In which things fall to pieces.

Well, one thing anyway. The garage roof in Kentville.

The story so far: Living in a company house, as it were, we took some of the cash on hand, and bought a house in Kentville. We rented to #1 son, with DIL, and Micah.

Now I knew that this was a problem in the garage:

I knew that this summer I would have to get in there and replace a chunk of the south wall. What didn't register at the time, is that the header seems to have been put together out of 2x4's (!???!) with the 4 side down.

I cannot explain this thinking.

So, I knew that I would have to fix it, but it would be relatively straightforward: Support structure, remove bad bit, put in good bit, drink beer. Happy times...

Back in the shining, innocent, carefree days of about a week ago, I got a call from DIL, saying that the garage roof didn't look right. (Her assessment was perfectly correct.) She sent me a picture of the garage from the man door.

 

As you can see, just above the rusty old wood stove, some of the beams look... not quite right. I had to run the Local Anglican Cleric to Truro the next day, so I boogied on to Kentville afterwards, and had a look. 

Now, how to explain it? As I explored it, or as the problem arose? Let me just put on the Beeb, and I'll show you what I found, with the explanation afterwards. 

Observe that the eaves of the house in the background are as near level as no matter. The ridge of the garage roof, really is that far off level. But how bad is it, really?

...and we did. And now, on a certain level, we're kind of sorry we ever got involved.

Well... that's not good.

You can see a little more clearly that the end of one beam is completely rotted out. You can also see that at least some of the beams were apparently cobbled together by a chimpanzee with a nail gun. And not one of those smart, cigar-smoking, piano-playing chimps, either. (More about the implications of this, next time.)

From the outside:

On the outside... it doesn't look any better. So, what caused all this?

Observe the roofline: Here we have two roof lines that each can work pretty well: On the right is a sloped, straight shed roof. It has its own problems as a concept, but it'll work. It'll need some massive beams, but it'll work.  On the left is a peaked roof. It doesn't need the massive beams. What it needs are some carefully assembled trusses, but you can build them from 2x, and it'll work.

What you can't do is put the two shapes together, and hope that somehow it'll work.

First, and I say this without fear of contradiction, a flat roof is the work of the devil. Observe the roof from above:

 Observe the remaining snow: That snow is on the SOUTH side of the roof. The north (cold) side of the roof is clear; it's the flat side that has caused the problems. So, flat roof versus peaked roof, somebody had to make a decision. A decision that's about this complicated.

He made the wrong one.

Second problem:
Where you see the kink in the roof line, there are similar kinks in the trusses. The joints at the kink are pretty much just scabbed together. It looks as if, every time a beam sagged farther, somebody just nailed another board to the side of it. With some decisions, (and this is one of them) the signs were pretty clear...

There he goes again...

Then, this winter, you may have heard, we had a bit of a snow load...

 ...and that roof is toast.

Now comes the fun part: How to get the old roof off, so that I can survey the rest of the structure, and decide whether any of this can be saved. Watch this space for What the Cornet Player Did Next, and whether it involves a chainsaw.

In which territory is claimed...

or the past six months or so, I've been taking the flugelhorn round to the local brass quintet in the Wee Town, and pretending to be a french horn, a deception in which the leader and arranger fully co-operates. The regular horn player has been out of town for a year, and I've been trying to fill the french-horn-shaped gap. This has led to a few developments:

Development the first: Deep in my heart, despite all my efforts, I am still pretty much a saxophone player, but I'm starting to get over it. I still long for the days when I could blow for a couple of hours straight, and then go on with my day, secure that I had gotten better. Brass, while utterly addictive, is not so tolerant of enthusiasm. You will develop your stamina and ability in a properly, respectfully, gradual and tedious manner. That said, some progress has been made.

Development the second: I have actually played some gigs, and not stunk the joint out completely. My re-introduction to brass playing came a few years ago in a sheltered environment, among musicians who,  (God only knows why) tolerated my tendency to produce clams, and protected me from the consequences thereof.
      Landing in a quintet has put me in a very different sort of place. Toto, I have a feeling we're not in the shallow end any more.  There is no Cap'n to bail me out when my chops suddenly refuse to produce a sound. There's nobody else playing my part, to pick me up when I forget which beat comes after two. (Memo to self: three.) I'm now working off a straight lead sheet, and I don't have a full score to find my way back into the piece when I get wandered.
     Notwithstanding, I have managed to carry my end of the load, more or less, and I've continued to be invited back.

Development the third: Under pressure of a number of (for me) gruelling gigs, the latest on Easter Sunday, I've actually started to develop a better understanding of technique. I'm getting away from just trying to muscle it when I get tired, which is good because, um, oh, right IT DOESN'T WORK. I've figured that out in a mere six months. This morning, I managed to get some parts right that I never got in rehearsal. The trick consists mostly of backing off the volume, and saving something for last sixteen bars, where arrangers throw in all the nasties that they haven't found room for earlier.

     Other developments in technique have come from  several sources, including Chase Sanborn's Brass Tactics, which has been invaluable.

Development the fourth: I asked the boss when the real horn player will be back. Apparently, that is no longer a significant question. The chair is mine, for as long as I want it. This means that, finally, there's a Thing That I Do here. It's been long coming.

Development the fifth: Since it seems that I'll be a horn player for the next several years, the next question is whether I actually try to get my hands on something like a french horn. That would ease the problem of arrangements quite a bit, but it raises some further operational questions: E flat tenor horn, or french horn? Single french horn, or double? New or used? Horn or Mellophone? Kirk or Picard?

When I find the answer, gentle reader, you'll be the first to know. Meanwhile, I have a nice, velvet lined box in which to put the next clue I get about this, which will coincidentally be the first.