Independence Day

Wednesday, April 26th was quite an auspicious day for my eldest daughter. She declared her independence on that day. Independence from parental supervision, oversight, management, advice, and provision.

Somewhat.

It reminds me of a favorite book from my childhood, We Were Tired of Living in a House (by Liesel Moak Skorpen) where the kids became tired of the rules and regulations of the household and took off on their own, to live according to their own principles.  They try a number of different living arrangements but none of them are satisfactory, so eventually they return home, having learned their lesson: There's No Place Like Home. {Perhaps they should've just watched The Wizard of Oz.}

I don't expect Deb to come home any time soon, though, other than for a visit. She's decided that she doesn't want this to be her home anymore. She's setting up her own home elsewhere, with someone else.

We weren't expecting this to occur quite so soon. Certainly she's been dropping hints for the past year or so, ever since she left high school, that she was ready to move on. Certainly she's been making us aware without any doubt that she finds our old-fashioned Christian morality oppressive and anachronistic. Certainly we were aware that she, like many in her generation, find nothing intrinsically wrong with the idea of living with their significant other without benefit of marriage. But we had hoped that she might at least wait until after college was completed, for our sake, before dropping the pretense and taking up the lifestyle she knows we don't approve of.

But she's never been the hypocritical type. There are many things I admire about my daughter, and her blunt honesty is one of them. She knows what she believes, and she isn't afraid to state her beliefs even if she knows they are going to hurt some feelings. She is strong and stubborn and willful and determined and confident and ambitious and loving and so many other wonderful things; I'm deeply disappointed that we don't see eye to eye on a lot of things, but I'm very hopeful that things will turn out all right for her.

Still, as a father I can't help but feel like even more of a failure than I had before, after bungling the situation with Adam and his anxiety, with James and his decision to move to Germany to live with his girlfriend, and now with Deb's decision to live with her boyfriend. Coupled with all the other things that we've been struggling with these last few years - disastrous work experiences, turmoil at church, anxiety over getting the basement done - I know they all sound pedantic, considering all the other tragedies going on in the world today - but I don't really know how much more I can take at this point. I spent most of the day Thursday, the day after she didn't come home, unable to do anything, in a completely depressive haze.

I'm praying, as I've been praying about all these things, as we've been praying for our children over and over again all these years, and feeling that despair that David felt:

How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever?
    How long will you hide your face from me?
2 How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
    and day after day have sorrow in my heart?

To Dad, on his Birthday

Dear Dad,

Here it is, another birthday, another year on the earth, full of sermons and lessons and Bible studies and cabinetry and travel and family visits. It would be nice to stop time for awhile so we could all come down together and celebrate it with you, catch up on all the things you've done and seen, all the new friends you've made, all the old friends you've kept up with, all the joys and sorrows you've experienced. It isn't the same hearing about it all from so many miles away; there's something about hearing it from your own voice. Even when we do get a chance to hear it, there's still a tinge of wistfulness knowing that we only get to see you now and then, here and again, whenever we manage to find ourselves in the same place at the same time.

But I think about you all the time, even more so now than ever before as the years have gone by, as I've been watching my own children growing up and leaving, starting their own lives, remembering the years we spent trying to raise them up, hoping all the lessons we taught were actually making a difference, worrying about them even though we know God is watching out for them. It makes me wonder about the thoughts that were going through your head when you were watching your own children move on, move out, how the worry doesn't really stop but becomes different somehow, knowing that you can't be there for every moment, every instance. You miss some things, you hear about a lot of things second-hand, you wonder when you'll see them again face-to-face.

These last two years as we've worked on the basement, it felt as though you were right here beside me, talking me through all the things I needed to do. I could never do as good a job as you do, but your voice was in my ear the entire time, the memories of how you taught me to work with my hands, the skills you taught me, the hints and tips and methods that enabled me to do things that a lot of my peers can't do. Every time the sawdust fills the air, every time the blade cuts clean through a two-by-four, every time the corners turn out straight, I think of you.

Working on these cars, the memories come flooding back of how you taught me to tear those engines down and put them back together, how you'd have me help with the brakes, the timing, the tuning, and everything else that smells of oil and grease and gasoline. The joy of watching you and Bill working on those old VWs, how patient and kind you were to each other, that camaraderie, the aroma of his coffee (and your tea!), and the satisfaction of putting something together that actually worked.

For all the years I've been teaching in Sunday School, putting together lesson plans and creating activities and games and drawing maps and making lists and helping the kids to remember the books of the Bible, I am always reminded of your passion for teaching and how much joy you received from passing on your wisdom and knowledge to others, especially the younger folks. It is my passion as well, and I credit you with passing it down to the next generation. And I want you to know that I am striving to pass it on to the next generation as well, with some success.

As my favorite book says:

Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it. 
[Proverbs 22:6]

I hope and pray that you have a wonderful, joyous birthday.

I love you!

Rob

p.s. Cheryl and the kids say Happy Birthday, too!

A Very Good Friday

April 17th, 1992, was a very good day.

Because she said yes.

--

In truth, we had known for some time that we would be getting married, We are both hopeless romantics, but also practical. And logical. Which is one of the qualities I had been looking for. That, and earnestness. Devotion. A heart for God.

I wanted to make it a special day for her. It was actually weeks in the planning: finding a ring, writing and recording songs, figuring out the right time and place to ask The Question.

It was a lot of fun.

She's always been a lot of fun.

She's also extremely smart, and talented, and witty, and creative. But the most important quality she has, is the one that relates to a bit of advice I received a long, long time ago.

"When choosing your partner for life, always choose the one that will bring you closer to God."

And she is all that.

There's nothing better in this world than having someone to work beside on the things that really matter, the things that transcend the day-to-day earthly trivialities, the things with eternal impact. For more than twenty-five years, we've worked together on spiritual things.

And that has been the biggest blessing of all.

Why else would I ask her on Good Friday to spend the rest of her life with me?

--

Twenty-five years on, our Good Friday is a little less romantic and a lot more on the practical-accomplishment side.

She had to work; I had the day off.

First order of business on my day "off" was to fix my car.

My daily commuting car, Serenity II (the 2nd green one), has been making odd noises which sounded suspiciously like bad bearings, so it was time to check 'em out.

So, on my glorious day off, I was planning on popping the car up on jacks and pulling the wheels off and taking a good look at the brakes and spinning the hubs to see if any of the bearings were noisy.

But first -- there's all this drywall stacked against one side of the garage which I need to put up in order to have enough room to work in there. So I started working on measuring and installing drywall.

But first -- I really need to wire up another outlet on that wall before I put the drywall up. And all my electric boxes were put up in the loft above the third bay. So I need to find the box they were put in, and find the leftover wire.

But first -- all the boxes that used to be in the basement before we started finishing it were put up in the loft, and I can't even get to the box I need (nor can I remember exactly where it is) so I need to pull down a bunch of boxes from the loft and rearrange things so I can get to the back where the electric boxes are.

But first -- I have an appointment at the allergy clinic at 11:30 so have to leave at 11:00 to get there on time. And then stop at the grocery store for a few items on the way home.

Traffic on the Belt Line was especially heavy today, which meant that I didn't get home until after one o'clock. Good grief! It's already afternoon and I haven't gotten hardly anything done!

So I bagged the drywall plan and just went straight for the car repair, because I was running out of time.

I pulled the car into the work area and started gathering my tools. Pulled the hatch open to grab the jack and -- wait a minute, there's water underneath the spare tire.  Huh? No sign of how it got in; all the surrounding areas are bone dry. But the spare tire is sitting in a little lake of water. I pull it out and remove the drain plugs to let the water out, then sop it up with shop towels. Weird. Luckly, the rim of the spare is not all rusted out, like what happened to the Pontiac a few years back.

Rescued from Drowning in the Lake!

Onward. Pulled the right front tire off, checked the brakes and rotor and bearing. They're good.

Pulled the right rear tire off, checked the brakes and rotor and bearing. Hmm. Spun the hub and it has a bit of a grab to it, like the bearing is rough. But it could be the other side. 

Right Rear Hub with Parking Brake Removed

So I jack up the other side and pull the tire and check the brake and rotor and bearing. Feels OK.

Left Rear Hub with Parking Brake Removed

But.

The parking brake is disintegrated. There is no pad left on the shoe. In fact, there is only a fragment of the pad inside the housing, and it's free-floating -- which could explain why I was feeling / hearing the grinding noise. Last year, one of the front pads split in half and then jammed up the wheel.  Could be happening in this case, too.

Went inside and ordered new parking brake shoes and spring kit from NAPA on-line (reserved the parts to be picked up tomorrow). Guess I know what I'll be doing tomorrow!

Rusted-Out Parking Brake Set

A Walk in the Park

A Walk in the Park

It seemed like a perfect day to go for a walk in the Park.

The day started out cold and windy: 31 degrees (F) and a bit chilly with the wind blowing on the face. But it is the end of Spring Break and we had been wanting to go to Meijer Garden to see the Ai Weiwei exhibit (and the butterflies, if possible!) forever, and this was going to be our last opportunity before things got crazy again, what with school and graduation and things like that.

So we got up early (relatively early -- some of us are still on "spring break") and drove up to the Garden, arriving about forty minutes after they opened.

Good thing, too. We got there before the major rush started. People were still arriving in droves. With cars. And strollers.

We went to the Weiwei exhibit first, figuring that the butterflies could wait. And the line was winding through the Arid Exhibit, which meant at least half an hour wait. Mary got the map and led us outside, up the hill past the Children's Garden and the Ampitheater, to where the paths diverge. And we took the one that led to this Iron Tree.

Iron Tree (Ai Weiwei)

It's a huge rusted iron tree. Reminds me of cars in Michigan winters. I wonder if Weiwei built it from rusted Subarus? (More likely rusted Ford 150s, as there are more of them (in number) and less of them (regarding the amount of metal still clinging to the frame) than any other car on the road around here.

Art Patrons appreciating Fine Art

Cheryl and Mary looked at it for quite awhile. I wandered around and took a lot of boring, dull, rusty pictures (which I'm not going to bore you with here, because there aren't any people in them, and if you want to see the big rusted tree, come for a visit and we'll take you!) and also took a few candid shots of some of my favorite people.

Debating the merits of Rust

They were having quite a discussion which I didn't want to interrupt -- but managed to grab this picture with the telephoto setting -- and then (eventually) they were done talking about the rusted tree (or whatever it was they were talking about) and decided that we ought to head on over to the Japanese Garden, which they had both seen before.

There weren't many plants blooming in the Japanese Garden, as it is still only the beginning of Spring (which is a bit later than the beginning of Spring down south). There were a few teeny-tiny flowers poking their heads out of the ground, but mostly the buds were just turning green and everything still looked like winter.

As we were walking through the Japanese Garden, we came upon this:

Nice plaque to find in a Beautiful Garden

Naturally, Cheryl took a little time to soak in the atmosphere of the place.

Contemplating Life, the Universe, and Everything

From there, we took the circuitous path to the Zen garden (with stones but no rake) and the Tea House (closed for the season) the several Boat Landings (but no boats) and a couple waterfalls (which we were not allowed to climb upon!) and even a statue of a Buddha head lying on the ground as though it had tumbled to the ground off some cliff. It appeared to have been beaten and battered and crumpled. Not sure if that was the intent of the artist, or the kids who have doubtlessly played upon it.

Cheryl and Mary commented on the curious nature of the forlorn Buddha head -- what does it signify? -- but as there were no answers to be had, we retreated to the path and returned to the relative banality of the museum Gift Shoppe to see what wonders it might hold.

Discussing Buddha's Head

I did get a pretty good shot of the entire Japanese Garden from the little hill near where we started. I'm looking forward to seeing it again when it is warmer and the blossoms are everywhere.

Perhaps around graduation time.

Which is just around the corner.

The Japanese Garden

Long Day's Journey into the Driveway

It all starts with a steering knuckle that looked just like this one, only not as whole. The original one is in two pieces. It broke when Adam's car slid into the curb on that icy day we'd all like to forget. And it took me a long time to find a replacement.

Steering Knuckle (used)

Do you know why it took me a long time to find a replacement? Because I'm cheap. I didn't want to pay $250 for a little cast piece of aluminum that should be available at every auto parts store in the country. These Grand Ams are like the Volkswagens of their age; probably the most ubiquitous car in the midwest.  And judging by the number of accidents that happen when the roads get icy around here, there should be a million of 'em in every junkyard, too!

But, in fact, they are not in every junkyard around here. In fact, a search of the local junkyards revealed absolutely none of them had this part.

I think they're hoarding them.

This one I got from eBay, from an auto parts recycler in upstate New York, for only $20 (including shipping). It looked like it'd been sitting in his yard for the last hundred years or so, it was so dust-covered. I had to clean it up a bit before installing it.

But it's whole, and it fit, and that's the important part.

View of Transaxle with Drive Shaft Removed

Took me awhile to get the remnants of the old drive axle off the transaxle spindle (that thing in the middle of the picture). The spline on it is kinda long, and I had to pry it very carefully on one side and then the other to get it off. 

Brand New Parts in Plastic Bags!

These are the replacement parts for the project which were purchased at NAPA. On top, the new hub/bearing. Below, the new driveshaft. Oh, I forgot to get a picture of the tie-rod end; that was also purchased. But it was already installed by the time I took the picture. Because I was in a hurry.

Completed Wheel Assembly

And here's the wheel all set to go, all parts installed, bolts torqued and anti-seized, joints greased, brakes attached and functional.  Just needs to go into the shop tomorrow for an alignment. Because I want to make sure that gets done right!

Happy Car in Driveway!

And there she sits on the driveway, (almost) ready for Adam to take to school on Monday morning. Almost.

Next Customer

Next in line is Mary's car, which needs a new center differential and some brake work. That'll probably take me all week. Oh, Joy!