A few days ago I embarked on a mission to get the old truck started. I’ve not tried since last summer, so it’s been sitting for a long time. I needed to get it started because I’ve been tossing stuff in the back all year long, planning to make a dump run, eventually. Since it was pretty full, I decided it was time to fire it up. It’s been a faithful beast for a long time, sitting for months at a time, but always starting. Since it’s a big block Chevy, it starts hard all the time. To get it started, I pump the gas about twenty times before engaging the starter and keep pumping until it finally ignites. Takes a while, sometimes, but it always starts.

Every time I go through that process I vow to start it more often so it will like me better, and start easier. Last year I put new plugs, wires, and points in it and even timed it, before letting it sit all that time. This year it fired briefly with the addition of starting fluid in the carburetor, but it wouldn’t fire at all after that. Almost ran the battery down. I hate when that happens. After checking at length, I determined it wasn’t getting a spark from the ignition. The coil checked fine, but all that hard work I did with the distributor last year seemed to be a failure.

So, I dug around in my shop and re-discovered an HEI distributor which I decided had earned the right to be installed in the old truck. I’ve never installed one of those before, and never really looked inside one of them, so popped the cap and found all kinds of rusty parts inside. Since HEI distributors don’t have points, and the shaft turned freely, I figured that was OK. I put the cap back on, took it outside and introduced it to the truck.

Removing the old points distributor was easy. I even marked it so I could get it back in the right position should the HEI not work. I left the old cap in place, with all plug wires attached, so I could transfer them correctly to the HEI cap.

First, I removed the coil and tossed it summarily on the ground. HEI’s have those built-in. Then I marked the old distributor shaft, noted the position of the rotor, and yanked the assembly out of the engine. I was committed. Maybe it’s more accurate that I should have been committed. Long ago.

I found a comfortable place under the hood and slowly eased the HEI distributor into the engine, lining up the rotor cap to the place I thought I remembered aligned with the points distributor. It’s a tricky process because the gear is helical which causes it to rotate the shaft as it engages the gear in the engine. So, I dallied with it for a while, putting it in, taking it out, until I thought it was in the right place. Then I bolted it down so it would move.

Then I pulled one of the plug wires from the old cap and attempted to attach it to the HEI cap. It was at that moment I learned that HEI caps will not accept the old points-type plug wires.

So, I took a break and watched Lydia play softball all weekend. Leaving the truck to sit just a little longer.

Today I decided it just had to start so I bit the bullet and got another set of plug wires, appropriate for the HEI cap. It was a simple process of installing the new wires because I had the old cap and wires for my guide. But I didn’t need them because the firing order of the cylinders is displayed prominently on the intake manifold, right in front of the carburetor. How handy is that? So, all I had to know was where the #1 plug was connected on the cap. Interestingly enough, whoever used the HEI distributor last had used a magic marker to indicate the entire firing order around the cap. Another “how handy is that?” moment. Nifty.

After I had all the wires snapped neatly into place, it was time to reconnect the battery and see what happened. I got behind the wheel, inserted the ignition key, pumped the gas about twenty time, said a little prayer, and engaged the starter.

To my immense surprise, it fired and turned over about three times before quitting. The fact that it fired at all was amazing to me so I considered that a victory. However, no amount of starting fluid would get it going long enough for the old mechanical, dried out, gas pump, to get gas out of the tank. I knew there was some in there, because I stuck a wire in the tank to see how full it was. Not much, but enough to get it running, I figured.

There’s a clear fuel filter that allows one to see if there’s gas being pumped and I discovered that, indeed, gas was coming through the line, but not enough to reach the carburetor. I would hurry from the cab to the engine compartment to check, and watch the gas siphon back down to the pump. So, I figured the diaphragm on the pump was compromised and an electric pump was needed.

Happily, I had one of those in the old ’73 Winnebago that I jury rigged to get it home. I was a simple matter of disconnecting the mechanical pump from the tank, and connecting the electric pump to the tank and the carburetor. I checked to make sure it worked by hooking the leads to the battery, and it ran fine, but it wouldn’t fill the fuel filter no matter how long I let it run. It was just sucking air.

So, I climbed back under the truck, disconnected the electric pump, and blew air through the line to make sure it was clear. It was, so I sucked on it, and got the satisfying resistance of liquid moving into the line. When nothing ran out of it, I sucked it again and immediately got a mouthful of gas. I spit out the hose and tried to get it aimed up to stop the flow, but not before it got all over my neck and face.

Gas doesn’t taste good, and it hurts when applied to bare skin. I wasn’t about to let that interfere with my progress. Instead of washing out my mouth, and wiping the gas off my face and neck, I went back to the engine compartment and reconnected the electric fuel pump. When I connected the leads to power, it quickly primed and filled the fuel filter, and it just kept running. It’s supposed to stop when it reaches a certain pressure, but that apparently never happened. So, while it was working, I got in the cab and went through the process of getting the engine going. Again I was surprised when it fired, and ran. Amazing. It ran nice and smooth, too. So, the only problem was the constantly running fuel pump. Thankfully, it came with a fuse so all I had to do was remove the fuse when I turned it off.

I went to the house and cleaned up a little in preparation for my trip to the dump, and to tell Diane I was leaving. I’m not allowed to leave without telling her where I’m going. It’s the right thing to do.

I discovered about a gallon of gas in one of my lawn mower cans and dumped that in the tank since I really wasn’t sure how much there was. Then, using back roads, just in case something happened, I made my way to dump. I got rid of all the carpet we ripped out of the house last Friday (I think), and everything I’ve been collecting for the last year, for $24. A bargain. I was a happy camper.

Once home, I got my lawnmower and loaded it in the back of the truck, using the ramps I’ve had since I got the mower, and took it down to Dan and Jennie’s because their lawn mower has issues, and I wasn’t in the proper frame of mind to figure it out. Besides, it gave me a chance to really use the truck. You know?

I mowed the yard so quickly, that I decided to do it again at a lower setting. It looks good. Then I loaded up the mower, put the fuse back in for the fuel pump, and fired it up.

And it promptly quit. I was shattered. I cranked and cranked and cranked, but it would fire at all. Taking another look at the fuel filter I discovered it wasn’t filling, telling me there was either something blocking the flow, or the tank was too empty. Then I called Diane, locked the truck, and waited for her to come get me because I wasn’t going to try to resurrect it any more today.

While waiting, I visited with Jeran who was eating his dinner, laying on the living room floor. It looked really good and he said it was sloppy Joe, but he only eats the sloppy part as he doesn’t like buns, the “Joe” part. Good to know.

Diane called back and asked me where the Subaru keys were so I gave her three or four options of where to look, but none of those panned out. This was a problem because I left my car in the driveway behind Diane’s Buick. Not a wise choice on my part, especially when I couldn’t remember what I did with the key.

I told Diane to not worry about it and that I would walk home. It’s only about a mile, but the last half is all up hill. I mosied along, taking it easy, thinking about which way to go, when the Subaru showed up to take me home. She found the key in the last place I thought of, the pants I was wearing when I went to get the new plug wires for the truck, and to work on Dan & Jen’s mower. I just didn’t remember where I left them.

She was a bit testy, but that was OK. I knew she’d get over it.

Tomorrow I will get a large can of gas and see about getting the truck started so I can get the mower home to do our yard before it rains again.

Wish me luck.

Today was the best ever. It was a continuation of yesterday, actually, which we spent in Rainier, Oregon for a softball tournament Lydia was playing in. The regular rec league is over and the state ASA tournament is next in line in a at the end of the month. A state team from St. Helens was created using members from two of the rec teams and it was this team that played yesterday and today.

They were unbeaten and took 1st place. It was fun to watch. Today’s bracket games were excellent. The weather was just great.

This being Father’s Day, and all, I was allowed to choose where to eat lunch so I had two McChicken sandwiches.

Here are the victors with their trophy …

Lydia is on the left, front row, with the fashionable sports goggles.

After it was over, we all headed slowly to our vehicles, not wanting to see the day end. The girls played so well we could have stayed there lots longer. But, it had to end, as all good things do.

Then, just when I didn’t think the day could get any better, Jennie called me over to her car and gave me this … the absolute best Father’s Day gift ever …

The photo was taken 18 years ago this coming July. I still fit into my uniform then, and it was Jennie’s choice that I wore it for the wedding. A cynic might say that she enjoyed that walk so much because it was taking her away. But I’m not a cynic, and it was so special for me, too. Very special, and my favorite, too, for a very simple reason.

You see, all of her growing up years Jennie was an independent little soul, always wanting to walk alone. Try as I might, I could never get her to walk with me holding my hand. On her wedding day, as we prepared to walk down the aisle, I offered her my elbow, but she declined, and said, “No, hold my hand.”

It was special beyond measure, and this terrific gift is a testament to that day. I’ve never forgotten that moment, having one more chance to walk with my daughter, just holding hands, before she was whisked away by Daniel. It’s one thought that comes to my mind more than any other each time I see her.

Thank you, Jennifer, for being so incredible.

I love you.

Dad

… I am THE cat. I go where I please. No one questions me when I want to get on the other side of any door.

I’m not picky, I sit in anyone’s lap whether or not the lap owner consents. They dare not refuse me because I have claws. I don’t use them because the threat is enough.

I kill birds, rats, and moles, just for fun. Hummingbirds are my biggest challenge so I pick on the little ones. I haven’t yet snagged a crow, but I’m working on it. One day they will speak of me with fear in their caws, knowing that I can have my way with them. It will happen.

I will not eat anything that comes out of a can because I fresh food. I do, however, eat the hard crunchy food my humans provide. I like the noise it makes and it’s good exercise.

Dogs don’t scare me. They walk around me. Especially the little black one. After I catch my crow I might knock him down. I could do it now, but it would cause trouble. It would make him hide in his kennel for days. If he does that I cannot get to HIS crunchy food. I like it too.

My humans have an outside dinning facility for foreign cats. I used to be one. Because of that, I chose them. They didn’t choose me. I made them beg for me to stay. So I did. They think it was their begging that worked, but it was my choice. Not theirs.

Sometimes I get to playing late at night and don’t make it back before the doors are locked and the lights are off. That’s OK. I sleep on an upper patio chair, far from the hungry coyote fangs that roam the area. They are just another kind of dog and they don’t scare me, either. I sleep on the patio chair because I want to. It’s nice there, especially when it’s raining. I don’t mind being wet. It doesn’t bother me at all. I just choose to stay dry if given the choice.

Now I must nap.

Last Thursday, the 13th, Cedric turned 16 years old. Another person we know quite well, who shall remain nameless, turned 66 on the same day. His initials are DON.

Cedric began his journey at the hospital on Langley AFB in Virginia which everyone knows is peppered with spies and such. Thankfully, his Grandma Diane was on site for his arrival, otherwise, he would have grown up motherless, an only child. That’s true. We think some of the trainee spies were involved somehow, perhaps filling in as pretend doctors and nurses, but there’s no way to prove it so that’s pure conjecture.

Since I was working at the time so I didn’t get to see him when he was right off the assembly line. I had to stay home while Diane attended the event, and that’s OK. I’m glad she was there. I went at a later date and got my baby fix, the best feeling in the world, the first time Cedric fell asleep on my chest. That’s awesome. It never gets old.

During one of their visits to Oregon, before settling down here, Jennie brought Cedric to my work place for a visit. I let him around, introducing him to everyone, and he was especially enthralled with Gretchen’s patterned nylons. In a display of investigative courage, that has guided him throughout his life, he bravely walked up to her and put his little hand on her knee to see what the pattern felt like. After rubbing her knee for a while we continued our introductions.

Another memorable event happened with the gas fire-place in our last home. It was cold out so we had it going and the glass was very hot. We all explained how it would hurt him if he touched it and he kept his distance for a long time. Curiosity overcame good sense, however, and he walked up to the glass, reached out his finger, and touched the glass. It burned him, of course, but he didn’t cry, other than to make a cry of surprise. When asked why he did that after all the instructions he had received he calmly replied, “well, I’ve just never done that before.” This was everyone’s second clue about his curious nature.

Today, Cedric doesn’t feel it’s necessary to fall asleep on my chest, he’s never approached another strange woman so he could rub her knee, and he’s never, ever touched the glass of a lit gas fireplace screen. Those mysteries are solved. But, though he’s as tall as I am, he still huddles with me on the couch which is almost as good.

To celebrate his 16th birthday he received six tickets to the premier of the new “Superman” movie. Though it didn’t officially premier until 12:01 yesterday morning, the Columbia Theater in St. Helens had a special deal with Wal*Mart which allowed citizens to purchase tickets for a 7:00 pm pre-premier Thursday evening. He took five of his friends and they had a terrific time.

At the end of summer he will begin his sophomore year of high school and start the next chapter of his life. We have absolutely no doubt that he’s going to do well at whatever he chooses to do.

Journey on, Cedric.

Here are some pictures of Cedric taken over the years. All but one are Cedric.

Last Saturday Diane and I went to Oregon City to help Mike & Kathie with their garage sale.  We got up at 6 am, left at 7 am, and arrived just before 8 am. That’s really early for us. For M&K the day began at 5 am so we couldn’t complain.

People showed up fairly regularly throughout the day and things went away and I re-discovered that I’m still a lousy negotiator. I suspect they would have made out better had I just stayed out of that part, but what’s done is done.

M & K, by the way, are moving to Mission Viejo, California. They already have a house there which they purchased when the market bottomed out a year or so ago. They hung on to the Oregon City house, waiting until exactly the right moment to put in on the market and demonstrate that real estate, at least in Oregon City, is now a seller’s market. Their house was on the market for one day when they got a pull price cash offer. Pretty nifty, if you ask me. Diane and I, just to keep things in balance, do things exactly the opposite.

In a couple of weeks M&K will be heading ‘home’ to California. Thankfully, they are on the path we take to visit San Diego. Now we have two places to visit along that well-travelled path. Oddly, both of them are home to Mike & Kathie. I know. That’s weird, isn’t it? Two sets of Mike & Kathie. As one Kathie pointed out some time back, “what are the odds that Diane & I would know another set of Mike & Kathie, and the Kathies spell their name the same way?” Or words to that effect. Until she said that, I just thought it was normal. Now I wonder.

Anyway, we bid Mike & Kathie a fond farewell. We had a terrific day visiting, had a great lunch, walked off with treasures we had to have, and thought we did pretty good to last as long as we did. It was a tearful farewell, but it was also filled with the promise of future visits to their new home.

We wish them safe travels and look forward to our next visit to San Diego with new purpose.

Mikes and Kathies of California, beware. We know where all of you live …

Diane’s really done it now and I need the advice of a good pet lawyer.

She suggested that I go to the local veterinarian and get chipped so she could find me when I get lost. I thought it would be a good idea, at the time, then wondered … what’s going to keep her from changing her phone number?

What would happen do  me?

Will I have to live in a kennel?

Will I like dogfood?