Why do we complain about the weather? There’s not a damn thing we can do about it, yet we still piss and moan no matter what Mother Nature throws at us. It’s February now. The concrete floor of the workshop exacts a slow, creeping chill up my legs that eventually gets a hold of my “flat track” knee and drives me back into the confines of Chateau Jack. A warm fire, lunch, maybe a cheap beer. But as the tingle of feeling slowly drives the frosty demons back through the soles of my boots, the temperature bitchings subside, the el Cheapo space heater has had another hour, and the welder beckons. I just can’t stay away. Sparks, molten metal, singed skin… all signs of heat, not cold. Work calls and creativity overpowers the runny nose. Suck it up Buttercup, that spark plug bug ain’t gonna build itself! Give me a few months, I’ll be bellyaching about sweat dripping inside my welding shield.