Christmas Day, 2012

Back when the kids were little, they were up bright and early and ready to start sorting the packages so they could see how many each one had gotten, piling them up in front of themselves like little forts.  It's good to see that they've outgrown all that silliness.

Almost.

They certainly don't get up bright and early anymore, having adopted a night-owl lifestyle.  But they still like to sort through the packages and create little piles in front of each other.

After breakfast.

Our tradition has evolved over time so that we have a big breakfast on Christmas morning - knowing that we're going to have a big Christmas dinner sometime in the later afternoon - which is something we never do on any other day of the year.  We just aren't that much into big breakfasts, generally because everyone is getting up early for school and then heading off to catch the bus at different times.  And Adam is on his own up at college.

So it was kinda nice to have everyone sitting around the table with pancakes and bacon and eggs and all those other traditional breakfasty foods, then get everything all cleaned up, then head over to the living room in front of the Christmas tree to see what Santa had brought us.

We always take turns opening gifts.  That's why it helps to have all the gifts sorted in stacks before we begin, so then we can go from one person to the next more easily.  The only problem comes when one or two people run out of gifts before everyone else.  Typically the parents run out first, but that's OK.  We're generally the ones who purchase things for ourselves when we need them anyway.  So the kids get an extra round or two of opening gifts.

This year went well.  Everyone seemed pleased with their gifts.  No one felt short-changed.  But then I expect that they're way past the stage where the getting is the important thing anymore.  They're maturing quickly these days.

Christmas Eve

I had to work on Christmas Eve.  That's the price to be paid for a new job when there has been no time to earn any vacation yet.  And with this particular job, there is no automatic two-week winter holiday.

I could sure use it, though.

There weren't a lot of people at the office on Christmas Eve. Most everyone else has been at the Company for at least a year and have earned the time off, and they took advantage of it to take the day off.  After all, with only one weekday between Sunday and Christmas, why come in at all?

So the office was nice and quiet.  That doesn't guarantee that any work actually gets done, of course, but at least it's easier to think straight.

After work, there was a bit of last-minute Christmas shopping to do, then a bit of Christmas Eve dinner cooking.  We also are supposed to go to the Christmas Eve service at church, but since the food isn't quite ready - and Deb isn't feeling well - Cheryl stays home to finish up the dinner preparations while the rest of us pack into the car and head for church.

The service is ... interesting.  Personally, I'm in favor of singing all the traditional Christmas songs.  In the traditional rhythms.  But that isn't the way it turns out.  Oh, well.  It kinda works.

Then we head home to have our family Christmas Eve dinner, which was quite yummy.  Followed by a traditional movie feature: The Bishop's Wife.  The Cary Grant version, not the modern one.  And then we close out the evening with our traditional opening-of-Grandma-Green's presents.  Which are always new pajamas for the kids.

Christmas List(s)

Titania's Dress

Out of this wood do not desire to go:
Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no.
I am a spirit of no common rate;
The summer still doth tend upon my state; And I do love thee: therefore, go with me;

- A Midsummer Night's Dream

For a school project, Mary created a dress for Titania, the Fairy Queen in A Midsummer Night's Dream.  It was quite a little project.

Cheryl was happy that Mary was going to spend some time behind the sewing machine.  The problem was getting Mary to the sewing machine.  There were so many other things going on, including concerts and tests and quizzes and all the other things that need to get done before Christmas Break.  Guess it kind of slipped her mind.

So she and her mother got to work, selecting the pattern, deciding which variant of the pattern to use, shopping for materials at the fabric store, pinning on the pattern, cutting up the fabric, pinning the seams together, stitching all the pieces together, and then taking a break because it was time for dinner (or bedtime or something).

And they kept that up for several nights.

And other things kept interrupting.

And then, when there was no time left to do it, suddenly it got a lot more complicated.  Not the wings; she'd always planned to do the wings (and they were actually kind of simple).

No, it was one of those sewing things.  Gussets or stitches or something.  (Don't ask me - the only thing I've ever sewn is G.I.Joe clothes, and that was more years ago than I'd care to remember.  And no machine work.)

The little metal rings where the lacing goes through - what do you call those things? - they didn't stay on very well.  I think the holes were too big so there wasn't enough fabric to hold onto. But Mary had fun putting them on.  All twenty-four of 'em.  Or was it forty-eight?  I can't remember.  But she sat at the craft table and pounded on the 2x4 block with the stamper thingie and got 'em all on. Mostly.

It was after eleven o'clock on Sunday night when the dress was finally finished. I didn't get a chance to see it before I went to bed. And then I had to leave for work before seeing it the next morning. Cheryl took Mary to school so she didn't have to carry it on the bus.

From what I heard later on, the dress was a big success at school.  I suppose that means it earned her lots of brownie points.

 

 

 

Getting Ready for Christmas

Thursday night was the annual Christmas - er, Holiday concert.  For the middle-schoolers.  And Mary was all dressed up and ready to go.

The concert was a lot of fun, not so much for the songs they sang, which were done well and with great spirit, but for the people who were there.  The choir director is the same one with whom I worked to put together the Pirates of Penzance play.  And many of the kids in the choir were the same wonderful kids I worked with in the play.  It was a very pleasant reunion.  Although I had to resist the urge to jump up there on stage and sing along with them.

As it turned out, Cheryl and I did get to play a role in the performance; we helped out in the audience directing the kids where to sit, and how to stay quiet while the other groups were singing.  Middle-schoolers have a tendency to talk at every opportunity, regardless of what else is going on around them.  Or in spite of what is going on around them.

We were supposed to start working on our Christmas cards on Friday night, but everyone was very tired from the week and there just wasn't enough energy to go around, so instead they did other things. I pulled the tires off the red Subaru and checked the brakes because something is making a noise every time I press the pedal.  The brakes all looked fine, but the front right drive axle boot was cracked, which means that it needs replacing.  So I spent the majority of the evening researching the steps necessary to replace it.

But in the morning, I decided that there just wasn't enough time, given all the other things that needed to be accomplished, so instead of doing it myself, I called up the Firestone place up the street and had them do it for me.  And, while they were at it, they put on some new tires.  (After all, the previous ones had over 120k miles on 'em!)

Then it was time for Mary to work on a dress for a school project - she's putting together a costume as 'Titania' from A Midsummer Night's Dream - and for the rest of us to write those Christmas cards.  After we find all the addresses. Where did we put them??

Meanwhile the cats were enjoying the fire.

 

Twenty Mile Scout Hike is ... Over!

And I survived!  Barely.

We started out at 8 in the morning from Mason's house.  It had been snowing, and was snowing still. There was snow everywhere on the ground, but not on the sidewalk; it was still too warm to stick on the cement.  I didn't take any pictures on the way because the snow was wet and thick in the air and I didn't want it all over the camera.

We walked on the sidewalks along the main roads, heading west for about three miles, then south for another two or three miles, then east for five or six miles, then north again, then west again, then north, then east.   Half-way along, we stopped under a highway overpass to rest; a couple of miles later, we stopped for lunch at a Chinese restaurant.  The last leg was about eight miles.

My right hip and knee were really hurting by the time we got to the half-way point, but there was no turning back.  We had to keep going.  So I adjusted my walking style to favor my gimpy leg, and hobbled along.  By the time we ended our little venture, about three-thirty or so, my right leg felt like it was going to fall off.

But we made it.

James, who had come to Mason's house to pick me up when we were done, took the picture of me, Mason's dad, and Mason. Three happy-go-lucky guys with a successful twenty-mile hike under their belts.  Only two more ten-milers to go!

I hope we don't have to do the next one on snowshoes.
 

Garage Roofing

After quite a busy week, it was a relief to come home on a Friday night and having nothing of any consequence to do.

The new job is still in the "interesting" phase, not yet worn through to the "why can't I find a real job?" phase (which is sure to come sooner or later).  I'm doing some very exciting things (not).  Spreadsheets and such.  Budgets.  Spending.  Invoices.  Accounting.   Goes along with my Electrical Engineering and my Computer Science degrees.  Not. 

Still, as Mary Poppins would say, in every job that must be done, there is an element of fun; you find the fun and !pop! the job's a game.

In this case, the game is, don't screw it up.  People are depending on me to get their paperwork right so they get paid on time.

But the only fun I can find is the fun of coming home and heading out to my garage and making stuff, even if it's useless stuff.  (Or nearly useless.)

Today, I cut up some OSB boards to make some ceiling panels for my little shop so that I can insulate it and keep the place warm through the winter (if we ever get a winter).  I've still got to finish up that Subaru engine, and it's painful to work on engines in the winter if the garage is cold.  So I'm hoping to insulate the little shop enough that I can keep the metal parts warm and thus avoid frostbitten fingers.

Tomorrow is the Boy Scout 20-mile hike.  We're doing an urban hike tomorrow because it's easier than driving twenty miles to a recreation area and THEN walking 20 miles.  But it will be tough on my old feet, which don't like pounding pavement for long periods of time.

But I'll bring along my camera and see what sights there are.  Other than squished roadkill.

Meditating on God's Handiwork

When depression rears its ugly head, making me feel full of dread,
and wanting just to go to bed, it's time to click a link instead.

Yosemite Webcams

Aaahhhhh...much better now.
 

A Sobering Sadness

One of our dear friends from Seattle lost her husband this past weekend.  In the prime of his life, at forty-five, with a loving wife and several wonderful children, he died of a heart attack.

It is especially poignant for me because this particular family had settled in Glen Allen, Virginia, and were attending the church where I had grown up (although it has moved from Hermitage Road to Three Chopt).  They had become friends with many of the people I remembered from my youth.  Which is kinda weird, considering that we had met Wendy and Tim back in Seattle.

Small world, indeed.

Now the news came through Facebook that he has suddenly died, and the family is left with no insurance and no savings and no income (I believe they are a Navy family and had been relying on his income).  I can't imagine what that would be like.

They have started a fund for Wendy and the kids. I hope it is enough.
 

The Pirates of Penzance, Jr.

For a three-performance run, we didn't do too bad.

The first performance was full of nervous children, so we were expecting some issues.  The second was much better than the first, as we were aware of the problem areas and had prepared for them.  And the third, while not as difficult as the first, was performed under the shadow-fact that we were almost done, and the kids really just wanted to get it over with and move on to the cast part.

Hey, it's middle school!

As I mentioned previously, we discovered on Tuesday that the kids were not prepared to execute the complete play, as we had neglected to rehearse sufficiently for the finale; so we made up a new, shorter ending.  Consequently, when we had our Dress Rehearsal on Wednesday morning with the elementary school kids (about 200 of them), we used our fake ending.  However, since the kids hadn't had a chance to practice it and drill it into their heads, they kinda forgot.

So instead of going through the dialog where the Pirate King tells the Major-General that they'd found out he'd lied, and they were going to make him pay, and then the Sergeant knocking his sword away and saying, No, We charge you Yield in Queen Victoria's Name, the Pirate King bypassed all that and went straight to his next line: We Yield at Once, Because with all our faults, We Love Our Queen.

He did a great job, too.  Dynamic, loud, well done.   Except that, without the preceding dialogue, it made no sense.  He had his sword on the Major-General.  He was ready to take the fatal swipe.  And then he suddenly announces, out of the clear blue sky, that they all give up because they love the Queen.

The elementary school kids didn't notice; they didn't understand half the dialog, and the only thing that really caught their attention was the fight scene.  But we adults were laughing our heads off. It was too entirely absurd.  And comical.

But we really didn't want to see it on Opening Night.  Not really.

So, after a yummy pizza lunch, we spent the afternoon practicing all the rough spots and tweaking the scenery a bit.

On Thursday, Opening Night, everyone was nervous, but we didn't realize how nervous until the scene with Frederic and Ruth.  Frederic froze.  For thirty seconds.  Couldn't remember his line, and couldn't figure out a way to ad-lib it.  So he just stood there.  And we (adults) held our breath.  And died inside.  I tried to get the stage manager to whisper the line to him, but for some reason that didn't work.  Eventually, he moved on - one of the other pirates walked out and whispered it to him.

After that, things went more smoothly, but we still had a couple of glitches.  And many of the songs were off by a half-beat or so.  The kids faces were mostly deer-in-the-headlights faces, unable to relax.

That was OK, though.  Opening night is usually a bit rough. The next night was much better.  They must've went home and practiced like crazy, because they nailed most of it.  Frederic didn't hang on any lines, the songs were (mostly) on the beat, and they nailed our last-minute, made-up ending.

We were very hopeful about the Saturday matinee.

I'm not sure what happened.  Like I said, perhaps they were thinking of the cast party instead, because they messed up a couple of times.  The Pirate King decided to have a complete memory block for thirty seconds, just like Frederic had done before.  And no amount of prompting from the wings availed.  The songs were all having issues.  And they jumped lines twice.  Unfortunately, the second time was during the finale, when the Pirate King repeated the glitch from Thursday and skipped some very important dialog.

But we finished.  And the kids realized it wasn't that big a deal.  Their parents still loved them.  And showered them with praise.  And they still had to tear down the set and clean up the stage before we let them go to the cast party.

Maybe now I'll get some time to work on my car.   Before the snow falls.

--
To see the Dress Rehearsal photos, go to SwobodaPics.  And look for Mary!

O Where O Where Did My Finale Go?

It's the end of Tech Night 2, and I'm completely at a loss.

We got to the end of the fight scene and discovered that no one knew the ending.  The final song.  The Finale.  The part where the Police tell the Pirates to "Yield in Queen Victoria's Name", and the Pirates, being dutiful subjects of Her Majest the Queen, "Yield at once, with humble mien - because, with all their faults, they Love Their Queen."  (Followed by Ruth's revelation that they are not really pirates at all, but merely noblemen who have been playing at pirates because the relative dishonesty of politics is not to their liking.)

And when I started the Finale music, nothing happened.  Crickets chirped out in the audience.  The actors stood on stage with blank expressions on their faces.  "We didn't practice this!" someone protested.

Well, actually, we DID practice it, but not on stage, and it was at least a week or two ago.  But I had neglected to take into account the fact that, unless directed specifically to go home and study their entire scripts, the cast would not take the trouble to make sure they knew not only what we had practiced on the stage, but also the parts we had not yet practiced fully.

So we stood there on the night before Dress Rehearsal and realized that we didn't have an ending.

Talk about panic in the streets!!

We still had five or six pages to go through in the script.  Five or six pages which included at least three songs (one "new", two reprises).  Songs which tied all the loose ends and bring the show to a resounding end.

But we had no time.

So what did we do?

In the spirit of true Thespianism, we did what any other self-respecting Company would do: we made up a new, shorter ending.  Taking the gist of the real ending and shortening it into a quick, five-line summation:

Pirate King: "You lied to us about being an orphan, and now you will pay!"
Sergeant: "No! We charge you yield - in Queen Victoria's name!"
Pirate King: "You do?"
Police: "We do - we charge you yield in Queen Victoria's name!"
Pirate King: "We yield at once, because with all our faults, we love our Queen."

{Pirates lay down their swords and are taken away by Police.}

And then went directly into the Curtain Calls.

Hoo, boy.  This is going to be fun.  Tomorrow is Dress Rehearsal in front of a crowd of two hundred restless elementary schoolkids. Most of them aren't going to understand any of the dialogue anyway, so I doubt we'll get much reaction from them - other than, "What are those kids doing up there?"  Unlike last year's play, Beauty and the Beast, Jr., they haven't been watching the Disney cartoon version since they were infants, so they have no idea what's going on.

I don't think I'll sleep very well tonight!

Pirates of Penzance Week

This is the schedule.

Monday - First Technical Rehearsal
Tuesday - Second Technical Rehearsal
Wednesday - 8 AM performance at the school, followed by final "clean-up" rehearsal
Thursday - Opening Night
Friday - Regular Performance
Saturday - Afternoon Matinee

Technical rehearsals involve setting up all the wireless microphones, the lights, the timing, the stage piece movements, and testing the costumes and makeup to ensure they are going to work.  Unfortunately, we're still working on the choreography for the three dance numbers, so we'll be trying to do a lot of tweaking to the show at the same time.

Have you ever tried to convince middle-school girls that they don't look silly doing a dance that does NOT involve a kick-line? For some reason, they keep bringing it up, hoping I'll let them do one (which they did last year in Beauty and the Beast Jr.)  Somehow I just can't see the prim and proper Major-General's daughters doing a kick-line.  Nope.

Then there's going to be the fun of handling the forgotten lines, the missed solo cues, and the ad libs.  I can't wait to see what the kids come up with when someone forgets their lines.

Then there's the set itself.  I'm still not happy with it, but we don't have any time left to fix it! 
I've obsessing about this show for the last three or four weeks, to the detriment of practically everything else. I hope I still have a job when it is done! 

Too Many Projects to Mention

Have you ever had so many things to do that you don't know where to begin?  That's the way it feels right now. All the time.

Let's begin with the obvious one.  The middle school musical.

Last year, I volunteered to help build a prop for the middle school musical, Beauty and the Beast Junior.  It was a privilege to be asked to help.  And it was a joy and a challenge to build the prop. And it was exhilerating to be near the stage again, even though it was mostly backstage.  All the wonderful memories of my high school musical days came back in a flood.

Some of us never lost our passion for the theater; it's just been put on the sidelines while we were pursuing more life-critical goals.  But it is always there, just under the surface: the desire to put on - or be a part of - a show!

This year, I volunteered to help with the sets, thinking to use my vast (!!) knowledge of carpentry (insert laugh track here) to ensure a good, quality production.  After all, they are doing my absolute favoritest play ever, Pirates of Penzance. Well, they're doing the Junior version of it, anyway. Which means they've removed some of the songs, shortened most of the others, and simplified the dialog to the point that middle schoolers can actually understand it.  Mostly.

So I showed upon the first day of rehearsal, which took place in the choir room at the school, hoping to meet the choir teacher who was going to direct the show and talk to her about sets.  There were thirty of forty kids, all bunched up in a room, sitting on risers, sitting on chairs, sitting on the floor, munching snacks while awaiting direction from someone.  The choir teacher was trying to deal with various administrative details. I asked if there was anything I could do.  She asked me to get the kids started on a run-through of Scene 1.

So I put on my theater director hat and walked up to the front of the room and commanded, in a from-the-diaphragm voice that carried to the back of the room, that the children listen so that I could give them some direction.

(Those of you familair with the attention span of middle-schoolers are now laughing your heads off because you know exactly what happened next.)

Not knowing me from anyone, they looked up to see what the fuss was about, then promptly went back to whatever it was they were doing before.  Mostly talking (and texting).  So I started again.  Louder.  With a little more edge to my voice.  That started to get their attention.  A third time sufficed for them to actually do what I asked.

And so we began rehearsing.

Three weeks later, we are still rehearsing.  The choir teacher is still mostly doing administrative work, trying to keep track of all the little details which go along with making a show happen.  The volunteer coordinater began working with parent volunteers just this week, which means that we are about three weeks behind schedule on getting our volunteers in place (for things like costumes, concessions, ticket sales, advertising, etc.).  We had our first committee meeting only yesterday, and there is SO much work to do.

And I'm still coming to the school three or four days a week, right after school, rehearsing the children on their parts, both musical and non-musical.  And building sets and props on the weekends. And getting ready for our first "performance", which is taking place during a school assembly next Friday morning; we're doing an excerpt, one song.  And I'm trying to figure out how we're going to be ready for Opening Night, which takes place in less than three weeks, when the kids still haven't gotten their lines down.

So in the space of three weeks, I went from lowly set-builder to co-director.  How do these things happen?

Meanwhile, I've started a new job, going from Test Lead at GE Aviation to Project Manager at Randstad (née Technisource).  So instead of planning and managing the test activities for a software project, I'm going to be managing entire projects, including budgeting, scheduling, and staffing.  More responsibility, more pay, more new things to learn. Including a new-to-me company.

Then there's the Boy Scouts.  Our Troop has dwindled down to one Scout who has completed his Eagle Scout Project (for which I served as coach) and is now working on his final merit badges (which includes the Hiking badge, for which I am participating in all the hikes).  The Council sent someone along to help re-invigorate the Troop, and she has promised to find us some more boys, if the church (the charter organization, for which I serve as liason) is willing to continue chartering.  The staff at church is not enthused about the idea, but one of the elders has promised to support it, so there is some small hope yet.  And if it continues, I'll still be the liason.

And my car, my lovely green Subaru.  It is still sitting in the garage, waiting for the engine to be put back together and rejoined to the rest of it.  But there is no money in the budget for such things; this was a partial motivation to seek a new job (aside from the obvious kid-in-college financial motivation). I need to get that car fixed.  And the red Subaru still needs some transmission work. Which will require more money.

And winter is fast approaching.  Which will severely limit the number of things which can be accomplished here at the house, within the confines of the garage. Which means taking them to a real car shop.  Which means significant monetary commitment.

And last but not least, there is NaNoWriMo.  As a wannabe writer, it behooves me to participate in this novel-writing exercise, not particularly for the purpose of creating a real novel, but to discover if I actually have what it takes (time, brainpower, stamina, endurance) to write a novel-length work in a short amount of time. Frankly, I don't think I have the time or the brainpower this year, especially in light of what is going on in my life.  But there is no time like the frantic present to find out!

(So far, I have only gotten around 14,000 words, which means I'm about three days behind schedule. But I'm hoping to catch up soon!)

Oh, one more thing.  Christmas.  Fast approaching.  Time to write Christmas cards!  And letters!  Now where am I going to find the time to do that??
 

Long Time Coming

It was over a week ago that I finally bid my old job good-bye and began a new phase of life, switching companies without switching locations, at least from the point-of-view of the parking lot.  This was something I had been considering for a very long time; in fact, for at least three years, I had been looking for an opportunity somewhere in the area.

Well, you didn't really expect me to move away from here, did you?  This place has everything we could ever want.  A good church, good schools, good friends, and, most important, no real traffic to speak of.

It only suffered in the monetary compensation department, especially for those of us entering into the putting-kids-through-college phase.

So when I heard "through the grapevine" that this particular company was hiring, I threw my hat into the ring and took the opportunity to declare my candidacy. And it paid off.  Now I have a new job with more responsibilities (to go along with the additional compensation, which goes directly into the "college support fund").  But the commute is the same, and the building is the same, only I use a different entrance.

Unfortunately, the job change occurred at the wrong time, because there are too many other things going on at the same time.  Like trying to restart a Boy Scout Troop.  And directing a Middle School Musical.

But more on that later.  Right now, I must rest!

National Stress Week

It is not in my nature to handle well the stress that goes along with weeks where there are so many events scheduled that it is impossible to find a moment to breathe.  This was one of those weeks.

And it was, after all, due to my own choices.

The activities at work are converging to a point where all of the preparations we have made over the last year-and-a-half are finally resolving themselves; our final round of "formal" testing is scheduled to begin during the week after next.  And, due to a bizarre juxtaposition of events (or perhaps an ill-natured fairy), at almost the exact same time, an employment opportunity has presented itself which will prevent my completion of those activities, yet also launch me out onto a new adventure which has the promise of great reward as well as the risk of great tragedy.

My involvement with the Marching Band has also reached a climactic point: our final home game, followed quickly by the final Invitational competition.  As part of the support team, my attendance and participation in these events is critical.

Our FIRST Robotics team has been preparing for our first mock competition, which has meant hours of preparation for training sessions and practice drills, as well as the normal mentoring for electrical and software design.

And my involvement with the Middle School musical has dramatically increased in scope, requiring far more of my time and attention than had been originally planned.  Whereas it was my intent to assist in the planning and building of sets and props, it has now fallen to my lot to act as quasi-director, stage manager, assistant choreographer, set designer, and vocal coach.

In the background are the usual litany of worries and anxieties associated with having the first child in college, fixing/maintaining the house and the cars, mentoring an Eagle Scout project, dissolving a Boy Scout Troop, teaching Sunday school lessons, teaching Wednesday night lessons, and all the little things that need to be done to the house and yard as we get ready to "hunker down" for the winter.

Oh, and I'm supposed to be working on my writing, too.

Today I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed.  Maybe tomorrow things will calm down a bit.  Maybe.

Winter Eyes

The weather has been cooling rapidly as those of us in the Northern hemisphere begin the gradual slide into winter.  And this signals the start of the official 'winterization' project, which includes, unfortunately, trying to convince the stupid plants that they should stop producing fruit and instead devote their energies to hunkering down for the long, cold winter.

Tomatoes are so stupid.

I went out to the garden yesterday and picked off all the tomatoes I could see, ripe or un-ripe, and put them in a bowl.  Do you see how full that bowl is?  This is from one stupid tomato plant.  ONE.

Tomatoes are so stupid.

As you may have noticed, most of the fruit of this plant is still green.  For those of you who are unfamiliar with the fruit of the tomato plant, green means that they are not ready to be picked yet (unless you are some idiotic vegetable conglomerate who puts them into trucks to that they will ripen on the long-distance trip between here and California). Red means that they are ripe and juicy and ready to go into a salad.  How many red tomatoes do you seen in that bowl?

Do you also notice, over there on the left, that there are still yellow flowers coming off the stems?  Yellow flowers are usually located in the place where the tomatoes eventually grow.  When the flower gets pollinated, the flower part disappears and a tomato (eventually) takes its place. So this plant is obviously expecting that there is going to be some pollination taking place soon.

Tomatoes are so very stupid.

It's getting very cold outside at night.  The weatherman predicts that we're going to have temperatures near freezing in a few days.  The plants are going to get completely demoralized.  By now, they should've been hiking up their skirts and heading for warmer climes (if only tomatoes could migrate, like coconuts!).  But they don't.  Because they are tomatoes.

Because they are stupid.

So in the next couple of days, we're going to go out there and dig up those stupid tomato plants and place them in our winterization pots, and strategically arrange those pots inside the house somewhere so that the plants will (hopefully) survive throughout the winter; and then, in the spring, we're going to take them outside - this time, after we're sure that all the freezing temperatures won't be coming back - and thus restart our summer garden.

Hopefully.  If the tomatoes cooperate.

And if I can figure out where on earth in this crowded house to put the pots of plants.  Which include, aside from the tomatoes, a broccoli plant, a half-dozen watermelon plants (which never produced any fruit), two lettuce plants (which never produced any real lettuce leaves), and a couple of flowering plants whose names escape me.

I hope the other plants aren't as stupid as the tomatoes, but the fact that they haven't died back yet makes me suspect that they are.

Where's the PAUSE button on plants?

Attack of the Killer Aphids!

I came home from work after a wearying day, ready to cast my cares on the couch and relax in front of a tall, cool glass of iced peach tea, when James announced the attack.  So I went outside and down the steps and over to the planter box where the poor plants were valiantly attempting to throw off their oppressors.  And got seriously grossed out.

Aphids were completly covering one of the stems of the broccoli plant. Ewww.

I've dealt with the little blighters before, in smaller numbers. Performed one of those "home remedies" on them.  Soaped down the plant to loosen their grip, then rinsed 'em off (or squished 'em, I can't recall exactly).

But this infestation was just horrifying.  One of those things that resonates in your brain and turns your stomach.  Like leeches. 

James was fascinated with it, and took pictures (as you can see).  I stood and watched, apalled.  And queasy.  What to do?

As it was the end of the season anyway, I took the easy way out: snipped the entire stalk off and tossed it into the compost (with visions of aphids buried under a mountain of coffee grounds, melting beneath the acidic pile).

But the picture stuck with me.  Because it reminded me of the way my life feels right now.  If my life were a plant, and each of the stems an area of interest or involvement.  Home, church, office, shop; work, worship, hobby, chore. So many stems, so many activities, so many directions. Some mature and blossoming, some still struggling to reach sustainability. Filling my time as I channel the energy from ground and air into the performance of a useful function.

Imagine, if you will, that each of the aphids on the stalk of the plant is a worry or anxiety, a frustration or distraction that pops up in life and attaches itself to an area you're trying to grow.  Stealing thoughts, wasting time, draining energy.

Lately it feels as though the aphids are sucking the very life out of me.

Car repairs, house repairs, school activities, church politics, college finances, career questions.  All of these things needing attention, but there is only so much sap in the stem.  And it feels the supply is drying up.

Sometimes the easiest thing to do, is to trim off the stems with all the aphids and focus on the ones which are still clear.  Like with my broccoli.  Which thrived again once the aphids were removed.  (Until the deer came by and ate off all the leaves!)

Should I trim off a few overloaded stems?  Cut back on all the activities?  Stop doing some of those things?  Learn to say "No"?

Or should I just apply the soap (so to speak) and try to get rid of the worries without affecting the stems?

It's hard.  I'm caught between a deep-seated need to please others, and an intense desire to be left alone so that I can pursue my own interests.  And knowing where to cut things off is difficult.

We've been doing a "40 Days of Prayer" series at church and at home.  The material speaks of God prompting the Holy Spirit to prompt us to pray, even when we don't know what to pray; how we should be praying to move ourselves closer to God's will rather than moving him closer to ours.  So I'm praying to know what his will is.

And wondering if he's going to soap me down, or just do some trimming.

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.

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.