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Madame von Hedwig scanned the street behind the administrative headquarters of the Armée Aeronautique. The grand façade opened to an expansive court surrounded by other imposing colonial government buildings. They had entered through the front, so she knew there would be no one of use to her there. The back door proved more fruitful.

There were no trolleys or steam cabs to be found in the colonial outpost, but all the pedicab operators nearby spoke French, and they all knew where the airmen went to drink. The boy pulling her chair was young, hardly older than Adolphus, yet he was working late into the night. Madame grossly overpaid him, and asked him to wait for her outside the bar. It was a dark hole in the wall, the first story in the middle of a row of cheaply constructed European-style buildings, elaborate iron railings overhanging the street.

Madame plunged in. She had not slept in over two days, but was fueled solely by desperation. At the sound of the door, all heads turned to examine the newcomer. She did not look around the room or meet any glances, but approached the bar.

“Pardon, Monsieur,” she said to the barman, “I am looking for someone.”

“I am most certainly someone!” declared a slurred voice at her left elbow. “I am the man you seek, cherie, c’est moi.”

Madame leaned over the bar. “I am looking for Capitaine Charette.”

The barkeep bore the delicate features of the Hmong people, and spoke flawless, if accented French. He studied Madame vonHedwig, from the top of her short-crowned broad-brimmed hat (trimmed with live growing ivy) to her green and cream striped walking skirt, then his eyes flickered again to the look on her face.  He shrugged.

“She’s not here.”

“I need to find her.”

“She’s not here.”

“Lives are at stake.”

The barkeep shrugged and turned away, then turned back with widening eyes as he tried to pull his wrist from her grip. She leaned further into him and spoke softly.

“My children’s lives.”

He looked deeply into her eyes, then pointed with his other hand. “In the back corner. The sad man, he might know.”

“Thank you.” She released him and headed for the back. Her slurring admirer blocked her way.

“Well done, cherie. What can I get you to drink?”

She pushed him gently back on to his barstool.

“Coffee.”

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This story began with On Grandmothers and continues weekly.

This is a great project to do with kids, even young kids, especially if you start with an existing notebook and cover it with this technique. I only had to buy one supply item, everything else came out of the recycling!

To cover a notebook you need:

clear gesso (art suppy shop, craft store – look in the painting aisle)

crumpled brown paper (paper grocery bags or shipping material)

watercolor paint

notebook

To make a notebook:

corrugated cardboard

paper

sturdy fabric scrap

stout needle

button thread

The tutorial shows the making of a notebook. If you want to cover an existing notebook, start here with h-glue paper to outside of notebook.

P.P. von Hedwig with Camera on Marscon '10 adventure

Some projects happen out of practicality, for example the need for a power supply with which to etch brass and copper.  Others, come from the desire to make a cool piece of art, like the steampunk burlesque fans. Still others come from the desire for original and swank jank , as in decoder dials and Madam von Hedwig’s pouches.  This project was motivated out of a mix of being too jaded by my digital SRL camera to use an Instamatic and being too vain to ruin fine steampunk outfits with gear so clearly of the wrong technology.

The first step was to find a lamp base that was large enough to work with my wide lens.  The idea was to be able to house the lens in a faux  brass lens and have it be wide enough to not clip the edges of the lens view mounted behind it.  I used a jig saw for the rough cutting and then tin snips followed by emery cloth for more finished edges.  Note how I cut bendable flanges for the mounting of this faux lens.

My aesthetic choice was to have the faux lens mounted in the center of the front.  To decide where this would be and the dimension of the front was to measure from the screw mount for tri pod to longest side of the camera and add a half inch for room plus the thickness of the wood I was using to build the case.  To keep the case as light as possible, but strong,  luann was my preferred material.  Luann is really to thin to fasten without finger joints, so I used scrap of ¾ stock to glue the top and side to one another.  The height of the case was set by how much space my big hands require to access the controls of my camera.

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The camera itself is mounted on an aluminum scrap out of a neighbor’s trash.  I drilled holes were every ½ inch on the center line front to back in order to give mounting options for different lenses. This in turn was screwed down to a “U” of  ½ inch plywood.  Conveniently the tri-pod mount on cameras is a standard screw size, so a 1 inch bolt with a nut and washer on it will hold the camera in place.  The screw will only go in so far, the nut and washer let me tighten the camera down with out using a short bolt.

The tripod was fairly simple, but could be tricky without a bandsaw, because of the angles in my design.  Keep in mind that the platform the camera case sits on should be large enough to be strong and keep the camera stable.  I chose a hexagon because the math was easy to work out for a three-leg mounting area. While in the picture of the test fitting the legs are held on by nails, for the finished project I used brass brazing rod sections.   The camera case is mounted to the tri pod with a bolt through the bottom of the case, a few washers between the case and tripod platform, with a nut and washer under that.  The tri-pod itself has a carrying strap attacted to one leg, the tail of which can be used to tie the legs together.

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I cut thin copper into strips folded long wise into right angle channel and glued them onto the case with Goop to masked the edges.  A simple canvas strap into homemade “D” rings fixed with scrap cooper and screws make it portable.  A black cloth hood is held in place with strips of black painted cardboard and staples, which the hood covers.  Then I mounted a brass handle to the left side so I could handhold the unit. Found and salvaged objects further decorate the case.

The only two drawbacks I have found so far is that my access to the controls are limited, and that I often find myself desiring a flash for indoor photography.  Using a hardwired shutter remote helps by letting me shoot without having to reach in to the case. Maybe at some point a mark II camera case will address the controls issue, but before that I’ll be making a wired remote flash assembly.  Have a plan, but need to wait until I can afford a fifty-dollar part.

Perhaps my next tri-pod will look like this one we saw at an American Colonial living history outing.

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Only the Schöneluft had the fuel stores and engine power for a run from the Himalyas across southeast Asia to the French capital of Vietnam. She could fly nearly 80 miles an hour under the right conditions, but those conditions had not been met in years. The more children they acquired, the more comforts the von Hedwigs had deemed desirable, and the slower the great airship had become.

With their children’s lives at stake, the von Hedwig parents took no chances. An hour’s work here, in the shadow of the mountain that had swallowed their offspring, could save them hours in flight. Ulrik was securing the Schmetterling inside the tunnel’s mouth to keep it safe from storm and avalanche in their absence. Herr von Hedwig plotted their course to Saigon, and Madame was in the Galley, negotiating with Chef.

They spoke in French, a language Madame spoke fluently, although despite rumors she had carefully started, it was not her native tongue.

“Monsieur, we leave within the hour, and the galley stays here. We need sufficient food supplies for two days brought into the ship in the next twenty minutes. And coffee. Lots of coffee.”

“But no, Madame, no! To leave my kitchen in the wild snow-torn mountains? No, no! It is inconceivable! I have such a pudding curing! Who will keep the fire? The cheeses will freeze.”

“Bring the cheeses. Damn the pudding. There are no children to serve it to.” Madame’s mouth was a thin line. She threw open a cupboard and began pulling baskets and picnic hampers from it.

Chef intercepted her between the cupboard and the cheese safe. “No, Madame! This is your ship, but it is my kitchen. This barbaric action must stop!”

Herr von Hedwig entered the galley a few minutes later to check on preparations there. Madame was filling basket after basket with essentials, working like a whirlwind. Chef was pale as a ghost, with a bright, thin line of red blooming on the skin of his neck. Chef kept his knives very sharp.

“Here, old chap,” Herr von Hedwig murmured, “let’s get a poultice on that little cut you’ve got.”

Chef raised a shaking finger at Madame, but said nothing, shaking his head. He took a handkerchief from his apron pocket and tied it around his neck.

“If you will pack the coffee service, Herr von Hedwig, I will attend to the meat.”

Twenty-three hours later, they were anchored above the administrative headquarters of the Armée Aeronautique of the Republic of France. Madame had sent one of her messenger pigeons ahead as soon as they were in range, so the Commander was waiting to receive them, despite the lateness of the hour. Because he was French, the frantic parents had to endure the compliments of the evening, congratulations on the speed of their flight, and a glass of excellent sherry before they could bring the fellow to speak to their immediate need.

“I regret, Monsieur and Madame, that after your remarkable time from Tibet to Saigon, that you are five hours too late. Capitaine, pardon moi, Madame Charette has resigned her commission. I have no idea as to her current location. I should be delighted, if I had it, to give you her address, as I am aware that you have rendered assistance to the Republic in the past. My duty is to France, and you, Monsieur and Madame, have ever been friends to France, more than that ungrateful devil woman. She has left her quarters, and shall not return.”

Madame von Hedwig looked at her husband, raising an eyebrow. He nodded, scooped up the Commander’s empty glass and strolled over to the sherry.

“Do excuse me, Commander,” Madame said, rising as well. “The events of the last days have been most distressing.”

The Commander bowed as she left the room. As she closed the door behind her she heard her husband offering him a cigar. Satisfied that her beloved would extract the necessary gossip from the Frenchman, she pursued her own inquiries.

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This story began with On Grandmothers and continues with On the Streets of Saigon.

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Madame took off the moment her husband was on board. Although she was agitated, her flying was steady, and they soon arrived at the mouth of the tunnel that had swallowed their children. There was no place to land. They anchored, to a stalactite above them and a stalagmite below. Herr von Hedwig rappelled down to the site, bathed in the Schmetterling’s searchlight.

Madame paced between the hatch and the controls, wringing her hands. A dozen times an anxious question leapt to her lips; a dozen times she quelled it. Her husband examined the cave mouth, called for more line, and then went deeper, out of her view. She stayed at the line, alert for any signal from him. At length, one came – again, more line! He was descending. She focused the spotlight down into the blackness. Although her beloved was lost from her sight, she hoped the light would be of use to him. He carried the lantern as well.

At last, the signal to wind in the line. At last he returned.

“The ship was here; they went into the tunnel. There are scratch marks along the floor.”

“Why did they go in there?” Madame’s voice strained with the effort of control.

“The blackguard must have forced them. He must have a yeti or two with him. The children would have overpowered him otherwise.”

“Let us follow!” She cried. “Let us go after them immediately!”

“My darling, we cannot leave Ulrik to freeze to death, nor the boiler crew.”

“Of course not. We shall return them to the Schöneluft first.”

As her husband closed the hatch and stowed the line, she piloted away from the cave mouth and towards the valley below.

Herr von Hedwig stood behind her, his arms around her waist, face buried in her hair. After some minutes, he groaned.

“It can’t be done.”

“What can’t be done?” Madame’s voice could have cut glass.

He untangled himself to stand beside her, and waved a hand at the instrument panel.

“This Schmetterling – it’s a runabout, a weekend getaway. It’s not capable of searching hundreds of miles of underground tunnels.”

“We only have to follow the marshmallows!”

“How many marshmallows do you think they have left, after a day on the slopes? We’re lucky they had any. And dashed lucky they thought of using them.”

“They are clever children,” she said.

“Brilliant, I’d say. But the marshmallows will run out before the tunnel does, if that aviatrix was right. And we would run out of fuel before we got close.”

Madame cut the engines, leaving them floating a hundred yards above the grieving Ulrik.

“How did she do it?”

“What?”

Madame stomped her elegantly booted foot. “La Capitaine! How did she fly from Krakatoa to Fuji? Armée Aeronautique scout ship?”

“No, no, she’s a racer. Has one of those Charles Renard racing crafts. Sweet goer, apparently.”

“Where can we get a Renard?” Madame demanded.

“My dear, you’re brilliant!”

“No, I’m desperate.”

He kissed her. “You are brilliant, and we are in luck. La Belle Capitaine is stationed in Saigon.”

“Will she help us? Surely she will not deny a mother’s grief?”

“Surely not. Nor will she turn down such a challenge.”

He took the controls and landed to pick up Ulrik and the icy-haired boiler crew, dejected and wrapped in blankets.  His wife stared at the mountain looming above them, as though she could see into its very heart.

“Take care of each other, children. We’re coming.”

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This story began with On Grandmothers and continues with Flight to Saigon.

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Herr and Madame vonHedwig made their way from the mad scientist’s underground lair, trudging toward the surface. They were tired, and mired in thought, but alert for any sign of Montesanto or yeti.

A distant throbbing broke the silence of the cave. Exchanging concerned and puzzled looks, they hurried toward the sound. Suddenly, bright white light flashed against the tunnel wall ahead of them as the throb became a roar. They ran pell mell toward the fading sound, skittering to a halt at the mouth of the volcanic tube they had discovered on their way in. The engine sound that had shattered the underground silence was only a muttering far below them.

The Fearless Fabricator listened intently. There was something familiar about the engine sound, disturbingly familiar.

“What’s that?” Madame pointed down the wall of the volcanic tube. “Was that there before?”

Her husband cupped their lantern in both hands, focusing the light. There was a tiny smear of white clinging to the rock wall, its charred edges blending with the dark rock. When at last he spoke, he could only utter a harsh whisper.

“It’s a marshmallow.”

For a moment, they clung to each other in the darkness.

Madame wrung her hands. “Dear Gods! What can have happened? Can it be the children?”

“Let us hasten to find out,” he answered. “We’ll save the champagne, and share a glass with Ulrik when we find everyone safe.”

With grim determination, they ran and scrambled to the surface.

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Back aboard the Schmetterling, Madame piloted back towards the Schöneluft while her husband searched the terrain below with the smaller ship’s powerful spotlight.

“There’s an S.O.S. below,” he announced.  “Spelled out dark against the snow.”

“We’ll land and look!”

Herr vonHedwig fired his harpoon-anchor at short range and the projectile buried deep into the ice. Once moored, they descended by rope ladder.

Madame threw herself to the ground, calling the children’s names in turn. Herr vonHedwig examined the letters of the distress call.

“They’re blankets. Very hairy blankets.”

A tall figure loomed at the edge of the darkness.

“Mein Herr, Meine Frau, you can never forgive me. I will never forgive myself.”

“Ulrik!”

“Where are the children?”

“Kidnapped. From right under my nose.” He told them how the boiler launch had taken off while he was setting the crewman’s broken leg, and described Claire’s message. He showed them the boot and paw prints he had found in the snow, and pointed out the flight path of the stolen ship.

“It disappeared over the ridge,” he explained with visible distress. “There was a sound-”

Madame gasped. She stood motionless, hands clutched tight together. Ulrik hastened to reassure her.

“It was not an explosion, nor a crash – well, not a big enough crash to have been the ship. After that sound, there was none. We could no longer hear their engines.”

With a cry, Madame vonHedwig ran back to the Schmetterling. Herr vonHedwig followed her, calling back to his assistant.

“We will return for you. Where is the crew?”

“They found a hot spring – they’re all sitting in it, up to their necks in hot water, piles of snow on their heads.”

“Go and join them, my friend. We will return.”

Ulrik did not answer. He picked up the blankets that formed the letter closest to him and wrapped them around his shoulders, continuing his icy vigil.

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This story began with On Grandmothers and continues with The Search is On.

Swanking your jank

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Working hard in the lab, the corset post and exploring the world with the family have distracted me from posting the project I have completed.  While I don’t apologize for my priorities, I do make an apology to those who have been checking in.

Not only did I finish the case for the ATX Power supply for myself, but I built a second for a good friend who is a fabulous tinker himself.

The wooden part of the cases themselves are simple wood working – plywood with the edges covered in oak veneers.  I used luan was used for the grills, hand cut with a coping saw.  While unfettered ventilation is important, but not wanting to sacrifice aesthetic, I brass painted some window screen and glued it behind the grill to help obscure internal components.  The mark II has a black painted baffle halfway between the grill and the internal components to further aid this concealment. Wood stain and tongue oil help to give the wood parts a quality look.

Brass corners a dress up the edges of the vertical unit.  Some sheet tin is sufficient to mount the power supply in the rear on the unit.  I used some tin ceiling scraps for one and flashing scrap for the other.  Screw holes for mounting are best made with a nail punch, instead of a drill, because the flanges re-enforce  the holes a bit.

The name plate, terminal plates and switch plate were electro-etched using the power supplies themselves.  If one looks closely at the horizontal unit, it can be observed that the terminal plates and switch plate and switch plate are in negative image.  Mistakes do happen when one is in a hurry!  This is my lab power supple, and being dyslexic, I thought I would leave them this way to help me remember to check the orientation of my etching resistor transfer in the future.

All tubes and coils were made for the project.  Painted window screen, plastic from water bottles, construction paper, old phone wire, thin sheet copper, painted steel wool and metallic tape were key components in this process. Each is internally lit with an LED, in series with a resistor power by the un-used 5 volt capacity of the ATX unit. Simple and effective LED tools can be found at http://led.linear1.org/1led.wiz to help with resistor value selection.  My favorite tubes were not the ones I tried to made like vacuum tubes, but the ones where I got creative and just did my thing.

More pictures of this project can be found here.

This is a contenuation of the:

Converting an ATX computer power supply to a 12 volt DC Power source