First Day in College

It's difficult for a mother to say good-bye to her firstborn child when he's gone off to college, even if that college is just a few minutes away from home.  And one can't blame her; it's the beginning of the end of her children's sojourn at home, the beginning of the migration to the Promised Land of adulthood, the first, most subtle hint of the forthcoming empty nest.

It's her last chance to fuss over his linens, help him arrange his clothes in the dresser, make sure he has towels and washcloths and toothpaste and all those other things that busy children never think about (because their mothers are thinking about them all the time in the back of their organizing-the-world minds).

Dad just stands over in the corner and watches, eager to get out of the way and let the boy be on his own, handle his own affairs, stand on his own two feet, take on the world with all the strength and wisdom and knowledge that has been so graciously provided (at no extra charge) for the last eighteen years.

He'll be all right.  It could be the beginning of a wonderful experience which flowers into a satisfying career and a full and vibrant life.

Or it could be the beginning of a lesson that will need to be learned the hard way, and will lead to further complications along the windy path of Life.

We don't have the vision to know the future at this point.  But we know that his time has come, and we've gotten him as far as we can, and the rest is up to him.  As the old song goes, "Life is what you make it", and now he has the chance to make it shine.

God bless you, Adam!  We love you.

Summer's End with Midsummer Night's Dream

This was our anniversary gift to ourselves: a Sunday afternoon's entertainment of A Midsummer Night's Dream in a reproduction of the Globe Theater located in the beautiful woodland setting of Blue Lake Fine Arts Camp by the wonderfully talented Pigeon Creek Shakespeare Company.

With the kids.

I admit with pride that my children are well-versed in literature and music; we have always strived to encourage their interests in the Fine Arts.  Their mother has lavished on them a wonderful background in Classical Literature, Classical Music, and Classically Bad Puns, whereas their father has taught them the joys of scriptwriting and over-acting.  Thus for them this afternoon was well-spent and well-enjoyed with exercises in Elizabethan vocabularic recognition and iambic pentameterization.

The theater itself is a recent introduction to the Fine Arts camp, being constructed only within the last two years.  This production was the first one to be presented for public consumption; normally it's use is restricted to the students/campers who spend their summers there, learning and practicing all manner of dramatic skills.

It occurred to me that perhaps instead of sending my boys to Scout Camp for all those years, they would've been better served attending the Fine Arts camp, since they are both into the art and music scene.  And were it not for the fact that the Fine Arts camp is quite a bit more expensive, that might have been the reality.

But they didn't fare too badly, overall.  They all play instruments. They all appreciate good drama, whether ancient or modern.  And they sure dress snazzy when going out to the show!

I Should've Known

It was too good to last.  So it doesn't surprise me.

But it is a bit disappointing.

The plan for today was to work on the green Subaru engine, one last-ditch effort to try to remove that stubborn, broken-off bolt end from the engine block.  So the first item on the agenda was obtaining a can of PB Blaster, which everyone (and their mother) has been touting as the be-all, end-all of lubricating/de-rusting products on the market.

But there was that pesky radiator fluid leak in the red Subaru.  It was just a small leak.  I'd put more coolant in the radiator the other day, thinking it was probably a bit low after leaking for so long.  I was hoping it was just a leaky hose.  Or bad thermostat gasket.  Something simple, something small, something easily repairable in a short amount of time.

When we parked the car in the garage yesterday, though, enough fluid dripped out to half-fill the pan.  (I keep a drip pan underneath all the cars, since they are all older than ten years, and all drip one fluid or another.)  That was a bit much.  Which made me suspicious.

I drove to the auto parts store and grabbed my can of PB Blaster, noting that the car was still leaking green fluid.  A lot.

When I got home, I parked the car out in the driveway (in the sunlight) and put the drip pan underneath.  And it dripped.  A lot.  And I got underneath the car and looked up inside to see where it was dripping from.

I was really hoping that it was the thermostat.

But it was dripping from ... the water pump.

More specifically, the water pump seal.

The manual says that, if the car starts leaking coolant from the water pump area, and there is no squeaking noise, that generally indicates that the water pump seal has gone bad.

Not the water pump itself, but the water pump seal.

Should be easy, right?

Yes, if you don't mind draining the fluid, removing the radiator and fans, disconnecting the power steering pump and air conditioning pump, removing the front timing belt cover, removing the camshaft sprockets, removing the rear timing belt cover, removing the water pump, replacing the seal, and then doing everything again in reverse.

But I do mind.

I'm tired.

And so I spent a bit of time wandering on the world wide web, looking for a reputable repair shop to do the work for me.  I really don't want to be working on two cars at once.

The auto repair shops don't open til Monday.

Looks like next week is going to be lots of fun.

Twenty Years Down the Road

To some, we may be the most boring people in the world, and that is due in part to our lifestyle of quiet contemplation.  Some may take marvelous trips to Europe or Hawaii or Disney World; we typically end up driving to a quaint tourist town nearby, or the Lake, or even having a quiet dinner at home.

We are not flashy people, nor are we given to extravagance.

Yet this is not to say that an Anniversary is an inconsequential event at our house. We reserve time to spend together, away from all other distractions.  We devote our focus to topics of mutual concern.  We enjoy the time we spend in one another's company. We remember why it is that we came together in the first place.

Each year at this time, I reflect on the reasons for my choice of wife.

To truly grasp the context of our courtship, one would need to first understand the situation in which I found myself so many years ago.  I was near a nervous collapse, so frayed and stretched by my pathetic attempts to save the world (or, at least, my little world of Seattle) that it felt like drowning in a sea of anxiety.  The church was my world; the world was my job; and my struggle was with the downtrodden, unwashed masses of people whose unending lists of problems were stretching me beyond my ability to withstand.  I had friends, oh so many friends, but so many of them were my friends because they needed me for something, and I needed to be needed.  And they were draining me until I had nothing left to give.

Yes, there were other friends, friends who were not draining me; but, I regret to say, as they had no apparent need for me, other than my friendship, they received very little of my attention or time.  The feeling of being desparately needed can be quite an addicting drug, and I was hooked.

There was a fellowship of young men in the rental house with me.  Our stated goal was to be a light to the community; our reality was that we were still strangers struggling to put up with one another's faults and foibles.  We were not united in anything other than a desire for goodness.  We were defeated by our own inabilities to overcome ourselves.   And I thought myself the most mature of them!

I came back from my ten-year high school reunion in 1991 to a house that was falling apart - both literally and spiritually.  It was as though I had left the house in the charge of little children who fought and bickered with one another so long as the parent was absent. My limit was reached.  I dissolved the corporation.  We were a house no longer. And I found shelter elsewhere, far away, in a house with someone who (somehow) had the patience to put up with my brokenness.

In all this, Cheryl was my beacon of light, my link to sanity.  She alone of all my friends represented a world of normalcy, a world of peace, a world where it was possible to relax, be myself, just sit back and enjoy her company without worrying about anything.  And she inspired me with her love of literature, of romance, of beauty.  She also shared with me a joy in silliness, a desire for laughter, a marvelous wit.

And those sparkling brown eyes. Oh, I could just lose myself in their luster, their brilliance.

Every moment I spent with her was like a summer vacation.  She shared so much with me - her love of poetry, her sense of style, her taste in food and art and music.  She introduced me to a new and different world, and then took the time to explore it with me.  But there was never an overhanging sense of duty or urgency or guilt in the hours we spent doing things together; it was all pure joy.

Of a surety, we had our disagreements.  To my recollection, they were mostly due to my inability to commit to this wonderful relationship; after all, she really had no need of me, not in the way all my other friends needed me, and there was still that addiction down deep in my soul to fulfill those needs regardless of their reality.  Occasionally I would allow my desire to be needed by others out-prioritize my desire to be with her, and she would be disappointed and hurt.

But she went out of her way to try and understand, and to forgive.

I remember the day it happened (not the date, but the day).  Like a bolt of lightning on a clear day, the image of her face appeared before me, with the most beautiful smile in all the world.  And this image pushed out all the doubtful thoughts in my mind.  Suddenly I understood that I could decide to spend the rest of my days with her, and nothing else mattered.  And it was as though all the clouds suddenly lifted from my brain, and sunshine filled my soul.  And I couldn't wait to see her again.

And every day since then that we have spent together has been one more step in a long, glorious climb toward heaven, sharing the road together, bearing our burdens together, raising our family together, facing the obstacles together, knowing that we will stand by one another until we have reached that goal.  Together.

And that thought gives me a peace beyond understanding.

I wish that I could say that it has made me a perfect husband, but there are far too many failures on my part to substantiate that kind of claim.  She does more than complete me; she forgives me, she endures me, she allows for me.  She lets me be me, all the while gently asking me to be so much more.  And I love her beyond all words, beyond all explanation, beyond any conscious comprehension.  This love fills me up so much that I cannot remember what it is like anymore not to have it.  It has always been, has it not?

When I look into her eyes and see the love that is there, I see the love of God shining through; for where else could it possibly come from?

God bless her in this love, and bless our family that we may always show the love of God in everything that we do.  And may we see many anniversaries to come as our journey continues and our love deepens.

Yet Another Obstacle to Progress

Oops.  It broke inside the engine block!

So after struggling with the passenger-side head bolts for nearly two weeks, I was hoping that the driver-side head removal would be much easier.  And it was.  Mostly.  Except for the fact that one of the bolts broke off.

It's my own fault.  I should've known something was going wrong because the bolt didn't feel like it was unscrewing so much as it felt like it was twisting.  And it was.  Twisting.  The shank was twisting inside the engine block, and that's where it broke off.

Inside.  Where I can't get hold of it.

I really, really, really don't want to take the engine block down to the machine shop to have the bolt drilled out.  That can get very spendy.  And the reason I'm doing this job at home in the first place is because I don't have the money to take it to a shop.

But with all the tools I've purchased over the last two weeks, I can certainly give it a try, can't I?

Well, 5 out of 6 Bolts isn't bad.  Right?

Crossing my fingers...

---

Later That Day

---

Looks like I'll be taking it to the machine shop anyway.  This is way over my head.

I decided to try the screw extractor kit from Sears.  Followed the directions.  Drilled the appropriate pilot hole and then tapped the screw extractor in place.  Then took the crescent wrench and tried turning it counter-clockwise.

The screw extractor broke.  Inside the hole I'd drilled.  Which was already nearly two inches inside the engine block.

This is so frustrating.  First the heads stripped out on the other side, now this bolt decides to play hard-to-get.  After all the rest of the bolts were so easy to unscrew.

And it's not like I can just pull the remnants of the screw extractor out of the hold I drilled, and try again.  The tip of the screw extractor is jammed into the hole very tightly, and it's far enough into the engine block that I can't fit a tool in there.

It might be possible to drill some holes next to the screw extractor remnant so I can fit something in there to pry it out, but the hole I drilled is very close to the diameter of the bolt itself, and I really don't want to mess up the bolt hole any more if I can help it.

Not sure what it's going to cost to get the guy down at the machine shop to drill it out - and I hope he doesn't have to re-tap the hole threads!  But it sure won't be cheap.

And I've already spent far too much on all these tools.

On the plus side, I have to take the heads down to the machine shop anyway to have them checked for warp.  So it's not like I'm making an extra trip.

Baddteries

Changing batteries is frustrating.

Let me amend that.  Determining if a batter is really sufficient to power a particular device is difficult when (1) you don't know the exact power requirements of the device; and (2) the testing device you employ is insufficiently precise to measure the actual potential energy available.

This is Good

I have a set of four batteries which were taken out of a device.  At least one of them is degraded enough to prevent the device from turning on. Using the el-cheapo batter tester from Radio Shack, I can't tell which of the batteries is the culprit.  They all read "Good".

This is Bad but reads "Good"

You ask: Why is that?

I'll tell you.

Every type of electronic device is different, and each type of device has different power requirements.  Some need lots of voltage, requiring multiple batteries.  Some need lots of current, requiring large batteries.  A flashlight might require a single AA battery, or a bank of four D batteries, depending on the type of lamp and the brightness needed.

Every battery is designed to provide  a certain maximum power for a given amount of time.  For example, most AA batteries are designed to provide between 150 and 200 milliamps of current for approximately 10 hours of use. That is why they are "rated" between 1500 mAh (150 milliamps x 10 hours = 1500 milliamp-hours) and 2000 mAh.

But the el-cheapo battery meter can't determine if the battery under test will need to provide 150 mA or 200 mA.  So instead it has a range of "Good" values based on the average use.  This meter indicates that a battery is Good if it can provide anywhere from 150 mA to 200 mA.

That's OK for most devices.  But if the device requires no less than, say, 190 mA, then the battery that reads "Good" on the meter, still isn't quite "Good" enough.


Cameras and the Batteries that Support Them
My old digital camera uses two AA batteries; the new one uses four.  One requires (1.5V x 2 = ) 3 Volts and the other (1.5V x 4 = ) 6 Volts. But one will take about fifty photos and the other will take over two hundred.

The old one draws current out of the battery at a prodigious rate, and when that little "low battery" warning comes on, it means business.  The camera is about to die.

The new one is a current miser, and when the warning comes on, it means you have plenty of time to start thinking about getting some batteries because you probably can take another twenty or thirty pictures before the real warning comes on.

When the warning appears on the old camera, it generally means that one of the batteries is marginal and the other is severely depleted. Because that camera will keep pulling current out of the batteries even if the voltage drops quite a bit.

But when the final warning goes off on the new camera, and it refuses even to power up when the ON button is pressed, the batteries appear to have plenty of juice still in them - at least, according to the el-cheap meter.

Why is this?

I can only surmise; but it seems that the old camera doesn't really care what voltage it is getting out of the batteries, so long as it can pull enough current out.  (And, as we all know, the voltage of a battery decreases gradually with use, then drops off rapidly once it reaches a critical depletion value.)  Whereas the new camera has a specific cutoff voltage whereby, in order to protect it's delicate electronics from spurious logic, operation ceases if the voltage drops below that point.

Ultimately, it means that it is difficult to determine if a set of batteries will work for the new camera based solely on the reading from some cheap meter.

Good luck finding a "Good" set of batteries that will work with those kinds of devices.

The el-cheapo battery tester has three markings: Green for "Good", Yellow for "Marginal", and Red for "Dead".   There are no sub-distinctions for "Kind of Good" or "OK for most things but not for your fancy-pants computerized electronics".

I have this plastic tub full of batteries which all measure "Good", but they don't work in most of the newer electronic devices.  Some devices apparently need "Extra Good" or "Practically New" or else they won't work.  Others - especially flashlights - seem to be just fine with "OK", "Good", or "Whatever".

Our new camera (FinePix S2980) uses four AA batteries, and thus it uses a lot of current at a relatively high voltage.  Batteries which measure "Extra Good" or "Practically New" will work with it; others do not.

I was curious to know just how "Good" the battery had to be in order to work in the camera, so I took one of the batteries which had read "Good" on the el-cheap meter but failed to function in the camera, and compared it to one which worked in the camera using my handy-dandy el-cheap ($10) multimeter.

Reading from a Working Battery

(The multimeter includes a batter-testing scale down at the bottom, but I ignored it because it is about as useful as the other one; instead, I referred to the "V-mA" scale with the black numbers.)

Reading from a Bad Battery

The good working battery tips the needle here at the 200 line on the topmost V-mA scale.  Since most AA batteries are supposed to provide around 200 milliamps at full charge, I'm going to pretend that this is the reading that should occur for a Good battery.

The bad battery tips the needle here at between 190 and 195.  That's not much of a difference between the two.  So apparently the battery, once it steps just a toe over the line, is no good, and must be replaced.

Leaving me with a huge tub of not-quite-good-enough batteries.  Which are probably only useful for simple electronics like flashlights.

Obviously, I can't throw them out. But what am I to do with them?

---

Where did all this come from? you ask.  And rightly so.

It came about because I was trying to get a picture of Mary playing guitar one morning using the new camera, and the camera died right after I'd taken the picture.

Well, that's not a catastrophe.  It took the picture - at least, I thought it did.  So all I had to do, was to pull the flash card out and copy it over to my laptop, right?

Wrong.

The camera had enough power to create a file on the flash drive on which to store the data from the picture, but it died before it could actually write the data to the file.

Which meant that the flash drive contained file with nothing in it.

This is one of the errors that that fancy power-detection circuitry in the camera is supposed to prevent.  It is supposed to determine if there is enough power in the camera to store pictures on the flash drive, and, if there isn't, it is supposed to shut down the camera.

Mine apparently isn't calibrated quite right.  Because it allowed me to power up the camera and take pictures of Mary - twice! - but then failed to actually write the data to the flash.

(Yes, I tried to take a picture of her the next morning after changing batteries, but apparently the new batteries were no better than my old ones.)

So I spent half an hour going through my tub of batteries, looking for "Good" ones and testing them in the camera, and discovered that only the ones which read high on the multimeter actually worked in the camera.

And I discovered that the vast majority of the batteries in the tub are good enough for other things, but not good enough for the camera.

And I don't throw anything away if it can still be used for something.

So now I have a tub of almost-good batteries and need to find something they can be used in.

And I still don't have a good picture of Mary playing guitar yet.

Late Summer Garden

Today I had hoped to put up a picture of Mary playing guitar; she's doing a week of music camp and is learning (from real guitar players) how to play O Thou Fount of Every Blessing and Ode to Joy, and was practicing on the couch before I left for work.  Still being young enough to believe that her father still has some functional brain cells, she naively asked me for assistance, and being a complete guitar hack, all I could do was to show her how to bend her fingers into pretzels to form the chords for C, G, D, E and F.  (For some reason, she hasn't gotten to A and B yet, but she's only on her second day!)  Then she showed me how she has learned to play the songs note-by-note by placing her fingers on the appropriate frets and plucking with her little colored pick.

By the way, did you know I hold my pick wrong?  (Well, maybe she's not so naive after all...)

I'm torn between pride in the musical talents inherent in my youngest daughter, and wistfulness that she knows so much more about music theory than I do. As do all of my children.  And my wife.  Basically, I'm not only a guitar hack, I'm a music hack. But it's still fun to make music!  Just don't ask me to take the quiz.

Anyway, I had taken the picture this morning before I left for work, but when I got back home afterward and tried to copy it off the camera's flash drive, it got scrambled during the cut/paste process, and the computer couldn't read the new file.  (It was showing a file size of zero bytes).

Guess I'll have to try again tomorrow.

Meanwhile, I put up a picture of my most excellent tomato plants.  Now that the tortuous summer heat has dissipated somewhat, and we've had a few days of rain, both the grass and the tomatoes have gone all wicky-wonky with green-ness - a veritable explosion of natural beauty!  And there are little cherry tomatoes all over the place!  Which will soon turn bright red, at which point they'll hop off their little stems and into my salad bowl, and I'll be a happy man.

And since the grass was also doing so wonderfully, Adam cut the grass today with the net result that we were able to dump a huge load of grass cuttings into the compost.  We should have plenty of excellent soil by next springtime! 

Not Out of the Woods Yet

I was looking forward to coming home from work and pulling off the other head - the driver side - so the head gasket replacement could get started.  But first, it was necessary to stop by Sears to pick up a 12-point 14 millimeter socket for the 1/2-inch drive because it was my intent to use the impact wrench to loosen 'em up so I wouldn't have any trouble like the other one gave.

Got home and tried loosening 'em up with the impact wrench, but they didn't even move, so I dropped back to the manual socket wrench with the breaker bar.  With that, five of the six bolts loosened right up.  Surprisingly.

Unsurprisingly, one of them snapped.

Unhappily, it snapped inside the engine block.

Meaning that now it will be necessary to somehow get a screw extractor down inside the engine block to get it out.

Oh, well, five out of six isn't bad.

Is it?

Getting Ahead. Bolt. Out.

It's been driving me crazy for almost two weeks.

The Subaru engine is nearly all torn apart now, and the only obstacle standing between me and the head gasket replacement was the two bolts on the passenger side cylinder head.  They were stripped.

For the past two weeks, I've been trying to find some way to get them out.  It's been quite frustrating because every little trick that is supposed to work, didn't.  And I did quite a bit of research, trying everything I could find on the Subaru forums and the other car-repair websites. None of them worked.

The regular socket stripped out the heads.  The Bolt-Out from Sears stripped itself out.  Attempting to drill out the head with my regular drill bit sets only gave me a set of burned-out, dulled drill bits.  The screw extractor wouldn't even bite into the hole I'd drilled; in fact, it flattened the threads of the extractor!

Trying to cut the heads in half with a cold chisel didn't work; in fact, the metal was barely dented.  Obviously, something harder was needed.

So I went to the hardware store and bought two 5/16" drill bits, one Titanium and the other Cobalt, just to see what would happen.  With the Cobalt bit, I was able to drill a sizeable hole, finally, but couldn't get it any bigger, even when using larger drill bits.

Then I bought a pack of diamond-coated grinder bits for the Dremel and tried to expand the holes to the point where I could break them down.  That took nearly an entire day, and destroyed three of the four diamond bits.

Meanwhile, thinking ahead to the time when I'd be working on the second of the two bolts, I went out to Harbor Freight and bought a set of left-handed drill bits.  Because during my research, I was reminded that it was just possible to loosen up the bolt shaft if the drill was rotating in the same direction in which it is desired to rotate the bolt shaft.

Hmm.  That kinda makes sense.

But that wasn't going to work for the bolt head I'd already drilled & expanded, because it was already too big of a hole for the largest left-handed drill.  I'd have to keep trying with the Dremel bits and the cold chisel.

And, miracle of miracles, after I'd worn out three of the four diamond bits, one more strike with the cold chisel popped the top of the first bolt.

You can imagine my relief.

And I was relieved ... until I remembered that there was this other bolt that still needed to come out.

Sigh.

I really hoped that the left-handed drill bits would force the second bolt to move on its own and I wouldn't have to drill completely through the silly thing like had occurred with the first one.

So I started the second one with the left-handed drill bits, first a small one, then moving up the scale with larger bits to widen the hold.  But again, it got to the point where I had run out of left-handed bits and the bolt was still not moving, and the extractor bits weren't working.  I even tried the Titanium bit, but it didn't do anything other than turn blue at the tip.

Out of sheer frustration, I tried the Cobalt drill.  And ... POP! the entire bolt head broke off.

Kinda took me by surprise.

Loudly.  But pleasantly.

After all that work and struggle and sweat and worry, there it was.  Done.  Bolt heads broken off.  And the rest of the head extraction would be easy.

The bolt heads were off.  As pictured below.   And you can tell which one was the first "victim" of my extraction efforts because it's so raggedy-looking.  The second one looks nice and clean, comparatively. 

Bolt Head without Shafts

The cylinder head, once the other four bolts were take off, came right off, leaving the two "stuck" bolt shafts still on.
 And here's where things got weird.  You remember that it was impossible to rotate those bolt shafts, right?

Well, once the cylinder head was off, and the two shafts were sticking out into the open air, I took hold of them with my fingers and ... they were loose.  I was able to unloosen them with my fingers. 

Bolt Shafts Without Heads

Ain't that a kick in the head!


I can only surmise that the left-handed drill bits were able to loosen the bolts somewhat, but because I'd loosened up the other bolts so much, removing the tension they'd had against the cylinder head, all the tension was now being applied to the two remaining (stuck) bolts, which created a lot of friction between the bolt heads and the surface of the cylinder head.

That's also probably why the second bolt popped when it gave way, because it was holding all the tension by itself.

It was good to finally have the cylinder head off.

But, looking at all the tools that had been required to do the job, I was still a bit frustrated.  I'm hoping that enough of the learning curve has been climbed that it won't be necessary to do this again!

The set of tools it required...

Bland Clamp

I've been informed that my 'hobby' posts are less than interesting, so I'll make this one a bit more entertaining by interjecting a few random pictures of the kids at Band Camp.

Cheryl, Mary and Adam watch the Final Performance

Band Camp, for those of you who are not already familiar with the term, is a special type of summer camp where children of the appropriate age (high school) are trained in the fine art of synchronized marching while holding a musical instrument.  The training is conducted during the summer months in order to subject the students to the maximum discomfort in regards to heat, humidity, and sunburn, so that they are fully prepared for the actual marching performances which take place in the dead of winter where there is four feet of snow on the ground.

James and Deborah were the lucky recipients of this year's "I Survived Band Camp" awards.

James, the veteran, had quite an enjoyable time.  I'm not sure how much of his enjoyment was due to being the veteran, with a young sister around to look up to him and learn from him, and how much was due to the fact that he was finally able to play his instrument while marching instead of pretending to do so, as is the case with the rookies.

He is a section leader for the clarinets this year, which means he has charge of a set of other clarinet players, helping them to learn the music and the steps and the procedures, all while keeping up with his own responsibilities while out on the field.  I don't envy him the position, having led other people in various projects.  Sometimes leading other people, especially talented, smart individuals, is like herding cats.  I hope he has a much better time of it than those of us who have tried to lead engineers, who are also talented, smart individuals.  (Many engineers also happen to be talented musicians.)  It will be an interesting test of his character, his ability to inspire and lead others without being domineering.  I have great hopes for him.

Deb, the rookie, had a thoroughly wonderful time.  I'm not sure how much of her enjoyment was due to the fact that her big brother was there to watch over her, and how much was due to not having to actually play her instrument while learning the marching drills.  From what I understand, it's rather difficult to get the hang of doing both at the same time.  Which is why there are so many people in the marching band.  At any one time, only fifty percent of them are actually playing.  The rest are trying to keep track of where their feet are going.

I don't know how many new friends she made, or if she mainly hung out with her fellow freshmen (or fellow flute players).  But whenever I happened to be out by the field, she was in the middle of a large group of girls, smiling, laughing, chatting it up with the other musicians, executing her marching drills without a lot of fuss, and looking for all the world as though she'd been doing this kind of thing forever.  About the only thing she complained about was the incessant heat, and that was bothering everyone.

As part of the Pit Crew, it is my job to help the percussionists (the front-line musicians) get to the field on time, with their marimbas and xylophones and keyboards on the rolling carts, tied down and ready to go.  As such, we are responsible for the tractor and carts which carry the percussion equipment out to the field, and this "rolling stock" requires a lot of maintenance during the summer months in order to be ready for the fall/winter performances.  Like greasing the moving parts, replacing worn-out wheels, re-positioning the "cups" which hold the wheels of the instrument stands, making sure the tractor engine and the batteries are ready for another season.  This year, we were also tasked with constructing three rolling cabinets which will house a new drum set which was ordered by the band directors.

And I wasn't the only member of the crew.

Years ago, it was difficult to arrange for parents to volunteer to help out with Band Camp because it was far too expensive.  The band travelled out of state to some college down south for Camp, and it cost somewhere in the neighborhood of four hundred dollars per person.  As you might surmise, this makes it extremely difficult to recruit volunteers!

For the last five or six years, the parents and school staff have worked together to have the Band Camp here at the High School, reducing the cost significantly; now it costs only somewhere in the neighborhood of one hundred and fifty dollars per student.  And the volunteers don't have to pay anything, since they aren't needing to arrange transportation, room and board.

This also means that more parents can volunteer to help out with staffing and meals, which had to be hired out previously.

We had a most excellent staff, and the meals were extraordinary.  In fact, they were so extraordinary that it was necessary for me to skip several of them to avoid filling myself beyond capacity!  (Oddly enough, this was not a problem for the children, who seem to have an incredible ability to eat massive quantities of delicious food without suffering any ill effects.)

Cheryl helped out in the kitchen with the meals.  She seemed to be having a wonderful time as well, chopping things up here and there, handing out food to the kids as they came through the breakfast or lunch line, pitching in with whatever chores needed to be done.

The schedule required that we arrive no later than 7 a.m., and we worked hard every day until at least 9 p.m.  It made for a very wearying but satisfying week.  By the end of it, we were all glad for the experience, but exhausted.

Friday night was the big performance, where the kids played three of the five songs they are learning for the season.  They were marvelous!  Afterward, the kids were invited to spend the night at the school for a Lock-In, with food and games and all kinds of activities hosted by the chaparones.  Deb decided to stay, while James (and Dad!) decided it would be more fun to go home and get some sleep.

Consequently, Saturday was a total wash for most of us.  We picked up Deb at the school by 6 a.m., then brought her back home to sleep.  And most of us slept in til nearly ten in the morning.  Didn't even think about accomplishing anything that day.

There'll be plenty of time for accomplishment later on.  I hope.