My Dentist

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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

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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

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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.

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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.

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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 …

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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 …

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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.

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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 …

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Who knew?

Bad Batteries, Highway 30,Westward Ho, and Trouble

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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.

The ’79 Winnebago Brave, Mowing, and Gas

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Last night Diane pointed out to me that we haven’t really done much all summer long and, specifically, we haven’t gone anywhere with the RV. All of that is totally untrue. I’m sure we’ve gone places and done things during the summer but I just can’t remember what they were right now. I do, however, vividly recall driving the Winnebago to our church, Bethany Lutheran, for the parking lot sale a few weeks ago. I’m sure I did that because I have pictures.

OK – I looked, and I don’t have pictures of the RV, but I have pictures of Ron sitting in a chair outside the RV. Still, it’s not proof, I guess, so I might have to concede that it didn’t really happen. But, I’m sure it did.

Back to last night – our Winnebago friends, who also have old Winnebagos, went to Lincoln City over last weekend. They stayed at the Elks Club where parking an RV is pretty inexpensive. Most Elks Clubs provide that service which is nice. Kinda makes me want to be an Elk again. We were going to go, too, but I still had work to do on The Bathroom and wasn’t comfortable being gone from it for so long a period. So, we stayed home. Now it’s time to get contradictory and report that we are now going to Fort Stevens State Park in Warrenton tomorrow, returning Sunday. In our defense, it’s much closer to us than Lincoln City, and it doesn’t involve driving long distance on a holiday weekend. But, still, we should have gone to Lincoln City, too.

In preparation for the trip I thought it would be a good idea to see if I could get the rig started. I worked and worked at it for a long time, until the batteries were almost dead, then I gave up for a little while and connected the battery charger to one of the batteries. Then I went to the local Chevron station for a can of gas, thinking the tank might be dry, and to ACE for a can of starting fluid to give the engine a little more incentive to be nice.

Before climbing into the driver’s seat, I removed the engine cover so I could squirt the starting fluid into the carburetor and give the engine a crank right away. As I suspected it would, the engine snorted it’s acceptance of the highly flammable mist from the can, but didn’t keep running right away. It took a few more squirts to get enough gas from the tank to the carburetor, but once done it ran well. And I let it run for a long time. 

While it was filling the garage, which is directly in line with the right exhaust pipe, with fumes, I disconnected the battery charger, the DirecTV antenna, and the 115V AC power cord so I wouldn’t be dragging anything behind us when we were finally ready to take it for a spin to get gas and run some errands. 

Then it appeared we weren’t going to leave right away, so I turned it off with confidence it would start right up when Diane was ready to go.

But it didn’t. I cranked, and cranked, it until it was obvious it wasn’t going to start without another sniff of the starting fluid. So, with Diane in the passenger seat, I risked serious injury by removing the engine cover so I could do the deed, and also allowed all the wonderful fumes, that should remain in the engine compartment, into the cab. All those fumes went directly to Diane and hovered over her while I got the engine fired up and running. Then I just slide the cover into place, kinda, and away we went with fumes surrounding us and hot air blowing on our little feet. I should have locked it down, I know, but we were going to the gas station and I wanted to have easy access in case it wouldn’t start right away so we wouldn’t be overly embarrassed. To me, none of that mattered, because I really don’t mind the odors emitted by a running engine. It’s kinda nice.

On the way to the gas station we stopped at our church, mentioned above, so Diane could drop off the aprons she had washed, and so we could spruce the joint up a bit because we are the assigned cleaners this month. Diane signed us up so we have to do it. As soon as we got within eye-shot of the church it was evident that the lawn needed a severe mowing. Since Floyd resigned as our arborist, and lawn maintenance person extraordinaire, such tasks are now available for anyone who wants to volunteer their time, like Floyd has for the past 28 years or so. Maybe it’s not 28 years, but he’s been doing it for a really long time. Now someone else needs to pick up the reigns and get it done. Since I was there, my conscience dictated my path to the mower barn, a little room at the end of the church car port, and I got to work. It’s a fairly new Craftsman, and works just great. I think it took me only a couple of hours to get it all mown, and the mower washed. I had to wash it because that’s what Floyd did before putting it away. There’s no way I was going to ride it hard and put it away dirty. No sir! Not me. So, I washed it, top to bottom and it looked good as new when I put it away. Now my conscience is telling me that I should probably do that with my mower at home. I treat it terrible and I’m surprised it still runs, but it does. It’s been very faithful to me. So, before using it next time, I will wash it and change the oil. Then I will wash it when I’m done. I don’t have a mower shed to store it in, however, because I haven’t built it yet. One of these days … until them, I park it under a holly tree where it’s protected pretty good from the rain. When it rains.

After leaving the church we headed for Scappoose to see how much gas we could pour into the rig. I truly don’t have any idea how many gallons the two tanks hold, but it’s a lot. We went to the Fred Meyer gas station, across the street from Fultanos and Les Schwab, and used Diane’s Fred Meyer card to drain their pumps. Luckily, Diane shops at Freddie’s fairly often which provides some relief at the pump when a lot of shopping has been done. She recently took all of our related school children there to buy school clothes which resulted in 45 cents off a gallon. They have a 35 gallon limit on that, however. Fortunately, the front tank didn’t take 35 gallons, so we just moved the rig up a little (it started right up!) so we could finish the 35 gallons in the rear tank. When it stopped, we ran the card again so we could fill that tank, and wound up getting 15 cents off whatever they could pump into that tank. It’s a smaller one, so I was sure it wouldn’t take 35 gallons. It didn’t. Total cost was just shy of $150 for the two tanks. I suspect that will get us to Fort Stevens just fine. Perhaps it will even get us home, too. We’ll see.

Now it’s almost 9 pm, I’m hungry, and need to stop and get a snack.

1968 Chevy Truck, Electricity, Spaghetti, and Soccer

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Today I spent a lot of hours on the old pickup truck. Here’s what it looked like before I started.

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It actually looked the same once I was done, but it’s now turned around, pointing to the right. I don’t remember when I took this picture, but the truck just never changes.

Today, my efforts were focused on just getting the starter to function correctly. Before I got into it too far, I decided to just remove the starter and take it back to NAPA for a test. You see, it functions OK for about 2 seconds, then the Bendix just quits and the starter keeps spinning. If the Bendix gives up, everyone in the entire world knows that means the little gear on the end of it isn’t going to turn the big gear on the engine. All those people also know that if the engine doesn’t rotate, it’s not going to start. As I said, however, the little gear engages the big gear for about 2 seconds before it quits, allowing the starter to spin wildly out of control, consuming massive amounts of energy, until you release the key. So, the Bendix was suspect.

The guy at NAPA, Dave, I think his name was, happily took the starter to the tester, strapped it down with a bungee cord and applied power to it. The Bendix kicked out like it’s supposed to and it remained out the entire time power was supplied, so it was deemed to be working just fine. No amount of whining on my part could convince Dave that his test was a no-load effort. So, I took the starter back to the truck and took a critical look at the wires and noticed that they probably weren’t in the best shape ever. They do, however, conduct electricity and they aren’t shorted to ground. “Shorted,” for those who may not be familiar with this term, means the wires are short enough that the electricity can’t reach the ground. That’s true.

It was a perplexing situation, for sure. I turn the key, the engine would turn for a couple of seconds, then the Bendix would disengage. Not knowing what else to do, I decided to just eliminate as many connections as I could between the starter, the battery. That meant bypassing the ignition, the little switch that makes sure it’s in Park, and the one behind the fuse box that goes through the firewall. It’s a purple wire, and purple wires don’t go through a fuse so it isn’t really connected to the fuse box so it can go directly out through the wall into the engine compartment.

Whether or not you want to know, here’s how I did all of that.

First, I went into the newest of the old RVs we have, and retrieved a push button switch that I previously had installed in it because the ignition switch quit functioning for the part that sent power to the starter. But, the button kept fall off, and getting in the way, so I removed it and now all I have to do to start it is turn the key on and hold two wires together until it fires up. Probably not the best solution, but it works quite well.

Taking the switch to the pickup, I first found a likely hole on the left side of the dash into which the switch would fit. I found the perfect place, but before securing it, I had to make sure it worked like I wanted.

It just occurred to me that I should give everyone a little refresher course on basic electricity, even though everyone in the entire world already knows this stuff, and I probably should have done it sooner. Better late than never, and doing it will help me get it straight in my head.

First Rule – there are two types of electrical current – AC and DC. Both of them require copious amounts of electrons which are the little critters that make you jiggle all over when you happen to touch a bare wire that’s connected to a power source. They literally ‘fly’ through your body and the jiggling you experience is caused by all the cells in your body dodging left and right, trying to get out of their way. Got it? It’s not a good thing to do, touching a bare wire. Exciting, yes, but still not a good thing to do.

AC is Alternating Current – that means the electricity is created by exciting a bunch of electrons with a generator that causes the current to go up and down, up and down, like a yo-yo, until all the electrons in the wires develop a bi-polar disorder and they don’t know which way they’re going. To them, it’s back and forth, back and forth in the wires, going through stoves, air conditioners, washers, dryers, refrigerators, light bulbs, and, once in a while, a warm body.  Behind pretty much every wall in your house there are wires jam-packed with excited electrons that are just waiting for the chance to go somewhere else. The preferred destination of every one of them is ALWAYS the shortest path to ground. Yes, to ground. Like the dirt you dig in when planting flowers that will die unless you water them. Or a garden you plant that the deer just love. That ground. That’s because the ultimate desire of every electron in this ‘circuit’ is to return to its source, as in the other side of the motor that excited them so much. To do this they must use the earth because the power companies chose this manner in order to save money on wire. By stuffing a huge wire into the ground and connecting it to one side of their generator, and just providing one wire from the generator to a house, the house must also be connected to ground, to complete the circuit, allowing the electrons a way to get home, they save an absolute ton of money. Sounds kind of lame, I know, but it works.

DC is Direct Current – that means the electricity flows only in one direction so all the electrons have a sense of purpose, all moving together from the positive side of their source, back to the negative side. You are familiar with this type of power in the form of batteries. The kind the run your cell phone, portable radios, iPods, flash lights, and your vehicles. The complexity of today’s vehicles is mind-boggling compared to what I was dealing with today, but the concept is still the same. The battery sends power, if it’s charged, to the parts that are connected to ground. In the case of a vehicle, however, ‘ground’ is any metal surface on it, especially the engine. In the case of my truck, the negative side of the battery is bolted directly to the engine block. The positive side is bolted directly to the starter. Now reading this, you may think that the starter should be spinning all the time, but it doesn’t. That’s because those who build vehicles use trickery on the electrons to make them stand around for long periods of time before ‘closing’ a circuit, by means of a switch or, perhaps, a key. A key! You turn it clockwise, and things happen. Lights dance around on your dash-board and the  ‘system’, your vehicle’s computer, goes through the same kind of start-up routine your home computer does, but different. If you watch the lights and gauges, they all do the same routine when you turn the key “ON”. Then the system waits. The electrons have been given a glimpse of the excitement to come, and are all crowing up to various switches, waiting to explode down their assigned wires when a circuit is ‘closed’ with the flip of a switch. When you turn the key a little bit further, you engage the starter. Although the starter is connected directly to the positive side of the battery (at least in my truck it’s a direct connect because in 1968 things were simple) the starter doesn’t spin, and the Bendix doesn’t engage, because it’s waiting for you to turn that key a little bit further, allowing electrons to rush to the Bendix which closes contacts that allow all the electrons in the BIG wire on the starter to engage the Bendix and spin the starter motor. When you hear the motor start, you release the key and it magically goes back to the “ON” position.

Now, where was I? Oh, yes! I was eliminating the various connectors between the battery and the small wire to the starter, the one that closes the contacts that allow power to be consumed by the starter motor. What I did was connect one wire from the fuse box, that only has voltage when the key is ON, to one side of my push button switch. I know, I probably told you it went behind the fuse box earlier, and it does, and it’s purple, but the power is connected to it via the ignition switch, not the fuse box. Since I removed the ignition switch from the equation, I needed a new power source, but one that was only available when the key is turned ON. I used a big red wire which is probably illegal in someway, but I did it anyway. I didn’t have a purple one.

From the other side of the push button switch I ran one wire, with no connectors, through the firewall, directly to the little wire connector on the starter. Now all that was between the starter and success was one little switch.

Before doing that, however, I hooked it all up to the starter, which I jammed under the right front tire, to make sure the push button did the trick. Everything sounded like it worked OK, but I couldn’t really see it because once wires were connected to the push button, I bolted it into the nifty hole I found on the left side of the dash. I layed down on the seat and pushed the button with my left foot, but I still couldn’t see the starter, I could only hear it. It sounded just like it did when Dave checked it at NAPA, so I figured everything was good to go. Here’s how I did it …

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Reinstalling the starter is a whole other story so I’ll just skip that part and get right to the meat of this story and tell you that absolutely nothing changed. All that work, and the Bendix still released after only a couple of seconds.

I was all pumped up for a successful ending, and nothing had changed. I even stopped in the middle of all that to eat a spaghetti lunch, that Diane fixed for me, with half a loaf of baguette bread, my favorite. I was READY.

I knew, however, that repeated attempts to start the engine in this manner would ultimately work. The engine does start, but it takes a while.

Tomorrow I think I’ll drive the truck down to NAPA and invite Dave out to start it for me and see what he thinks.

To end the day Diane and I went to the High School to watch the JV soccer team, the one Lydia is on, play against Aloha High School. Aloha won 2-0. Both teams had lots of kicks at the net, but only Aloha’s went in. It’s still a very confusing game, to me, with the referees blowing their whistles in a seemly random manner and making odd gestures with their arms and hands to identify the infraction as if everyone in the crowd knows exactly what’s on his mind. I guess I’m going to have to study this a little more closely. Maybe get some pictures from the internet that shows me what those gestures actually mean.

Now it’s 2222, swear to God, and time for me to go to bed. I’ve got a big day ahead of me tomorrow because I have to make sure the newest old RV starts, then take it down to get gas so we can go to the beach on Thursday.

If it doesn’t start I may have to run some more wires, or get a lawyer.

Oh. This is all the ‘stuff’ I had left over when I was done with NOT accomplishing a single useful thing today …

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College Football and Falling Gracefully

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Whether or not you follow college football, you need to know that the Ducks are pretty awesome. They won their game yesterday 66-3. I know, it was one of those warm up games, getting ready for league play, and it wasn’t the most scored by a team this weekend, but, still. That’s a whole mess of points. The most scored in a game was by Indiana who won their game 73-35. The Ducks also racked up 772 yards of total offense, a new school record, and enough to currently lead the nation in that category. It looks encouraging. The Oregon St. Beavers lost yesterday, but they still scored 46 points.

Now I must report a weekend accident and the lesson I learned because of it.

Let me set the stage for you … we have underground sprinklers that kinda work, enough to get the bushes around the house nice and wet, along with our front porch. Diane found a need to turn them on yesterday afternoon because she didn’t think the water bill was large enough. She’s given up on watering the yard, which has turned a nice khaki color, my favorite color. The only thing that grows in it are random dandelions. Not many, but enough to make it necessary to lop their tops off once in a while.

We have 4 sprinkler zones in the front that are layed out in an odd pattern … one zone has about six sprinklers on it and they all overlap a great deal, and one only has 2 sprinklers on it. The latter is the one that sprays the porch, and also sprays Diane’s side of the bed if she forgets to close the window on her side of the bedroom. This has been tested.

She only lets each zone run for about 10 minutes, then switches. After turning them off, she called me to the front porch to look at something but I can’t remember what it was because when I stepped onto the porch my feet slipped right out from beneath me, causing me to go airborne for a brief moment in time.

It’s really amazing how much data your brain can accumulate while you are in an unplanned free fall, no matter how short. For instance, as my feet slipped, I did a swift calculation as to about where I might land. I had to take into account that there are three cement steps in the landing zone, so I had to run through the calculations a couple of times to make sure they were correct. By the time I was done with that, I was about halfway down and I was looking up at the porch light. It reminded me that I need to switch that old thing out for the new one that’s laying on my table saw in the basement.

Knowing the steps were going to complicate things, I just decided to land on my elbows, mostly on the left one because it’s the worst one I have, anyway. Plus, I remember what happened to Jack’s wrist when he fell off a truck and tried to block descent with his hands. Yes, I didn’t fall nearly as far as he did, but it still crossed my mind.

About that time, my left elbow hit the top step about the time my rear end hit the third step, as planned, to distribute the impact a little better. Then, all of my parts slid the rest of the way off the steps allowing the back of my head to clang against the top step.

Then, all was still. Diane was standing right next to me the entire time and didn’t make one move to stop my fall. She just watched. Admittedly, however, it happened pretty quickly so she didn’t have time to think about it. She just said, “do I need to call 911?”

I layed there a bit, taking inventory of my previously moving parts, and discovered that I could feel pretty much everything except most of my left hand. That concerned me because I didn’t want a broken wrist like Jack. But, I hadn’t heard anything snap, and I could move my fingers without pain, so figured I dodged that bullet. Part of my hand is numb all the time anyway, so a little more wasn’t a big deal.

Though I didn’t lay there very long, it was long enough to actually get kind of comfortable. But, my head started to ache so thought I better move. Plus, Diane was still asking me if she should call 911. She didn’t take my pulse or anything. I guess I was blinking and breathing so she figured I was probably a good judge of whether or not I needed emergency treatment. I actually am pretty good at that and used to be on a first name basis with all the folks at Urgent Care here in town. Most of my severe injuries were accomplished while I was home alone thereby creating a need for me to either dial 911, or just drive myself to Urgent Care. The latter was always the easiest, and quickest, so that’s what I did.

Finally, figuring I wouldn’t know what didn’t work correctly until I tried to stand up, I sat up and jump to my feet. Yes, that’s what I did. I may have even say “Olay!” when I did it, but I’m not sure. I do know that on the way up I didn’t experience any debilitating pain, which pleased me, so told Diane, “No, we’re not going to the emergency room.” I wasn’t bleeding and nothing appeared to be broken, but I wasn’t really sure how hard I hit my head, so stayed awake for a few hours to make sure I didn’t fall asleep, while Diane went to bed to read.

Don’t get me wrong, she was concerned, but not as much as a normal wife might be. She’s used to me injuring myself in odd ways much worse than this simple little fall, but I am getting up in zone where falls like that can cause serious damage. Apparently I’m part of the ‘Lucky Group’, so far.

My elbow hurt a bit, but feeling was returning to my hand. Oddly, too, my right shoulder and arm weren’t hurting and they’ve been hurting for weeks. Maybe I fixed it, somehow.

So, “what’s the lesson?”

Don’t wear your worn out Crocs out on a slippery wet porch unless you’re going to take tiny little steps and walk flat-footed. I knew that’s what I was supposed to do because I’ve slipped on the garage floor before, but never fell down. There aren’t any steps in the garage though.

Today I figured I’d be black and blue, but that didn’t happen. Can’t even see marks where I landed. I felt cheated, somehow, by going through all of that and not coming out of it with even a little evidence that ‘something’ had happened.

Maybe tomorrow will be different. I’m going out with the Lion’s Club to plant flags around town tomorrow morning in honor of Labor Day, so I better get to bed.

Hope everyone had a good weekend. In a couple of days it’s back to school for the kids. They’re real happy about that.

Grout and Mascots

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The grout has been applied yesterday and I really thought we would get around to sealing it today, but turns out it needs to cure for 48 hours before sealing. So, that won’t happen until Tuesday or Wednesday. We can get the necessary baseboard molding and top rail for the wainscoting done then, too.

Tomorrow is out because Lydia is playing soccer in Milwaukie, her first high school soccer game. We’re all going, on the road at the mind-numbing hour of 8 am. On the way home the team is stopping for lunch at Fultano’s in Scappoose where they have the back room reserved so the girls can watch the Portland Thorns soccer team play their game. Daniel is a little bit concerned because the Oregon Ducks season opener is tomorrow afternoon, also. He’s hoping one of Fultano’s many TVs is tuned in to the Duck game. I plan to be watching it here, in the comfort of my own home. Unless, of course, Diane has something else she thinks I should do.

Speaking of the Ducks …  I think it’s pretty nifty that U of Oregon is the only college team to have a Disney character as their mascot. Walt Disney personally approved Oregon’s use of Donald Duck as their mascot in 1947 based on a handshake agreement between Disney and Oregon athletic director, Leo Harris. This is true. I looked it up.

Now, about all those offensive Native American names and logos used by Oregon high schools. I suspect they are also used by many other schools, high school or otherwise, but the Oregon controversy is more personal for me. The state has ordered all public Oregon schools to end the use of Native American names and mascots by 2017 or lose state funding. OK, I get it. Apparently Native Americans have been in an uproar for a long time because of the demeaning names, like Indians, Warriors, Braves, used by schools for their team names. So, it’s going to end. I believe this movement is nationwide, but I’m not sure. What I’m curious about is what the pro teams are going to do. Like the Washington Redskins, for instance. Or, the Atlanta Braves. Kinda makes me go “hmmmmm.” This is a bit personal to me because I went to Scappoose High School, home of the Scappoose Indians. I can honestly state that the entire time I attended high school, all seven years, I never once really associated our team name, or mascot, to Native Americans. It was a name. Perhaps, to satisfy the department of educations dictates, it should be the Scappoose East Indians. It was, after all, Columbus who tagged Native Americans with the Indian name because he thought he was, gee, in India.

I think all of the controversy could be resolved if we just eliminated animals and kinds of people as sources for team names. Instead schools can use only inanimate items, like Rocks, Bricks, Stones, Sticks, Pebbles, Branches, a disease, or any type of flower. The Scappoose Sunflowers has a nice sunny ring to it, doesn’t it? Or, perhaps, the Scappoose Salmonellas?

It gets worse, the more I think about it … like the Pittsburgh Pansies … had to say it. Or, the Denver Daisies, Georgia Gladioli, Ohio Oleander, California Calla Lillies … Sorry, but bet there are better ones running around in your heads right now. Care to share?

Time to quit and head for bed since I won’t be able to take my morning nap tomorrow.

I hope everyone has a safe Labor Day weekend.

Thin Set, Fast Food, Soccer, Cheese, and Quantum Physics

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The tiling in The Bathroom is done – Tomorrow we grout! Friday we seal, and Saturday the kids can start using the shower. It’s been a long 3-4 months for them and they’re all getting a little ripe. Personally, I’ll be the happiest camper when it’s all done because this project is consuming me. It makes me sweat profusely … that’s not valid for this task because everything makes me sweat profusely. It’s a gift.

The Bathroom was the only place I did anything constructive today. It was just me and Daniel, slapping tiles on the walls until it just felt “right”. Once the grout is applied most of the screw ups will disappear. They’re supposed to, anyway. We’ll see how that works out tomorrow when we apply that grout.

Before starting our work this morning, I had to go straighten up the Lion’s Club newspaper collection container. It’s huge, and people use it for disposing of all kinds of things. I asked Lydia if she wanted to go with me, since she likes to do all kinds of different things. Her only response was to ask if she went, “would I get her something to eat?” How could I refuse an offer like that?

Inside the container was the normal amount of ‘stuff’, including cardboard, a nicely taped up container of used cat litter, and a remarkable array of cereal containers. None of these items qualify as newspapers so they are pulled out of the mix, and then we stack papers. We build barriers about every two deposit slots, of which there are about 10, or 8, and keep stacking on the barrier, and throwing loose papers behind it, until it’s about nipple high. It was about halfway between belly button and nipple, on me, but Lydia thought it would be fun to get on the pile behind the barrier. I told her she had no idea where those papers had come from, or what had touched them, but that didn’t seem to faze her normally very persnickity health standards. She was going to do it anyway, so I said, “sure.” She made a move to leap over the barrier but stopped shortly after raising her leg about 2 feet off the floor, deciding it wasn’t such a good idea after all. This was caused, of course, by her newly acquired interest in soccer about which she is deadly serious. She’s signed up to play her freshman year at St. Helens High School and has been training pretty much every day all summer long. Her coaches have her running about 4+ miles a day, and weight training, in addition to actually playing soccer once in a while. She’s loving it, but her body is just getting used to the abuse, and it’s a little bit sore in spots. That’s why she’s hungry all the time, too. It’s amazing what she can consume. This morning I got her dead chicken tenders from Burgerville. For all of you non-Northwest folks, Burgerville is a local version of Burger King, but better. Really. It is. But, you know? It’s all just a matter of taste. A hamburger is a hamburger, no matter which way you cut it, but only Burgerville has a Tillamook Cheese Burger. They are the best. Tillamook Cheese is another kinda local product. Wisconsin doesn’t have anything on Oregon with regard to cheese lovers.

OK – that was uncalled for. I apologize to everyone who lives in Wisconsin, is from Wisconsin, or who might happen to be planning a trip to Wisconsin.

For our mandatory lunch, Daniel and I went to the drive thru at Muchas Gracias and each had a breakfast burrito. They are entire meals in a wrapper you can eat. How handy is that? That’s another food chain local to the area, in case you’re wondering. I would have gone thru any of the driver thrus, but Daniel chose Muchas. The drive thru was mandatory because we both smelled like well used mules after slaving away in the hot bathroom all morning.

Considering all of this activity around soccer, I guess I’m going to have to learn the rules for that game after all. I actually thought it would never happen. It’s just odd to me to be so involved in a sport that can end in a 0-0 tie and it’s deemed to be a good day. But, she’s really involved and we will be watching.

I just saw on the news that an 11-year-old boy has been admitted to Texas Christian University, home of the Horned Frogs, to study quantum physics. I’m stunned! I thought quantum mechanics was about the essence of, well, of everything. Maybe that’s why this youngster is also taking a course in religion. Hmmm. Wonder if he’s on to something. I might just have to form more theories and maybe he can solve them. Maybe he can solve the theories I already have. I wonder if he will talk with me. I wonder if I can remember all my theories. Dang! I might just have to let this kid run on his own.

Diane spent all most of the day getting her hair cut, and making potato salad for Community Meals at First Lutheran Church in St. Helens. I’ve talked about that before – it’s something they do every Tuesday and Thursday, just for fun, to feed anyone who wants a hot meal. It’s a great program. Diane always helps. I help when she asks me to. I quit volunteering when I joined the Navy, but I do what I’m told.

I think I’ve used up my quota of links for today so I’m going to bed and dream about grouting. That, and it’s time to get Diane away from her computer because she’s laughing out loud at funny animal things she’s finding on her computer.

No, I’ll just leave her alone. I love hearing her laugh.

Jedi James, Tile, and a D22

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Jedi James is a tiny little kitten that now lives with Daniel, Jennifer, Cedric, Lydia, and Jeran down on Matzen Street. He’s either six or seven weeks old and full of energy, like a little kid. He probably weighs less than a can of soda and he’s just fun to watch. I still don’t get the name, so call him JJ because it’s one less syllable.

Here he is investigating the 4″ tiles I layed out so I wouldn’t screw it up when I put them on the wall.

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Yes, I did some work on The Bathroom. The tiling is now about 2/3’s complete. It was a hot, sweaty day. For all my hard work, Diane bought me tacos and a burrito for lunch from Taco Bell.

Now the bad news – even Diane doesn’t know about this so I’m cherishing my remaining few moments of a relatively pain-free day. That may change once I publish this. But, ya know? I’ve gotta own up to my defaults. Most of them, anyway. This one just created more work for me, but it’s upsetting.

As you may have surmised, from previous posts, we have two Winnegabos. Both are old. We use the ’79 brave and have the ’73 Indian D22 on a restoration path that just got more complicated this afternoon. Here’s what happened.

In an effort to clean up our parking lot, across the street from the house, where all the blackberries live, I decided to move the ’73 and park it next to the ’79, which is in the driveway. It effectively blocks all access to the side of the garage Diane doesn’t use so it’s OK that that side is full of ‘stuff’. I’ve been wondering for a while, now, if the D22 would fit between the trees and the ’79. The trees are a barrier between us and our neighbors.

So, feeling frisky, I moved the Subaru, which is normally parked in that spot, and fired up the D22. The brakes worked pretty good when I started maneuvering into position, but faded more quickly than I had anticipated. I also misjudged how long 22′ really is.

Now, I know you’re thinking that I ran smack into the ’79, with its newly connected DirecTV DVR, but that isn’t the case at all. Instead, I backed into the corner of the garage. Damage to the house is minimal, regrettable, and easily repairable. The D22? It now has a ladder to the roof that is caved in, and there is a new tear in the aluminum rear that looks distinctly like the end of the gutter on that edge of the roof. It’s really nice. I may highlite it with some festive paint.

Since it’s been raining off and on for the past three days, I got the big tarp out and covered it up so it wouldn’t leak. Diane will think I covered it up to hide the damage, which may be partially true, but I don’t think she even realizes I moved it from across the street. She hasn’t said a word about it, which I find unusual. It’s like I do things, and no one notices. Except when I do things like back into the house.

On the positive side of this – yes, there is a positive side – the damage caused to the D22 is forcing me to address the already water damaged roof at the rear of the rig. I’ve just been putting it off, doing other things. Now, I’ll have to do it.

Fortunately, I know a guy … he lives in Keizer and he once replace the entire roof of his old Winnebago. So, there is a precedent and I know the expert. That’s handy. The way it is right now, all I’ll have to do is remove about 1700 screws and peal the metal from the back toward the front and see what kind of project I’m looking at. The roof seems pretty solid on the inside, but spongy on the outside in that area, so It’s going to be interesting.

Now I’m going to quit and go to bed before Diane reads this. She’s watching ‘Dancing With The Stars’, so, hopefully I’ll be asleep before she gets there and maybe she won’t remember all of this in the morning.

I’ll let you know.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll take a picture of my mishap and share it.