Once all the old glue and the blackish gunk was cleaned off the ribs and top, I glued the soundpost crack -- the culprit at the bottom of this whole enterprise. It was only as I was working glue into the crack that I noticed there was rather more movement than anticipated -- there was a second, much smaller crack parallel to the first, well hidden by the dramatic gash the bridge foot had made as it crashed into the top, and further obscured by crusty varnish crinkles in the bridge foot area (created by the bridge moving, or being moved, around when the varnish is still fresh).
Oh well, at this point, what difference does it make?
On a much happier note, despite another cold snap (May in Minnesota is different from May in other places), my blade? shoot? reed, I suppose, of equisetum has shot up to about eight inches tall, and another very skinny and tender-looking shoot has tentatively poked out of the pot. I crouch over it, whispering encouraging words ("it will get warmer, it will get easier, it will get better.")
Oh well, at this point, what difference does it make?
On a much happier note, despite another cold snap (May in Minnesota is different from May in other places), my blade? shoot? reed, I suppose, of equisetum has shot up to about eight inches tall, and another very skinny and tender-looking shoot has tentatively poked out of the pot. I crouch over it, whispering encouraging words ("it will get warmer, it will get easier, it will get better.")
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