Stirring Adventures and Mad Mods! Saving the world one questionable decision at a time.
By Madame vonHedwig on Saturday, April 10th, 2010
This entry is part of a series, Voyage to Antafrica» In which the children fall and the Count is ingrateful.
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The children fell and fell. It was exciting at first, until it was not. Then Claire tried to make it interesting, shouting out a five second geolologic commentary as they fell through successive layers of rock. Other than the fabled treacle layer (“Ooh, Sir Pratchett was right!”) the others were not amused, and the budding geologist had enough difficulty controlling their fall without analyzing strata.
Then she realized, after the first hour of their descent, that they were burning through the little ship’s fuel supply far too quickly. If they ran out of fuel, they would crash against the tunnel wall or floor, if it had a floor. To preserve fuel, they had to let themselves free fall, engaging the engines in short bursts only to slow their descent and avoid the walls of the tunnel.
Then it became a dreadful trip. The ship dropped like a stone, then slowed with a jerk as Claire brought the engine pods to bear. Even Mirabelle, who enjoyed the sensation of falling (being greatly addicted to carnival rides), was miserable after the first hour. The others felt worse, and poor Annabelle felt quite sick. After four hours, Claire realized something else.
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This entry is part of a series, Voyage to Antafrica» In which we find out how Herr von Hedwig came to be dancing with La Belle Capitaine.
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An hour before, in the office of the Commander…
“Oui, oui, Monsieur von Hedwig, she is a remarkable flier. And I must admit, a natural-born leader. Men would follow her into hell itself.”
The Commander of the Armée Aeronautique in Saigon stared at his brocade curtains as though they might tell his story for him.
“I would follow her into hell,” he muttered.
Behind him, Herr vonHedwig silently riffled through the papers on the Commander’s desk. He didn’t have time for reminiscing.
“Why then did you not promote her? Because she is a woman?”
“That is a complication, but not the reason, though that is most likely what she thinks. No, Monsieur, it is because she is American. She has served most loyally, yes, but how can I give a foreigner authority over so many French?”
Herr vonHedwig sighed, running a hand through his hair. His fingers got caught. The hot Saigon night was curling his already thorny hair into brambles. He extracted them, and captured his wild mop under his hat.
“Where is her racer berthed?”
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By Madame vonHedwig on Saturday, March 20th, 2010
This entry is part of a series, Voyage to Antafrica» In which broken hearts meet.
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Madame vonHedwig found the sad man in the back corner of the airmen’s bar. The gas lamps were low throughout, but all the lamps close to his table were out. He sat in the dark, rolling an empty wine bottle with one hand, steadily drinking its twin with the other.
She stood across from him, even cleared her throat, but he would not look up.
“Why so dejected, my friend?” she said.
“Go away.”
Madame pulled over a chair from another table.
“No and no, Mademoiselle! There is only one woman, and you are not she. Go away.”
“Ah,” Madame said, “La Belle Capitaine has broken your heart.”
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By Madame vonHedwig on Wednesday, March 10th, 2010
The Schöneluft boiler crew have (apparently) unionized. Why? Who knows! (None of us can speak their language, after all.) Nevertheless, a shipment of their Official Union shirts was waiting for us when we docked in Copenhagen last week. They’re rather charming, and if you would like to order one for yourself, you may do so at the Steampunk Family Zazzle Store!
By Madame vonHedwig on Saturday, February 27th, 2010
This entry is part of a series, Voyage to Antafrica» In which our distraught parents race for help, and Madame and Chef reach an understanding.
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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.”
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By Madame vonHedwig on Saturday, February 20th, 2010
This entry is part of a series, Voyage to Antafrica» In which, although the circumstances are dark indeed, a beacon of hope shines from afar.
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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.”
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This entry is part of a series, 12 Volt Power supply» aka
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:
By Madame vonHedwig on Tuesday, February 9th, 2010
When on the track of an exciting botanical discovery, I cann0t be burdened with bags, nor do I generally wear the sort of outfit that includes pockets. (What’s in my bustle is the topic for another day, if ever.) Therefore, my dear vonHedwig has been kind enough to construct a series of belt pouches to hold everything I might need.
The top two hold tools and my observation notebook. The bottom, from left to right, hold communication device and visiting cards, digital daguerreotype device, tea, and various botanical substances I may require (including milk for the tea).
Here is a detail of the botanics: 
And me, ready for adventure!
By Madame vonHedwig on Sunday, February 7th, 2010
This entry is part of a series, Voyage to Antafrica» In which things go from bad to worse.
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“Stop!” Claire shrieked. “Stop fighting it! Lie down!”
“What?” Mirabelle yelled.
“It ignored me! Get down!”
Gerhardt and Bettina dropped like stones, and the twins followed. The yeti halted, looking around for its attackers. Behind it, Claire crawled across the tilting floor to Adolphus.
“We need engines,” she whispered, “to slow us down when we crash.”
“How about an anchor, to stop us falling?”
Claire nodded, and Adolphus turned to address the ship.
“Has anyone seen the anch-?”
The question died on his lips. The gondola was strewn with debris, and the starboard windows shattered. His younger brother and sisters lay as though dead, and a 7-foot, distressingly not mythological, bleeding, growling, angry animal glared at him from amidships.
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