Techo-Geezer….

No, I am not talking about a Glowstick® weilding, BlowPop® sucking, multi-colored haired, rave attending old person – I am talking about that crotchety geriatric that spent his or her time hollering at every kid who ever bent a blade of their grass, knew the coming and going schedule of the nearest 20 neighbors and had a penchant for prune juice…but with a modern twist.

When I was growing up, my grandparents lived on the South end of Peoria and had their entire lives.  They were a unoffical, non-participating Neighborhood Watch, so-to-speak.   OK – I am just being kind…they were nosey…or at least my grandma was.  I don’t fault her completely.  She was a timid and paranoid sort.  Never learned to drive because it frightened her.  Scared to death to tell the doctor when she felt ill out of fear of dying.  She was functional but had some hang-ups.  And top that with the fact that they had experienced at least two break-ins in their homes (full-on ransacking and thieving) she was worried everyday it would happened again.  Of course, my logic says, “Move out of the ghetto….” but that was home and she planned to stay there til the end.  As a result – she was “aware” of her surroundings.

My grandparents (especially after Grandpa retired) had entirely too much time to sit around and do nothing.  Grandpa had very few hobbies and Grandma even fewer.  Grandpa never cared what was going on in the ‘hood – to Grandma it was like “one of her stories” on TV.  They had a scanner, too.  I never quite got the hang of that – couldn’t keep track of what was coming across (I am not a big fan of talk radio either) but they liked to listen to the police calls and the barge banter (they could even tell by voice which barge operator was which – and LOVED when  a wife would get on there and give ‘em hell).  Grandma wasn’t overly social in her neighborhood – so many people had moved out or passed on and the new owners/renters weren’t being good stewards of the area – she was friendly with the closest households; but had a nickname and life story for every other person on the block.  They did things the “old fashioned way” I guess you could say.

I am a huge fan and proponent of  the concept of “being aware of your surroundings.”   I am also a supporter of Neighborhood Watch programs when they are used as they were designed to be used and are not the new fangled Zimmerman Neighborhood Shoot programs.  I think that we all have a right to secure and protect what is rightfully ours and as good Samaritans we should extend, at the very least, the courtesy of keeping an eye on and reporting for those around us.  Unfortunately, with the rampant lack of respect that is chewing through our society, neighborhoods of all shapes, sizes and demographics are succumbing to crime, vandalism, and general degradation.  The current level of disconnect between individuals makes it difficult to stand together to take back streets, blocks and boroughs.  Villages no longer raise children, children no longer fear other adults or authority - when I was a kid, if I screwed up out of my parents sight…chances were good that there was another adult or parent around willing to put me in check or report the deed.  Now-a-days…the offending child’s parents are either children themselves or equally disrespectful and don’t see a problem with the behavior.

In general, I am the type that until something or someone messes with me – I probably won’t give it a second thought…and even then it will probably have to be something pretty major – even if I get seemingly riled at the time.  I try to mind my own business, because truth-be-told, I have enough of my own stuff to worry about that the rest is a distraction.  Not big on gossip – shared or received.  Drama is exhausting.  And I am not at all interested in obsessing over what the dogs are barking at every.time.they.bark because chances are it is a squirrel.  Unfortunately, like a lot of neighborhoods though, ours has been experiencing a decline.  There is  a pay by the week (or hour, I am sure) hotel within a quarter-mile that serves as an unofficial halfway house for drug users, convicts and sex offenders (this is substantiated with the sex offender registration and conversations with police).  We have a high instance of panhandling in our area – and not by the homeless and in need of assistance, but the strung out con-artists that live in the hotel.  We have a high renter to homeowner ratio – which does not generally tend to bode well for neighborhoods.  There is a church at the end of the street that increases vehicle and foot traffic with zero vested interest in our area other than a thoroughfare – not to mention the number of intoxicated and speeding drivers that are adding to the mix due to various receptions, parties, functions and services.

And so the time has come….

I never wanted to be the old person that monitored the ‘hood.  (And ultimately I will transfer that role to a more deserving and fitting household member.) While the Neighborhood Watch program would be a great addition, it requires a very large commitment and amount of effort that I do not have the time or energy to expend right now.  Also, I find it hard to believe that we could get enough people on board, since we have so many that are “temporary” residents or are the problems we are attempting to mitigate.  It has come down to protecting our piece of the pie.  So, I will set up the system…get Jay a rocking chair and cane (he has to have something to rap on the window with)…will lovingly fold the afghan over his lap…and let him watch the 8-way split screen surveillance system til his eyes bleed. Gone are the days of the police scanner for us!  Those meddling kids, rabid squirrels, errant stray cats, and Hoveround® driving old people won’t stand a chance now!

Thanks for stopping by…

Wax on…Wax off… WT*@#!+….

Oh… my….. Baby Jesus and his diaper full of holy crap!

Those of you who know me, know at least two things:  1) I am not girlie or fashionable or the least bit obsessed by all things female and 2) I am not afraid to try to do things myself.  That combination, however, provided a rather “what the hell was I thinking” moment…

Because I am not fond of “girlie” ritual (with exception of getting funky color in my hair) and try to spend as little time as possible in the female prep and groom process, I got a wild idea that waxing would be a great time saver.  Especially since I can’t wear my glasses in the shower, so my accuracy in some areas is less than ideal.  Top this bright idea with the fact that I am a cheapskate and a DYI-er…  a trip to Ulta was inevitable.

Now mind you, the concept of ripping the hair from one’s follicles can not be spun as a good idea no matter how hard I try or creative I get.  Yet, up to this point, my brain did not send up any red flags.  Also keep in mind…I have an extremely (and I mean E.X.T.R.E.M.L.E.Y) high tolerance for physical pain.  Another important point here is – with the shape I am in, the likelihood that another human being seeing me in a bikini or swimsuit of any sort…is pretty slim.  But every time I think about NOT handling that part of the dreaded female grooming process – I remember being traumatized as a pre-teen girl when my friend’s mother came in from sun bathing and it looked like she was trying to smuggle a poodle in her bikini bottoms.  I was scarred for life.  Neat and tidy…that became my motto.  Until I was struck with temporary insanity…

My first mistake (other than thinking of doing this at all) was probably failing to research my material and product options.  Our local Ulta is right around the corner and has weekend hours.  The salon supply stores have limited hours and can not sell to non-licensed cosmetologists…I expected this to be the case for waxing supplies as well, so I decided to save myself the wasted trip.  I also knew that once I made up my mind to do it, I needed to act fast – at least with the financial commitment.  So I ran myself up to the store and looked at what was available on the shelf.  I was already starting to doubt my resolve.  I read the back of the boxes…they all seemed torturous.  I selected a “microwaveable” wax kit, thinking this concept of melted wax would surely most closely resemble the salon process.  (I have rejected the “Salon Process” for several reasons…but cost and screaming in public were two of the top ones.) Checked out and headed home….

Part one of the battle was complete.  I was resolved to not spend money on this and then fail to use it.  This does NOT mean, however, that I would DO IT right away.  I am not afforded a lot of “personal” time.  Between a six year old and Jay, I can’t even walk out of the room without being beckoned from across the house.  I put the box in the closet and waited…and waited….and waited.

The time came where it seemed like I had a few minutes that I could potentially call my own.  I read the directions.  Gulped.  Read them again.  Seriously?  What could I possibly be thinking?  Oh yeah, I remember – vaguely.  Something about saving time in the shower and avoiding the missed areas due to extreme farsightedness.

The instructions were explicit in their warning NOT to heat the wax in the microwave for more than 2 minutes total.  Um, yea…right.  I am not an engineer, but I am pretty certain that a solid block of wax does not have the viscosity that is required for application on skin.  Eh, what’s another minute going to do??  Um…well…it boils the wax.  Fortunately, I AM smart enough to know that boiling wax on human skin is not a good idea.  So, I let it cool.  While it cooled, I read the directions…again.  Gulp.

I apply the still-warmer-than-feasible wax to my tender skin region with the handy-dandy tongue depressor-like things in the box.  (They recommend a 2 inch by 2 inch area at a time….we will get to this later.)  I applied to two areas, both in the “recommended square inch” guideline.  And then I had  a panic attack.  My first thought was:  why didn’t I have a couple of beers before I started this?   My second thought:  how bad would it be to live with chunks of wax stuck to your bikini area…say…indefinitely?

The key, according to the instructions…the DAMN instructions, says to start the removal process while the wax is still pliable but not sticky.  Well, that would be great if I didn’t require a pretty effective, dual purpose pep-talk right about then.  First, I needed to calm my monkey self down from the panic that was rising in me and then I needed to convince myself to rip the wax, opposite the direction of the growing hairs, from my body.  The two actions were fighting one another.  Of course, by this time…the rest of the house is asleep (because the only time I get for me…is when I am asleep, as well, and I had decided to encroach upon that beautiful slumber) and I know that if I scream…I will wake them up.

With the wax in place, and a do or die mentality…. I gave a yank.  It was a wimpy, pathetic little yank that merely broke the edge off the wax.  Zero progress.  I couldn’t even say I had earned my stripes.  I was starting to regret this decision more and more…now because of the sleep I was depriving myself of.  (Sometimes you have to weigh the importance of things against reality.   In reality, I was tired and no one would likely ever see my bikini line.)  But…I now have two chunks of wax in a place that was not conducive to restriction.  Obviously, leaving the wax on indefinitely was NOT a viable option.

I knew I was running out of time for the wax staying pliable.  So, I started in with another silent pep-talk.  “Come on, Jamie…you can do this.  You gave birth without drugs.  You broke your hand and were un-phased. Women everywhere do this every 6-8 weeks….if they can do it…SO CAN YOU!”  Gripping the wax firmly, holding the skin taught….taking a deep breath and holding it….I pulled with everything I had.  I saw stars.  I almost blacked out.  I still had the other side to do.  For those of you who are measurement challenged – two square inches of depilatory wax  is about the equivalent of torture at Abu Ghraid.  Did I mention that I still had the other side to do?  Yea.

My eyes were watering.  The panic was back because now I knew how bad it was going to be.  I closed my eyes and repeated the grisly process on the remaining wax.  This time I think I actually cried.  After the wave of light-headedness passed, I looked down to assess the damage.  It felt as though the top four layers of skin had been flayed from my meat.  I was certain that a skin graft was in my near future.  What?!?!!  WHAT?!!?!!!  There was still hair on my body in the area in which I had waxed.  Patchy, at best…but hair.  I looked at the wax…there was definitely hair stuck in it.  What a crock!  I looked at my reddened skin again…I saw blood.  I was certain that I read no where in the instructions anything about blood.  Yup…tiny pin sized beads of red….blood.  And hair….  FAIL.

So after I regroup, I look at the wax pot…it is hard again.  Which, were I sadistic enough to continue, would require that I go back out to the kitchen (since I refused to do this process anywhere other than behind a locked door and doing it in the kitchen would seem wrong on so many levels) and re-microwave the wax.  Um, no.  I clean up my mess, put away all the “equipment” and re-assess the bikini line damage.  After all the effort and, most importantly, suffering, I am left with the equivalent of a Joe Dirt bikini line.  This pretty much ensures that I will not be “saving time” in the shower and that I will continue to be spending large sums on quality razors.

On a side note, the instructions state not to take a hot bath within 1 hour of waxing….seeing as I wanted to curl up in the fetal position for at least that long….I am thinking that would be the least of a person’s issues.

Thanks for stopping by….

Knocking down the cobwebs…

OK…starting to feel the writing bug moving through me again. I realize the last two posts were long – it’s kind of like starting a motorcycle for the first time on a cold day…you gotta let that choke stay on. Hoping I can keep up the steam and get back to whimsy and entertainment – but there are always going to be times when I will just have something to say or share that I hope gets your mind thinking or your heart feeling or your soul raging.

Thanks for stopping by…

Tested … a Truck Repair and a Prayer.

**Disclaimer - despite multiple threats – no bodies were killed, mutilated or hidden during this process.**

A few of you already know – well, in all honesty, quite a few – that Jay and I performed a vehicle repair/replacement on his truck last week.  If you didn’t see the Facebook rants or hear me hollerin’ outright…I will fill you in on how things went down.

A couple of weeks back, we decided that we had pushed our luck with the worn-out tires on our vehicles and committed to the investment of replacing 3 full sets of rubber.  We took the two daily driver vehicles for post-tire alignments.  Jay’s truck came back with bad news.  An alignment would be pointless without the replacement of two steering components – the idler arm and the pitman arm.  For those of my readers that are less mechanically inclined or don’t really give a hoot about car parts – those are two parts that link the relay rod (long rod with tie-rod ends that connect to the swing arm) to the steering mechanism or steering box/gear.  They allow the wheels to move in the corresponding direction of the steering wheel based on pivot and ratio.  The dealer based repairs were quoted, with alignment, at over $600.  Jay declined and at some point (though not at my insistence - despite his claim to the contrary) decided that he would replace these parts himself. He was convinced that the dealership was trying to screw him and that the parts did not actually need to be replaced.  I explained that they really didn’t have any reason or desire to work on a ’99 Chevy truck at the Nissan shop and that if they had done the alignment without the repair and the tires wore out – THEN they would have screwed you.

While in all reality this job should have been a fairly easy one, that is NEVER the case with anything we work on – for a variety of reasons.  Jay and I are like night and day, ying and yang, and oil and water – especially when it comes to vehicle repair.  I have sworn (and cussed) many times that I would never work under the hood, undercarriage, or any other part or portion of a vehicle with him.  Generally, we see things differently and in most cases those opposing personality factors are the “opposites attract” glue that bind us together…except with car repair.  And with a variety of relatively hefty, sometimes sharp tools at my disposal – I have often feared for his safety.

I try to take a more organized, thought induced approach at things, whereas Jay, on the other hand, is a Fly-by-the-seat-of your-britches-you-read-the-instructions-it’s-all-your-fault kind of guy.   So when he called me late on Thursday afternoon to ask if he should run and pick up the parts….I should have immediately called Travelocity and booked my room.  I didn’t want to get involved – but I knew that at some point that was not going to be an option.  I am the wingman.  I am the navigator.  I am the whipping-boy.  I support (and often influence – but it was my desperate intent to not influence the decision to do the repairs at home) when he decides to take on a task that I know will be painful, if even only for me.  It’s who I am.

My honest hope was that purchasing the parts was the only task on hand for that Thursday; but alas, when I pulled in the drive not only was the vehicle – a 1999 Chevy K1500 extended cab 4 wheel drive truck – up on stands with the wheels off already…but it was parked in front of the other vehicle that we could have been using for transportation during the fiasco…er, I mean, project. Score one for frustrated.  And rather than do an inventory of what tools we would require and verify that they were present and accounted for…he started the dismantle with less than ideal options.  Score two for frustrated.

The pitman arm had a large nut (not as big as the one wrenching on it mind you) that was on there pretty hard.  After soaking it with some penetrating oil and fighting with the clearance and room to move, he was able to add it to the pile of random nuts and bolts that had been removed from the various working mechanisms of the vehicle.  I was sticking to my guns and staying out from under the vehicle – a decision that ultimately cost us many hours of disassembly and re-assembly because my familiarity with what had already been dismantled was nil and my learning curve was arching pretty quick.  I have two, well three actually, distinct advantages when it comes to working on cars – 1) I have a fairly strong mechanical inclination, the stuff just makes sense to me (I thank my Dad and my Grandfathers for those genetics), 2) I enjoy working on stuff and especially with tools (anyone who knows me, knows I am a tool whore – screw the jewelry – keep me away from Sears!) and 3) my hands are considerably smaller than a mans (as is my general frame, so popping my head up under a car is as easy as a prairie dog in a burrow).

After much anger, impatience, insult, penetrating oil and brute force from Jay and much patience, tongue biting, hypothermia and teeth grinding from me – it was decided we were at a standstill and that job would have to resume the next evening after work.  It was 10:30pm.  All of our metric tools were at Jay’s job site (yes, this is a Chevy – no it does  not use the Standard System of Measurement) with the exception of a few sockets.  We were cold, tired and frustrated.  End Day 1…

The next day was Abby’s first day of Spring Break and I had scheduled it off.  I opted to skip working on the vehicle and cleaned the house and took her to the park instead.  Also needed to mow – but was planning to pull that off while he was “working” on the car to distance myself from the thrown tools.  We had gotten up early to take him to work and were planning our day around the 3:30pm pick up.  It was still up in the air whether he would have to work Saturday or not - so there was hope that I would have another 8 to 10 hours of free time that did not include the Angry Mechanic.  When I picked him up, we loaded the tools, covered the seat and headed back to the land of shade tree mechanic.  Once home, I changed into my “work clothes” and got permission to mow while he started back up on the repair.  I should have known better…every time I stopped to empty the bagger - I had to fetch a tool, read a page, grab this, oil that…. Good thing I can multi-task or at the very least not lose track of what else I am doing.  At one point, we realized that a different type of puller was needed and therefore part runner was added to my occupational list. I ended up buying a new set of metric wrenches and a set of heavy-duty jack stands – the wobble of him banging on stuff was nerve-wrecking.

Again for those who are not familiar with the mechanical working of a vehicle – in order for moving metal parts to remain moving, whether pivotal or rotational or otherwise, lubrication is required.  For areas where contact with air, water, salt, dirt and various other elements occurs, the lubricant is known as GREASE.  Grease is thick (varies as to its purpose), it has nearly zero viscosity (or flow) at normal operating temperatures and smells.  It is generally contained in rubber boots, gaskets and reservoirs, but on a vehicle with over 200k miles most of those are damaged or gone.  This means that the grease has now mixed with the variety of those elements and the resulting sludge is…well, sludge.  Thick, black, sticky, smelly sludge.  For those of you who know me…I am kind of anal.  You can imagine the teeth grinding involved when all of MY tools were now covered in this sludge. I kept myself busy and quiet by repeatedly wiping down the tools and handing them back to him like a surgical tech.  I was even wearing latex gloves, because I learned the hard way that Purple Power de-greaser is far more effective on the fatty content of your skin than it is the grime from the vehicle.  After five hours of zero progress, multiple threats to go buy a brand NEW truck and let this one rust to nothing in the drive and me with a bloody tongue from biting through it…we called it a day.  End Day 2 – Friday.

Up and at ‘em early Saturday (he wasn’t required to work overtime – which was met with mixed emotion by me) we got back into the “work clothes” (mine of which were now completely trashed) and headed out to get started.  It was FREEZING.  It was overcast, cold and windy.  Mind you, had he opted to move the Miata out of the garage BEFORE he put the truck on the stands…he would have also had the option of pulling it into the garage.  But I digress….  We had a heater going, a halogen lamp that was hot enough to cook on and multiple layers of clothes.  As the repairs started with very little progress, he started to threaten to take parts off – that in my opinion were not required and would pose not only more work, but additional cost.  I had managed to stay out from under it up to this point…but it wasn’t looking like that was an option any longer.  It was time for an intervention.  Needed to break the dismantle addiction.  It was looking like I was a bit too late – the passenger side tie-rod end had already been broken loose…I needed to work fast.  There was incoherent mumblings of stabilizer bars and rounded bolts – I was running out of time.

I crawled under the truck and did a quick survey of the dama….I mean inter-workings.  The nut was off the relay rod at the tie-rod end – check, the nut was off the pitman arm – check, the pitman arm was removed from the relay rod – check, the nut was off the idler arm – check, idler arm removed from relay rod – check, tie-rod end was broken free at the swing arm on the passenger side – check.  We used the two jaw puller we had rented to pop the idler arm off and I managed to maneuver that out of the tight location it was nestled – the response from Jay was less than complimentary but it was out either way.  He wanted to pull the relay rod completely out from under the truck (I was opposed - but we chose our battles) so I broke the tie-rod end loose from the driver side swing arm and we slid it out of there.  Where Jay promptly, though rather pointlessly, started cleaning it with a wire wheel.  More tongue biting and teeth grinding on my part.  So after he realized he had been “squirreled” and returned back to the task at hand – he started trying to break the pitman arm free from the Steering box spline (toothed shaft that interlocks with the pitman arm by sliding into the matching toothed collar).  Ideally, we would have used the two jaw puller for this task as well, but we were tight for room so Jay attempted to use the wedge (a fork like device of hardened steel that is used in combination with a hammer to drive two parts away from one another) to beat the pitman arm down off the spline.  After an hour of banging, I started recommending cutting the pitman arm off.  Banging continued, interlaced with complaints, curses, threats and frustration.  After about eight hours, and me having finally gotten interactive, I declared that despite the fact that I was already freezing – I would be getting a Dairy Queen Blizzard and that I didn’t care what he said.  At that, he recommended that we start cleaning up.  Had I known how easy it would be to get him to quit for the day, we would have been eating DQ every night of the project!  End Day 3 – Saturday.

It rained, or rather stormed, Saturday night and left us with a wet surface to start our repairs out on, on Sunday.  Picking up and dragging out tools everyday was getting kind of old and by the look of it – we were nowhere near done.  So, bright and early, the banging resumed, as did the cussing and carrying on.  At 11am I recommended he take a break ( I was starting to lose my patience with his lack of patience) and go watch the Supercross race.  It would give me an hour to research the pitman arm and him some time to decompress.  I read forum after forum and sent a plea out on Facebook for salvation. Everything I was reading said the same thing I had been saying to him….heat it or cut it.  Apparently, the pitman arms on these trucks are tight – actually compressed on at factory and no one seemed to have an easy time with them - at least not on the Internet.  My friends Kally and Linda Arbre got back to me and validated everything I had been thinking up to that point (And Linda has changed out some of these) so while he was still in the house, I broke out the cutting tools.

I opted for the Dremel with a regular cutting wheel.  There wasn’t really enough safe clearance for the 4 1/2 inch grinder with a cut off wheel and I didn’t dare want to nick a brake or power steering line.  Just as I was getting ready to cut it up….Jay came out and said he would do it.  Gulp.  All I could imagine was a nick in the spline, or me turning my back and him cutting off the sway bar.  The spline damage was circumvented by the use of the Dremel, because the cutting wheel depth prevented that from happening.  Shwew.  After a few minutes and one swap of the cutting wheel, we were ready to try banging it off again.  Bang, bang, bang….off.   Well, cutting it off would have saved us approximately 11 hours.  The bottom of the steering box was beat to crap…but the spline appeared to be undamaged.  I say appeared and you will see why in a minute.

It was now time to start the reverse of our process…we decided to focus on the pitman arm nut because we already realized that the idler arm would require two people and some compression.  The pitman arm seemed more straight forward – line up arm on spline in the orientation it was removed and tighten nut.  Um, yeah…..riiiiiiight.  First of all, for the record, the nut on the spline is big-ass (yes, it is an engineering term).  It measured out at a 33mm, based on the adjustment I read on the crescent (our biggest adjustable or fixed wrench).  The crescent didn’t have a slim enough profile to get into the space available so we could get solid torsion on the nut and rounding the nut was definitely going to be both a problem and an issue.  I left to try to hunt down a 33mm wrench or socket.  Sears – nope, Lowes – nope, Farm & Fleet – nope, Autozone - sorta (it was an axle nut socket which was too large to make the clearance).  Dead end. We took the steering box off the frame, tried it from several directions with the crescent.  Took off the pitman arm, checked the spline.  Checked the threads.  It wasn’t moving up the spline with the tools we had – it wasn’t supposed to be this hard, but we figured it was just a lack of leverage.  The right tool would make all the difference, right?  We were going to have to check some of the speciality stores tomorrow – or rather, I was. End Day 4 – Sunday.

I took my lunch break and got to do what I love to do most…tool shop!  And it would be funny if there was some sarcasm there – but remember I am a tool whore!  I went to Fastenal, which tends to cater to commercial workers.  I was confident going in that this would be a one stop errand for me…guess I forgot what we were doing.  I search the wall of wrenches – 27mm, 30mm, 32mm, 41mm, 45mm, 48mm….  What the….?????   I looked again.  I looked at the tags on the hooks.  Nope.  33mm is NOT there.  Checked the sockets (which were not the preferred tool of choice) there was a spot, but it was empty.  I asked the lady at the desk.  She confirmed no 33mm wrench available to her and the socket would be a 1-2 day delay.  She recommended her competitors – one of which I would have rather given my left foot than have to deal with.  I was stuck…so much for one stop errand.  I hit up Grainger – same thing.  Next it was the C&H Tools – my least favorite tool store in Peoria.  The owner is a self-absorbed creep, he marks up all his stock 10-20% so he can look like a hero when he gives you a discount of…yup you guessed it – 10-20% and he drives around to all the job sites in this OBNOXIOUS truck with a ridiculous lift kit on it and really ugly (and older than should be participating) chicks in the bed of it – to throw out T-shirts and water bottles.  Wrong on so many levels.  And as expected – no 33mm wrench OR socket.   (At least I didn’t have to compromise myself and give him any of my hard-earned money.)  So on my way back to work – empty-handed (didn’t even buy myself a tool – amazing) I took a chance and called my dad to see if he happened to have the elusive 33mm wrench.  I knew it was a long shot because my Dad is not shy about telling you his opinion about Metric measurement.  He took a look and his biggest was 32mm but he offered to mill it out to 33mm.  We might be on our way. I thanked him and told him we would be over after I picked up Jay from work.

Since I had been venting on Facebook and asking everyone I knew for tips or suggestions, my brother was aware of the aggravation we were enduring.  He offered to swing by and see if there was something that we were missing – that extra set of less-tired eyes.  Jay and I ran up to dad’s and grabbed the wrench and set out to finish this job once and for all.  Bob and Jay started working that nut over.  Pushing, pulling, leveraging, and …. stretching the newly milled wrench to approximately – 36mm.  FAIL.  Bob mentioned that maybe the AutoZone part we had was defective or not set to the proper taper because it seemed to be going on a lot harder than it should be or that maybe we should try an impact gun and socket.  So we loaded up to go get his gun and a 33mm axle nut socket.  After all, we were running out of options for tools that were 33mm and the air tool would certainly bring it home.  Back at the house – and nope.  Zero progress.  More threats of new truck purchase and of cutting off of truck parts (sway bar, brackets,etc…) Additional thoughts in my head of best places to hide body.

I grabbed the receipt for the part and noticed that they had not specified the year, make or model for the part, so I decided to call them and verify that the part they sold us – was, in fact, the correct one for the truck.  This created a new irritation.  When I called AutoZone and asked to verify a part number, the clerk that finally took the call asked the year, make, and model and then proceeded to give me the price of the part.  I explained that I needed the MODEL number.  His response?  “Why, are you going to go buy it somewhere else?”  I contained my anger just long enough to explain that we were trying to make certain they gave us the right part that was not installing correctly…. he verified the part number and I hung up.  From there, I lost it.  I called O’Reilly (we had been in there earlier to get the socket) to see if they had what we needed in stock and they had a MOOG part for a bit more, but that part seemed to be better received on the forums.  I told Jay to knock that one off the spline and that we were going to shove it up AutoZone’s ass, along with all the rented tools we had and get the MOOG part.  We would not be giving AutoZone anymore of our hard-earned money after the insults.  He agreed.  He did.  And we returned the stuff and got what we needed.  At this point it was 9pm.  End  Day 5 – Monday.

Let’s point out that it has been five days of repair and I am exhausted and I have class and homework and a quiz that I have not even begun to study for….

Tuesday evening and I help minimally, as Jay attempts to put the NEW part on and ends up with the same amount of progress up the spline even with the air tools.  At this point, he is beyond frustrated (not good for the whipping-boy) and I have class, which means he will be under a truck on jacks - alone.  This makes me nervous….after all, if I am going to hide a body, I want it to be on MY terms.  So, I decide (knowing this will not go over well) to ask Andy to swing by after his class to make sure that Jay is not pinned under the truck.  Jay has decided that the only course of action at this juncture is to remove the steering box and see if we can press the pitman arm on.  I was not there to see the dismantle – learning curve destroyed.  Turns out he got the box off and was in one piece when Andy stopped by – I got chastised for being concerned…lesson learned: Give less of a crap.  End Day 6 – Tuesday.

With the Steering box, all air tools, the socket and my sanity all loaded up in my vehicle - I took him to work with the expectation that we would swing by dad’s after work and have him take a look at it.  After his inspection – it was determined that the darn thing was up the spline far enough to be effective and that we could begin the rest of the re-assembly.  Heading home, a bit frustrated that we wasted so much time when we were already where we needed to be with the arm and excited at the prospect of being in the home stretch, headed west back across the river.  We immediately started putting the box back on…but it wasn’t progressing.  (Remember, I wasn’t there for the disassembly – so I am flying blind here.)  He is barking orders and expectations.  Nothing is working.  Finally, I asked him if the box was bolted to the frame.  Um, yes.  And….was it when you removed it?  Um, no.  Riiiiiiight.  We unbolted the box from the frame – slid it onto the intermediate shaft and tightened the collar bolt.  Bolted the steering box back onto the frame (mind you I have installed and removed the 21mm bolts for this process no less than 50 times during this project….) Viola! Now to pray that the steering wheel is still set to center, since in his frustration to get the intermediate shaft in the box – he was turning the steering wheel (not generally recommended). We compressed and tightened the nut on the idler arm.  I slid under the truck and reattached both the pitman arm and idler arm to the relay rod.  We fought momentarily with the tie-rod ends. (Patience, young grass-hoppah!) And it was time to bleed the power steering pump and steering gear box (since removing it, introduces air into the system).  Drum roll……..turn the key………nothing.   A dead battery.  Tried jumping it……nothing.  A. Dead. Battery.  Seriously?  We are literally minutes away from total completion and we have a dead battery.  This isn’t funny….not in the least.  We pull the battery and plan for yet another delay.  We pull the battery in hopes that Sears is still open.  Nope.  WOW.  End Day 7 – Wednesday.

Before we move on…look at the line before this one.  It says – Day 7.  As in a week.  A WEEK!   And I still haven’t hidden a body…I am pretty darn proud of myself!

On my lunch break, I run the battery up to Sears with explicit instructions that after they charge it, they need to test it again and then call me to let me know it is good.  It comes back solid.  I pick up Jay – confident that we. are. almost. done!  Yes!  We get home, install the battery - mind you, the night before he dropped the tray bolt into the most inconvenient place on the whole truck, so 15 minutes was wasted recovering that.  Go to turn it over to bleed the power steering system…..and the truck won’t start.  As it would turn out, there was about an 1/8 of a tank of gas in it when he started this project and since the truck was up on jack stands and the fuel pump is in the front of the tank…yup – it was essentially out of gas.  Yep….really.  So, I get to go to the gas station and fill up a 5-gallon gas can so we can finally put this nightmare to rest.  The gas worked and we started the truck.  After another 10 minutes of bleeding out the steering system, and we were fortunate that the steering wheel ended up at dead center, it was time to put the wheels back on.

Jay put one on and I grabbed the other one.  (Yes I can put a truck wheel back on the lugs…even when it’s on jack stands.)  He took it to get gas and theoretically test drive it…in traffic.  Not my recommendation, since I said go to the church and run some figure eights….   He said it was like new.  I asked about the play in the steering – he said it was gone.  Imagine that!  And the dealership was trying to sell you parts you didn’t need…. End Day 8 – Thursday.

So we saved a ton of money.  Lost a little bit of our minds.  No one was physically maimed, mutilated or killed.  I didn’t have to hurt my back digging a hole.  Someone asked me if I had test driven it after the repair…. now why would I do that?  Hadn’t I suffered enough?  I didn’t need to die in a car wreck too!  In all honesty, I knew we could do it….I just need to remember that two sets of eyes and hands are always going to be better if I can’t just do it myself.  Still not sure if I would do it again though….and I can say that it was NOT a bonding experience in the least.  
Thanks for stopping by….

 

 

 

Hope for Humanity … the Taylor Brewer Legacy

…It is long – but worth it…

I have been wanting to write this post for a while – since my return from Nashville, TN, last month…it’s not a funny, sarcastic or lighthearted post in the least (I will get to one of those later) and I have written and rewritten it in my head a dozen times.  I waited to write it for a multitude of reasons - out of respect for my family, because it’s hard to type through tears and because I didn’t want my personal feelings and current situation to cloud, tarnish or tint what I wanted to convey.  Honestly, as I start writing this preface, I don’t even know if what I have been feeling or the vastness of this experience – from the outside looking in – can adequately be conveyed.  I can not imagine the pain, heartache and emptiness that my cousin and his wife are enduring…

Let me start by saying – not all the planning, praying and parental guidance in this world can guarantee any of us that tragedy will not step foot on our porch.  It is never less than heartbreaking to see a young person taken from this world before they have had the opportunities that so many of us squander.  On February 11, 2012, such an event occurred and it hit so close to home that I still feel it, that catch in your chest and the numbness of disbelief.  No parent should ever bear the burden of losing a child – and I realize it happens every day, under a variety of reasons.  I cannot pretend to feel an ounce of what my cousins are feeling; the closest I can come is imagining how I would feel in their shoes…and then multiply it by a thousand….then maybe. Take nothing for granted for we are assured that not a single thing will not be taken away – not a paycheck, a house, our health or our loved ones. While I would gladly undo the circumstances that have brought me to write this if only to ease the pain in their hearts, the story that comes from it is no less than amazing…

My cousin, Justin,  and I are 9 months apart in age.  As children, we spent a fair amount of time together – fighting, playing, fighting some more, and various other childhood endeavors.  My mother and his are the closest of the sisters and were the only ones in Peoria, IL while we were little – so we saw each other pretty regularly.  Summers were spent, weeks at a time, in Nashville, TN at our grandparents house.  There were three of us, pretty close in age, so we spent the time hanging out.  As many families do – as the years and multiple life changes occur – we drifted both in physical proximity and relational closeness.  We shared experiences as families as the time and distances allowed – weddings, holidays, births, and deaths.  Our experiences, both childhood and adult, molded us…we were vastly different at times, at others we could easily relate…but we have always been family and you bust at the seams with happiness when they succeed and you hurt when they hurt.

I’m not good with dates – but near the early ’90′s Justin met someone, as most people do, and did the whole “fall in love thing.”  Tracy Neely was a package deal.  She had a cute little curly-haired blonde boy named Colten that looked straight up like a cherub off a painting.  Like all couples, they had their ups and downs, ins and outs and learning curves…but unlike a lot of couples – they weathered it all and seemed to come out of it stronger and closer and more in love everyday.  (I’m not saying they didn’t have to work hard at it, and that is not the point of this story.) It was inspirational.  A few years after they were married, another curly-haired addition made his appearance – Taylor.

When “bad” things happen to people, the first reaction is “why?”  Some say  it’s karma, others call it God’s will…many call it life.  Life isn’t fair.  It’s not just.  We see some people skate through life on what appears to be easy street and other’s get their share and then some of road blocks and sadness. It doesn’t follow the adage that you get what you deserve because while I might be partial – and maybe a little angry for Justin and Tracy – there has never been a family that deserved LESS heartache and a few MORE breaks.  Justin and Tracy are the true definition of “good people.”  Call it Christian, call it neighborly, call it charitable…bottom line – if there were a fraction more people in this world like the Brewers – humanity might have a fighting chance.  They have been poor.  They have been financially successful.  They have been business owners and employees.  They have been volunteer firefighters – saving lives and they have spent months in the hospital while their oldest son fought for his.  They have treated people with dignity and respect – even after they have been wronged.  They have sacrificed for others – family, friends and strangers alike - without complaint or expectation.  They are the first people to be there if someone needs something – a meal cooked for a sick friend, a car repair….Justin would be the first one on site to help rebuild your house if it burned to the ground.  And now – they have made the ultimate sacrifice and given up a child.  There is no answer for the question – Why?

Taylor was 16.  Like a lot of kids his age, in the rural parts of Tennessee, he enjoyed typical boy stuff – hunting, hanging with his friends, motocross riding…  He played baseball for the high school, had a girlfriend and a loyal dog.  He was respectful and helpful, funny and charming - always a gentleman.  Unlike most teenagers though – he loved being around family.  He was raised right.  He didn’t drink, do drugs or hang with the wrong crowd…his biggests risks were on the motorcycle track.  No kid deserves to die – but Taylor wasn’t even upping the ante or pushing the odds.  And so begins the most amazing thing I have ever been witness of…

With a heaviness in our hearts, a group of us Peoria-folk loaded up to head down and offer whatever assistance we could and share in the heartache and sadness with those we love.  We arrived late (or early morning, rather) and went straight to the hotel.  The following day was to be the visitation – and under most circumstances would be a difficult situation.  Both of my sons had opted to attend and this would be my 6-year-old daughter’s first experience with death and loss…it was my first time back to Nashville since before her birth.  As we started to get ready, bits and pieces of information was finding its way to us.  Heartwarming stories of different ways some of Taylor’s friends were honoring him, donations from anonymous and family friends to cover the cost of the services and things that people were doing to help out in general.  Because Taylor was well liked, from a smaller community and a teen – a larger venue was suggested for the services.  He had been attending church with his girlfriend and that church knew him well (he had that effect).  The family gathered at 11 am to have time together and the visitation started precisely at 1 pm.  It lasted until 8:30 (without a break); the church supplied an endless buffet of food for the family and friends that had gathered to say their goodbyes and pay their respects. Justin and Tracy received over 2000 people.  2000 people.  That is more that the entire population of his hometown of Triune, TN.  And that was the last number that I heard…it could have been higher.  Whitney Houston died the same day Taylor Brewer did – they invited 2500 people to attend her service and she was 48 and famous.  Taylor was 16 and touched more people, uninvited, in his short life than a celebrity.  To me – that redefines the term “celebrity.”

The very next day – my cousins were preparing to do the unthinkable and through this all they were consoling others in THEIR time of grief.  I am certain it all seemed surreal, like a bad dream that would eventually come to an end.  Sitting back and watching them, hurting for them and with them, I witnessed them reach out for one another – just a quick grab of the hand or a pat on the leg – a team, each there for the other, without words.  An inspiration STILL in the darkest time of their lives.

The funeral service was led by two Pastors, Wesley Walker and Eric Wheeler.  One of Taylor’s friends got up and spoke to the crowd of crying eyes.  The pallbearers were a group of his friends (a group of young men that showed more respect than I had seen in one place ever) and the Sheriff’s Police were there as honorary pallbearers and traffic management.  When the service ended, we exited the chapel behind the casket…where his mother decided to make a quick pit stop and we all obliged – waiting patiently in the corridor for her to exit the facilities. (Sorry, I guess every post has to have one bit of humor in it.)  His friends placed him gently in the back of the hearse.  His Dirtbike was loaded up in the back of a pick up for the processional.  The cars began the journey back to Triune…

Be reminded that we are in Tennessee.  Southern people are a different sort of folk.  I live in Illinois – 8 hours north of Nashville and roughly 2 1/2 hours south of Chicago.  (A mere side trip to the west and St. Louis can be triangulated into the picture – but that is for another blog post altogether.) As the cars filed slowly into the traffic route, vehicles immediately pulled to the side of the road.  Our trip from the church to the graveside was roughly 17 miles – our funeral processional was over 2 miles long of cars, trucks and police escort.  During that trip, cars were pulled to the side of the road from the hearse to very last squad car.  Some of the people even got out of their cars, bowed their heads and paid respect as we passed.  People with houses on the route, stood outside with their hands over their hearts – for a young man most of them never got to meet.  This is the humanity that I miss.  This is the human decency and respect that I long for.  What has happened to us as a society?  In Illinois, you can’t get people to pull over for the emergency response vehicles…here, they are pulling over and taking time (upwards of 30 minutes) to sit on the shoulder and honor a human being that for all they know had never crossed their path.  I have never been so moved – so hopeful – for us as a race.

When the first cars reached the gravesite, there was a 20 minute lull as the rest of the vehicles made it to the cemetery.  After words, prayer and many tears…we said our final goodbyes.  We each placed a flower from the arrangements onto the casket and in the most touching display of all – Taylor’s friends and pallbearers, all pinned their boutineers onto a ribbon sash and laid it across as he was lowered.  In a final, fitting salute of farewell, as the dirt was tucking him in to his final resting place – two geese lit from the pond, banked left over the gravesite, honking out a goodbye.  Hearing a goose call our was one of Justin and Taylor’s favorite sounds.  Taylor was watching over us all – and wanted us to know it.

Back at the Brewer house, more food, family, tears and memories were shared.  Tracy kept commenting on the outpouring of love and condolences that were coming their way and that she didn’t understand where it was all coming from.  One word – humble.  Not once, in all this anguish did Justin or Tracy have to ask for anything; people were lined up to be given the chance to help them out in the very same ways that they had helped others over the years.  It never occurred to Tracy that this was their sevenfold return, because Justin and Tracy never considered any of the things that they had done for others as service, or sacrifice, or even favor.  Good people deserve good things…this entire experience goes against every bit of that philosophy.  The kindness continues to pour forth – a benefit was held on March 31, 2012, to help them cover various expenses that have been incurred; you see, the economy doesn’t treat small business owners favorably…but friends and family and even perfect strangers sometimes do.  And I have faith that in the months and even years to come – they will continue to see the impact that they have had on others.

Justin and Tracy,  I think of you both everyday.  I think of Taylor and what a wonderful young man you raised and how much love you both had for him and each other.  You are both an inspiration to so many, as was Taylor.  I am so proud to have the honor to call you my family.

Thanks for stopping by…..

 

I Shall Return….

I am committed to getting back onto the writing horse and expressing myself with wit, sarcasm and whimsy. Struggling with the “trying to keep it light” thing lately – because honestly, not much in my life has been light. I need to determine if writing about the meat and potatoes of my life is going to be off putting or if I have enough other shenanigans mixed in there as to not drive folks away. I mean let’s be realistic….I don’t travel, I don’t party, and I don’t care…pretty much a recipe starter for boredom.

Alas, I shall attempt to resurrect my pseudo-literary efforts and do right by those who feel compelled or obligated to read it.

Thanks for stopping by…. “I’ll be back…”

Mad, Angry, Fired Up – Just Plain Pissed!…

Hello, my name is Jamie and I work for the Federal Government.

Or rather I do right now, but my future is uncertain.  Story of the times right?  Recession, unemployment, foreclosure…we read about it every day in the paper, hear it on the news, face it in the mirror…

When I first landed the job with the Feds, everyone was quick to point out what a great, cushy job I was getting.  How lucky I was… I don’t disagree that working for the government has some serious advantages over working in industry.  It also has some draw backs.  Pay being one of the big ones…but I digress.  I work at a research facility.  Our funds are limited.  As far as government spending horror stories go – we are rather modest and generally pretty frugal with our piece of the budget pie.  Oh, there are always going to be some things that could be done a little differently, or better.  And, yes, there are some situations that fall under the stereotypical, government employee definition. 

I still feel like an outsider, for a lack of better terminology.  I have yet to become what I call completely “governmentized.”  I get irritated when I see waste.  I get irritated when I see a lack of logic in the decision-making or procedural process.  I get really fired up when there are blatant policies that contradict the entire premise of money savings…a topic that of late has been beaten into our skulls, via emails, bulletins, executive order, all-hands meetings and most recently – budget talks.

I understand the concept of a balance. What I don’t understand is how a President, or Congress, or any decision-making body for that matter, can tell us – and the public – that times are tough we need to tighten our belts and make sacrifices.   We have policies in place that force us to purchase materials, or work related items, from designated vendors.  Vendors that are higher priced than other sources.  They have an advantage because of various criteria (some of which is falsified, stretched and misrepresented) and as such are preferred sources.  I understand supporting the underdog…but seriously, aren’t we all underdogs in this economy? 

We are on a sustainability drive for both cost savings, as well as, responsible and respectful use of our resources.  I fully support this concept; however, the cost to retro-fit some of the older facilities will create a substantial budget increase, or singly funded build-out cost, that will require in some instances an entire century to recover in savings.  Many of those buildings will be completely renovated or taken out of commission within that time period.  Let’s be serious about the effectiveness of the dollars spent.  And bear in mind these are all cuts, sacrifices and belt tightening at the local agency level.

I am proud to say that our facility and its staff have been proactive in the efforts to save money in order to continue research and continue to employ the dedicated personnel that have built both their reputations, and the facilities’. We have initiated local energy-saving tasks, implemented green technologies and cost saving measures where possible (and within the confines of the facility budget already afforded) and utilized the survey system to get the input of the employees for ways that we could save day-to-day.  We have tightened our belts, made sacrifices and sucked up the annual budget DECREASES repeatedly.  Which brings me to my point of contention…

Our Executive Branch has been reporting to the people who as a government we need to sacrifice in accordance with the sacrifices that the citizens have had to make during these tough economic times. (Or some drivel similar to this.) Federal employees are currently under a two-year pay freeze – this means as the cost of living increases, we will stay the same. OK – we take one for the team there.   Our health insurance premiums increased more from last year to this year by percentage than any other year in recent history. Thank you – universal health care.  (Our pay is on average, already 30% lower than similarly salaried positions in industry…did I mention that?) Last week there was serious talk of forced federal furloughs -two weeks in duration.  It’s currently still in the talks phase, but so were the pay freezes at one time.  These furloughs would have to be taken unpaid, regardless of available annual leave (or vacation/personal time for those industry folks).  That’s one pay check.  Or in my case, at least one mortgage payment.  I am already struggling….this isn’t going to help my situation.  Top that with the rumor that, in order to lessen the financial impact of this unpaid time off, rumor is they will force this as two unpaid days per pay period (or one day a week) for five pay periods (or ten weeks).  Gee thanks, not only have you cost me a minimum of one whole mortgage payment – I now do not qualify for any unemployment…not the waiting week, not the single remaining week…nada.  And today….they actually acknowledged the big ole gorilla in the room and used the dreaded term RIF in an email.  That’s Reduction In Force, or layoffs, for you industry folk.  So now its out there…they have opened the Pandora’s box and introduced the concept.  Doesn’t matter if they were denials, explanations, or a glossary of terms…it’s like saying Beetlejuice three times…bad things happen.

So the harsh reality of it is…my job isn’t any safer than any one else’s.  Hell, might even be less safe if my government decides to use its lowly public service employees as martyrs for the cost saving campaign.  It’s already been considered a long-standing fact from a public opinion that government employees are over-paid, under-worked and flat-out a waste…and I wont disagree that some might be…but the vast majority of the one’s I work with are hardworking, underpaid, and effective stewards of government resources.  They love what they do, work to make a positive impact on everything from environment to health to security.  They create products that are found in homes everyday and continue to strive for technologies that exceed the level of expectation in industry and beyond.  They will work long careers in order to retire with benefits…and for some they will work long beyond the time they are eligible.

Public service workers have been making sacrifices all along.  They tightened their belts before the recession even went into effect.  They made these sacrifices both in the facility and in their homes.  It is an insult for any law-maker, government elected official or decision-making entity to suggest otherwise.  While all these “officials” are discussing budgets, and earmarks, and the like and start trimming the “fat” off the pot of available money…take a look to see how many of them are willing to sacrifice their salary, or more importantly, their pension (for minimum elected terms for most) or any of the other budgetary luxuries they take advantage of…. The reality of it is, the waste doesn’t lie with the average government worker, or the facility, it’s proportionately divided among elected officials, that promised to do right by the people of this country.  It’s in the programs that have been in place and the promises that the law makers have made to corporations… We need reform is so many areas…targeting government workers is just one of the easy ones.

So yes, I am mad….and angry…and fired up….and just plain pissed that once again the little guy gets to take the fall for something that he ultimately had no part in.  And before every one gets back on that kick of my cush, government job that I should be grateful I had for as long as I did…my husband works construction – I have been dealing with the recession, unemployment and sacrifice first hand.

Thanks for stopping by….