Purple Spring

Ah!  Spring is finally here.

The flowers are breaking ground out in the front yard, blasting a path through the bark, reaching up toward the sun to gather energy which they will need to continue their life-cycle.

The colors look wonderful against the gray dullness of the winter-sated land.

They give us hope that Spring has actually arrived to stay.

They remind us that the warmer weather is upon us, and soon we'll be basking in it.

They remind us that it's time for Spring Cleaning.

Not Quite Giving Up But Close

 It's been nearly a year since my treasured green Subaru became disabled by the classic Caput Malus disease.  This horrible disease was first noted as affecting the 1998 production models, but as it lies dormant for at least 130,000 miles, it wasn't detected by the general driving public until nearly 2001.  And then only those of the general public who were actually driving cars with the EJ25 engine.

In my case, as I purchased the car in 2010 with only 107,000 miles, it took nearly two years for the symptoms to appear.  But appear they did, right on schedule at 131,000 miles.  Sudden overheating, steam in the engine compartment, sudden panic on the face of the driver.  It was necessary to take the car to the official Subaru shop.  Their diagnosis was swift and painful: $4,000 to repair.  The only alternative was to attempt the repairs myself, using my own strength and skills.

Alas, although I was able to take the engine apart so that I could replace the head gaskets, I was unable to perform this delicate operation without accidentally damaging three of the head bolts.  Two of them, I was able to remove.  The third and final bolt broke in half during the operation.  Half of it still lies trapped within the core engine block.  I have tried at various times over the last year to remove it, but to no avail.

So I (finally) gave up and bought a used engine with the intent of dropping it in place.

A good rebuilt EJ25 engine is something in the neighborhood of $1500 - $2500.

A beat-up EJ25 engine dragged from the dead carcass of a wrecked Subaru is only $500.

Guess which one I bought?

 Well, it isn't that dirty.  But it also isn't in pristine condition.  It was literally cut out of the wrecked carcass.  So the wires and some of the pipes aren't in the best of shape.  And it is a bit muddy.

But the important thing is that it is mine, it is in my shop, and after a bit of cleanup and some small repair, it will be placed into the body of my old green Subaru (like a new brain in the body of Frankenstein's monster) and my car will live again.

Naturally, there is one small, slight, unimportant-but-vital repair that will need to be made.  When the car slammed into the tree, part of the frame connected with the timing belt and busted the cam pulleys on the passenger-side camshafts.  So I'll need to get those replaced.  

Happily, I still have the cam pulleys from my old engine, so it shouldn't be difficult to fix 'em up.  Assuming that the valve stems didn't get bent.  This is an interference engine, after all.

April.  It's April.  And we're getting snow?  What's up with that?  OK, so it's Michigan; we live a bit further north than some.  But seriously - when is this "spring" thing going to actually start?  When am I going to be able to put my plants outside and get serious about my garden?

It was so wonderfully nice and warm the other day.  Was it just yesterday?  Now I've lost track of the days. No, it wasn't yesterday.  It was getting a little cooler yesterday, but warmer the day before.  Nearly seventy. And now it's cold.  Not freezing, mind you; just cold.  Thirty-five or thirty-nine or some such.  So why is it snowing?  Doesn't the temperature have to be thirty-two before we get snow?

No, says my charming and highly intelligent (and well-informed wife).  If the air above is cold enough, the snow will fall.  And if the ground is cold enough, it will stick.  And it does.  And it does.  And it is - all over the yard.  A wispy-thin blanket of snow on the ground.

But we will have our revenge.  Soon the warm weather will come and erase all of it, even the memory of it; and Spring will be in charge again.

Until Summer arrives.

Broccoli, Backs and Banana Bread

I don't know why this insane broccoli plant is still alive.  It certainly didn't thrive this much last summer; but here it is, nearly three feet tall and blooming right at the top.  With one "head", or whatever you call those things they sell in the store.  Did you know that if you let them alone and don't cut them off to eat them, they turn into huge gangly flower blossoms?  It's true.  Because I'm looking at this thing all winter long, as it keeps doing this, and thinking to myself: Why bother cutting off one lousy broccoli stem when it won't even serve one person for dinner?  Calculating how many would go into a "normal" serving, I figure we're going to need to raise another twenty or thirty plants.

Where on earth are we going to put them?

Probably doesn't matter.  I can guarantee that the moment they go back into the garden this spring, they're all going to wilt and die.  Except one.

I spoiled it rotten all winter long.  Fed it daily, gave it the best spot in the house for sunlight (two corner windows), pampered it like it was my own kid.  And it did well.  For a plant that obviously doesn't want to be eaten.

Harrumph.  And I like broccoli for dinner, too.

This is a typical scene around our house on the weekends.  Girls working on various electronic devices, either for "social media" or for writing stories, and a cat or two lying thither and yon upon the couch.  Mostly Alfred, who likes to be petted or rubbed or stroked for a little while and then wants it to stop.  He'll help you know when to stop by reaching back with his mouth and biting the hand that strokes him.  Except he has no teeth.  So it's less like biting and more like gumming.

He can still pinch, though.

 Mary got lucky here.  He's all curled up and enjoying it, and doesn't look like he's going to get nasty about it. Really, it's the arthritis speaking when he bites/gums.  The poor cat, who must be fifteen or sixteen years old (at least) by now, has chronic arthritis (thus saith the vet), but refuses to take any meds for it.  So he gets by with a few light backrubs during the day, whenever he can get them.  If you come over and sit on our couch -- and don't move too quickly, which will frighten him -- he'll (eventually) jump up there right beside you and let you try out your rubbing technique on him.

But be ready in case he decides to "ask" you to stop.

We had so many bananas, and they were all past ripe.  I can't eat the ones that are ripe, let alone the ones that are past ripe; so it was definitely time to make some banana bread.  Mary helped me out here.  The two of us spent a wonderful afternoon in the kitchen making it, then several days eating it.

What?  We forgot to send you some?  Sorry, the bread was soooo good, we must've forgotten.  Better put your orders in now if you want any next time!

Hmmm... looks like there's another batch of overripe bananas in the kitchen.  Guess I know what we'll be doing this weekend!

Happy Cats

Cats are so weird.  They find happiness in such strange ways.

Like altitude.

Harking back to the old days when they used to hang around in trees, I suppose. Watching over their prey.  Waiting to pounce.

No, wait.  That's leopards.  Cats get stuck in trees, so they generally look for low-altitude branches -- no more than four or five feet off the ground -- from which to hunt.  Any higher, and they tend to get a bit queasy about the trip down.

Here in the house, we don't have any low branches.  We have furniture.  Backs of chairs.  Cat trees.  Fireplace mantels.  (Well, they've only done that one once.)  Occasionally, table- and counter-tops. But they get in major trouble for that kind of thing.  Especially if there happens to be food on said tops.

Still, you can't blame them for trying.  They like being up where they can see things.  Their favorite perches are the cat trees in front of the windows, where they can look outside and see the birds dancing around, taunting them.  And when they do catch sight of a bird, they start that weird chattering noise.  Sounds like someone who's been left out in the cold.

The really weird aspect of the getting-up-to-altitude thing is that the cats apparently have some rules about who can be on the highest spot in any one room at any one time. And if one of the cats is already at the highest spot, the other one won't try to get any higher.  At least in that room.

Also, each cat has preferences for the time of day when they wish to be up on the perch.  One is more likely to do so in the morning while the other is more likely in the afternoon.   I don't recall which one is which time.

That's the fun things about cats.  One mystery after another.  No possibility of ever understanding them.

College Boy

Some days I look at my oldest son and can't figure out how it happened, this growing-up thing.  Just the other day, we'd moved to Grand Rapids and he was in the fifth grade.  Fifth grade!  And he was going to be in the advanced class, the one for the especially smart kids.

Now he's in college.  Made the Dean's List.  Majoring in Literature or Language or something else equally impressive. Looks like quite the collegiate person, doesn't he?  Hair a bit long, fashionable goatee kind of thing, scarf.  Reminds you of Dr. Who, doesn't he?  Only he hasn't a Police Box, just a dorm room.

We went to see him today, to talk scholarships and jobs, the two most important priorities -- at least, for the parents. Adam's priorities are somewhere else, somewhere in the middle of his studies, his writing, his gaming; all those things that grab hold of your brain and don't let go.  He's near the end of the first year of his college career, hopefully the start of many yet to come, and it's our job to bring him down from the heights to face the reality that college is way too expensive and he's got to do his part or there won't be any college at all.

It's not an easy message for someone who loves learning as much as he does.  If there were only a way he could focus on the learning and ignore all the day-to-day mundane details which are necessary to provide the foundation of the experience - but he can't.  We don't have a wishing stick or magic wand to wave around and make the piles of money appear, or convince the administration to lower the cost of college to the point that people could actually afford it without going into debt for the rest of their lives.  Especially people who aren't looking for a particularly high-paying job when they get out, but just wanting to broaden their experiences and their horizons and their understanding of the world and the humanity that lives upon it.

I hope he applies for and receives all sorts of scholarships; I hope he finds a good summer job soon that will allow him to help pay for his education.  Mostly, I hope he - and we - won't have to stress out over the expense of college for the next four years.  At least he only has to worry about his own four years; we've got three more right behind him who are going to be worrying about their own financial journey.

Meanwhile, it's always nice to go up to the college and visit with him awhile, even when he's obviously distracted by much more important things.  I love my son dearly, and pray for him often, and hope that God will grant him the blessing of success and contentment in his chosen field of study.

Bike Ride Beautiful

It is such beautiful day, such a beautiful day that it would have been a sin against nature not to go out into it and enjoy it.  The snow no longer covers the ground.  The air, though crisp, is no longer freezing; indeed, it is nearly warm enough to stand out in the sunlight and simply luxuriate in the rays of the sun, enjoying the tingle of it on the skin.

We could not resist the call of the sun and the clear blue sky; we got our bikes down from the loft and pumped up the tires and tightened up the handle bars and strapped our helmets to our heads and took off, down the street, feeling the smoothness of the rubber tires against the asphalt road, dodging occasional ruts and bumps and potholes and other denizens of the deep winter's damage.  We didn't let them discourage us from our quest.  We wanted to ride.

We did not ride for a long time nor for a long distance; our intent was not to see how far we could go, nor how long we could last, but simply to go, to ride, to stretch, to feel the wind in our faces and the road beneath our feet, to enjoy a momentary celebration of the coming spring; to grasp just a taste of what is to come, to savor it in the moment of time in which we found ourselves, to then retire into the house after our slight adventure was over and dream of the opportunity we know is coming, to do it again and again.  When the springtime really comes.

And it will come.  We can feel it.  Though there may be days in-between with cooler temperatures and precipitation, perhaps even more snow; yet we will not despair because we know that, eventually, winter comes to an end and spring begins, and bicycles will be ridden again.