They'll do it every time

Until yesterday when I had it fixed I was having the oddest trouble with my new old van. I could only fill the gas tank slowly. The flow would cut off almost immediately if I tried to fill up at regular speed. It wasn't a huge problem; it required simply putting the gas in slow. But it was annoying, especially in the cold.

After dealing with it for about a month I decided to get it checked. It turns out that it wasn't venting correctly, a tiny pipe of some sort being plugged. The vent pipe allowed air to escape from the tank as it filled. With it blocked the air couldn't go anywhere unless the gas flow was slow enough to let it go out the larger tube where gas is added.

That perhaps inadequate explanation aside, I had resolved that, it not being the worst trouble in the world, I didn't want to spend too much. Mentally I settled on $200. More than that and I would just deal with it.

Within a couple hours my mechanic called me with an estimate of $202.57.

Of course I had him do it. But my shoulders actually slumped and I let out a sigh when he gave me that figure. It was like, really, forces of nature? Do you have to tease like that?

On the other hand I am rather anxious to gas up later today.

Skintight January

It was twenty-eight degrees at 6:30 this morning when I left my house for my morning walk. But I like walking, I need the exercise, and the the paths are clear. So I walk.

This morning made four mornings in the last six where I've made my trek. If the extended weather forecast can be relied on, an admittedly dubious proposition seeing as it rarely is accurate, I should be able to enjoy a daily constitutional for most of the next ten or twelve days. But last week at this time for example it was supposed to crack 40 today. We're actually looking at a high of 31. But Miami will be underwater in the year 2100 due to among other things weather changes, and we know that for a fact.

Done pontificating. So although cold and dark the winter world is still with its wonder in the early morning. A pretty crescent moon poked through the clouds for me, and night in the city is always quieter than day, even comparing 6:30 in January to 6:30 in June. 

The secret to cold weather exercise I will say obviously enough is dressing for it. In June it's shorts and a tee shirt. In January it's a heavy coat on top of a hoodie. I have however found, well, it's not really classic thermal underwear as it's not cotton. It's some type of artificial material not unlike nylon, and it is warm. It makes the Marty walk more palatable. My only complaint is that it's skintight and thus kind of uncomfortable. 

I know, I know. The adjective skintight anywhere near the proper noun Marty makes me cringe too.

Shopping cart snake

Me Pops could fix a lot of things on drain snakes. Yet there were a few things beyond him; at least one of those you might forgive him his inability to repair.

One day this guy, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, brought in a machine, if you could call it that. The man had cobbled it together apparently with whatever he could find which was even vaguely useful. The motor was from a dryer, the drum looked like a trash can reinforced somehow with long steel rods, and the belt a mere rope tied to fit. It was all bolted upon the frame of an old grocery cart. It looked, uh, ah, er, well, saying it reminded you of a Rube Goldberg is unfair to Goldberg's admitted cleverness. But it worked somehow, at least for awhile.

One day the frame broke. No, it more than broke, it fairly shattered under the weight and the pressure of a spinning 'drum' with a heavy cable. Cloyce brought it in to the Shop for repair. "You'll have to leave it until tomorrow, Cloyce," me Pops explained.

Cloyce wanted it while he waited. "Why can't you do it now?" he demanded.

"I gotta wait until Kroger's closes tonight so I can go steal a shopping cart!" the old man barked back. Then he just told Cloyce to just get the thing outta there.

So maybe it wasn't that he couldn't fix it but simply didn't want the bother.

The Gomez file

This morning at work I had to file down a part in repairing a machine. The user of this particular machine had broken a bearing and, rather than back off on the pressure which was on the bearing or even taking a minute to check why said bearing was not working, said user increased the pressure until he had caused damage to the bearing holder. So rather than simply needing a bearing replaced I now had to file down the warped part of the bearing holder so that it would work. Sometimes people make a repair job more extensive and expensive when they don't just stop what they're doing and try to consider why their machine isn't working as it should. Customers, eh?

So I had to file down the bearing holder before replacing the bearing. This required a rather large file as there was a large flat area which I needed to smooth. I secured the part in my vise and began filing.

The job went well. I believe what helped was that I channeled my inner Gomez in applying the file. You know that scene in the old Addams Family TV show where John Astin (who played Gomez Addams of course) is filing away at something, and sneering as he did so? That was me around 10 AM today, sneering at that part, knowing that it would succumb to my will.

This afternoon, well, I get to make my model trains crash.

She still can joke

It can be difficult not to be melancholy when I take me Mom out on Sunday afternoons. Her mind is failing, and she's so obviously just a shell of the woman she once was that, well, it gets rough. So what I try to do is shoot some humor into our trips, as she is yet able to play along. It's a way that we can interact, and it does make the new memories fonder.

Yesterday was no different. She frequently talks about how much she enjoys just riding around, both with me on Sundays and with my siblings at other times. A typical point yesterday was when she said, "I love riding around!"

"I do too," I agreed. "I like the company too!" I added.

"I like the company too," me Mom responded.

Simply trying to tease I next remarked, "You know, one of is is probably lying."

Mom got a little impish grin on her face. Then she answered, trying to sound sheepish, "Well, that might be me."

I couldn't top it.

I'm only sleeping

Yesterday was January 1, 2021. It also was also the eighth straight time I did not stay up to greet the new Year. 

Why do I think this? Because it first happened when 2012 became 2013. I did that consciously in homage to America's teenager, Dick Clark. He had helped us greet the new year for, well, many new years, but had passed away in April 2012. So I made up my mind not to greet 2013 without him.

Since then I've thought,  I don't need to stay up simply to hear my fellow Detroiters strafing the sky with their errant bullets. What really is the point in that?

I look forward to the new year every new year. But I need my sleep (ok, I just want it), and waking up at three AM with the first thought, hey, it's a new year, ain't a bad way to greet it.

Resolved

New Years Day 2021 is here. So now it's resolution time.

Ah, the hell with it. Try to be better than you were before and let it go at that. Sure, specifics are nice. And we all need goals, something to aim for to perhaps measure how much better we become. But the real measure of a man (and a woman too) is in the immeasurable. What is immeasurable?

Being kind. Being charitable. Being helpful. You never know exactly how effective those things may be. But you know in your heart and your head that they will. 

Happy New Year everyone.