It's A Perfect Day For Pointing

It's a perfect day for pointing. No, not pointing your finger at your funny looking neighbours that live across the street, or at the Drive By Fry Guy, but tuck pointing. I love mortar. I love bricks. I love the Zen feeling I get when I mix the mortar up and shove it into the abyss between the bricks and the failing mortar of old houses. Now, I know that there is a recipe out there for making your own soft mortar, and I didn't use it. That may turn out to be a bad, but judging by the way the bricks on the rental house have withstood the abuses of past owners using cement, I figured, plain old mortar will suffice. There were no cracks in the bricks where cement was used. I know there is an actual recipe in Mother Earth News, but I can't find the issue. I also had a bag of mortar on hand so, I decided, what the heck. It's better to fill in those nooks than to let them deteriorate. You don't want the mortar stronger than the bricks, that's when you get the cracking and other problems. I am leaving the chimney to Adam though, I don't do heights. I have tried my hardest to find white medusa around here. No luck, and again people at hardware stores thought I had been in the glue aisle sniffing adhesive again, when I was asking for the stuff.