Viagra, Painting The Hall, and The Winnebago

Posted on September 16, 2013 by Jerrie Cate

Now, don’t go getting all alarmed with the title. It’s that I just saw a Viagra commercial that suggested I check with my doctor to ensure it’s in good enough shape for sex. I’ve seen it before, numerous times, but I’ve never given it much thought. The most recent commercial, however, caught my attention so I decided to find out and I called my doctor’s office at the VA. I have an appointment for November 18th. I’ll let you know what I find out if I don’t forget about the appointment. I may just opt for cialis because that one apparently gives one a reason to spend 4 hours in separate bath tubs on the beach. I don’t get it, but it looks like something we might enjoy.

This morning Diane and I painted the hall that leads to the east wing of the house. I call it the east wing because it’s on the east side of the house. It’s where the bedrooms are. We don’t really have an east wing. But, it sounds cool.

The hallway color is called basket weave, or something like that. It looks yellow to me. A nice yellow, but it doesn’t remind me of a basket. Baskets are almost always some shade of brown. At least that’s the way they look to me.

The weather has definitely changed. It’s raining more than not, and it’s cloudy, keeping the sun from peeking out. Being native Oregonians, neither Diane nor I really give a rip if it rains. It always smells so good when it does. Cleans the air. It should rain more in Los Angeles, like it does in Oregon. That’s just an opinion, of course.

During one of the lulls in the rain I asked Diane what she wanted me to do. She mentioned that someone should probably check to see if the motor home will ever run again, an interesting way of telling me I should just gather up some tools and go lay in the wet rocks to see if there’s any possibility I can figure out what’s wrong with it.

So, that’s what I did, as a good husband should.

The rocks under the RV were dry, and they are the small round kind that don’t leave marks when you lay on them like gravel does. I crawled under there and immediately found the fuel transfer switch which is really a tiny little thing. I thought it would be bigger. My only objective, for this visit, was to switch the fuel lines to see if the pump would pull from the back tank. Sadly, when I made the switch, the line to the back appeared to be dry, but the one that ran dry actually dripped a little gas on me. Still, I switched them.

Then I climbed into the pilot’s seat, turned the ignition on, and listened to the electric fuel pump get busy. I was hoping for it to change pitch when the fuel reached it. It finally did, but I wasn’t sure if it changed because of impending fuel flow, or because the battery was almost dead. I already knew the batteries didn’t have enough kick to crank the engine, so it could very well have been the latter.

Instead of expending any more energy on it, I ran my extension cord from the garage to the RV and connected one of the batteries to my really old battery charger. That thing has been beat up, dropped, and used so many times, I’m amazed that it works. It still delivers a charge, though, so I keep it.

After getting it connected, and ensuring the charger was doing it’s job, I grabbed hold of the battery tray and slid it back into it’s storage spot in the RV. The only complication with that was when I got it all the way in, two of my favorite left hand fingers were fatally trapped in a space where fingers aren’t supposed to be. As I usually do with injuries of this nature, I held the injured member flat to my chest and covered it with the other hand, making the short sucking “SSSS” sound, over and over, to detract from the inexplicably horrendous pain. What makes pain like that even worse is knowing that it’s not going to stop any time soon, and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it.

When I entered the house, sucking rapidly through clenched teeth, Diane leaped out of her computer chair to assist me, trying to get me to tell her what was the matter. Right then, I knew why I loved her so much. She cared. When she discovered there was no blood dripping any place, she lost interest. Then she laughed, which was actually a decent detraction from the immense pain I was currently enduring. While waiting for the pain to subside she suggested a variety of possibilities for making the pain go away quicker, none of which worked, and we discussed which lawyer I should visit so we could get started on the divorce . As usual, she was OK with any lawyer I chose.

I’ve been threatening to divorce her for years, but she just laughs and says, “Go ahead. Make my day.” I’d never do that, of course, because I feel a deep responsibility to, and for her. Besides HGTV, I’m the only source of entertainment she has. What would she do if we got divorced? It would be a terrible thing for both of us. Me, especially, because Diane still does all my laundry. I’d just be lost, and would have to revert to wearing my underwear for four days, instead of only two.

The pain in my two fingers is manageable so I think I’m going to stop and take a nap while I can.

Fake Cats, A Haiku Farewell To Summer, and Vehicles

Posted on September 15, 2013 by Jerrie Cate

Greetings from the Cat Central. Today was chosen as the annual cat migration from the display case to the dining room table. Unlike last year, they were not transported individually, but with the aid of Avon box lids. They are pretty handy to have around. We have lots of them because Diane buys Avon products just for the fun of it and she sells it, too. If you’re inclined, you can buy from Diane’s Avon account online and have it delivered directly to your door, or post office, if you don’t have a door. If all of you did that, on a regular basis, I could retire again. That was a shameless plug for my lovely bride and I’m not a bit ashamed for doing it.

Before going to church this morning, I went out, with some urging, to see about patching the roof to the ’79 Winnebago. You may recall that it leaked a bit during our trip to Fort Stevens in Hammond, Oregon. It didn’t leak much, or long, but it leaked and it seemed to be prudent to fix it. All the turmoil of getting home, however, lowered that priority, however, and I kinda lost it in the white noise that makes up the bottom range of my memory. Diane, however, made it very clear that I needed to do something about it before it rained or she would get cranky. So, I found my really old can of Henry roof ‘stuff’.

Once I pried the lid off, I discovered there was about an inch of solidified matter on the top of about half an inch of useable coating. Figuring it would be enough to seal the seam that I suspected of leaking, I rushed right out of the house and climbed up on the RV roof. The leaky part is toward the front, so I cautiously made my way past both ceiling fans, and the air conditioner, and kneeled down to do the job.

I couldn’t find a putty knife, which would have been the perfect tool for applying it because it’s really thick. Instead, I found a really dull inch-wide chisel with a handle long enough to allow me to get to the sticky stuff without getting it all over me – just the fingers I used to hold the chisel.

The coating went on nicely, as I remembered it did when I first used it about 2-3 years ago, so the job went quickly. That was a good thing, too, because about the time I grabbed the first rung of the ladder to the roof, mist was falling from the sky. It wasn’t actually falling because mist just kind of blows around with the wind, like a cloud. There wasn’t any wind, though, so it kinda let gravity have more of a roll in its direction. So, it started getting a bit wet. Thankfully, the sticky stuff sticks to anything, no matter what, so it worked just fine.

After church we brought Diane’s Mom, Jean, home with us to entertain the dogs while Diane cooked another one of her gourmet meals made with dead chicken. I watched football. I also sat on the couch with Mom to show her recent pictures of what’s been going on with us. You’ve seen some of them, so I won’t bore you with them, again.

I will, however, show you the before …

… and after of the Cat Migration …

Next their home will be cleaned thoroughly, and all of the cats will be dusted and returned to a new place in the cabinet. Since the cats are not Lutherans, they don’t care where they wind up … there’s no need to ensure they go back to the space they’ve occupied for the past year or so. That makes the return far easier.

During the migration, an event in which I was not allowed to participate, I watched more football on the Man Room TV. I think I watched Peyton Manning’s Denver Broncos beat Eli Manning’s New York Giants. As I recall, it wasn’t really too difficult for Peyton to beat up his little brother. While watching this, I was interrupted once in a while with the soothing sound of distant thunder, then it rained for a little while quite nicely. I didn’t go out to check my patch job because I don’t really care if it gets wet. Well, I do care, but not enough to go out in the rain to find out. I’m pretty sure it’s OK. I’ll look tomorrow. If it’s not raining.

With the rain, we say farewell to summer. The temperatures are dropping and, according to some old guys Diane listens to, we’re supposed to have a really bad winter. I don’t know what tha means because I don’t know what a really good winter is so there is no point of reference. I think a really good winter is the last one we spent in Hawaii, in 1989, just before I was discharged from the Navy. As I recall, it was 80+ degrees on the January day we flew home, and it was 2 degrees when we arrived in Portland. Kinda nuts, huh? Some folks wonder how we could do something like that. I mean, we had been living in Hawaii for the past 3 years, and we flew to Oregon in the middle of winter? The main reason is that we had already sent Jeff to Scappoose and figured we needed to check up on him. In truth, we’ve never regretted that move, except for the first few days when we froze our little nuts off. Well, at least one of us did that. Then we just got used to it.

In honor of summer’s demise, I submit the following 2-verse 5-7-5 haiku poem for you to criticize, if you wish …

Friday was sunny,

Today it started raining.

Summer is over

Bum, bum, bum, bummer.

It makes me want to sob, but

I’ll get over it.

That pretty much sums up this Sunday. I know, it’s probably not what you expected, but I’m not a poet. Perhaps you noticed if you actually this far.
Oh, yes! I surprised and pleased to get a call from our friend, Tom. Remember him? The one who was at death’s door not too long ago? We talked for almost 53 minutes. It was awesome!

Now for a couple of pictures I took in Ocean Park when we visited the Rod Run To The End Of The World …

This is the new color scheme for my old truck that looks suspiciously like this one …

I think I’ll keep the shocks on my truck, and it will have chrome bumpers. I like chrome bumpers.

… and this is Cindy & Gary in the 1962 VW bus they displayed at the show. It’s pretty cool.

Golf, Chivalry, Family, and Ducks

Posted on September 14, 2013 by Jerrie Cate

I’ll pick this up where I left of with the last entry, around 0845. That’s the time Diane made it known that she was sure I was going to be late for my 0940 T time with Jimbo. I knew better, of course, but I wasn’t about to tell her that. I just said, “Yes, dear,” and kissed her ‘bye. Her plan was to stay home and paint the hall, something she really enjoys … paint the hall.

I arrived with time to spare, and before Jim. Doug was also invited, and was prepared to play with us next Tuesday, but the day was changed due to the forecast of inclement weather on that day. But, he already had plans with his son today, so couldn’t go. That’s OK because there be other times.

Once Jim was there we got lined up for our T time, and were paired with a couple of young men, Mike and Scott. Jim went off first with a suitable drive, and I followed with a towering hit, all of 3 feet off the ground, and about 15 feet passed the end of the cliff that defines the 1st T box. So, it wasn’t a total bust because it rolled to the bottom of the hill, giving me the possibility of a decent 2nd shot.

Now, I’m not going to bore you with a play-by-play for the entire 18 holes because that would be totally boring. What I will tell you about it, however, is that today I learned that young people see me as old, potentially a bit feeble, and that most of them are really nice. Specifically, I’m speaking of Mike and Scott.

Scott went off the 1st T with a 3 iron, I think, not a driver, and he smacked it a long ways out there. Then Mike got up and gave us a preview of what we would see from him for the next 17 holes, except for the short holes. He drove the ball 300 yards, easy, bending it around the dog leg right like a pro. His short game was just as good. It was pretty amazing to watch both of them do what they do. They were having more fun than people are normally allowed.

Neither Jim nor I attempted to compare our games to theirs, but we did match them on a few hits. Jim more than me, but all of us had some pretty incredible putts. We even made some pretty incredible drives off the T, so all in all it was a good day of golf. On the front nine Jim and I were neck and neck, but he pulled away on the back nine. I ultimately won, however, because I got to hit the ball 118 times but Jim only hit it 96 times. We have no idea what Mike and Scott did, and don’t even think they were keeping score. It was one hole at a time for them and they bet on every one of them. The loser had to chug a beer. Yes, they got loud, but they were very considerate the entire time. It was obvious they were just letting off steam from a week of work.

On the back nine it became clear to me that Scott was looking after me, and was going out of his way to make sure I didn’t, say, fall in a ditch, or a creek. He was there to help dig my errant balls out of the brush and other places they landed where it was impossible to hit them. His actions reaffirmed my faith in young people and makes me think it would be OK for me to let them help when they wish. It’s just not something I’m used to because I’ve always been the one to do that. Both Jim and I are crowding 70, however, so maybe it’s OK to back off a little and accept help when offered. So, lesson learned.

Here we are having just too much fun for words … also, I win for most number of chins …

Here’s Jim looking like a pro …

… and here he is contemplating his T shot down to that green that’s right behind the big tree.

He hit it over the tree and got a par. I hit it the right direction and it came down right smack in the middle of the big tree and I got something like an 8. No, a 6.

Shortly after I got home, Jack called to see if we were home. He wasn’t sure if we were still at the beach, or not so was checking. He wanted to come visit, which he and Wy are always welcome to do. He knows that, of course. He just didn’t want to make a trip and find out we weren’t home.

While waiting for them to arrive, I took all the base boards off the walls in the hall to make it easier for Diane to paint. I will, of course, help with the painting – I’m the “cut in” guy, using a brush around door frames and around the area where the wall meets the ceiling. For some odd reason, that’s something I can do pretty well. Me, who can’t normally get a screw driver into a screw slot without using two hands. Go figure …

I also watched the last quarter of the Ducks vs. Tennessee football game which ended 59-14, Oregon. They had 59 last week, also, their lowest score so far this season. It’s all early scoring, too, because the last half of their games are played by the 2nd and 3rd string. Pretty amazing. Fun to watch, too, with their fast forward playing style. They are #2 in the nation behind Alabama. We look forward to seeing how it all works out.

Now, for some Good/Bad news. While Jack and Wynette were here, Kathie R called to say hers and Mike’s October trip was going to be delayed until March. That’s the bad news. The good news is that Kathie is getting a brand, spanking new elbow which is going to terminate her constant pain. Though we were looking forward to seeing them in October, it will still be good to see them in March. She’ll have an awesome scar to share with us then. Incidentally, Kathie’s new elbow is from San Francisco and she and Mike have to go there to get it for her. Seems to me that Mike could just go get it and bring it back to Sacramento to have it installed. Seems like something that could be done in pretty much any out-patient clinic. Maybe even a good horse doctor could do it. Might be cheaper, too, except I doubt insurance would cover it. Well, maybe it would, with Obamacare.

Now, the day is done. It’s half time for the Oregon St. vs. Utah game and I think I’ll go take a shower.

Before doing that, however, here’s a picture of the bagel I almost lost this morning …

The Bathroom, and A Potentially Hairy Bagel

Posted on September 14, 2013 by Jerrie Cate

Though it’s difficult for me, so early in the morning, the numbers will resolve if I just stare at them long enough … Yes! it’s 0645 and, as a friend recently told me, “I woke up this morning sucking air, so it’s going to be a good day.” I agree. I’m going golfing later.

But first, I need to catch up a little … so where to begin …

Thursday was two days ago so I’m just going to have to make something up for what happened that day. There’s nothing on my calendar, that Diane insists I keep current so I’ll know what I’m supposed to do next. She’s very adamant about that. I’m usually pretty good about doing that so, a few days down the road, I can look back and see what I did. It helps me separate fiction from fantasy. A little bit. Since Thursday is blank, that means I either really didn’t do anything, or I was on a secret mission to check up on the aliens I know who live in the old rock pit in Scappoose.

Or, I might have been working in The Bathroom with Daniel. I actually think that’s the one because I usually have some sort of residual memory of visiting the aliens. I’m not totally sure where they’re from but it must be a pretty progressive planet because they go through beer and cantaloupe like there’s no tomorrow. That’s another story. We’re working in The Bathroom.

Since I have no clear memory of the steps taken, I’ll just make stuff up based on the last results I saw regarding this project.

When Dahlgren’s opened, I paid them a visit to get the necessary supplies needed for finishing The Bathroom. Yes, for finishing The Bathroom. We’re that close. What I obtained was baseboards, wainscoting top rails, and shoe moulding. And glue. Well, it’s called ‘construction adhesive’ but it’s really glue.

I believe the goal for Thursday was to finish the project. Of course that didn’t happen. I know this is true because I was over there working again on it yesterday. So, on Thursday, we probably only got the baseboards in and a couple of walls of wainscoting before we simultaneously ran out of glue and pre-cut wainscoting. It was kind of interesting the way that worked out because we were absolutely positive we had plenty of both. Since we didn’t, we decided to call it a day and go, perhaps, take a nap, or something. Normally, when I’m not given clear directions, I simply rearrange things in the garage which gives me a sense of accomplishment even though it serves no purpose. It’s easy to do when Diane’s not here and her car is gone because it give me a lot more room to stack, and restack things. Then, when she returns she usually looks at her calendar and, not seeing anything scheduled for me, looks around and says with a bright smile, “Honey, you moved something! I’m so proud of you.”

She does that because I started doing something similar to her with regard to her hair. You know, when a woman gets her hair cut, no matter how little or how much, it’s imperative that her significant other immediately notice, and express how amazing removal of a few hairs can make such a difference. Being unaware of those rules, early in our marriage, I suffered a great deal because I didn’t notice many times in a row, over a rather long period of time. So, we had a discussion about it one day during which the rules were defined in great detail, in a manner that firmly implanted my need to ‘notice.’ It worked OK, for a while, then I discovered I’d missed a few alterations about which I was supposed to offer compliments, so I devised a new approach that never fails. In fact, it worked so well, that I was asked to stop doing it.

It’s simple … whenever Diane and I are apart for more than an hour, the first time I see her, no matter where it is, I looked at her in wide-eyed wonder and said, “you look amazing! Did you have something done with your hair?”

In the beginning her responses started out, “no, silly. I just went to the store.” That quickly devolved into, “OK, knock it off. You KNEW I just went to get the mail.” So, I was given permission to cease and desist. Oddly, however, whenever she got a haircut after that, I noticed. So, in a way, I trained myself to be a little more observant, I guess.

Friday morning it was overcast again, and almost looked like it might rain. You know, those summer thunder-storm type rains. Loud and wet. But, it didn’t, so Daniel and I were able to use the power tools outside to finish cutting the wainscoting pieces needed to cover The Bathroom walls. First, however, he met me out our house in order to get the old compressor Jack gave me, years and years ago, so we could use nail guns to help stick everything to the wall and floor. We stopped by ACE to get enough glue to finish the project.

The first thing we did was cut the top railing and the shoe moulding, and made them fit precisely in their assigned spots. It was very satisfying and exciting for both of us because these final actions were signaling the completion of the project. Seems like we’ve been working on this thing for months. No, years. We actually have been working on it for months.

So, with the exception of the need to paint the wainscoting, and reinstall the sinks, we’re done.

Yesterday evening ended with an exceptional meal of fresh salmon at the home of our Lion friends, Hank and Lynn, Kendra’s Mom & Dad. Hank is a District Representative with the Oregon Lions and a pretty darn good salmon cooker, too. So, he lured us all to his home with salmon in order to conduct a meeting, which was perfectly OK. Both Diane and I had a great time. We got to meet people from throughout our district and hear about some of the amazing things their respective clubs accomplish with just a few people.

Now it’s Saturday morning and a frightening thing just happened to me. I took a break from this in order to make a pot of coffee and toast a bagel, to ensure I am properly fortified for this morning’s game of golf. Jim always does 18 holes but my body is tuned to only 9, so it’s going to be a work out. As I was sitting back down on my half of the couch, two bagel halves balanced precariously on top of a paper towel in my left hand, I was almost completely settled when one of the halves slipped neatly to the floor. When it slipped, everything went into slow motion for me as I watched helplessly as it fell, then roll away from the couch gathering bits of dog and cat hair as I chanted the mantra I’ve developed for just this specific moment … “not on the cheese side, not on the cheese side, not on the cheese side.” And it worked! When it stopped, it remained in a vertical position for just a fraction of a second too long for comfort, then slowly fell over on the un-toasted side. The other side was smeared with cream cheese which, in turn, was covered with bacon bits that are normally used on salads and such. I warm then in the microwave for 15 seconds before applying them to the cream cheese. Not only does it look pretty, it’s pretty tasty. Sadly, when a bagel is adorned in this manner, any jarring movement, like falling to the floor, will dislodge the bacon bits allowing them to escape the grip of cream cheese and fall to the carpet as it rolls. Consequently, there was a brief contest between me and the dogs to see who could capture the most bacon bits before Diane found out. It wasn’t really a contest because I let the dogs win. It would take me too long to pick off the cat and dog dander for me to really enjoy the few that found themselves dislodged. Without bothering to look, I ate the fallen half without even looking at it. I figured if any hairs were long enough to notice, I could just floss them through my teeth. Turns out, there weren’t any, now I must go brush them.

I need to do that because my alarm just went off alerting me of the fact that I must prepare myself for 18 holes of golf. I do that by sitting in one of the dining room chairs, standing up, walking around behind the chair, taking a pretend golf club from the pretend golf club bag, and swinging it a few times before returning it and retaking my seat in the pretend golf cart. Since we’re doing 18 holes, I must do this a minimum of 123 times to emulate what is bound to happen on the golf course.

If I survive, I’ll let you know how it went.

Yogurt, Bananas, My Barber, and 9/11

Posted on September 11, 2013 by Jerrie Cate

Here it is, 0636 in the morning, and I’m not napping. This doesn’t bode well for a normal day. I think at least part of this problem is that we have no more bananas, and no more yogurt, the only two things in my life that I can count on to be the same for me everyday. I must sit here, bananaless and yogurtless, staring out the window at a crystal clear sunrise. It’s actually not really crystal clear, but more like one of those paintings you see that have layers of hills superimposed on each other that simply fade to sky in the distance. It’s quite pretty, but not nearly as attractive as a firm banana. Or a raspberry Tillamook yogurt.

The street lights are still on in the lower neighborhoods, and there are cell towers scattered amongst the trees, poking their heads up, searching for cell phones to assault with their electronic spurts of energy that mimic familiar voices, and relay the illusion of communication in the form of a non-stop stream of text messages. Actually, texting is communication because information is being shared, questions asked and answered, and senders have the option of using cute little smiley faces that serve nicely as the emotional aspect of this form of silent ‘talking’. It’s really the same as sending an email, just more fun.

My eye isn’t throbbing this morning so I suspect the memory of the missing tooth is fading from my upper jaw. Soon, the toothless pit will level out and fill in with nice pink gum material, removing all traces that a tooth was ever there.

I impulsively went to my barber today and we talked about all kinds of things. I’ve reported in the past that Curt is a wealth of information on pretty much anything. Mostly, what interests me, talking with him about quantum theory. Since it’s theory, we can make it into anything we want. We agree that everything in the universe is connected at the lowest level, and all of those tiny, tiny little ‘things’ have all the information about all things. I wish I could remember everything he talked about today, but there was just so much that my brain got full. What I do know is that my haircut took about 1.5 hours and only cost me $10. Going there is like a mini vacation.

Diane was pleased that I got my haircut. I have to admit that she’s been very tolerant about not reminding me every day that I should get it whacked off. Instead, she has just been ignoring it. He tactic worked, of course, so I got it cut. It was getting to be a real mess and had to go. Now I’m bald.

Today it was 95 in Portland, but more like 115 where we live. I don’t know if that’s accurate, but it seemed like it because I spent most of it outside cutting wainscoting for The Bathroom. Daniel and I got it all cut so it’s ready to install. We cut the baseboard, too. Tomorrow we’ll remove the sinks and the toilet and get it all installed, lickity split. Then I’m going to caulk every crack I can find and call it done. Oh, and we’ll put the sinks back, too. Maybe even the toilet, if all goes well. Actually, it has to be done tomorrow because that’s the dead line Jennifer set. Neither Daniel nor I are willing to take a chance and exceed that deadline, so we will get it done. I’m sure.

Today is September 11th, a sad day for the USA. Where were you when the towers fell? I was getting ready for work, watching the news, when the first one went down. Then I drove to work and watched the 2nd one fall on a conference room TV in the Portland World Trade Center. Kind of odd that I worked at the Portland WTC at the time. It made it a little more personal. At the time, I had a ground floor office with a window – a real treat for me. It was just tons of fun watching some of our future leaders walk by, catch my eye, then got through their just absolutely hilarious pantomime of something blowing up. I’m not a violent person, but I would have had no problem providing a life lesson to those little chumps. Problem was, of course, had I done something in retaliation for something as benign as that, I would have wound up in jail. Probably sued, too. So, I just spewed evil thoughts in their direction as they pranced by. Such cute, totally unaware young people. I wonder what they’re doing now. Probably part of the crowd that’s causing such a problem for Portland City Hall. Thankfully, that’s not something that hits too close to home for us, but we watch it, just the same. Mainly because that’s what’s on the news.

Nothing interesting ever happens in St. Helens. Well, maybe a homicide once in a while, or really amazing accidents caused by amazingly stupid people. That’s not unique to us, of course. That’s pretty universal. Just thinking about the homicides brings Chicago to mind. Guess they have more than a few of those in short periods of time.

Sorry about all the doom and gloom. I try to stay upbeat, but it’s difficult sometimes.

Gotta quit, now. Diane just returned with supper. We were going to have corn on the cob and spaghetti, but time got away from me while I brushed the dickens out of Panzee, so it was easier to go get a hamburger. A Tillamook Cheese Burger, to be precise.

Now I must eat and watch TV.

Naps, DSL, Lunch, Oil Change, and Church Council

Posted on September 10, 2013 by Jerrie Cate

It was an early morning for Jerrie today. The dogs got him up at 0500 demanding food. Had he gone to bed at a reasonable hour last night, that probably wouldn’t have been a problem, but he didn’t, so it was. In response, after feeding the dogs, he slept in his recliner till 0930. That’s a little longer than usual, but still within acceptable standards for someone who no longer works for a living.

Shortly after getting up he had to turn his attention to Roberta’s computer. She called last night seeking assistance because she hasn’t had an internet connection since last Saturday. Part of the problem is that she has a DSL line which, in Jerrie’s opinion, isn’t an acceptable way to connect to the internet. Since Roberta just lives a short distance away, he had time to fill his coffee cup, the really big one with Starbucks written on the side of it, and get semi-blamed for drinking all the coffee. In his defense, it was technically only one cup of coffee and we all know that coffee is not doled out using recipe type measurements for a cup. Using their cups would, in fact, totally screw up pretty much any recipe.

He did the typical resets required to get a DSL modem back in action, but the little DSL light always turned red, not green. So, he called Centurylink and pretended to be Richard, Roberta’s husband, while Roberta sat next to him to make sure he didn’t say anything he wasn’t supposed to. The young man on the technical end listened to the problem, then got his trouble-shooting book and had Jerrie step through all the steps he’d already taken, then deemed that it was time for a technician to visit in order to resurrect the DSL. The phone on the account, incidentally, was working just fine. The help desk person was required to ensure Jerrie understood that the service call was only for outside service, not inside. If he had authorized inside service, and no problem was found, Roberta would be billed $85. Jerrie thinks it’s a scare tactic, and he didn’t think the problem was inside the house anyway. Every time it rains hard here, many people using Centurylink have a problem within a few days. Odd, but true. It was the same way when Jerrie had Centurylink then moved to Comcast even after being told by the CL help person that DSL speeds up to 40 mbs, and fibre optic connections were available near him. After looking further, it was revealed that they had apparently skipped the street he lives on so he was stuck with only 7 mps. It was actually only 5, but it was beyond the point of needing to argue about 2 mps at that point.

A Centurylink tech was scheduled to visit Roberta’s house sometime between 1-6 today. Jerrie finished up at 1044, just one minute before he was supposed to pick up Diane’s Mom, Jean, and take her to the St. Helens Senior Center for lunch. Diane was working there today with other Bethany Lutheran Ladies to serve the meal. She does this once a month and Jerrie always helps her when she asks. He normally scrapes food from the used plates, a task he’s been trained to do since 1968. Today the SHSC had ham slices with scalloped potatoes and green beans. Before the meal, he and Jean were served lime jello into which was mixed cottage cheese. It’s my understanding that neither Jerrie nor Jean were particularly convinced this was a good thing to do. It looked kinda nice, they said, but the combination of textures on the palate were just … wrong.

Jerrie and Jean stayed until Diane and the other ‘girls’, Barb, Jean, and Mary had eaten, and they had a nice visit. Then he took Jean home. The other Jean, one of the Bethany girls, presented Jerrie with a large squash that she had removed from the display of the food distribution area. She must have known that he wasn’t a squash fan so told him he could use it as a club for something. It was hard, and would have probably worked well for that purpose. He said, “you just shouldn’t have to eat something that has innards in any way similar to pumpkins.” He’s right on that count. Before leaving he put the squash back into the display, but appreciated Jean’s gesture.

After dropping Jean, Diane’s Mom, at home, he went back to Emmert Motors and made an appointment to get the oil changed in Diane’s Buick. Turns out they had a 1500 spot available, so he had them pencil him in. By the time he got back home he only had 1.5 hours remaining until the oil change so he got Diane’s permission to skip the outside heat and stay inside until he had to leave. She granted the request so he didn’t have to deliver the Buick in sweaty and greasy clothing.

He delivered the Buick about 10 minutes early, then took a seat in the waiting room and read his e-book. After about 45 minutes he got up to stretch his legs then had a talk with Jeff C., the dealership manager. They had a 2014 loaded Impala out front and Jeff gave Jerrie the key so he could go check it out. It was reported that the Impala is quite nice, and appears to get pretty good gas mileage (21-28), but it was black with black interior. Very classy, he said, but the preferred choice would have been the Buick Lacrosse on the display floor. It’s White Diamond with the champagne leather interior, Diane’s favorite combination. She once had a 1992 Cadillac Seville STS with those colors which set the standards for her choice of colors. Jerrie admits, that was a nice one.

Jerrie’s tooth hole still hurts a bit, and the taste of blood makes him kind of nauseous so he doesn’t think he would be a very good vampire. Probably just as well because with his teeth getting worse, like they are, it won’t be long before biting anyone on the neck will produce any results. Actually, he said doing that hasn’t produced any results for him, ever.

Upon returning from the oil change, and $41 lighter, he returned the Buick to its reserved spot in the family garage. His car, and truck, are relegated to the great outdoors because neither of them are shiny like the Buick. That, and Diane doesn’t like having to go outside in the rain to enter her vehicle which is totally understandable. He was then provided a delicious supper of one Hebrew National hotdog, a small bowl of pork and beans, and a glass of milk. Dessert was a Dream Cicle, one of those orange sherbert and vanilla things on a stick. He really likes those. It felt really good where his tooth used to be.

He was allowed to watch a bit of news before he had to leave to conduct the Church Council meeting, at the church. He does this every month because he’s the council president. Hard to believe, I know, but he is. So, he makes the agenda and conducts the meetings. The council consists of Pam, Barb, Mary, Stephen, Ron, Shannon, Jerrie and Pastor Rory. They actually get business done and have fun during the process.

Here’s what the cat was going when he left the house …

Yes … sleeping on the Buick.

The meeting ended shortly after 2000 and he returned home, in the dark, to almost end his day. Right now he’s looking over my shoulder, ensuring I get all the details correct.

He wishes you all well and reports that he may be back tomorrow. We’ll see about that because he’s got to work under the ’79 Winnebago tomorrow and it’s supposed to be 95 degrees out there.

Me? I’m staying inside.

My Dentist

Posted on September 9, 2013 by Jerrie Cate

It’s 0850 when I open the door to enter the office. There are 4 people already there which isn’t a surprise since the office opens at 0700. One of the staff members was talking with one of the ‘waiters’, and everyone in the place seemed to be joining in, making it a happy place to be. However, as soon as I stepped through the door, all talking stopped. I’m sure they were all talking about me before I got there, and hadn’t expected me to be 10 minutes early, so felt confident they could get there ‘digs’ in before I arrived.

That isn’t true, of course. I’m sure the merriment ceased upon my arrival because they didn’t know me and were a little concerned about how I might react to a waiting room half full of laughing people. So, to defuse the situation, I accused them of all of talking about me and that they could continue with no concern for me. And, they did. I didn’t know any of them, and my delivery was accepted the way I intended, that they needn’t stop just because a new stranger walked into their midst. I’m not shy that way.

I also talk to people in elevators which makes most of them uncomfortable. On a good elevator trip, I’ll be the last one aboard a loaded car. I’ll step in and remain facing the back of the car, making eye contact with anyone willing to look at me, then smile. Sometimes I attempt to get them all to sing “If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands … CLAP CLAP,” or I might simply start humming “It’s A Small World”. There’s generally no response to the former, but the latter creates a light-hearted atmosphere that causes people to thank me for planting that song in their heads for the remainder of the day as they leave the car. Most of the time they all get off at the first stop whether it’s their floor or not.

Things in the waiting room returned to normal and I assumed my waiting position and … waited. My appointment was for 0900. My dentists name is Dr. Grimm. That’s not a joke. It’s really his name. He’s a nice guy and very good at what he does. I like him because he’s not a pretentious person.

I’ve visited this office a number of times, and have been placed in different work stations, so I know he’s not a Lutheran. If he was, I would be assigned the same operatory every time. No moving around. No sir. Just like church. His assistant today was Tyra, a very nice young lady with excellent teeth … a pre-requisite for anyone working in a dental office. In my experience, all dental assistants and chairside people are adorable young ladies. In all the years I’ve been going to the dentist, I’ve known of one male assistant, and he was gay. The gay part isn’t significant, just fact. Could be some of the female assistants are also gay, but it’s not so evident with them, and I don’t particularly care, or mind. They are all adorable. Even the gay guy assistant was adorable.

Tyra taped a large napkin to my chest, and had me sign something that gave them permission to pull a tooth. The choice of which tooth was mine to make, but they had a suggestion. Considering that I was dealing with experts swayed my decision in favor of their choice which made them happy. Dr. Grimm, however, was open for also pulling the other tooth I was sure I didn’t need. Clearer heads prevailed, however, and we settled on the one they chose. It was in sad shape and just had to be put down.

I was reclined back so far I couldn’t relax because my tongue kinda slid back and prevented me from breathing unless I sent it a continuous stream of commands to remain firm, which it did. Then Dr. Grimm took hold of my right cheek and started wiggling it as a diversion then stealthily slid his syringe full of numbing agent into the area, on the outer part of the top right tooth, and slid it slowly, oh so slowly, into my flesh. Because he did it slowly, and was also wiggling my cheek, I didn’t feel a thing.

Then he went away to let things go numb, and I read my iPad for a while. When he returned he reported that he needed to give me shots on the inside of the tooth also, in the roof of my mouth. He needlessly warned me that such shots are normally pretty uncomfortable for most people, but it had to be done or the sound of my shrieking, as he removed the tooth, would bother his other patients. I already knew this, of course, so relaxed as much as I could, and opened wide.

The shot itself isn’t really all that bad. It’s the sensation of him moving the syringe all over the place that concerns me the most because I know he’s moving it around without taking the needle all the way out. He just punched through the crunchy part in the roof of my mouth, causing a considerable level of pain, maybe a 6, squirted some of the contents in, pulled the needle back out a little ways, then moved it to a new angle and pushed it in again. Thankfully, the numbing agent acted quickly so the level 6 was as bad as it got.

Thinking he was going to depart and let the last shots go to work, I was surprised when he rattled some tools and went right to work. Memories of the last tooth I had pulled, many, many, many years ago, caused a brief moment of panic because it wasn’t a pleasant experience. During that operation, after deadening the area, the dentist simply clamped a set of pliers to the offending tooth, and yanked it around until he got it out. There was nothing gentle about it. Dr. Grimm, however, took one of his tools and just started pushing on the tooth, one way, then the other, loosening it very gently. Once he had it wiggling, he got his pliers and gently twisted it until the tendons broke, then pulled it free. When tooth tendons break, by the way, it sounds like the crack of a whip all over inside your head and it kinda makes your eyes open a little wider, to see things more clearly. It’s brief, and he explained it, so I felt no need to panic.

Once it was removed I was asked if I wanted to keep it. Of course I did. I keep all my teeth. Besides, if I didn’t keep it, someone else would give it to the tooth fairy and cheat me out of money I had rightfully earned.

I was retained in the chair for a pre-determined amount of time, to allow the first wad of gauze to absorb the blood seeping out of the new hole that was created in my mouth. Tyra called time, and took the gauze out, and replaced it with another wad. The first one had surprisingly little blood on it because I, being familiar with bleeding injuries, intentional or otherwise, know that pressure on the wound is the key. So, I was biting down hard the entire time. Also, I clot up quickly, which helps.

After paying my bill, $300 and change, I was given a schedule for my next appointment that will cost almost $1000. It’s supposed to be a crown, but I’m thinking that we might just yank that one out, too. It’s a lot cheaper and, let’s face it, I’m OK with soft food. I don’t need all those fancy teeth to eat a banana. I can just chew on stuff until it gets soft then swallow, or, if it’s something that absolutely must be masticated a great deal, I can use the other side of my mouth. Ya, I think I’ll just skip the new crown and go for the extraction.

Now I’m home, resting. I told Diane I was given three days bed rest, but she didn’t believe me. She’s worked for a number of dentists during our travels and knows how it works so it was foolish of me to try to trick her. She did, however, concede that I could have one day off to rest before taking on the projects already started, or new ones making themselves known.

Now I must change my gauze and rest.

RV Repaired, Heading Home, RV Broke

Posted on September 8, 2013 by Jerrie Cate

Hi there. I honestly figured I would be doing this much earlier in the evening because we left Fort Stevens about 5:30 PM. I spent more of the afternoon than planned fixing the fuel issue with the RV, and everything was going along just great. Up and down the hills we went, willy nilly, not a care in the world. Then, on Highway 30, mile post 75, the main fuel tank ran out. You may remember this one as the tank that I thought was pretty much drained by the leaky fuel pump. I was curious to see how far we could get before it ran dry. Farther than I thought.

When the engine started chugging, I switched tanks, like I normally do, and after a couple of coughs, we picked up right where we left off … for about 50-60 feet, then the chugging began in earnest. We headed up a hill on the new tank and I could tell the engine was starved for fuel by the way it was running. Down hill was great, but putting a load on the engine, as in going up a hill, was torture and I had to use the flashers. Diane said it was probably good that it quit because I was driving way too fast. According to my speedometer I got over 55 mph once. According to hers, I was going 60-70 most of the time. I honestly didn’t think it would go that fast.

Anyway, the engine quit around mile post 78 on a downhill run so I let it coast for a while because there was only a tiny little bike lane alongside the road. Then mile post 79 popped up and there, at the bottom of the hill, was a small place to park, big enough for the RV and the car.

I did some testing, with Diane’s help, and came to the conclusion that the tank switch failed and the default is for the main tank. I know the reserve tank is full because I filled it on Thursday and didn’t use it. Perhaps I should have.

So, there we were, stuck along Highway 30. Traffic was whizzing by at a frightening pace and it started getting dark. I called AAA about 7:30 and they sent a tow truck, from Bob’s Towing, which was supposed to arrive before 8:46 PM. That’s true, because they sent a text to Diane’s phone to share that information. We sat in the RV and watched our daylight disappear, yearning for Bob to show up early. Every time a vehicle passed us the RV rocked like crazy. Single vehicles were rare. They normally whizzed by in packs of 6 or more. They came from both directions at the same time, arriving next to the RV at the same time with such stunning consistency, that I figured it was all planned. Like someone had set up flagmen behind and ahead of us, and they coordinated their release of stopped vehicles so they would arrive from both directions right where we were parked. That isn’t true, of course, but it was a real oddity.

Bob finally showed up, drove passed us to turn around, the came around us with all kinds of lights flashing. He stopped, dropped his little forked thing and backed it into the RVs front tires. Diane was inside at the time so she got shoved around a little, but didn’t fall down. Neither of us expected that kind of jostling. Bob didn’t warn us.

When the bar was against the tires, he unfolded a part that snugged up against the back part of the tire, then picked the front end up like it didn’t weigh hardly anything at all. He strapped the front wheels down, then slid under the back of the rig and removed the drive shaft so he wouldn’t destroy the transmission. I appreciated that since I wasn’t looking for any more ‘things’ to fix.

He put a nifty little LED device on the back bumper of the RV that had a wireless connection to his brake lights and turn signals. I thought that was awesome. A wireless set of tow lights.

Then he took off. Diane was driving and the plan, between Bob and me, was for us to follow him until we got to Columbia City, then pass him and lead him to our house. Simple. The only problem is that Bob drives about 80 mph and Diane wasn’t comfortable going that fast in the little Subaru. Neither was I. Bob got about a mile ahead of us then slowed down a bit so we could catch him. It was a harrowing experience for Diane, but we made it home safely.

I pushed the pick up out of the way a little so Bob could back the RV in behind it and get it back on the ground. I told him he was a hard man to catch. He smiled, and said, “Ya know, that thing looks big, bulky, and heavy, but it tows real nice so I was just having a little fun with it.”

Now, the upside to all of this is that we made it home quickly, and we didn’t use any gas in the reserve tank of the RV. So, I figure our gas mileage went from 5 mpg to 10, just like that. It kinda made up for gas we lost on the trip over. Funny how things work out.

Now it’s almost 11:30 pm and we’re both a little slammy-eyed so better quit. We’re glad to be safely home, as are the dogs, and the cat we left behind.

And, gee, I got a new project to work on.

Dang!

Shopping, Lunch, Satellite TV, and The Beach

Posted on September 8, 2013 by Jerrie Cate

This morning happened early, almost like normal, but a little bit later. I think it was 0700 when the dogs let their presence be known. Until then, they were quiet like little church mice. At least I think they were. I’ve never actually seen a church mouse so cannot accurately report that they are actually quiet. I suppose the fact that I’ve never heard one while in church would serve to convince me that they really are quiet. Either that, or they don’t really exist. That’s hard to believe, however, because mice are pretty much everywhere.

After walking the dogs, we returned to the Winnebago innards and they got their normal ration of pouch food, which pleased them a great deal. It always pleases them a great deal. From their perspective, they just don’t get pleased a great deal often enough. Once a day is the limit.

When we returned, Diane was vertical and moving so I figured it was going to be a pretty good day. We both had out normal yogurt and and fruit, then drank coffee until the pot was empty. It was a bit weak, but it was good. We were all off to a good start, and I didn’t even feel the need to take my normal morning nap.

One of the priorities for today was to get some sort of something I could use to lay on under the RV, to could work on the fuel pump problem, so we went shopping. As luck would have it, Diane drove directly to the Goodwill store at the fairly new shopping center, that also has a Costco, in Warrenton. We mosied around in there and found all kinds of really cute things we didn’t know we needed. I mean, they were REALLY cute things. Probably the cutest things I’ve ever seen. My contribution was a little package that had two hose clamps, which aren’t really cute, and an old, solid wood, not plywood, coffee table. I’m going to take it home and refinish it so it looks like new then I’m going to put it in front of the living room couch where there currently isn’t one. It’s going to look very nice, I bet. Right now we’re using it for our outside table under the awning by the RV since I forgot to get the little brown plastic fold up one from the garage.

We returned to some happy dogs early afternoon and Diane set about making lunch. Today we had griddled steak, microwave mashed potatoes, and over baked corn on the cob. It was all exceptionally good, but the corn actually took first prize simply for the way Diane cooked it. “Oven baked corn on the cob?” you ask. “That’s true,” I respond. All you have to do is preheat your oven to 350 then toss the corn in for 25 minutes. The best part is, you don’t have to peel the corn first! It just goes in there just like you bought it from the store, unless you bought it already husked. Then, when your dinger goes off, or your phone barks at you, like Diane’s timer app, take the corn out of then oven and immediately run cold water on your hands for about 10 minutes, if you failed to use hot pads. Then, get a really sharp knife, and cut the large end off the ears, taking the first row of corn, if possible. Then just squeeze the little end like a tube of toothpaste and the cooked ear of corn will slowly emerge from the husks, minus most of those annoying little strings. It’s amazing! And it was done to perfection. So, good. I didn’t, by the way, take the corn out of the oven so I didn’t burn my hands. Diane did, and she used hot pads.

After lunch, Diane made herself some tea and went to her chair under the awning, in the fresh air. It was raining off and on, but that’s OK. It was nice and fresh. And quiet. While she was relaxing, I went to work trying to line up the satellite antenna. I set it up yesterday and gave it a minor effort, but couldn’t get it to work. This time I got the zip code for the spot we’re in so I could properly aim the antenna, then made the necessary adjustments using a 1/2 inch box end wrench. In case you’re interested, the DirecTV settings for zip code 97121 are: azimuth 132, elevation 34, rotation 111. The hard part is setting the azimuth. In case you’ve had trouble with that in the past, perhaps you will benefit from my experience regarding this adjustment.

Once you set the elevation and rotation, take your best shot at aiming the antenna in the proper direction where you think it should be. Fortunately, for me, there is a compass glued to one leg of the stand Jack gave me, so I knew where 132 was. The trick with using a manual compass is that you first have to make sure the compass is aligned with the colored needle on the N. Then, if you have the right kind of compass, it will have markings all the way around it from 0 to 359 then back to 0.

When you figure out which way you need to point it, stand very still and point your left arm in that direction. It works best if you do this directly over the antenna so you can see how close you are to being correct. Remember, all you are trying to do is get close. It’s very possible that you might get lucky on the first aim and get a great signal.

Regarding the signal … there are satellite signal meters you can purchase that I understand help with the alignment, but I figure that would take the fun out of guessing and, perhaps, getting it right the first time.

Needless to say, I didn’t get it right the first time so had to make numerous trips from the receiver, to check the signal level, then back to the antenna to move it 1 or 2 degrees one way or another, then back to the receiver to check again. I did this about 15 times, I think, before I actually got a signal. Then, with a bit a tweaking, I got a really good signal and was watching Jeff Gianola on Channel 6 News, just like that! Way out here in Fort Stevens. Go figure.

Oh, another really important thing to remember when you’re setting up your antenna is to make sure the vertical part of the pipe, to which the antenna is bolted, is absolutely vertical. You can guess at this, too, if you wish, but most of them have a bubble level in the top of the vertical pipe that simplifies this step. When I was setting it up at home, I didn’t know it was there, so had all kinds of trouble getting it vertical with two little levels. So, that’s the first thing I did this time.

Here’s what it should look like when you’re finished …

All the time I was going back and forth from the antenna to the receiver, Diane sat peacefully in her chair, not questioning me about how it was going. She just read her book and must have figured I was doing something useful.

On my last trip out I told her the news was on if she was interested which excited her no end. She just loves the news and ran right inside to watch it … and fiddle around with the DirecTV remote which she hasn’t used in a while. Since we have a DVR in the RV, she set Diane Sawyer to record, then we took the dogs to the beach down by the shipwrecked Peter Iredale. There are signs in Fort Stevens that actually have “Ship Wreck” on it, with an arrow pointing the way. Everyone in Oregon knows the ship’s name so it’s not needed on the signs an it saves the parks service a ton of money by not having to buy so much sign paint. Here’s what’s left of the wreck …

When we got to the beach, Panzee was ready to run because there were dog tracks all over the place and so many new things to smell. Ozzie just sat on my arm, looking out the window during the trip, trying to look nonchalant, but I knew he was excited. He couldn’t fool me. He was, however, a little hesitant at first because he absolutely abhors leashes. He’s main this pretty plain every time we hook him up, but it’s a rule. He deals with it, in his fashion, like by laying down so Diane has to drag him along behind her which causes people to stare. Then she will pick him up, which is his real desire. He’s pretty little so he’s not very hard to drag. It just looks bad to some folks.

When we got down to the hard sand, we went north on the beach, away from the ship wreck that lures a lot people, where there was virtually no one around. Seeing this, we removed the leashes and just let them run. They had a terrific time, and got a lot of exercise. Ozzie got the most exercise, though, because he ran circles around Diane like he was in orbit, and just couldn’t break free of her gravitational pull. Finally, however, he did. Somewhere in his little body he found a booster rocket and chased after me and Panzee. It as fun to watch because he’s normally such a little recluse.

I need to let you know that I won’t be able to publish this entry from this location. We have no phone signal. Funny, huh? We’re watching satellite TV in HD but can’t call home. When you get this, you’ll wonder why I’m sharing this because, obviously, it got sent if you’re reading it. It’s just something I needed to tell you.

Oh ya! Here’s something I learned today …

Who knew?

Bad Batteries, Highway 30,Westward Ho, and Trouble

Posted on September 6, 2013 by Jerrie Cate

As you all know, we were going to the beach yesterday to spend a few days at Fort Stevens State Park. Diane loaded pretty much everything we own into the old ’79 Winnebago, except for the cat. Then I strapped myself into the pilot’s seat, turned the key, and … nothing happened. Well, I turned the key, and shorted the two ignition wires together, and nothing happened. That’s how I normally start it because the button fell off so I put it in the old truck. Remember? Now it’s just two blue wires hanging out there, and it works just great.

The “nothing” turned out to be two dead batteries. It didn’t take long to determine the cause, either, because the headlight switch was suspiciously in the ‘On’ position where I left it the day before when I parked it after we went to get all that gas the day before. So, the lights were on all night. At least part of the night.

Diane was all settled into our chase car (we still don’t have a two bar) and she was kinda bummed when I exited the rig and gave her the bad news. Then I got the jumper cables and we tried to kick start it. It gave a few pitiful spins, but nothing like it needed to fire and I was having memories of the old truck from a few days ago, but different.

The next step was to just remove the batteries and install the ones from the old D22 which are actually fairly new. They start the D22 with hardly any effort. So, install them I did. It took me a while to get all the wires on the correct terminals because they’re all the same color (black) so there was a brief moment in time where the first battery was wired backwards causing a satisfying spark, letting me know it was full of juice, and not happy.

Finally it was done and I reassumed my proper position in the pilot’s chair and turned the key. Tentatively, I reached for the blue wires, hoping this was the solution. The wires touched, there was a brief spark, and the engine came immediately to life. It roared with satisfaction. We were all happy campers, almost. We still had to navigate the 60 or so miles on Highway 30 to Warrenton where Fort Stevens lives.

The trip, itself, was uneventful, and only about 2 hours long. It would have been less time but, like normal, there is construction on Highway 30 that require the use of people with stop signs to randomly change traffic patterns from two lanes to 1 for designated stretches.

But, we made it just fine, got checked in, and drove right to our reserved spot, N-25, that has a southern view. I made the necessary adjustments of the steering wheel to line the rig up to back into he spot. When I started backing up I noticed a fairly large puddle of what looked suspisciously like gasoline on the pavement. Committed, however, I had to continued backing until I had the rig right where Diane wanted it, al the while glancing back to the trail I was leaving.

Once parked, I snuck up on one of the puddles and confirmed my gasoline guess, then looked under the engine to see if it was still leaking. It wasn’t so my initial suspicion was the fuel delivery system. It was a deja vu moment from the D22 when I had to replace the mechanical fuel pump. In order to find out if my theory was correct, I instructed Diane on how to start the engine with the two blue wires while I draped my body over the right front wire so I could watch the fuel pump.

She touched the wires and my theory became fact right away as gas came spurting through the breather hole above the pump diaphragm, the part that isn’t supposed to have gas in it. Then my concern shifted back up Highway 30 as I wondered how far we had been driving while pumping gas out onto the highway, and how was the engine even running when the pump was broken? It was a literal whirlwind of doom between my ears for a moment, thinking that it may have cost us $100 to drive 60 miles. Worst case is that we got about 1/2 mile to the gallon on this trip, and we still have to get home. The good news is that the solution is fairly simple, and I have tools. What I don’t have are work clothes into which I could climb that would allow me to do my job without ruining my good khaki shorts. I would do it nude, but Diane won’t let me. Besides, I think the park rangers would object. It’s probably illegal, too. So, I need old clothes.

I suspect the fuel pump failed after we entered the park, because it wasn’t until then that the gas fumes began to fill the cockpit. It was not a good thing. Diane found it hard to breath while inside so we fired up the fans and blew out the bad stuff while sitting calmly in our round chairs under the awning. The weather was pleasant the entire time we were sitting there, then it started getting dark so we decided to brave the interior.

The air was better, but still not clear of the fumes. I briefly considered lighting a match, to see if it would just “Poof” them away, but thought better of it, and let the fans continue to do their thing. Soon it was tolerable and we felt it would be OK too cook something, just not with an open flame.

The decision for dinner was hamburger patties and left over Mexican rice. The patties were cooked on an electric griddle that has a panini mode so it can cook both sides at the same time, and the rice was reheated in the microwave. Milk, too much bread, cherry pie, and cookies rounded off the meal in a festive manner. It was all good.

I forgot to mention that when we came inside, the sky started sparking and booming as the predicted thunderstorms came ashore. It was an exciting time, and lasted for a while. Like all during dinner. It also rained, something we just love when snuggly inside our traveling abode. There’s something peaceful about sitting there, listening to the rain splatter on the roof.

After dinner, before bed, we tok the dogs out for a walk. The trip took us all the way around the “O” loop. We met lots of nice folks along the way, the dogs both evacuated their bowels, and bladders, and we all had some exercise.

Then we read for a while and went to bed. It was time.

As we lay in our twin beds under the fan, we detected it emitting a noticeable squeaking noise. Knowing there are no mice in the rig, it had to be the fan. Thankfully, I discovered that by covering my right ear, the one on which I normally lay, the squeak quit. Apparently the squeak frequency is exactly the same one that my left ear can’t hear. How fortunate for me. I suggested to Diane that she cover her right ear and see if it worked for her, but she refused letting me know she thought it was a supremely dumb idea.

Now it’s morning and time to get moving toward the direction of a solution for the gushing gas. It’s good this happened because I was seriously afraid that I would have to spend all day relaxing and reading. Now I have direction.

I’ll tell you how it goes.