Monthly Archives: August 2013

PT, RV, TV, & Lydia

Posted on by

Today I actually got to pretend like I’m retired. At least for a little while. The only interruption to the day was my last PT appointment with EB at the VA. I don’t have to go back. Oh, the shoulder still hurts, but it was determined by mutual agreement that what needs to be done, I can do at home. As a parting gift, EB gave me a brand spanking new, in he box, ice pack. All I have to do, which I already did, is toss it into the freezer for a while. A great gift, and so simple to care for.

On the way home we decided to celebrate the lunch hour  by ingesting ground up parts of a dead cow. We seem to do that a lot. I know, it doesn’t really sound good when presented in that manner, but I’m not going to shade the truth. It is what it is. I still do not get the reference to pigs for the sandwiches created from the remains of that poor old cow. I think her name was Clarissa. Parts of her are probably still out there in someone’s freezer.

OK – sorry I went down that road, but it’s done and I can’t take it back.

After lunch, we returned home and let Panzee run free in the front yard for a while. Ozzie had to be forcibly relocated from his beloved kennel to the front yard for a little exercise, but he couldn’t wait to get back inside. Since he discovered what his last bowel movement cost, he’s decided, I guess, to just not ever have another one. His increased reclusive nature could also be the result of his distemper shot. We’re not sure. We just know he’s very not a happy camper right now.

One of my tasks today was to measure how many square feet of floor is visible in the old ’73 Winnebago. Turns out there’s around 42 square feet. Small, huh? The reason for obtaining those measurements is because so we’ll know how much replacement material we’ll need when we rip out the terribly stained carpet.

As luck would have it, we have some real deal bamboo flooring in our basement. It was purchased many years ago on a whim after seeing an advertisement on Craig’s List. I think there was a plan when we got it, but it was lost somewhere along the way. Maybe it was destined for the old Winnebago all along. The flooring consists of 24 boards, 3.75 inches wide, and 62.6 inches long which works out to a bit less than the area we need to cover. So, I’m either going to have to cheat on the math, or put spaces between the boards. Using spaces, they will eventually fill up with dirt and dust so that may be a viable solution. Diane will disagree, I’m sure. She does that a lot.

For fun, I set up the portable DirecTV HD antenna out by the garage and hooked up the DVR system in the ’79 Winnebago. I tried this yesterday, too, failing dismally. I knew where to point it, but getting it level proved to be extremely difficult. Today when I tried it, I discovered there’s a bubble level on the antenna, so it was a breeze. With bricks I was able to counteract the influence of the wind which was causing the dish to wiggle a bit, disallowing any possibility of obtaining a good signal strength. It went from ‘0’ to ’96’ plus, for all 32 whatevertheheck it is the DVR measures.

Once I got the good signal, I had a great picture … on channel 100.  Nothing else was available to me because the DVR hasn’t been turned on since last year some time. Now it’s going to be on every day. I’m just going to go out there every once in a while and turn it on, just because I can.

Now, about the portable antenna. It’s the same size as the ones mounted on homes. In fact, it used to be mounted on someone’s home but it was liberated and presented to me. It’s been languishing beside the garage for a few years but hasn’t lost any of its ability to capture digital images. It’s not even rusty like the one on the house.

My success in obtaining a stellar picture in the old motor home was obliterated by the fact that the DirecTV package I ordered does not include HGTV. Oh, the horrors that await me when we hit the road. I’m sure that aspect of the satellite programming will be reconsidered. Thankfully, that can be done on a whim. DirecTV is more than happy to up the ante, so to speak, by adding even more channels to the many you already don’t watch.

Speaking of that, I think satellite, and cable, providers should have an ala carte menu for programming suits each viewer. They can, we already know, be very selective about which channels you can get (the minimum is 55 for us, it seems, most of which we’ll never view) so why not just give us all the locals, TNT, Pac12, ESPN, MGMHD, SyFy, and, of course, HGTV. So charge me $5 apiece for each channel. I don’t care. Don’t give me the ‘package’ of 55 channels of which I will only, ever, watch those mentioned above.

I guess it’s not really a big deal, since I can set a favorites list, but that takes time to go through all those channels. Maybe Diane will do it. Another option, I guess, is to write down the channels we like and just punch in the numbers. Yea. That’s a reasonable solution. It just bugs me to see that hugs list of channels and not be able to see all of them. It’s a ‘thing’.

Now, the most interesting news is about Lydia. Summer is ending, there’s 2 weeks until she begins her freshman year in high school, and she was blessed with a solid case of Fifth Disease that will not dissipate until well after school pictures are taken. With Lydia’s permission, I’m sharing a photo that was taken yesterday when her face was all purple, and splotchy, and a little swollen. Every 14-year-old’s dream look, don’t you think?

IMG_0573

Today, however, there’s very little, if any, swelling, and there’s no rash but it’s still covered with purple splotches. But, as you can see by the below picture, you would never know it.

Thanks to Avon, and the fact that her lovely Grandmother has lots of their products, they were able to rid her of that ‘look’ to ensure school pictures will probably not have to be repeated. It’s totally amazing.

IMG_0572

 

I think she is a very brave, confident young lady to have allowed me to share the photos. She just rolls with the punches. That’s my Girl.

The $66 Bowel Movement

Posted on by

 

OK, here’s the story. Probably not a popular topic, but it’s about constipation. It’s not about normal constipation, either. It’s about a constipated dog. A little dog who, on his last visit to the vet weighed in at 6 lbs. Ozzie weighed over 7 lbs when we got there. He had quit eating, and wouldn’t leave his kennel, so he had to go to the dog doctor.

After a nice long talk with Dr. Brooks, we all agreed that Ozzie, our victim, probably needed an enema because there was no evidence that he’d had any activity of that nature in the past four days, or so. Since there was no way in hell I was giving him one, we took him to her. When he’s testy, like today, he bites.

Upon hearing the latter, the good Dr. backed up a little and said, “but he so cute and looks so friendly.”

“It’s a trick,” I said, reaching down to touch his side and said, “he gets a little testy when you touch him here.”

As if to prove the point, Oz reached around with his lightning fast teeth and chomped a hole in my right hand pointing finger. It bled considerably so the dog Dr. got me cleaning solution with which I scoured my finger, and an assistant got me a band-aid to staunch the flow of blood. It’s been six hours and it still hurts. Why do dog bites hurt for so long? Especially little dog bites?

After proving his point, I showed the Dr. how Oz could be picked up without injury to either him or her, and she carried him away to the back room where all the fun stuff happens. She returned in about five minutes to report all was good. Putting a muzzle on him was the only motivation he needed to evaluate his bowels. How nice. No enema. He was right there when we were talking about it so it’s obvious he heard everything. I would have covered his ears, but he doesn’t like it and shows me his teeth when I do that. Dr. Brooks added that by him doing that, he saved us a few bucks.

I’m sure Oz was more than humiliated by having a BM while being watched by a group of attractive women. It doesn’t get much worse than that, unless you have a severe case of epididymitis and your female doctor calls in another female doc to have a look. What fun.

So, it cost $66 for Oz’s office visit, a distemper shot update, and a dose of worm meds, and it was worth every penny, even if it had only been for the BM.

We should have weighed him before exiting the office because I’m sure he pooped a pound, at least.

Before and after all this I worked on the ’73 Blue Bago. You may recall that when I left it, the mechanical fuel pump was giving me fits because I couldn’t get the bolts in. This morning, it dropped right into place, and the bolts went in simple as can be. It was wonderful. I actually got that done before taking Oz to the doc, and getting bit. It worked perfectly. The engine ran and everything.

After returning with Oz, who promptly ran to his kennel, I put his morning bowl of pouch food near the opening and he gobbled it right up. I suspect that after not eating much for a few days, he was a bit hungry. It was good to see him eat something besides me.

Then I returned my attention to the ’73 BB. The final quest for success involved connecting both fuel tanks to the switch to ensure the engine ran off both tanks. It seems to work just fine, but I honestly don’t know if the switch works. I does, indeed, make a satisfying clicky kind of noise, when I move the switch, but I do not know if it’s actually switching tanks. Both fuel gauges read empty, but I know I poured a few gallons into one of them. It will become evident one of these days when we take it for a ride and run out of gas somewhere on Highway 30.

After playing with gas, I turned my attention to the water pump that failed. On Sunday, after church, I glued it all back together with super-duper silicone sealant. After drying for well over 24 hours I installed it and cranked it up.

It still leaks.

I ordered a new one on eBay and it should be here by the end of the week. Until the new pump arrives, it will remain waterless.

Now I’m tired.

Coffee Hour

Posted on by

Today, after church, we had the traditional Lutheran Coffee Hour which is an opportunity for the Church Ladies to clean out the fridge, feeding it to unsuspecting visitors. That sounds bad, I know, but it really isn’t. The food is always exceptional because, if for no other reason, it’s a free meal.

Coffee Hour responsibilities rotate amongst the WELCA ladies, or whoever is willing to volunteer, and some of them make the occasion healthy by feeding us apple and orange slices, grapes, and cheese. It’s all good. I can make a meal of that.

The best coffee hours are those that occur shortly after a pot luck because there’s always tons of food left over explicitly for that purpose. The next best are the ones following a bake sale. Then we get pie, cake, lemon bars and brownies for lunch.

It’s just great and once, during a lucid moment while descending from a sugar high, inspired me to write a one page story. I write a lot of one page stories because by the end of the first page I’ve pretty much run out of things to write about.

So, to save wear and tear on my fingers, I’ll just cut and paste this ditty from, wow, 2001. You don’t have to read it. It is, after all, old. But, it’s pretty typical of our coffee hours. The only thing that changes is the kind of food. Today, for instance, we had left over beans, potato salad, and hot dogs. My impulse is to say ‘weenies’, not hot dogs but, as reported previously, I’ve discovered that some folks construe that word in an unacceptable way. Regardless, it was all good.

I regret I have no photos of the original, or today’s meal, but here’s one of some corn I had to eat the other day …

IMG_0597

 

Now, the story. Oddly, I named it “Coffee Hour”.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< Start >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The service was finally over then we were funneled down to the basement and placed in a position that required us to consume large quantities of pastry and coffee. For some, this is the most important part of Sunday service.  Pastor has expanded the normal monthly coffee hour to include all Sundays on a more informal basis. Still, it’s the 2nd Sunday that brings out the best in the Church Ladies.

On the way down the stairs I stop to investigate the innards of our mailbox, conveniently located on the landing. Nothing there. Diane beat me to it again. That’s OK. I’ll get a chance to read whatever was there when she forgets and sets it on a table. I’ll snatch it up when she’s got a cookie halfway to her mouth. Not that it would make a difference – I doubt if she’d even lose a crumb off that cookie.  She would hand it to me if I just asked, but being sneaky about it is more fun. Or, I could go read someone else’s mail that hadn’t been picked up yet – someone who wasn’t here today. Yeah, I could do that. After all, their mail was just like ours no doubt. Again, no fun. I needed a little challenge.

I’m at the end of the line near the door to the front stairs and Diane is almost to the serving line. I would go join her, but Ev is between us and I know how he is about people cutting in front of him. I made that mistake once – it wasn’t pretty – won’t do it again – shouldn’t’ve done it the first time. But hey! I’m younger and quicker (I thought) so why not?  I had that urge again because the lemon bars were going quickly and there was a distinct possibility I wouldn’t get any if I didn’t do something to improve my place in line. So I just marched up and started talking with Ev about something (don’t remember what) and just kept it up while the line shuffled forward. Those around us didn’t realize the drama unfolding before them, but Ev knew. I watched him flick his eyes toward the plates of goodies every once in a while (I knew he was checking the lemon bars) as I continued my meaningless banter.

Just before we reached the counter Jeff came by and greeted to me. This stopped my drivel and caused me to avert my attention from Ev to Jeff. Ev took that opportunity to swiftly fill the space I had vacated thereby sealing the line, making it necessary for me to return to the end and start over. It’s a Church Rule. There was absolutely no way I was getting lemon bars today. No way. Bummer. But, I had to finish the line. While I was working my magic on Ev, twelve more people had arrived, so there was a possibility I might not get anything.  As I wasted away at the end of the line all I could think about was how thankful I was that we have communion every Sunday. Makes missing a cookie or two relatively unimportant.

As that last thought flashed through my numbed mind, Ev came by, paused for a moment, looked me sternly in the eye, then handed me one of the two lemon bars on his plate. What a guy! Sharing his lemon bars! Not many would do that. As I stood there in wonder, thankful for Ev’s generosity, I looked down at the lemon bar cradled on the napkin in my outstretched hand. It was a great lemon bar. Must have been about 3 inches by 2 inches – generous cuts by the Church Ladies.

Just as I was recovering from Ev’s kind gesture, Diane came over. Seeing the lemon bar in my outstretched hand, she took it with a “thanks, Honey!” and went to her chair. My eyes moved from my empty hand to Diane, no words coming. Once again I had nothing with a strong possibility of not improving that stance. The line moved on without me but that didn’t matter since there was no one behind to urge me on. 

When Diane got to her seat she turned and said, “come on, I got you some coffee and cookies.” That perked me up. I wasn’t leaving empty-handed after all. Oh yeah, it was OK that she took the lemon bar since it was for her anyway. I can take them or leave them, but she goes into withdrawal if she doesn’t get a lemon fix at least once a month. Me? I’ve been known to do some pretty embarrassing things for an oatmeal raisin cookie.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< Stop >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Now you can quit and do something useful with your time.

Thanks

Our Church Parking Lot Sale & Lug Nuts

Posted on by

Today it turned in to a fairly large, multi-family garage sale, without the garage. Lots of nifty stuff, including a decent meal, for a free will offering and worth every penny. The weather is currently hot and humid but this morning there was a distinct threat of rain, so it kind of dampened folks’ spirits for a short time.

The sale was supposed to begin at 10 am and people started showing up at 8:30, right on time. Like any yard or garage sale, people want a bargain. When I was calling the prices things moved swiftly because I haven’t got a clue as to what ‘things’ are worth. They are worth whatever someone wants to pay for them. I figured it was a good rule of thumb.

………….. skip ahead one day here ………………

Things went sideways up there so I stopped and never got back to this. Mostly what happened is I got involved in long conversations with whoever came by to get a hot dog. I learned a valuable lesson while doing the hot dog thing … some women won’t accept the offer of a weenie, but they will if the offer is a hot dog. I tested that on three or four of them. I don’t understand … it’s the same thing, for crying out loud. Ya know?

One of the hot dog eaters was the young boy who lives in the parsonage, next to the church, which we rent out. He came by for a hot dog about 8 times. Two I know were his, and the rest were for his brother and friend who paid him to get dogs for them. After the 4th visit I shamed him into making a free will offering, like the sign says, so he started paying a quarter for each of them. He made 75 cents on each of the remaining ones. We, of course, lost money on that deal, but it was OK. He’s a good kid.

Today I got to learn a new skill in the area of auto mechanics. The PT that Dan and Jen have been driving started making lots of racket in the vicinity of the left front wheel. When I popped off the cover over the lug nuts, three of them fell out, along with the portions of the wheel lugs that had broken off. Of the two remaining lug nuts, one was finger tight meaning the wheel was being held to the car with only one lug nut. Amazing.

After a little investigation on the internet, I discovered that the wheel lugs, though pressed into place, could be replaced. So, Daniel and I got together and did it. He did most of the work, of course, while I sat in my little lawn chair and supervised. I thought it was better that way so he would also know how to do it. Being much younger, he will no doubt have need of this knowledge after I’m long gone.

We had to remove everything off the wheel, then hammer the old lugs out. New ones, with new lug nuts, cost $22.00 at NAPA. Considering the possibilities, had the wheel come off, we figured it was a cheap price to eliminate at least one chance of dying on the highway. Really cheap, and not all that difficult to do if you just sit there and supervise.

Not I’m tired so think I’ll out back and play with the power washer.

401k’s, My Water Pump, and God

Posted on by

I’ve delayed adding this entry because the number, 401, invokes some really sad memories of my previous employment. You see, the power company I worked for was purchased by ENRON and convinced a large number of employees that their stock was impervious to decline. Indeed, it rose rapidly, and stayed high for a long time. Being one of the gullible group, I cast my fortunes with them right up until they made it impossible to withdraw before the stock dropped to $0. Nice. So, my 401k disappeared, after 15 years of participation, in the virtual blink of an eye.

There’s my sad story for today.

Now on to fun stuff …

I worked on the RV today because last night I discovered the water pump leaked. It leaked a lot. This morning I removed it and ripped it apart to see what makes it tick. It was evident someone before me had a problem with it because, in addition to screws, it was held together with silicon gasket material. It was this that became compromised allowing water to squirt all over under the sink. Sadly, I won’t be able to replace parts in it because they don’t make this kind any more. I’ll have to buy a new one. I may let it dry out and see about making it water tight, once again, but don’t have any high hopes of that happening. It would be far easier to just replace it but, then, it’s been a while since I’ve had my fingers stuck together with silicone sealant. Might be kinda nice, for a change.

There’s good news – the ’79 RV still runs, and the transmission works! I know because I drove it to Warren and parked it at the church as agreed. It drives just great even though it hasn’t been driven for about a year. I start it once in a while, just for fun, so I know the engine is good. Might be a good idea to change the oil, though. You think?

Now it’s time to lounge for the evening. I have nothing significant to say except I’ve been working on my version of religious history. I think I’m on chapter seven. I’m doing it with the firm belief that God has a sense of humor. He must because I have not been hit by lightning, yet. There is, however, always tomorrow. I’m sure I’ll be labeled a blasphemer, at the minimum, and that’s OK because I know it’s not true.

I’m just having fun at God’s expense. Since he knows me so well, I don’t think he minds.

Blog # 400

Posted on by

Hey! It’s a milestone! This is my 400th entry. You’d think that by now I would be a lot less full of crap than when I started, wouldn’t you? Diane doesn’t think so. She thinks I have a never-ending supply. I suppose I should be offended, kinda, but I’m not. I think, as Popeye would say, “I yam what I yam.”

Today was PT day for me at the VA, and I think it might be my last because the diagnosis changed a little bit. Instead of my rotator cuff, now it’s my bicep that’s deemed to be problematic and it can be addressed by pushing really, really hard on the part that hurts, just before applying ice. Diane said she’d be happy to do that for me so there’s really no need for me to visit EB at the VA any longer.

After the VA we took back roads from Portland to Hillsboro where we had lunch at the all you can eat joint. I had dead chicken, shrimp scampi, corn, mashed potatoes, buns, a root beer float, and frozen yogurt with hot fudge topping. Very nutritious. Well, it taste very nutritious, anyway, and that’s the important part.

After lunch went a few blocks to the Habitat For Humanity ReStore store to look for ‘stuff’. The original thought was to see if they had any of the panelling that looks like wainscoting to use in The Bathroom. Instead, we found wainscoting of various sizes that’s all tongue and groove on all four sides. Interesting. We bought almost all of it, in addition to a large area rug that will be placed in the dining room area once we rip out the rest of the carpet that’s there. This rug is, of course, for Ozzie who does not walk on hard wood, or ceramic tile floors. He needs rugs. Oddly, he has no problem walking the length of the garage floor. I think it has something to do with traction.

After the ReStore store visit, we went to Tuality Hospital in Hillsboro to visit our friend Tom. Linda was there, so got visit with her, too. Tom is doing absolutely great. He’s up walking the floor for his physical therapy and is doing wonderful. We had a nice long visit which ended when his PT person arrived to get him moving around. When he raised up and swiveled around to stand up I made him stop because he had on one of those backless gowns and I didn’t want the image of his ass burned into my brain as I knew it would never go away. He was kind enough to defer until I could get around in front of him and make my departure. We’re really proud of him. Of the three people who were on life support, including him, he’s the only one who made it out. There’s a reason. We don’t know what it is, yet, but we’ll be finding out.

On the way out of the hospital I stopped at the Admissions Desk and asked the young lady behind the counter if she was the one to whom I should confess. It was an impulse, and she immediately got it. You know … admit you did something wrong, or confess … all the same to me. She told me no in a very nice way, but I think she was on the phone to security as I made my way out the door.

Then we headed home. I told Diane what I did with the Admissions Lady and she asked, “Jerold, why do you do things like that? One of these days you’re going to ask the wrong person and they’ll just lock you up.” She was very serious, as she is every time she tells me that. I never listen, of course. I just cruise that fine line, down the middle of the decorum  column, with the belief that everyone has at least a little sense of humor. If they don’t, they should. Diane’s concern, with which I must agree, is that my sense of humor is a bit obscure for some folks. That’s OK. Can’t satisfy everyone.

Today is Newspaper Day for me. That’s when I go to the Lion’s Club newspaper collection container and straighten things up a bit. Someone does this every day to ensure only paper gets stacked inside. Most people follow the suggested rules, about paper only, but others couldn’t careless. It’s handy so they toss in whatever they have because a trash can is too far away. It’s usually not too bad. Today it was because someone decided it was OK to drop a bag of well used cat litter inside, and it leaked. Add to that the high temp today was just under 90, and it’s in a large, truck size, steel container, it just kind of permeated everything. I think the temp inside was well above 100 so exerting any kind of effort produced prodigious amounts of sweat which really messed up my glasses. I had to work fast because the smell was starting to get to me, and I had already called in an order for pizza. I was a total mess when I emerged from the container. Everything was wringing wet, even my socks, so folks in Papa Murphy’s were eager to see me get my pizza and leave.

As soon as I got home I fired up the oven and came to my computer to put together my agenda for tonight’s church council meeting. The whirlwind continued when Diane got home from taking her Mom to Safeway, the pizza was inserted, giving me only 8 minutes to do something before having to eat it. Actually 10 minutes. After 8 we turn it then cook it another 2. Perfect every time.

As we ate we watched Diane Sawyer news, then it was time for me to leave for my meeting. It was brutal. I’m home from my marathon meeting and got tired all over again just relating all that.

So now I’m quitting. It’s really sad that I didn’t have something really profound to share for my 400th entry. The best I could do was about Tom. You know, Tom’s situation is pretty profound, now that I think about it. It’s amazing! It’s a miracle! He’s literally  back from the dead to bless us with his presence a while longer. Maybe not all by his choice, however, I have no doubt that a strong will to survive had something to do with his recovery.

G’nite.

The Cat, Ants, & The Blue Bago

Posted on by

Yesterday afternoon Jeff appeared with Gilligan and Baylee in tow. His goal was to move the play set to the back yard. The girls objective was to ignore him, and run all over the yard as fast, and as often as they could. They would also stop and pick apples and plums once in a while, but they wouldn’t eat what they picked so we had a discussion about that. Then they picked flowers. They had a great time.

Before putting the play set back together, Jeff power washed some of the pieces and parked them for drying. Breezie found it and conquered the climbing wall. Here’s proof:

IMG_0088

Now she can look over the rhoddie that she usually sleeps under. Funny cat.

In case you’re wondering about the yard, the only thing green are the dandelions I planted. According to the guy I got them from, in a couple of years the lawn should be green year round. I’m looking forward to that. So are the dogs.

Good news about Tom – he’s breathing well on his own, the hiccups are gone, and he wants me to bring him a bed pan. I plan to do that tomorrow. Linda and Coleen both reported that Tom now remembers Linda so she’s going to have to cancel that trip to Mexico. For a while there she didn’t think he would miss her. Now we all suspect that not recognizing her was a ruse, a ploy, messing with her head. That’s the Tom we know and love and it’s good to see him doing so well.

Today I worked almost all day on the Blue Winnebago. Did I tell you that it’s blue? No big deal, but it’s just wrong that someone did that. It will, one of these days, once again be Winnebago Green. The task for today, however, was to get the mechanical fuel pump issue resolved.

Toward that end, I was able to definitively determine that the old pump was, indeed, faulty. I ventured to Car Quest to see about getting a replacement, but they didn’t have one in stock. They had to order it from their warehouse. I was there around 11 am, and they had the part in hand by 3 pm. I don’t know where the warehouse is, but it can’t be all that far away for that kind of service.

While I was waiting for that part to arrive I discovered that I was competing with a rather large group of ants for space under the Blue Bago’s engine. Some of them made their presence known by looking me directly in the face as I sat under the rig with my back against the inside of the right front wheel. It’s pretty roomy under there, but the ants wanted it all. I did my best to ignore them, but it was difficult. This is what they looked like after most of our conversations …

th

… and, in case you haven’t seen it, here’s the Blue Bago …

IMG_0003

I had to stay outside all day because Diane was cleaning the house, top to bottom. It’s the most thorough cleaning the house has had since she had her major battle with shingles. Up to this time, I did the vacuuming, which gives her fits, but I only did it when she asked me to. And, I never did it as good as she normally does. But it was my place to help her because that’s what partners do. It’s taken me a really long time to understand that when she starts doing something that I don’t have to jump in front of her and do it for her. Sometimes she likes to just do things herself. I made that difficult. That’s why I spent all my time outside today. She knew where I was if she needed help. If I had stayed inside I would have taken the vacuum away and made her sit on the couch. Instead, she collapsed on the couch.

Now she’s in the hot tub. It still has issues, but it warmed up the water nicely, to about 107 degrees, and the chemicals are stable. I don’t like using the hot tub so much for reasons I’ve stated in previous blogs. Simply put, hot tubs should be enjoyed naked but our neighbors don’t agree. Actually, neither does Diane.

Tomorrow I have PT w/EB @ the VA again. I don’t think the PT is helping much, but tomorrow’s trip will serve another purpose by getting us close to Tom’s hospital so I can deliver his bed pan.

It’s after 9 pm, now, so I must go.

Jerrie’s tired.

1 – 2 – 3 – Safe!

Posted on by

Before I get carried away with this, as I sometimes do, let me apologize for my fragrant fingers. I just applied some Avon Foot Works Deep moisture Cream to the palms of both feet to fend off dryness which has a tendency to attack exposed body parts without warning. Actually, I have plenty of warning but forget to do anything about it, normally, until time for bed. Then I don’t want to apply it because it makes my feet stick to the sheets and I don’t like that. So, I cream my feet during the day, mainly because Diane insists. Not because they are odoriferous, but because they are dry.

First thing this morning, around 0630, I attempted to place my open yogurt container, from which I had yet to partake, upon the table by my assigned end of the couch. It was dark so most of you may think that setting the container in such a manner that when released would tumble freely to the floor. It was particularly distressing because it was Peach, one of my favorites. It landed big side down which, for some yogurt containers would be a good thing, but not for Tillamook yogurt. Their big end is the one used to dip out the great tasting interior of the container. There was a small pile of yogurt next to the upside down container meaning the remainder had to still be inside.

So, I had a dilemma.

Do I make an honest effort and try to contain the spilled remnants inside the container as I tipped it over? Do I flip it fast, or flip is slow? Or, just pick it up like nothing is wrong?

I chose the latter and was pleased when I discovered that at least half of the container was full. The other half remained on the floor in two fairly evenly sized piles. I wasn’t sure if this constituted a new dilemma or was still part of the first one, but it was a dilemma, all the same.

The piles that escaped were sitting placidly on the hard wood floor, missing the carpet by mere inches. I didn’t see any visual evidence of dog or cat hair in the vicinity, so briefly considered just scooping it up and putting it back into the container and calling it good. Instead, I retrieved my spoon from the end table and, since I was already on my knees, just bent of a little and scooped spoons full directly into my mouth.

I did this for two reasons – 1) I chose to not take a chance of contaminating the yogurt that remained in the container, and 2) Diane wasn’t there to tell me it was a bad idea. I already knew it was probably a bad idea, but I’ve eaten food from the floor in the past, and I believe I’m better for it. More on that later, if I remember.

When scooping up the remains, I was very careful to not touch the spoon all the way down to the floor. Doing that would have pulled up all manner of things like 409, Simple Green, wax, and old varnish. Perhaps a pet hair or two, also. That didn’t happen. I got pure yogurt and I got most of it.

Once I’d had my share of the floor yogurt, I called Ozzie over to see if he liked Peach yogurt. He did for a short time, but quickly gave it up so Panzee could finish up. Panzee likes any kind of yogurt. She’s my official yogurt container cleaner, getting the remnants my spoon can’t. When she was finished with the floor, she stared intently at me, waiting for the container to finish the job. I ate slowly, causing her great concern, but she kept her cool, and didn’t issue any threats that would cause me to hasten the process.

Then I took my morning nap, waking at Diane’s command around 0800, alerting me that we had to leave for church in an hour.

An hour! I still had a good 30 minutes of sleep time to go, so I took it, arising precisely at 0830.

We left at 0900, picked up Diane’s Mom, Jean, and arrived at church about 0910. It’s a quick trip.

During the service, I was the designated communion assistant. Yeah, I know. That’s a little out of character for me, but I did it quite frequently and most people don’t seem to mind. My job is to handle the wine with decorum and appropriately bestow the blessing of  “Christ’s blood, shed for you.” I do that for each parishioner who choses to accept communion. Today we had communion via “intinction” so all I had to do was hold the cup as everyone dipped their wafer into the wine. It’s a simple task.

When everyone was done, we returned to the altar to replace unused wafers and the wine when the 2nd casualty of the day transpired. I bumped the wafer tray while sitting the goblet down and slopped wine all over the altar. I also soaked a few wafers. To help save me from ridicule, pastor moved toward me to cover the mishap as we sopped it up with the napkins placed there for just that purpose. Thankfully, this has happened so many times in the past, that a thick plastic cover was placed over the paraments to protect them.  So, it wasn’t the catastrophe that it could have been.

After the service, like every other Sunday, we went to the basement for coffee and treats. It’s called “Coffee Hour”, but sometimes it lasts 2-3 hours so that’s not a descriptive name for this event. But, it’s tradition, so I’ll just go with that.

Things went well for the first 10 minutes or so, while I was talking with Ron. Then, without any warning, what so ever, I found it necessary to make a gesture to punctuate a statement and made it half way through before disaster struck. Standing at the table, the gesture issued away from my body successfully, but on the return to the resting position, a little bit of just one finger found the edge of Ron’s coffee cup, spilling the contents toward me in a rush of liquid. I managed to jump back, like it was a normal movement, and calmly stood there assessing the damage as Ron rushed to get a rag to staunch the flow. I had one little splash mark just below the knee of my left pant leg which I could easily hide from Diane. Thankfully, Ron chose to put creamer in his coffee today, so it was essentially the same color as my khaki pants. No one else received damage from this. I attribute this to my foresight to spill it toward me, not away from me. Even then, I think the large doily in the center of the table would have sucked the coffee up quickly. We may never know.

From church we went to Burger King, for a nutritious lunch, then to Fred Meyer so Diane and Mom could shop for food while I stayed on guard in the vehicle. They were only gone about an hour before returning with two loaded carts which I would have helped with but my seat belt was still hooked up. I even sat there and watched 86-year-old Jean push the carts back to the store. A bit of grief was bestowed upon me for that discretion. It wasn’t bad because those present recognized that it was not my nature to avoid opportunities like that. I’m the guy who always opens car doors, any doors, for the ladies in my presence. A lost art, I know, but an example I insist on displaying not matter where we are. Diane is so used to this that, when leaving the house, she goes into the garage and stands beside her car, knowing I’m right behind her to open the door. There’s just the two of us, but the gesture has even more meaning then than when done in public. It’s not done for show, but as a sign of respect. Looking back on this, I should have freed myself from my seat and done the right thing, but I didn’t. Now I must live with this flaw on my previously almost unflawed behavior. Drat!

The coffee spilling incident was #3 for the day so I figured I was pretty safe for foreseeable future. So far, that’s been true, but there is a long way to go until bedtime. Lots of stuff could happen in the next 5-6 hours. I’m pretty confident I’ll be safe until tomorrow.

Something I forgot to mention yesterday, with regard to the failed fuel pump, is that I discovered an absolutely brand new one in one of the little storage compartments on the RV. There’s even a new starter, in case the current one fails. Since there was already a new fuel pump, it’s normal to presume that the previous owner anticipated this failure. Tomorrow I’m going to install it and see what happens. I might even add some brake fluid to the master cylinder to solve that issue.

Later …

Engines, Swing Sets, and Tom

Posted on by

Today I did something I’ve been wanting to do for months. I worked on the old D-22 Winnebago and got it running! That’s a pretty magnificent thing, I thought, because I’m not really a gear head. I’m more of a computer nerd-type of person. Actually, I’m just a semi-nerd because I don’t know half the stuff real nerds know. I just fiddle around the edges, and I’m not afraid to rip things apart to see what makes them tick.

I do, however, have problems with motivation. You know, getting started on something I want to do. It’s easy to claim that other projects get creep to the top of my list before I can get it done, but that’s not really valid. Today, however, I put my OCD-ness aside for a moment, gathered my tools, and went out to tackle this thing.

I was allowed to do this because Diane went to her Mom’s for Day Two of their garage sale. It was a bust. She came home around 1:30 pm because they only made about $20 between them. But, they had a nice visit.

Back to the Winnie …

The problem was with the fuel system. I already knew this, but I didn’t know where. So, I unpacked my trouble-shooting hat and went to work at the Tank Selection Switch, that gives a satisfying little click when I push the right switch on the dash. I didn’t trust it, however, so  routed the fuel line around it, directly to the fuel pump.

That didn’t work, so I took the fuel pump out and tested it on a spare battery I just happened to have in the garage. It was charged up, too. I checked. This was an obstacle I had to rise above so I thought and thoughts about what to do. Then the light bulb popped on reminding me of the electric fuel pump I used to get the D-22 home in the first place. I’d installed it on the old pickup because I didn’t think the mechanical fuel pump was working. Turns out is was ok, but the pump was still installed, until around noon.

I got the pump connected to the fuel line, and connected the wires, then tested it with the dash switch. It worked just fine, making all kinds of little pumping noises. But, it wasn’t pushing fuel to the carburetor. I knew this was true because I was looking at a clear fuel filter right next to the carburetor as I cranked the engine. It was right there beside me so I know I wasn’t just guessing.

The engine also has a mechanical fuel pump, like all good engines, but I didn’t know if it worked or not, even though left it connected to the fuel line.

When I first started cranking the engine, I could hear the pump prime itself, and I saw a little movement in the gas filter, but not enough to fire the engine. This told me that it might be a good idea to take the mechanical fuel pump out of the line and just run on the electric pump. When I crawled back under the rig to do this, I noticed gas dripping from the bottom of the pump, so I knew gas was getting to it, but apparently not through it. But, the electric pump just kept right on chugging the entire time the ignition key was on. To help me solve this dilemma, before going under the rig the next time, I turned the electric pump on and left it running so I could see what was happened.

It was pretty exciting when I looked. Gas was spewing everywhere out of the mechanical pump from parts that are specifically designed to not spew. Figuring this was a good clue on which to build a solution, I returned to the cab and stopped the electric fuel pump.

Then it was back under so I could disconnect the mechanical pump, and remove it from the fuel line. Knowing the fuel lines, and the pump, were now full of fuel, I braced myself for a deluge of gas when I took the lines apart and reconnected them around the mechanical pump. I wasn’t disappointed. Gas poured down my arm, soaking my shirt, burning like crazy. But I stood fast, getting it all reconnected, and hose clamps clamped until nothing dripped. Since I already knew it was going to gush, I successfully kept my face out of the way so didn’t have to content with potential blindness or lung damage.

After waiting the recommended amount of time for allowing gas to dry on your clothing, which is about 37 minutes, I re-entered the cab and fired up the electric fuel pump and was provided with a satisfying surge of fuel into the fuel filter at the carburetor. I cranked the engine and it started almost immediately, pleasing me immensely. I runs extremely well, kinda like a sewing machine, but considerably louder.

I was pleased. I was ecstatic.

It ran and nothing caught on fire. That was the best part, I think. No fire, although I’m sure there was a strong possibility of it at any moment.

Putting thoughts of fire aside, I put it in reverse to make sure the transmission still worked. It did, but the brakes didn’t like I’d hoped the would. Since it moved, however, I figured it was a good opportunity for me to put it in the driveway to pump up the left front tire which has slowly been going flat over the last year or so.

Just when I put it in reverse, Diane showed up. So, you know that was about 1:30 pm. She was very proud of me and parked in the driveway, where I wanted to be, so she could rush to me and give me the “Hug of Gladness”. She didn’t do that. Instead, I asked her to move the Buick into the garage so I could put the Winnie in the driveway. She said, “I can’t because your boxes are in the way.” I looked, and it was true, there were two boxes in the way. I looked, not because I didn’t believe her, but because I was curious about what boxes they might be. Turns out they were empty cardboard boxes which were very easy to move. Once I did, she moved her vehicle into the garage.

Then it was back to the Winnie for me, by golly. I’d left it running, just to see how long it took before it quit, but it purred right along the whole time I was gone. Putting it in reverse, I eased it back about 20 feet or so, so I could make the right turn into our driveway in one move and discovered that the brakes still didn’t work. I probably should have checked the brake fluid level, but I was determined to finish the current task first … get it into the driveway. Doing so, in the condition the brakes were poses a significant danger to the back of the Buick, and the garage, but I overcame this by working the transmission like a coxswain in a motor whale boat, easing it forward, then jamming on the useless brakes about five or six times, then putting it in reverse to stop the forward momentum. Coxswains don’t use brakes to drive their boats so that comparison was only partially correct.  With the transmission, and use of the emergency brake, which I accidentally discovered worked pretty good, I got it parked and was able to pump up the tire.

About the tires … the wheels on this thing are 19″ aluminum 5-lug custom rims. Consequently, the tires are also 19″ in the middle, and considerably taller on the outside. They are enormous things. The other Winnebago we have only has 16″ rims and the wheels look tiny by comparison. I think the Alcoa Aluminum rims were an option in 1973, but I’m not positive. I did, however, spy them in the parts catalog I have for Winnebago parts. They cost way more than what I paid for the entire rig. That means I have a huge polishing job in my future so they’ll be pretty. Incidentally, I know they are Alcoa Aluminum rims because each of them has a sticker proclaiming that fact. This tells me that Alcoa was very proud of those rims at some point in time so I need to honor them by making them shiny again.

With the RV out of the way, I cranked (and cranked) the truck up and moved it to the end of the portion of property we own on the other side of the road. Then I got my loppers out and proceeded to hack down blackberry vines, again. These are new ones, however, not the same ones I hacked down earlier in the week. Before hauling the residue down to the burn pile, I ran the mower back and forth across the weeks, getting as close to the blackberry vines as possible without endangering my little bare legs because I was wearing shorts.

It cleaned up pretty nice and gave Diane another reason to be proud of me. Twice in one day. I believe that’s a record for me.

I had just backed out of the driveway to move the RV back across the street, with the old truck, When Jeff showed up with Gilligan, Baylee, Ziva, and Daisy. In case you didn’t know, Ziva and Daisy are dogs. The other two are very energetic grandchildren who love to run, everywhere they go. Wears me out.

With his arrival, parking the RV because a parallel parking issue because he parked at the end furthest from the old truck, which I had backed into the blackberries just as far as I could, placing it in such a manner that if I couldn’t stop the RV, the truck would. Turns out I’m pretty good at parking RVs just by using the transmission R and D positions.

Jeff came to deal with the elaborate swing set Diane and I got Cedric, Lydia, and Jeran when they were much younger, but have since grown beyond the need to use it. Jeff had it installed at another place to which they were going to move, but that didn’t work out, so it was dismantled and placed on the west side of the garage. He and I moved it to the back yard near the location we all chose for the erection. Perhaps resurrection would be more correct since it’s already been erected a couple of times. It’s certainly not ‘construction’ because it’s just a matter of bolting it all together and making sure it doesn’t fall over. OK, now I’m getting confused so will move along …

It’s 8:40 pm, now, and the batter on my laptop is almost ready to expire, so I will quite.

Tom, incidentally, was removed from the respirator today and is breathing on his own. More improvement which is really the best thing about today. That, and making my bride proud.

Twice.