Improbable Probabilities

Of all the stupid things that could go wrong at the same time...

It turns out that the problem with the new starter - the hesitation - was not the new starter after all.  It was exactly what you would suspect when you try to start the car and it hesitates.

It was the battery.

I swapped the van battery out and put in the battery from the green Subaru, and the van started up like there was nothing wrong at all.  And here I was, thinking I'd totally hosed up the starter installation by mounting it wrong or something.

Just goes to show you.  Something. I'm not sure what.

So what's the probability of both the starter and the battery going bad at the same time?

My brain obviously thought it was too low, because I was fretting about the starter all evening.  Wondering if it was a lemon. Wondering if it was mounted badly.  Wondering if the wiring had been damaged.

And all along, it was the stupid battery.

Oh, well.  At least Cheryl has her car back.

One of Those Weeks

So the van starter died on Monday.  I worked from home on Tuesday in order to alternate work with work.  That is, there was a path being worn between my little work area in the living room where the laptop was dialed in to the office, and the bigger work area out in the garage where the van was slowly being taken apart, piece by piece.

The first order of business was calling around to different shops to make sure that they actually stocked a starter for a 1999 Dodge Grand Caravan - at a reasonable price.  First on the list was NAPA, since they are just down the street from work.  They had four in stock.  At $99 each.  Plus core.  Then I called AutoZone, since they are just down the street (in the other direction).  They had one in stock.  One.  At $89.  Plus core.

Guess which one I decided on?

The second order of business was removing the original starter.  Which was harder than it sounds. Because, unlike most starters which are easily accessible either from behind and below the engine, or somewhere obvious in the engine compartment, the 3.8L engine on the Dodge Grand Caravan has the starter neatly tucked between the front engine mount and the engine block itself.  Which means that the mounting bolts are incredibly difficult to get to.

It didn't help that I found out after starting this little project that the bolts on the older starter were 15 mm and I did not own a 15 mm socket.  Instead, I had to use a 15 mm end-wrench.  Which required a lot more finagling to get into place with sufficient room to turn.

It was slow and painful, but the bolts finally got loosened and the starter was pulled out of the tangle of wires and engine mount structure so that I could take it down to the auto parts store and trade it in on a much newer model.

But I also needed to get new mounting bolts.  Because the old ones were both completely stripped.  And the new starter doesn't come with mounting bolts.  The original mounting bolts were heat-hardened bolts which are not generally sold in hardware stores (or in the auto parts store, for that matter).  After talking to a few people and running around to a few stores, I just got some bolts that would fit the threads on the starter and were about the right length and let it go at that.

And they worked.

But it took me until nearly dinner time to get the new starter mounted and tested.  And then it was time to leave again, this time for the Boy Scout Eagle Project review committee meeting.

But my testing revealed that there was still a problem. Because, although the car started, it was hesitating.  Kind of like it does when the battery is nearly dead.

I didn't have time to investigate, though.  That'll be a project for another day.

Probably tomorrow.

Monday Night Rescue Mission

OK, I'm getting a bit tired of this.

The leak in the ceiling is fixed. I don't need any more issues to deal with. So what happens?  The starter on the van decides to quit working.

Cheryl was over at Costco (with Mary) getting fuel and food for the family; she had just finished fueling up, turned the key to start the car, and got the following in response:

*click*
*click*
*click*

Which sounded to me like the starter wasn't working.

She called me from the Costco gas pump.  It was late.  The guy manning the pumps wanted her to leave so that he could shut things down.  So she called me at home, and I called James up from the depths of the basement, and we formed our two-man rescue mission.  We got ropes and tools and all sorts of things from the garage and threw them in the back of the red Subaru and roared off down the road to the rescue.

Arriving at Costco, we confirmed the symptoms (*click* *click* *click*), then attached the rope between the back of the Subaru and the front of the van. Thinking at the very least that we could tow the car over to a convenient parking slot and leave it there overnight until we could arrange proper boarding arrangements, we pulled the van away from the pumps (so the poor guy could shut things down and go home!) toward the parking lot and had stopped just in front of a slot and were about to untie the rope so that James and I could push the car into the parking spot.  Just for giggles, I got in the driver seat and turned the key and - success! - it started up.

So we abandoned our plan to leave the car at Costco.  James and Mary drove the red car home, following their mother and I.  We made it successfully.

And tomorrow, I get to tear the car apart to find out what's going on with the starter!

Leak Fixed - I Hope!

It took me three tries to get this one right, but success was mine!

Saturday was a total wash.  No amount of heating could convince the stubborn solder to flow in the joint, and the flux merely turned black under the influence of the flames.  And no amount of air from the compressor could adequately clear the line of the water which was obviously keeping the flame from doing its work.

Quite frustrating for a day's work.  I finally gave up and moved on to other things, but none were so important as the leaky ceiling.

Then on Sunday, I redoubled my efforts, spending an inordinate amount of time setting up the compressor to blow out the water which was lying in the lower section of the crossover, and repeating the cycle several times until it seemed that there was no possibility of any water remaining in the pipe.
It was actually quite satisfying to discover that the compressor attachment - the one with the cone-shaped rubber hose which adapted to a wide range of pipe diameters - allowed me to inject the air stream directly from the bathroom sink so that it blew the water back towards the hot-water tank.  It was a snug fit so that very little (if any) air pressure was lost.

And then when the torch was lit and the flame applied to the joint, it was only a few seconds before the solder started to flow and the seal began to look like it was supposed to look.

(Yes, you'll notice that there's a burn mark on the floorboard above the joint.  That's what happens when one doesn't pay proper attention to the length and direction of the flame as one tries to avoid melting the solder too quickly.)

When the water supply was turned back on, it was gratifying to find that no more leak existed.  The problem was solved.

At least the leak issue was resolved.  There is still the matter of the hole in the ceiling.

But that's for another day.

We All Fall Down

Today is a very special day in the pantheon of days because today is the first day I was able to put on an actual sweater because it ... is ... cold.

Brrrr!!

It must be fifty-five degrees out there!

The tomato plant out in the garden is an idiot and can't tell the difference between summer and the season that comes right after summer. Whatever it's called.  The tomato plant keeps popping out with the green balls of fruit (which oh-so-slowly turn a delightful shade of orangey-red and then a deep, rich red which tastes absolutely delicious when popped like grapes into the mouth) and the yellow flower blossoms (seriously? you really think the bees are going to come around now that the temperature has dropped to near-freezing??), and str-etch-ing out with the green vines, up, up, up so far that it's difficult to tell the difference between the vines of the tomato plant and the branches of the tree it's growing on.

We have a seriously deluded tomato plant.

One of these days, I'm going to walk into the backyard to perform my daily tomato-harvesting activities and discover that the entire plant has shriveled into nothingness because an overnight frost crystallized all the molecules of water in the into cell-wall-shattering shards of ice, and then it will be time to toss the green carcass into the compost and bag the dirt for safekeeping and tear down the planter boxes so that they can be stored in the garage, and thus restore the backyard to its pristine, pre-spring state of nothingness.  And all will be ready for the impending snowfall.  Which should start right on schedule around November 25th.  Covering up all evidence of the travesty that was this year's garden attempt.

I'm not sure what to do about the watermelon plants.  They're just as stupid as the tomatoes, although with far less fruit.  As in "none".  Perhaps because they didn't get planted until late July or early August.   If I can keep them alive over the winter, perhaps they'll do something next year; but this year - nada.

And then there's the strawberries, which are just beginning to redden up.  And the broccoli, which is sprouting pods again.  And the lettuce, which steadfastly refused to do anything except create hundreds of dandelion-like seed parachutes.

Psychotic plants, all of them.

Now that the cooler weather has settled in, it's time to pack it all in.  But where?  There's no room in the garage.  There's no room in the loft.  There's no room in the attic.   If I had time (and $$$) I'd build a little greenhouse so that they could stay warm all winter long.  But there's no room for that.  And probably some local ordinance against building greenhouses next to the house.  (Don't want another orange sticker, you know!)  If I lived on a farm down in Texas, I'd just build me a greenhouse and enjoy puttering in it when the air outside is freezing and the wind is cutting like a knife. Or if I lived down in California, I'd just keep on gardening because it will never get cold enough to freeze anything.

But here in Michigan, it's time to hunker down and think interior thoughts.

And get that exterior cleaned up.

Yet Another Project

As if there weren't enough projects needing to be done around here, my laptop's display hinges finally wore out the plastic to which they were attached.  And so they can't support the display in an upright position.  Which makes the whole assembly less of a laptop and more of a lap-and-kneecap-top. 
It hurts to bend over to see the screen.

Hey!  I've got plumbing leaks and car engines to work on!  I don't need more projects! 

Saturday, Deb was having some friends come over.  One of the was going to spend the night.  How am I supposed to shut off the water and drain the pipes so I can work on the plumbing, when there are all these people running around needing to use the sink and the bathroom and the hose?

The only solution which came to mind was to send them all outside for an afternoon of fun and frolic in the sun, while I stayed behind and tore into the ceiling and attacked the now-empty pipes with my propane torch and a roll of solder.  Sure, four or five hours should be plenty of time to fix up a simple joint reflow, right?

Well, it should've been, but it wasn't.  Took me an hour or more to get the whole system drained out, then an hour or so to get the joints cleaned up (they were covered with oxidation) and then another hour of flailing with the torch and failing to get it heated up enough to actually flow the solder (dripping on my head doesn't count!) before I finally called it quits and said, forget it.  I need a full day with everyone gone to handle this.

It was getting close to dinnertime.

So I bagged the plumbing work and turned the water back on  and (after about an hour) the system was restored to normal.  Except that it still leaks.

And started working on my laptop out in the garage.  Tore it apart.  Found lots of little tiny plastic pieces which had broken off over the years, but had been covered up by the case.  Lots of tiny screws.  Lots of dust. And figured that there ain't no way it are going back together again.  It are broke.

Time for a laptop case-mod!

Meanwhile, I dragged out an older computer and made a 'fake' laptop (actually a desktop with the keyboard sitting on my lap) and tried to make do with that.  But it's hard because that computer only has 512 megabytes of RAM and 5 gigabytes of available hard drive space.  Which clearly isn't enough.

Sigh.

So no progress today.  Maybe tomorrow.

I've got to do some other work now.

The Ceiling is Leaking. It Must be Monday.

It's funny, the feeling in the pit of your home-owning stomach when someone says, "What's that dark patch on the ceiling?"

Kind of like the feeling you get right at the point where the roller-coaster starts heading down that first hill.

Like you left your stomach far behind you, way up in the air.

I hate plumbing.

The first thought that occurred to us was, naturally, that there was some kind of bathtub leak from the second floor, since the ceiling in the living room is almost directly below the second-floor bathroom.

But when I went up there and checked the bathtub and the caulking and the flooring and just about everything else I could think of, there was no sign of any kind of leak.

Then I looked again at the location of the dark patch on the ceiling and it didn't exactly line up with the bathroom; it was more in line with Mary's room.

And she doesn't have any plumbing in her room.  That I know of.

Which could only mean one other possibility: a random pipe leaking in the ceiling above the living room.

Oh, joy.

I took off my shoes and stood on the arm of the couch (which my mother told me never to do!) and reached up with my finger and touched the dark patch on the ceiling and ... it was mushy.  Completely water-logged.  I pushed my finger through the (not-so-very-dry)wall with ease.

Now there was no going back.  I had taken the first step; now there would be serious consequences.

Which meant serious tools.

So I went out to the garage and grabbed my drywall saw and a blue tarp and a flashlight, and Mary fetched the kitchen step ladder; and I lay the tarp over the couch and the floor and set the step ladder on top of the tarp next to the couch; and I climbed up on the step ladder and reached up with my drywall saw and poked the tip through the hole I'd created with my little finger and started cutting the (not-so-very-dry)wall until there was a six-inch diameter hole through which I could see into the joist space above the ceiling.

And now I could see the problem.

There was a "T" junction directly above the hole.

And a little drop of water clinging to the bottom of the pipe.

And it clung to the pipe for just a few seconds more before it teared up and fell down, down, down - all the way down to the tarp.

Sploosh.

Hmmm.

I went back out to the garage and reached down below my workbench and grabbed the little sand-colored bucket and brought it back into the living room and placed it strategically on the tarp and waited a few minutes.

Sploosh-tink!

Bulls-eye.

And So It Begins (Again)

The first day of school is always an interesting day.  Everyone gets up early; no one wants to be late, do they?  And whether the parents need to be up or not, they are.  Up.  Early.  Because there is always the worry, no matter how small, that some child is going to sleep right through their alarm (or forget to set their alarm) and turn a seemingly ordinary day into an avalanche of anxiety.

The kids were quite ready for the beginning of the school year.  They were all up on time, ready to go, earbuds in place, music on. Waiting.  James and Deborah were waiting for a friend to come by and pick them up; Mary was waiting until it was time to head to the bus stop.

Of course, Adam is already up at the college, all excited about his first day of classes.  Probably can't wait to start studying all that Latin and Greek and philosophy and stuff.

Cheryl was off and running not too long after the kids had all headed out the door, as she was going to be up at the school for a few hours.  I had the house to myself for awhile.

Kinda quiet around here.

Makes me wonder sometimes what it'll be like in a few years when all the kids have gone off to college or wherever they go, and Cheryl and I are here by ourselves with nothing but cats and plants to keep us company.

I may have to crank the stereo a little louder.

Love's Labor Day's Lost

Sometimes it's hard to know where one season ends and the other begins.  Kind of like trying to figure out where the watermelon plant starts and the tomato plant begins; or where the tomato plant starts and the pear tree begins.  That's what happens when these things are planted too close together.  They all get fuzzed up together, wrapping their branches in amongst each other, causing no end of confusion and consternation.  Our only hope is that one of 'em will actually come to something and not die off when the winter snows come rumbling in.

This Labor Day is getting all fuzzed up in my head with Memorial Day.  Didn't summer just start a few days ago?  And here I am with so much to do, so little time left to do it in, and the world just moving right along as if there isn't a thing in the world that can slow it down.  The kids will soon be back in school, the three-day weekend will be over, and there'll be nothing to show for it - at least, not on my part.  It doesn't feel as though anything has been accomplished, other than bits and pieces here and there.  Mostly spending money on things that needed attention at the moment, but now they're all forgotten and unimportant.  Dealt With.  Completed.  For the moment.

I was hoping to get the green Subaru fixed up, and instead, we've gone and put the red Subaru into the shop, since it's closer to being up and running.  The red one only had a water pump gasket leak that was keeping it from being streetworthy.  On accounta I don't like dripping radiator fluid all over the place whenever the car stops, which is what it was doing.   (Sure, there's other things amiss with it, like the transmission, but they're good enough to keep it on the road for now.)  The green one, though, had bad head gaskets, which require a whole lot more time and effort.

In fact, it's been nearly four months working on that green Subaru's engine, and it's still laying in pieces in my garage, waiting for a trip to the machine shop to get the heads cleaned and remove the remnants of a broken head bolt from the engine core.  Kinda getting frustrated with it, but that's the way it goes with these projects.  There's always the risk that something is gonna block it up and hold ya back before it gets done.  Or the money you'd saved up for the job gets spent for something more timely and needful.

It'd help if there was a good mechanic herabouts, but I still haven't found a mechanic I can trust.  Leastways with my brother-in-law, I knew the job was always done right.  I've gone to several mechanics around here, and each one has done something that just didn't sit right with me. So I'm inclined to do the job myself, wherever I can.

Only thing is, I can't be working on two cars at once.  There's gotta be at least one other car that works around here, with the activities and schedules we keep around here.  And it would be best if some official-like professional mechanic did the work, so I would have a warranty to fall back on, just in case.

I don't give no warranties on any car work.

But now the car's in the shop, and there's more money we have to spend (that we really don't have) on a hunk of metal and plastic that's only going to fall apart more and more as the years go by.  Kind of like a lot of things around here.  You can pour all the money in the world into your car or your house, but they're just going to follow the laws of entropy and disintegrate around your head.  Better to spend the money on things that last.

If only cars were like plants.  Just add water and sunlight and good soil, and, instead of rusting, they get bigger and brighter and better day by day.  Like the tomatoes.  One day they're blossoms, the next day they're green blobs, and then all of a sudden you're looking at a whole mess o' tomatoes, beautiful and red and made for salad.

And while there is labor involved in taking care of the plants, there isn't near the expense.  And it's kind of restful to go out into the yard and just look at them, marveling at the fact that they weren't even there just a short time ago.

Some of the plants go through these marvelous transitions, appearing as little nubs of nothingness at first, then becoming little sprouts of somethingness, and then taking on a familiar form that suddenly clicks in your brain and a thought bubble appears over your head and says, Wow! That's going to be a strawberry! or Cool! That's a broccoli!

And then there's other plants that just sit there doing nothing at all, like those watermelons; and you have to resign yourselves to the fact that those ol' watermelon plants are not going to do anything before it's gonna be too late in the season; and then the fall temperatures are going to kick in, and the greenery is going to fade away as it gets ready for the eventual, inevitable snowfall.

And I still haven't figure out what we're gonna do with all these plants that are still growing when the winter comes along.  We were able to keep the tomatoes and the broccoli in the house over the winter months, but the beds have gotten quite large now and there won't be nearly enough room for them all.

Hmph.  Gonna hafta think about this a spell.