This book press, shown sitting on a dolly in Barron's back yard because it weighs 80 pounds (I didn't believe it until he actually put it on a scale to prove it) was free. I knew I would eventually get a free book press if I just waited long enough, but it was about ten years. I hope I don't have to wait that long for the free canoe (small enough for one person to carry, not ine of those giant family-size ones). The press is home-made but well-built, with a cast metal platform that shows signs of having been some sort of electrically heated griddle long ago, with some welded parts. It will clamp the hell out of anything. Hauling it upstairs was not that tough because I am physically fit. Clearing a spot on my book repair table provoked a fit of actual cleaning, moving. re-organizing and throwing away of things. It is astounding what kind of crap I have filled my studio with because I thought I would use it some day. Why do I have a tin of brown shoe polish and a can of Huberd's Shoe Grease - and why am I still keeping them? What was I meaning to do with a pink hi-liter? Why didn't I get rid of dozens of things long long ago? The nice thing was finding a pretty little chopstick box with a sliding lid, containing a couple of good paint brushes and yet another X-acto knife, and a box of watercolor supplies I got at a yard sale when I wasn't painting watercolors yet. But what did I think I would do with ancient sample containers of dry tempera paint? Why can't I dispose of the last of my oil painting supplies? Life is a puzzle and a muddle.
