Up and down like a toilet seat.

The temperature,  that is.   We're finally getting a bit of our "come-upance"  on the Winter end of things.  A few days ago it was plus five,  and this morning it's something like minus 13. (wrote this a couple days ago,  sorry)  I'm not translating to Fahrenheit.  And don't get me started when it comes to the goofiness of Fahrenheit.  Why 32?  Why not,  forty-seven?

On the winter end of things,  so far I haven't really minded.   It's been suspiciously mild.  So much so that I felt compelled to go out and rake up some random leaves that were just way too messy for me to tolerate.   Trying not to slip over the edge here.

This will serve as my once quarterly blog entry.  And thanks to any and all who hang around to read this drivel.

Which brings me to a bit of a sad topic,  and that is the passing of someone who always was willing to put a comment on the blog,  and who will now be missed for that and other reasons.  Of course,  I'm referring to George Yates,  the author of Our Awesome Travels.
I never actually met George or Suzie,  but I did happen to see George a couple years back in Grand Bend,  as I was sitting in my truck waiting for a buddy to come out of Tim Horton's with our coffees.  George was just coming out of Grandpa Jimmy's,  and the first thing I noticed was the big ole hat that he had on his head.
This blogging thing can be a bit of a strange critter,  as there have been others (Rod Ivers of Retired Rod)  who have passed away,  and been sorely missed.    Margie and Bruce Mallin also come to mind.
When you read about it,  it sort of "hits you",  in a way that's hard to explain.

But,  let's not too maudlin here.


OK,  what else was I going to say?

I've been messing about in my "shop",  of course.   Finally replaced a "temporary"  out-feed attachment to my table-saw that I built in (wait for it)  1992.    It was supposed to be temporary.   Plus,  I had to mend it at least a couple times over the years decades.

Here it is:

 Simply a frame with some thin MDF attached.  It was held on with a barrel bolt and a bungee cord.  I could take it off,  fold up the legs and set it aside.

But I wanted something that was on the table saw on a more permanent basis.   Starting with this:

And then another frame attached to that:

Then you end up with this:

Which then becomes this:

I was too lazy to make new legs,  as the ones off the old extension were perfectly serviceable.


And this,  is how I spend my days.  And of course,  as I'm not overly creative/clever/whatever,  this kind of thing not only takes me forever,  but wasn't even my idea.   Stole it off the net.   Now,  in my defence,  the original was built back when cell phones were the size of a brick and the "internet"  was some sort of "inter-netting"  in swim trunks.  You know,  to help keep *things* in place.

In other news,  it's also taken me something like 30 years to finally break my wooden mallet. 
 Dang it.

Supposed to kinda look like this:

I've whaled on the end of a lot of a lot of chisels with this thing over the years,  and now I suspect I'll have to make a new one.  Again.  Dang it.   I'll stick it together with some construction adhesive,  and see how that works.

I originally made it when I was making our blanket chest.  All hand cut dovetails,  in cherry wood no less.  Coincidentally,  it was once again cherry wood that I was whaling on this time when it came asunder.

Oh and,  if you think you can just "use a hammer"?   Well yes,  you can.  Good luck.  It helps to be able to look at where you're actually placing the tip of the chisel,  as opposed to striking the end of the chisel with the hammer.  And not your hand.  A mallet is more forgiving,  that is,  easier to aim.

And there you have it.

Thanks for moving your eyes back and forth.

Keep your stick on the ice.

We havin’ pie fer supper??

To which I just get a blank look.

(meant to post this last night,  but I got sucked into watching football…)

I somehow suspect that means,  “No”.

Somebody was in a baking mood today (yesterday),  and I cleared out.

Well,  I had “stuff” to do it so happened. I can always come up with some “stuff” to do.  None of which merited a picture,  but I removed a couple well worn thresholds so I could sand them down and put on some fresh finish.  Figured I’d do that right along with the trim that I’m working on.  But that’s just so much drivel.

 

Let’s get back to the pie.

 

Two of them did end up in the freezer,  BUT wait, we did cut into one of them for dessert.   Mighty fine pie.  Rumour has it T.C. might bake a couple more tomorrow.  Or something.  I dunno.  I wasn’t paying attention.

And yes,  we did have pie later on, but supper was more along the lines of actual “supper”.

When the subject of doing things like making apple sauce and such came up last Friday at the “watering hole”,  (yes. there’s apple sauce)  I’ll paraphrase one of the comments that was overheard.

“But, you were a Corporate Executive.”  The part being understood that,  ‘why would you be making all this “home made” stuff’?   To which T.C. very succinctly replied, “Was.  Was, a Corporate Executive”.   I just might be making up that last part.  It gets hard to hear much of anything in that place some days. 

Now she’s transmogrified from Corporate Executive to something more along the lines of “Suzy Homemaker”.  Who the heck was Suzy Homemaker anyway? 

Oh, apparently,  a line of toys introduced in 1966.  And the term “Suzy Homemaker” wasn’t exactly an endearing one when it was applied to anyone who was a stay at home Mom. 

I’d best be careful.  We won’t be repeating that.

 

In other “news”,  I melted some toothbrushes.  I’m sure you care.

See,  we’ve had these three used toothbrushes in one of the little flip-out hidey holes in front of the kitchen sink (somewhat useless contraptions in my opinion),  and they were put there for cleaning in the nooks and crannies in the sink drains.

Never got used.

That’s mostly as they are meant for going into the mouth of a human,  and not much else. 

So I had an idea.

And a heat gun.

 

It’s plastic.  It bends.  They now kinda work.  Although, a toothbrush was never designed to be mashed into your teeth the way they need to be mashed into the stainless to get out the tea stains,  but at least they’re now (slighlty more) useful.  Otherwise, nearly impossible to clean the sink “basket”.

I think that’s called a “hack”.  Having nothing to do with a “Hakka”. 

Let’s not go down that rabbit hole. 

Sun’s shining.  There’s “stuff”.

 

I’m out.

 

Thanks for lookin’.

Well, that was a day.

I’ll just post a couple pictures, and you can figure out how we spent our exciting morning.

 

Now the thing is,  we posted the ad to say that we were starting at eight,  and of course,  there are always those who show up early. 

I have to say,  I was a little crusty.  When you ask,  “Am I too early?”, and you know full bloody well that you are, (7:15?  seriously?) you might expect to get a slightly terse reply.

Oh,  and we were duly warned about the old ladies.  They’re the worst.  I don’t mind haggling, but don’t be a pain in the a$$.

Anyway,  it was fine.  Really.  Not many people haggled.  Still seemed to be left with a lot of stuff,  but the upstairs room is just about cleaned out. Well,  of the stuff that’s not supposed to be there.

Managed to sell off my old single stage dust collector,  a couple palm sanders and an old drill.  All very old tools,  and worth every bit of the two bucks or so that I got for each.  Well,  a little more for the dust collector,  but I was happy to see it get trundled down the driveway.

Palm sanders are pretty much an abomination,  and I simply refuse to use them anymore,  since it doesn’t take much to make parts of me ache,  so I sure as heck would just as soon not go out of my way.  Besides,  I’m thinking I need a new random orbit sander, much like the one we bought for Daughter Number One’s household.  I had sander envy right around Christmas time,  but whatever.

Garage sales are way too much work,  as far as I’m concerned. 

Gawd,  seems like we were at it for days.  Pricing things.  Hauling out cr*p er,  I mean,  fine outstanding sought after items.    It’s all about those fine outstanding sought after items.  That nobody actually buys. 

I’m always surprised though at what people do buy.  Fake flower arrangements for example,  or as I like to refer to them as,  “dust collectors”.   Does that count as a segue?  Maybe not.

Had three of them.  They all went.  Full price.  I’m not kidding.

DVDs?  Not a one.  Guess everyone watches Netflix,  or one of their brethren.  Or they download media files.  They are among the things that won’t be going to the Reuse Centre.

That’s the deal,  see.  Once it’s outside for the garage sale,  it can never come back into the house.  There are some exceptions,  like the DVDs.  Oh and,  my little camp stoves.  Need some serious money to dampen the sentimental value.  Everything has a price,  and sentiment is pricey.

 

Now I’m starting to ramble.  And not saying much.

 

I’m out.

 

Thanks for stopping by.

Not the day I had planned.

And that’s not to say I had any big plans.  I’m not a big planner,  so to speak.

Anyway,  things have been fairly quiet around here since getting back from our “Guys Weekend”.  I should say though, that I’ve had a “beer moratorium” ever since getting home.  There are quotas after all,  and I’m pretty sure I met and exceeded mine for at least a week or three.

 

The above sad looking thing is my daughter’s car.  It’s an 04 Saturn Ion.  It’s hasn’t been a terrible car,  but I’ve had better.

Well,  as some of you may be aware,  GM has had a few issues with recalls in the last well, forever,  and there were three recalls that were “urgently needed to be addressed”.  

I’m paraphrasing,   but you get the idea.

Oh and,  when inquiries were first made about these recalls,  none of the dealerships had any parts. 

Such a smooth operation.

So fine,  this was all sorted out yesterday at the stealership,  and today lo and behold,  the very next morning,  there’s a problem. 

I don’t believe in coincidences, so when the steering wheel won’t even turn and makes a horrid coffee grinder type of sound when you try to do so,  I think it *might* have something to do with the work they did on the steering system yesterday??   This is despite assurances from the “Service Manager”  that it couldn’t possibly be the case.

Whatever.

We didn’t choose to have the car towed back there anyway,  since whatever monkey was working on it,  is probably still working there,  and we just don’t need that grief.  So it went to a place where I actually trust the owner and the mechanic.  I’ve taken the Merc there,  and they do a fine job.

Bottom line,  I just don’t like dealerships.  There are too many monkeys running around. 

You can take issue with that if you want,  but I’m sorry,  (My Blog.  My opinion.)

I want to TALK to the mechanic who is doing the work,  and not some “service representative” sitting at some desk.  Do you talk to your dentist?  Or do you only talk to the receptionist?   Think about it.

 

Anyway,  we’ll find out what’s wrong in due time.  I can actually phone where we sent the car and not have to punch a bunch of numbers to try and get through to someone’s “mailbox”.   If I really wanted to,  I could wait a few minutes,  and the guy who answers the phone would put the mechanic on.  What a concept!

 

Oh and,  I’m not going to mention any “stealership” names,  but let’s just say that one of my “Guys Weekend” buddies just had a less than stellar experience there.   

We’ll leave it at that.

 

That’s my little rant.  Feel free to talk amongst yourselves.

 

I was going to talk about sailing on the new boat,  but I have some other stuff to do this afternoon,  so I need to put down the keyboard.

I’m out.

 

Thanks for stopping by.

 

Oh,  and I just hit “publish”,  and all seems to be right in Blog Land.   This is good.

 

 

.

The week that was.

How many days is it until spring?  Something under 50 I think,  but I’m not going to start any countdowns.  I suspect the result would only end in disappointment, since we could have a “late frost” or some such thing.

Hey, it’s Canada where,  if you’re not happy with the weather,  just wait a day or two.  Mostly.

We’ve been kind of dodging the wintery bullet up until this point,  so when they  (you know,  “they”?) are calling for a snow storm for later today,  I figure we’re about due.

Looks like I’ll be needing to use the snow brush after leaving tonight’s Super Bowl Party.  *grumble*.  Haven’t really had to do much of that so far this winter, mostly since the Merc stays in the garage whenever there’s a chance that I might have to scrape a windshield or brush off snow.   If you have a garage,  why would you choose to fill it with junk and then park your car outside?  In our case,  that’s the reason I built the shed.  But that’s kind of a smug thing to say.

 

Do as you please.

I don’t think I have much else to offer.

Well except that,  in other “news”,  the lens on my Nikon decided to bite the dust.  Just refused to move.  No idea why. 

I think I’m done with Nikon.  Sad to say.  The D40 has at this point probably taken upwards of 12,000 photos,  so that’s all fine and dandy,  but within six months of buying the thing (this would be Easter of 2009) it decided to crap out.   Had to send it back to get repaired in Mississauga.  That’s right.  Even though Nikon is “world wide”,  any warranty issues need to be dealt with in the country from which the camera was purchased.   Just remember that when you see a “sweet deal” in a foreign country.

In my case,  we were living in the Netherlands,  and the camera ceased to function on a trip to Slovenia.  I had the little Canon as a back up,  thankfully.

Anyway,  it’s never worked right since.  Quite often the lens doesn’t want to “talk” to the body,  so it won’t fire unless you detach and reattach the stupid thing,  and then the other day it just froze up.  It’s really now only so much glass and plastic.  Maybe a little gold on the contacts.  But mostly, junk.

 

Speaking of junk.  I thought I had another piece of it on my hands about mid week,  when I thought I’d do a little practising out in the shop.  As with anything that takes a modicum of skill,  cutting dovetails whether by hand or machine,  is something that you have to keep at,  or you get rusty.  Or at least I do.

So this abomination  dovetail jig that I have was giving me trouble.   It mostly needed some lubrication.  Plus,  one of the treaded rods looked as though I had dropped something against it.  Thankfully I have a set of taps and dies,  so it’s all good again. 

Which means of course,  it took me what seemed like most of the day to come up with two little storage thingies that I thought I’d conjure up for one of Travelling Companion’s sewing cabinet drawers. 

Just for something to do.

 

These pictures were taken pre lens crap out,  by the way.

Here’s what I was getting afterwards.

 

See anything?  Me neither.

After that,  it wouldn’t even do that.

Anyhoodle,  I do have another Nikon lens,  but it’s off an F70,  and it doesn’t talk to the body.  So that means I have to try and focus the thing myself. 

You can see what then happens.

 

Like that’s a good result.   *sigh*

I can’t see a blessed thing without glasses on,  and even after I’ve taken the photo and checked on the back of the camera (with my glasses on) I really can’t tell how it’ll turn out. 

Until I put it on a much bigger screen,  like the computer,  say.

 

I did get this one,  but that was a pure fluke.    Just outside our bedroom window.

So,  things that I want to take pictures of, I can’t.  And stupid things like stupid squirrels, turns out just fine.  mmmm.

I know I’ve bitched about that camera in the past,  and have threated to buy something new,  and still I’ve been sitting on my hands.  You may recall my previous grumblings along those lines.  You may ALSO recall that I’m somewhat parsimonious. 

Look that one up. 

I think there’s a picture of me,  right next to Scrooge McDuck.

 

Well OK, maybe I’m not *that* bad.  

 

My preference would be to support one of the local camera shops,  such as Duncan and Wright,  rather than ordering from say, Amazon.ca.  But that’s a matter of whether they have what I'm looking for,  and just now after perusing their website,  I’m not holding out much hope.  

 

So keep those sticks on the ice.  Hope your team wins.  Doesn’t matter too much to me at this point,  since I was too low in the pool standings (even though in the top 10%) to have any chance of being in the money.    I’m leaning towards Seattle. 

Just putting it out there.

 

Talk amongst yourselves.

 

Thanks for stopping by.

Merry Christmas!

No really.  And no, I don’t smoke that stuff anymore. 

It’s January 7th,  which is Christmas in some parts.   Don’t get me started on how December 25 actually started out as a pagan celebration.  Something called Saturnalia,  although that particular article has a definite slant to it,  you may notice.

(psst, you may have to actually do some *reading*, OMG!)

 

So ya,  Merry Christmas.  As good a day as any.  If anything,  in the Latin Countries, yesterday was celebrated as Three Kings Day, on which presents were given.  Makes more sense,  as there were gifts given by the three Wise Guys.  Right?  But let’s not go down that road.

Other than that,  it’s just another Wednesday here at the Ponderosa.  I suppose it’s time to dismantle the Christmas tree,  but hauling the storage boxes out of the attic right around now is definitely going to involve suiting up.   It be cold up there.

Which is exactly what it should be.  If it’s comfortably warm in the attic during these frigid times,  then we have a problem.

I don’t even want to talk about how cold it is.

 

Got a call to go and pick up an area rug for Daughter Number Two today.  It was supposed to be a Christmas present.   Hey,  came in time for the orthodox one,  if that counts for anything.  There we go, let’s go with that.  Merry Christmas!

 

We didn’t unfurl it,  since it’s not staying here,  and we’d only have to roll it up again.  I managed to shove it into the car with very little difficulty.

See,  it’s sort of under the tree and everything.

 

Yesterday Travelling Companion announced that she wanted “February Chicken” for dinner tonight.   It’s really breaded chicken,  but we got in the habit of calling in February Chicken,  since the order of preparation is Flour, Egg,  and then Bread crumbs. 

Sometimes Bob needs retrieval cues.  Bob has CRS.  You likely know about that one.

 

Involves browning in oil (corn oil is the preferred lubricant) and then baking in the oven at around 350°F for maybe forty minutes or so. 

I say “around” 350, since our oven is kinda wonky.  And I don’t really keep too close an eye on the time.

Until it’s cooked.  That’s all.

 

This btw, is what it looks like before going into the oven.

There was a suggestion to bake some potato wedges,  but I went with slices instead.  Such a rebel.

I just realised I didn’t take an “after” picture.  We ate the evidence.  Anyway,  some salt and pepper,  maybe some green stuff like Oregano, drizzled with some light olive oil,  shake them up in some sort of sealable container and bake along with the chicken. Not on the same tray mind you.  Forty minutes. 

Maybe.  Until they’re cooked.  Like that.

Probably why we didn’t eat until eight o’clock.   I haven’t a clue how long things should take.

Well,  actually I sorta do,  I just didn’t get started in a timely fashion.

Didn’t play the Saxomophone at all today,  but maybe I’ll go down later and honk away until I break into a sweat.

Damned exciting stuff,  I know.

 

Hope you’re warm,  wherever you are.  It’s warm *here*.  Sitting at the computer I mean. 

 

Keep those sticks on the ice*.

 

Thanks for stopping by.

 

*Except maybe if you were the coach of the Leafs,  then you might be thinking more in terms of spiffing up your resume.

 

.

Why it’s called a Wind Instrument.

Never thought of it before,  but after not even a half hour on the thing, I’m “winded”.  

I was even starting to sweat a little,  and considering that it’s not even all that warm downstairs, that’s going some.

Even though I’m not overly keen on “New Years Resolutions”,  I’ve decided that come hell or high water, I’m going to try and play that damned thing at least a half hour a day.  Until at least I can do it without wishing for sweet death.  Gah! 

It’s been over 30 years since I put one down for the last time,  and I just thought I’d maybe torture myself a little.

 

Anyway,  speaking of wind…

She’s a cold one out there. 

Not that I was out for very long,  but we were running out of coffee.  Yikes!  Can’t have that!   I stocked up before Christmas and well,  we went through it.

I suppose I could break down and brew some coffee,  but I like my single serving situation.

If they only had underground parking at Costco.  That would be awesome.  Bit of a wind chill thing going on there.

Mind you, not to be outdone,  it’s naturally colder in the Prairies.

As I type this,  Daughter Number One is headed that way for a couple site meetings.  Thankfully it doesn’t involve hard hats and safety boots,  or being out of doors for very long at all.   She’s seeing to a couple bank renos out there,  as she’s an Interior Designer and has the lovely job of sometimes helping the General Contractors read and understand what her firm has very kindly laid out for them.  We hear some fun stories.   People be dumb some times.

Oh and,  “Interior Designer”  should not be confused with “Interior Decorator”,  although she does have a pretty good eye for that too.   Funny thing, back when she went to college for her ticket, (degree, whatever) all the well coiffed ladies were dropping like flies in her first year of study when they suddenly had to start learning first the building code, then the electrical code and so on.   It’s not just about having a “good sense of colour”,  as some of their well coiffed girlfriends were too happy to tell them.  I can just hear them saying, “Oh,  you should take interior design!”   Right.   The judicious use of “throw pillows”  doesn’t quite cut it.

Mind you,  the glamour of travelling to Winterpeg does start to wear off in a hurry.

Kind of like when Travelling Companion got to fly to Morges, Switzerland, among other exotic locales.  When told of such exploits,  folks would ‘oohh’,  and ‘aah’,  but after the first half dozen times or so, the bloom falls off that rose in a hurry.

 

Oh,  and there’s yet one more wind segue.  One of the windbags in Ottawa got demoted!   Of course,  if he got fired,  that would have been even better, but it’s too much of an “Old Boys Club” for that to happen.

Julian Fantino demoted.

 

Turns out our American friends don’t exactly have the market cornered when it comes to useless twits in government.  We got our share,  now let me tell ya.

As one commenter on a website offered, “Different puppet,  same strings”.  This was in reference to his replacement.  On him I have no comment.

 

For those of you not quite in the know,  the “Honourable” Mr. Fantino was the Minister of Veterans Affairs.   Unfortunately,  under his 18 month tenure,  it became quite obvious that he had the PR skills of a mountain goat.

I love that term “Honourable”.  *snort*! 

As if.   Just do a search on that guy.  There are all kinds of articles outlining just how much he is despised by all the veterans from coast to coast.

 

OK,  fingers are getting chilly sitting here.  Need to stoke the furnace.

 

Keep those sticks on the ice.

 

Thanks for stopping by.

Parting company with an old friend.

OK,  that sounds pretty damned serious.   It’s not.  Settle down.

This coming Friday,  pushed back a day as Monday was a Holiday,  is “put out yer crap” day.  And I’ve been meaning to part company with my old snow blower on a few occasions now.  Keep forgetting.

Of course,  since the place where it was sitting, under the back steps,  was exactly where the tiny little bit of water managed to come into the basement,  it was something that sort of jumped out at me.

It’s got to go.

The very last time I took it anywhere for “service”,  which was something like six or seven years ago,  the Service Dude bade me to never bring it back again,  since he replaced the belt as I had asked,  but had warned me that some other issues were about to flare up,  and spending any more money on it would have been foolhardy.

Son-in-law did use it for the first couple of winters when we were away (amazing,  I know!) but then for the winter of ‘12 and ‘13,  it just sat back there.  I did take a pull on the cord, and it does turn over,  but I wouldn’t even want to begin to try and fire it up. 

Somebody will take it.

Either one of the metal scavenging guys,  or just someone who wants a project. 

I got plenty.

 

Like this one.

 

I’ve been farting around with this abomination for a couple days now.  It’s another *issue* that we’ve had with the “Veranda” up at the front of the house.  On one end,  there’s a “knee wall”,  behind which is an unheated space.  I’d like to close it off.  I’m going to be spiffing up that whole enchilada,  so this is part of the process.

And I learned something!

 

It has to fit into and odd space,  as you can see,  and of course,  I had this hair-brained idea that I wanted it to be a proper door.  HOWEVER,  with the hinges on the right hand side, ‘cause where else would they go? that means that as the door starts to open,  it swings OUT from the hinges.  Which,  of course means that it will bind at the top.  Or not open at all. 

*poop*

 

Soooo,  that meant some surgery.  You can’t see it,  but the upper right stile is bevelled at the back.    That was a few trips back and forth. 

Oy!

But, it now works.

I’ve decreed that tomorrow is stain finishing up day,  and I’ll put some Cetol on the wood there as well. 

There are a few spots where stain is missing,  and don’t ask me why we did that.  But now I need to get that sorted.

 

Speaking of sorted,  I was desperately trying to figure out today just where in heck the water was seeping in during our rain storm.

And yes,  climbing up to the roof is not exactly being in my “Happy Place”,  but I had to suck it up.

Now I realise that we were pretty danged lucky,  all in all,  since there are folks on this very street who have had their basements completely flooded.  Seems to be some sort of luck of the draw. 

I found a couple spots that looked suspicious but really,  except for the obvious bits there where the flashing has lifted,  I was really struggling to see anything glaringly obvious.   I’ll just be glad to get the new roof on and be done with it.

Now if we could just figure out sister-in-law’s situation. 

I mentioned last time that the yard was flooded and the beaver dam was in place to keep the water away from the back door.  Well,  that didn’t mean that no water was getting in.  The roof leaks too,  and we’re pretty sure the chimney is the culprit.   Of course,  the water tends to run down under the shingles and comes in wherever it bloody well pleases,  which meant that sister-in-law had multiple drips to contend with.   Such fun, eh?

So ya,  even though listening to the rain here at The Ponderosa can be just a tad stressful,  we’re not in that bad a shape. 

I like to tell myself that,  anyway.

 

 

***

This just in!

As I’m sitting here at this very moment,  I hear a commotion coming from the end of the driveway.

Well,  it was a bit of a struggle  (it was a guy and his lady friend) ‘cause Pick-up beds are just a tad high it seems,  but THE SNOWBLOWER IS GONE.   

Whoda thunk?

I think it was out there for something like an hour and twenty minutes.   Is that some kind of record??

Cwazy!

I felt sorry for the chick,  but she was a trooper.

Travelling Companion said,  “Should you tell them it doesn’t work?”   I think they might have figured that part out.  And if they didn’t,  they will.

 

OK,  I’m done. 

 

Keep it between the ditches.

 

Thanks for stopping by.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is what a real idiot looks like.

And no,  I’m not rehearsing for my ultimate demise and a quick trip out to the Nevada desert.

I’m up to something.

There were a couple things I wanted to sort out today, one of which was changing out the winter tires on Daughter Number Two’s car.  Didn’t take any pictures.  Never occurred to me. 

Hey, it happens.

Then,  since Daughter Number One had left us a spare car,  I thought I’d investigate as to just why the trunk would no longer open.

Turns out this is a common problem with this particular model of Jetta,  and is the result of a “cheap plastic part”,  according to a couple different websites.

“Hecho in Mexico” would be the other catch phrase.

I just have to stop right here and say,  Youtube can be awesome.  It’s where I got the notion as to how exactly I was going to get into the trunk in the first place.  You can search it out if you care to.  Just go to Youtube and put in something like,  “Jetta trunk won’t open”,  or some such thing.

Anyhoodle,  I only got onto this because the car was showing a “check engine” light,  but then realised that I needed some sort of adapter.  Fark!  My code reader worked fine in Daughter Number Two’s car,  but she wasn’t showing any codes.  But at least I know the reader does work,  as long as the receptacle will cooperate.

 

Oh well.

Don’t slip there Old Man.

 

 

There’s an “actuator” that pushes a little lever that opens the trunk. 

She’s busted. 

I’m just now waiting for some “Gorilla Glue”  to cure to see if maybe that will be enough.  Other than that,  there’s a website where a feller can order the part.   Of course,  the dealer will want to sell the whole contraption.  

That ain’t gonna happen.

Considering T.C. and I bought this car in November in ‘99,   and subsequently gave it to Daughter Number One in 2004,  and it has just north of 350,000 kilometers on the dial,  I’m not interested in spending any dough on it.  If Daughter Number Two feels the need to get it fixed,  we’ll talk.

 

In looking at some of the repairs,  I may reinforce the unit with some twine and then soak that in Gorilla Glue as well.  Can’t hurt.

 

Meanwhile,  it looks like I have some grass to cut.  Oy.

 

On a more positive note, I’ll leave you with a picture of the breaded chicken I made for dinner last night.

Twas yummy.

Keep those sticks on the ice,  and thanks for stopping by.

 

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One of those miserable jobs.

I was going to use the “s” word,  but thought better of it.  Even though it had to do with plumbing.

And you know,  each and every time I’m about half way through one of these situations, I make a mental note of just exactly why plumbers charge what they do.  And it doesn’t have to have anything to do with human excrement to be a “shit” job either.

It’s that whole “lying on your back while trying to prop up your head” program that makes it a “shit” job.  At least for me anyway.  I’m utterly amazed at anyone who can lie under a car (for example) and work away without their neck muscles being on fire after a very short period of time.  I never could do it.

Anyway,  we have company coming again,  and so this time around I figured I’d change out the vanity taps in the downstairs quarters.  Up until now I had been leaving the cold supply shut off, and then turning it on once it was needed.  And just letting it drip. That tap has been leaking for oh I don’t know,  a few years now?   And since Daughter Number Two and her significant other haven’t been living down there since they bought their place what?  three years ago?  there hasn’t been a pressing need.  

Until I decided that today was the day.

Out with the old.

 

And in with the slightly newer.  

 

This Moen single lever gizmo looks all fine and dandy,  but it’s the one that I took out of the upstairs “powder room” (such a goofy name) to be replaced with a newer model.   Last year some time.

You may remember. 

OK, maybe you don’t.

 

It’s been damaged by chemicals that were a wee bit too strong for the finish.  I take full responsibility for this.  I got carried away.  What can I say?    Well,  “Don’t use harsh chemicals on your delicate little fixtures”,  is exactly what I would say.  Gah!

 

Naturally,  it was a miserable job,  since everything under there was corroded,  making it a challenge to get things undone.  I mean,  normally you just remove the entire sink and work on it with the sink upside down,  but the sink stays.   For now.

And again naturally,  one of the supply lines started to leak.   Had to do with the washer thingy being somewhat crushed.  Not worth it to go to Home Despot and try and find a little rubber washer thingy,  BUT I had a couple spare supply lines out in my box of tricks.

So that solved that dilemma.   You can see there where there’s more corrosion.  My fault.  Totally.  Had a container of the aforementioned “harsh chemical”  sitting in there.   Stupid stupid stupid.

The entire arrangement is well over twenty years old and will be undergoing some sort of reno at some point,  but not just yet.

 

Speaking of which,  we’ve declared a moratorium on ordering new stuff,  ‘cause Muggins here is getting behind when it comes to getting it all installed. 

 

Can you figure out what the next little project will be?

I’ve only been meaning to do this for like,  ever.

So, sometime before the fall I’ll get around to sorting this out.  I mean,  it’s not like we desperately need a new insert,  but anything would be better than what we have in there right about now.

And that would be this,

 

….rather sad example of a wood burning something or other.    A real POS,  unfortunately.

I *guess* it used to work.  And I’ve tried to make it function.  Trust me.  Bought a new gasket for the door, cleaned it as best I could, but it smokes and stinks.  I think there was just too much crap that got burned in there.  That ultimately never works.  I do think that that was why there was a chimney fire way back in the day when the house belonged to the previous owner. (my late father-in-law). Too much junk went into the fire. 

Soooo,  when the fire department arrived and poured cold water onto the hot chimney flue,  that was the end of the flue.  Hence the stove/insert/whatever that thing is.   Wish me luck.

 

Not sure what the rest of the day will bring.  It’s now sunny out,  and T.C. and I may go back to digging out the garlic chives,  or she may wish to do a final inspection on the downstairs.  Oh,  and there’s some talk of “Slovenian Homework”.   There’s that class on Saturday morning after all.

Right.

 

Keep those sticks on the ice.

 

Thanks for stopping by.

I might need a dish rack.

Although,  having such a thing is right up there with having a “comb over”.  I’d just as soon not.

Seems we had a few moments of excitement last night in the kitchen.  And that was long after the excitement of discovering that Travelling Companion had decided to make some Pierogies.

Did I remember to take a picture?

Why yes,  yes I did.

 

Anyway,  I “helped”.  Well actually, I suppose I might have stuffed a third of those,  or all the ones that have the crinkled edges.  I was trying out this type of “ravioli maker” gizmo.  It mostly worked OK,  except that the dough is just stretchy enough that it would sometimes not line up with the outsides of the clam shell.  Doesn’t matter really,  they still tasted just fine.  We didn’t eat all of those by the way,  this is a food that you can freeze and chow down on later.

Oh,  and there were these chicken patty things that T.C. made as well. 

Again,  something that can be frozen and eaten later.  But that’s not really the exciting part.  The exciting part for me, is when it’s not ME doing the cooking! 

Oh ya,  baby!  Now that’s exciting.

 

The unexpected (actual) excitement of the evening came along a bit later though.

I was headed out to the garage shop to do a last minute lock-up,  when I noticed that there was a small puddle of water on the floor right in front of the dishwasher. 

Erp.

That’s never a good thing.

 

Want to make any guesses at this point?   There’s no contest, trust me. 

“And the winner gets…..this old dishwasher!”

That has……decided to retire.

 

 

It wasn’t sounding quite right, so I shut it off and popped ‘er open.   Only to notice right away that the water was still coming in!   Gah!    So I unplugged it.  (This model has an arrangement where it actually gets plugged in,  so there’s no running to the panel to open a breaker).   At that point,  when I realised that the water was still coming in,  I shut off the water supply as well. 

By then of course,  I had more water to clean up,  since it couldn’t pump out the water faster than it was coming in.

Oh me knees!

Now,  the slightly good news is,  I did get to remove my kick boards and give them a good cleaning.  I’ve been meaning to do that. 

I hadn’t however planned on lining up that particular activity for a Saturday night!

You’ll notice in the photo that the kicks have been removed.  I installed them in such a way that I could pop out a few screws and remove them.  Of course,  I had completely forgot the order in which I had installed them,  so I needed to figure out that little puzzle first.  Always fun when you’re sloshing around in a puddle.

Whatever.

Upon further diagnostics,  I’ve come to the contusion that she’s done.   Acts suspiciously to me like the control board is pooched,  since now it will no longer take in any water, and any water that I put in there (by means of a handy dandy bucket)  immediately gets pumped out.   And that happens at no matter what point in the program the dial is set.  

Bummer.

 

We bought this machine when Travelling Companion was first promoted to the “top team” in the Company that Cannot be Named,  and her first assignment was in Horseheads,  New York.    So my best guess is that we bought it either in 1999 or 2000.  If I rummage through the files long enough,  I will find the receipt,  since we seem to have most everything going back to 1992.    And no,  I am not kidding!

Since she was living there two weeks at a time, (I would drive down for a visit on alternate weekends)  I figured that was as good a time as any to completely gut the kitchen and have a “do over”.  The kitchen had never been changed since the fifties,  and was long overdue.  Sucks to be without a kitchen,  but there was the downstairs cook top arrangement that I could fall back on. 

The kids used to refer to this dishwasher as “The Miracle Machine”,  since it would wash the hardest baked on crappola that had been sitting on a plate that you’d find under a bed somewhere months after it had been “lost” there.  So needless to say,  it was a pretty good machine.

 

So now we’re shopping for a new dishwasher.  Fark!

AND,  the ones that I’ve seen so far online don’t have the very cool top drawer arrangement for cutlery!  Gah!  We’re not overly keen on the basket type of arrangement,  where you put everything in,  and then try not to stab yourself when you’re taking it out.

Double fark.

 

Stay tuned.  But then of course,  you always do.

 

Oh,  and to add to the “excitement”,  look what I got on Saturday!

 

 

Yay me,  I’m *so* excited! 

*whimper*

 

Meh,  it’s OK.  Really.   Sure beats having a huge pile o’ dirt on the driveway that I’d be in a hurry to deal with.   The last time I had one of these bags delivered though,  it did take me most of the summer to get ‘er emptied.  I was starting to grow things in there by the time I was done.  I’ll try and go at it a little faster this time around.  That’s the theory at least.

 

And now I suppose I really should go and wash a few more dishes.

yay.

 

You know the drill.  Sticks. Ice.  Or maybe ditches, as the case may be.

Feel free to insert “sarcastic font” at your discretion.

 

Thanks fer lookin’.

The Dog Whisperer.

So,  I mentioned that “company’s coming”,  and this was part of the package.

Um ya.  This is “Milo”.   He’s a pretty good dog, considering he’s still really a puppy.  I think he’s still not quite 2.  Calm beyond his years.

AND,  somehow I’m now “dog sitting”. 

Seriously?  What the hell?  

I think by this point in the relationship,  he has a pretty good idea as to just who the “alpha dog”  is,  and it ain’t him.  It’s *never* any creature with four legs. And certainly not any creature I let inside these four walls.

Doesn’t chew on sh*t.  Doesn’t jump on the couch. Doesn’t sniff yer balls.  (I hate that).   I hear his owner’s back yard is a bit of a disaster,  but he’s welcome to dig up anyone’s lawn.  Except mine.

You know,  I see these little missives online,  going on about how somebody’s dog is “part of the family”.  Well you know, *I* might be part of the family,  but I’m sure if I started sniffing your ass,  you’d probably wonder what was up. Of course,  I have some definite ideas about that whole relationship between Man and Dog.  It goes like this,  “I’m the MAN,  and you’re the DOG”. 

But really,  if your dog is part of the family,  (and I’m OK with that,really)  then you’d best teach him or her not to destroy the trim around the doors, or generally be a complete and utter tool. Because if he’s “part of the family”, and is a complete and utter tool,  then you must be too?  Ah yes,  it’s The Tool Family. 

And,  we’re not talking about Milo here.  Let’s keep that straight.

He does get a little agitated when you burst through the front door,  and just might bark.  Dogs are notoriously near sighted,  so I gave him a pass on that one.   I threatened to feed him some chocolate,  and he shut right up.   Google “chocolate for dogs”,  and you’ll know what I mean.  Actually,  I’ll save you the trouble.

 

Anyway, ‘nuff of that.  Hope everyone is enjoying their Easter.  With whatever that entails.  

My Good Friday ritual involved going to two different pubs,  getting a free meal,  AND a T-shirt.

Someone on the Book of Face mentioned something about the “Easter Service” being great or wonderful or something.  Well yes,  I had great service at both locations.  Thank-you very much.

 

Yup,  gonna be sailing again this year.  It’s been a few years.  You may recall that I went out at some point in the fall.  Didn’t screw up.  That’s the main thing.

So we had a “meeting”  at one of the watering holes in Bronte,  and I offered to pay for my lunch,  as did other members of the crew,  but the meal was taken care of by the skipper.  Alrighty then!

I know most of these folks,  although since I was overseas, (since 08!)  there have been a few new faces.  And others who used to occasionally sail on Baccarat,  but who are now full timers.

See,  here’s the thing.   It’s all fine and dandy to own a sailboat,  and you may be able to go cruising all by your lonesome or perhaps with your “first mate”,  but if you want to race,  you need a crew.  

It never hurts to feed the crew,  and if it makes you happy,  provide them with T-shirts.   I have a few of these,  in other colours. Along with a host of hats.

It’s all about the swag.  Seriously.  Between the Company that Possibly Could be Named But I need the Typing Practise and sailing,  I have drawers full.

 

 

In other “news”,  the people across the road have finally decided to move the rest of their stuff.   You can’t see it from here,  but they’ve been bringing boatloads of stuff over and shoving it in the garage.  It’s a two car garage,  and it was completely full.  These guys brought the beds,  mattresses and other stuff that wouldn’t fit into an SUV or the back of a pick-up truck.

Oh,  and you’ll notice there are a few bags out front there?

Well,  we do have a system whereby our yard waste is picked up every other week,  and you can use these store bought paper bags.  However, this ISN’T the week. 

Should I call the municipality?   Should I be “that guy”?

 

See at what I mean?

There’s gotta be over forty fecking bags out there!

I floated the idea of taking over my old snow thrower,  an old TV and maybe that old printer and scanner and just sticking them all in amongst the bags.  T.C. though that was an OK idea.

But no,  I won’t do that.  I am tempted to call though.  There’s this whole “out by seven a.m. but not before five p.m. of the previous day” thing.  

I’m not sure what the thought process is there.

I’ll have to sleep on it.

 

OK so,  try not to O.D. on chocolate.  I’m trying to reform.  I can’t make any promises when it comes to Potica however.

 

Thanks for stopping by.

 

 

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