hangar, and I must investigate.