Thursday, February 27, 2014

Make Sure Your Door is Shut Tight!

James was in a bit of a panic this morning when he went out to his car and discovered that it would not start. Seems after his 'dumpster-diving' session last night (donuts!) he didn't get the car door shut all the way and didn't notice that the overhead light was still on and so the battery drained all night.

For a car that automagically shuts off the headlights when the car isn't running and the key isn't in the lock, you'd think they'd be bright enough to put the overhead lights on a similar drain-blocking circuit. But they didn't. How odd.

We didn't have time to look into it; we just jumped into my car and zoomed off to school. After dropping him off, I got back to the house and pulled the battery and put it in the shop on the charger. Tried to swap in my backup battery, but it was dead, too.  Tried to swap in my other backup battery, but it doesn't fit.

Doesn't fit.  Hmmm.  I haven't done any battery-swapping in a while, obviously. I'd forgotten that the Subaru and the Dodge batteries are not identical.  Not even close. Terminals completely different, dimensions completely different, CCA (cold cranking amps) completely different.  Guess I'll have to do one of those all-day battery-checking sessions, pull an inventory on my batteries and see what we've got. Wouldn't be good to be in this situation again. I need a battery for each car and at least one backup battery per type.

Oh, well. Enough excitement for one day. On to work!

Tuesday, February 25, 2014

Monday's Child of Woe

So it's a Monday morning, naturally, in the middle of the worst winter we've seen in a decade, and the roads are covered with a thick layer of compacted snow which makes the tires about as useful as sled rails. After spending twenty minutes brushing six inches of fresh white powder off the car, then another five trying to back the car over the berm left by the plow which came through the neighborhood an hour ago, I'm in a bit of a rush because now I'm running way behind schedule and my brain is rapidly scanning through the list of tasks to accomplish before the nine o'clock staff meeting. Checking each one off in my mind's-eye list as the morning radio spouts meaningless left-wing dogma from NPR -- I only leave it on that station because they play classical music most of the time -- my hands and feet dance in perfect synchronicity to the orchestral strains playing pianissimo in the background of my thoughts, an unconscious but beautiful choreography of clutch and gear, brake and gas.
Then just as I round the first curve , a cacaphony of squealing erupts from under the hood like a hundred cats who had crawled up into the engine compartment for warmth were suddenly and inexorably caught by the thoughtless machinations of belt, pulley, piston and spark.  And all the precious, vital impulses that were starting to organize themselves inside my mind have now exploded into random patterns of panic and my only lucid thought is a question: Will the car make it long enough to get me to work? And as soon as I've thought it, the incredulous stupidity of it washes over me in a shameful, frightened flood. What kind of idiot would try to drive five miles to work in a broken car rather than just returning to the warmth and safety of the home he's barely left? But there is no accounting for intelligence in moments like this. Indeed, there's hardly a Monday in my experience where intelligent thought is occurs before noon.
A moment later, the choice is taken from me. The squealing comes to a dreadful crescendo. There is an ear-piercing 'snap', and then a nothing but the puzzled, subdued rumble of an engine which knows something horrible has occurred but can't quite figure out what it is. My mind, efficient machine in its own right, is ahead of the game, quickly running through the possibilities of survival and ticking off the possible avenues of escape. Obviously, a belt has broken; and judging by the sudden inability of the steering wheel to affect the direction of the wheels without a monumental effort on the part of my arms, it is equally obvious that it is the power steering pump belt. Oh, well, I can live without power steering. I drove a car for years without power steering! For one microsecond, my panic subsides. And then another microsecond's consideration of this fact leads to yet another significant yet sobering fact: that belt that drives the power steering pump is the same belt which drives the alternator. Which means the engine is now running on battery power alone. And battery power alone is not sufficient to get the car down the road. In a few moments, the battery will be drained and the car will die. The panic returns. I must return home. Now.
At the next intersection, I pull a U-turn, and am forcefully reminded that it has been many years now since I drove that car without power steering. My arms are pulled from their virtual Barca lounger, spilling the remote control and the chips from their laps, and forced to do real work for the first time since they don't remember when. Spinning that wheel is like telling oxen they're going the wrong way on the Oregon Trail. By the time I'm back on the straight and narrow path back home, my shoulders are calling the physical therapist for an appointment and my wrists are filing for Worker's Comp.
Disregarding the anatomical mutiny as best I can, I make it back to the house and over the berm and find a spot in the driveway where, once the key is released, the car falls to sudden and irrevocable silence.  In that moment of peace and tranquility, the first thought that occurs to me, in a rush of unanticipated joy, is: Looks like I'll be working from home today! And I'm both pleased and excited at the prospect because any day spent working on the car is far better than a day spent at the office. In fact, I'm looking forward to casting aside the typical day of office politics and panic to relax under the hood of the car with a wrench in one hand and a can of WD-40 in the other. I can feel the smile starting to creep across my face. Ah, if only it were warm enough that I could do the work outside in a fresh summer breeze! The daydream fills my mind's eye for a moment and I can almost feel the rays of the sun pouring across my back as my mental avatar leans in across the engine and starts to loosen the bolts which hold the elements of the engine together.
Then the creeping cold of the cooling cockpit reminds me that it is not summer, it is not warm, and there are many things to do before I can even begin to make repairs to the car. Plans to make, schedules to adjust, office work to endure. It will be awhile before I will find the time to get the car running again.

But I will find that time.

Monday, February 24, 2014

200,000 Miles So Far - And How Many To Go?

Hard to believe that we've had this Dodge Caravan now nearly 14 years, but one look at the odometer and we can tell it's been driven.  A lot.

200,000 miles.  In 14 years. That makes ... wait a minute, let me do the math...

14,286 miles per year, on average.

That really is an average, too.  We drove a lot more than 15,000 miles per year back when we lived in Seattle - which was the first four or five years we had the car. We did an awful lot of commuting to Seattle from our little home in Everett.

Once we moved to Grand Rapids, though, our commute dropped like a rock. From 30 miles to town, it's now 10 or so. Church is only three miles. The stores are three miles.  Work is five miles. I used to drive over an hour one-way to work, but it's been ten minutes, tops, for the past ten years.

Saved us an awful lot of wear and tear on that car.

But I'm not sure how many more miles we're going to get out of it.  The salted winter roads of Michigan are harsh on the metal, rusting away the undercarriage faster than you can imagine. Won't be too long before we're going to need another vehicle. And I'm sure Cheryl has her eye on something completely different now that the kids are grown up and we don't ride together in the van much anymore.

I wonder what she'll pick?

Thursday, February 20, 2014

Eagle Scout Board of Review

I've been reviewing Eagle Scout projects now for nearly five years and this is the first time I've actually had the opportunity to attend an Eagle Scout Board of Review.

This is what happens when you are a project coach for an Eagle Scout candidate and they actually invite you to the Review!  So I got to go downtown to the Gerald R. Ford Museum and sit in the auditorium and watch as my candidate was introduced. I got to meet his parents and aunts and uncles and Scout leaders and actually talk to them awhile.  That was way cool.

It was a bit different than I had expected, though.  I thought all us parents and coaches and Scoutmasters would sit outside the auditorium while the Board of Review chatted with the boys -- but it turned out that the candidates and the Board members left to go to their individual stations while we parents and leaders stayed in the auditorium and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Until finally they all came back.

Then they announced one by one all the candidates who had passed their Review (which, oddly enough, turned out to be ALL of them!) and congratulated them and gave us photo opportunities and then we all stood around and congratulated them personally and stood around yakking it up until finally we realized we had to leave at 9 because the Museum cleaning crew were (ahem!) waiting on us so they could get their jobs done.

So we left.  With big grins on our faces. Especially on the part of the used-to-be-nervous no-longer-candidates Eagle Scouts.

Wednesday, February 19, 2014

Winter Plants

All of a sudden, the geranium has decided to grow. Like, massively. In the space of two weeks, it's gone from green-sprout-in-the-dirt to overhanging-the-planter -- and now it's shot a stalk two feet in the air and started to bloom!

Silly plant.  Doesn't it realize we're in the middle of winter here?  There's six feet of snow outside!!

Wednesday, February 05, 2014

Trio Concerto de Talente Extreme

It's a bit bizarre when the Music Department puts on a special performance to highlight the particular talents of a few very motivated students. But when you find yourself blessed with students with those kinds of abilities, you have to do something about it. You can't just wait around for the official Fall or Winter or Spring concerts to showcase what you have; you make a special effort to show off.

So tonight we were able to attend a special performance at the school where three very talented students were allowed to strut their stuff: one, a Julliard candidate, played her French horn with the concert band; the second played an amazing saxaphone accompaniment to a wonderful jazz piece; and then Charlie Cooper, whom we've known since he was a pup, got out in front of the band and played a perfect rendition of "Rhapsody in Blue".

James, of course, was accompanying on clarinet.

Saturday, February 01, 2014

Solo Ensemble

I still don't know why they call it "Solo Ensemble".  I think what they mean is "Solo or Ensemble". Or maybe "Sole/Ensemble".  Because the kids in the music classes, who gather at the school on this particular Saturday in February, are performing both a solo and in an ensemble; they are performing a solo piece or they are performing in an ensemble.

Sheesh.  Who can understand the curious minds of musicians?

Today's performance was interesting because James and one of his bandmates were playing a clarinet duet piece with Cheryl accompanying them on piano.  I got to sit in on the performance while they attempted to impress the judge, then listen in while the judge gave them feedback.

It was nerve-wracking.

The music itself was well-done, from my layperson perspective. And the judge's comments were helpful and well-intentioned. But ...

I get all stressed out watching other people perform in front of judges.  I cannot / will not watch American Idol or So You Think You Can Dance or any of those other competitive performance shows. I have severe stage fright for other people.

Here's hoping my children don't inherit that particular handicap.