I thought those of you following the saga of the Naughton family would like an update regarding our plans to adopt a baby girl from China. Since starting the process in October, we have completed all of our paperwork and had three interviews with a social worker. The social worker is finalizing her report called a home study that will determine if we would be reasonably good parents. When we receive our copy of the home study we will submit our dossier to the State Department and then the Chinese Consulate in Chicago. After they have received everything and approve us for adopting, we will be assigned a "log in date" or L.I.D. When a family is logged in, they are officially on the waiting list for a child. We can expect to be logged in within two or three months from now.
The other day, we received our newsletter from Children's Hope International (the adoption agency we are utilizing.) In it, they noted that the average length of time between families' LID and their referral (the moment when a specific child is selected for a family) is 15 months. After receiving the referral, families will travel to China within a few weeks, usually with a group of other adopting families. Therefore, we can expect to wait at least 18 months from now to bring our new baby home.
Those of you who know me well know that I am not an especially patient man, so you can imagine that this waiting game will be driving me crazy for the next year and a half. Confucious says, "Good things come to those who wait." Well, he may have said it.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Feed a Farmer, Not a Terrorist
You've already heard me sing the praises of using ethanol instead of oil in our vehicles. I've done more research on this topic than I did for any term paper I ever wrote in college. My conviction that bio-fuels are superior to fossil fuels is even stronger now than ever. Now, even NASCAR is considering "going green."http://sports.yahoo.com/nascar/news?slug=ap-nascar-goinggreen&prov=ap&type=lgns
1. Ethanol burns cleaner than petroleum. Carbon dioxide (which plants and trees absorb and in time release oxygen as a result) is a by-product of burning ethanol. Burning fossil fuels releases carbon monoxide (which can kill you within minutes and poisons the earth's atmosphere).
2. Ethanol can be made from renewable resources such as corn, grain, grass, sugar cane, wood, and various forms of waste. All of the oil on earth will be completely used up in no more than 50 years.
3. Ethanol gives cars more horsepower. E85 fuel (85% ethanol) burns at 105 octane compared to 89 octane for regular gas. Hotter burning fuel gives your engine more power and burns cleaner which keeps your engine running better in the long run.
4. Ethanol is less energy dense than gas, but technology is solving that. The fuel and oil additive used by the FlexTek company for their conversion kits for using ethanol literally plates the metal surfaces in your engine. This prevents wear, removes deposits, and increases compression which all contribute to making the vehicle run more efficiently. Ethanol vehicles get approximately 10 to 20% less mpg than conventional gas powered cars. A typical car that can reach 400 miles on a tank of gas will still go around 350 miles on a tank of ethanol. However...
5. Ethanol is cheaper than gas. In Mid-Missouri, Breaktime Convenience Stores offer e85 at about 40 cents per gallon less than regular gas. It is 60 cents per gallon less than premium gas (which only offers 93 octane compared to e85's 105 octane rating.) On a 16 gallon fill-up, you would save $6.40 compared to regular gas and $9.60 compared to premium. That's a savings of a couple hundred dollars per year. So, ethanol is about 20% cheaper than regular gas and is only 10 to 20% less efficient. Therefore, ethanol and gas cost about the same.
To sum it all up:
1. Ethanol burns cleaner than petroleum. Carbon dioxide (which plants and trees absorb and in time release oxygen as a result) is a by-product of burning ethanol. Burning fossil fuels releases carbon monoxide (which can kill you within minutes and poisons the earth's atmosphere).
2. Ethanol can be made from renewable resources such as corn, grain, grass, sugar cane, wood, and various forms of waste. All of the oil on earth will be completely used up in no more than 50 years.
3. Ethanol gives cars more horsepower. E85 fuel (85% ethanol) burns at 105 octane compared to 89 octane for regular gas. Hotter burning fuel gives your engine more power and burns cleaner which keeps your engine running better in the long run.
4. Ethanol is less energy dense than gas, but technology is solving that. The fuel and oil additive used by the FlexTek company for their conversion kits for using ethanol literally plates the metal surfaces in your engine. This prevents wear, removes deposits, and increases compression which all contribute to making the vehicle run more efficiently. Ethanol vehicles get approximately 10 to 20% less mpg than conventional gas powered cars. A typical car that can reach 400 miles on a tank of gas will still go around 350 miles on a tank of ethanol. However...
5. Ethanol is cheaper than gas. In Mid-Missouri, Breaktime Convenience Stores offer e85 at about 40 cents per gallon less than regular gas. It is 60 cents per gallon less than premium gas (which only offers 93 octane compared to e85's 105 octane rating.) On a 16 gallon fill-up, you would save $6.40 compared to regular gas and $9.60 compared to premium. That's a savings of a couple hundred dollars per year. So, ethanol is about 20% cheaper than regular gas and is only 10 to 20% less efficient. Therefore, ethanol and gas cost about the same.
To sum it all up:
- When comparing fuel efficiency to price, ethanol and gasoline are about equal.
- When it comes to the environment, ethanol wins.
- When it comes to supporting the local economy, ethanol wins. Missouri farmers produce the feedstock for ethanol. They own co-ops that produce the ethanol. Purchasing ethanol gives a huge boost to our economy.
- Saudi Arabia (where most of the 9-11 hijackers came from), Venezuela (a state that has just given dictator-like powers to their socialist president), and Nigeria (a country in the midst of a civil war caused by savage inequalities generated by the oil industry) are three of our top five sources of crude oil. Iraq, Kuwait, and Russia are also high on the list (and are not exactly our closest allies). http://www.eia.doe.gov/pub/oil_gas/petroleum/data_publications/company_level_imports/current/import.html
- Canada and Mexico are the two other oil importers to the U.S. on the top five list. If we switch to an 85% ethanol 15% gasoline society, our North American allies would continue to provide the majority of our oil imports while eliminating the need to rely on countries than sponsor terrorists and the deprivation of liberty. We wouldn't have to go to war over oil interests. Let them have their dwindling supplies of oil. We won't need it. Independence from foreign oil will be as liberating as our independence from England was 230 years ago.
I have added links to various ethanol related sites to the right of this page. Check them out. I will have my flex fuel conversion installed on my car in the next few weeks. There is a link to their website explaining the science quite well. I believe that I may be the first person in Missouri to use this system. I plan on publicizing the transformation in an attempt to convince others to do the same. The entire country of Brazil has used this same conversion kit successfully for over ten years. Every filling station in their country offers e100 fuel. That's 100% ethanol! Somehow, the United States is no longer the bastion of independence and cutting edge technology that we thought we were. But, its not too late to change- yet.
Feed a farmer, not a terrorist. Go Green.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
A Valentine's Day to Remember
The following is a true story.
Last evening, at approximately 6:30 pm, a 90 year old woman walked down a lonely gravel road, four miles from the nearest town. It was dark and the wind chill factor was below zero. Suddenly, a car approached and the woman attempted to step off of the roadway into the relative safety of her yard. The yard was covered in a thick layer of ice and the frail woman slipped and fell just as the vehicle's lights illuminated her. She lay motionless, face down in the snow- unable to get back up. The female passenger of the vehicle got out and rushed to the woman's aid. At first the elderly widow was confused and refused help getting back to her feet. But the younger woman persisted and was able to help the woman stand. "Let's get you back inside your house. Its too cold out here for you."
"That's not my house," the confused woman replied.
After repeating the same conversation twice, the younger woman said, "Well, let's just see if anyone is home in that house who can help us." The good samaritan had seen the old lady pulling weeds in that yard on several occasions and was sure that it was indeed the woman's home.
The driver pulled the vehicle up and he and his wife helped the woman into the passenger seat. "We'll just drive up to that house to see if we can find your family, okay?"
The woman laughed hysterically. At this point it was obvious she had no idea what was happening. There was no telling how long she had been wondering around in the cold. Hypothermia may have begun to set in.
"What were you doing out here by yourself?" the concerned man yelled, sensing that the woman was nearly stone deaf.
"I'm going to so-and-so's to get a cup of tea."
The husband couldn't understand the name of the person she was going to visit. "Where is their house?"
"I don't know."
"My wife is going to see if anyone is at this house who can help us okay?"
"Okay," she said, laughing some more.
"Are you sure this isn't your house?"
"That's not my house."
The man was sure he had seen the old woman picking up trash around the yard there before, but could she be right? Was this someone else's house afterall? His wife tried knocking on and then opening each door she could find. But all the doors were locked. The young couple, who were on their way to town for a romantic Valentine's dinner, knew that their plans had changed dramatically. Not knowing who the woman's family were and not having any way to get into her home, they had no way to call anyone to help her. They decided to drive her into town to the local police station for assistance.
When they arrived in the small village, the immediately noticed the lights were turned off at the police station. A quick pull at the door confirmed that it was locked and that they would find no help there. The husband walked into a nearby tavern and asked the owner if he knew the old woman, whose name was Irma Nichols (she was able to remember her name), since he knew everybody else in town. He did not know her, but gave the man a phone number of a local volunteer firefighter. No one answered the phone. Remembering that the small town had just built a new ambulance station recently, he drove the woman, his wife, and his patient young son across town.
A pair of paramedics answered the door when the man knocked. "Finally," he thought to himself. He explained the situation to the men and one of them stepped out to the vehicle and assessed the old woman. A moment later he came back to the station and told the driver, 'Well, she seems coherent and refuses to go to the hospital, so we can't do anything for her."
"We don't know who her family is and we have no way to get her into her home. What are we supposed to do with her?" the bewildered driver asked. "And I don't know how coherent she is. She denied that she lived in her own house. She doesn't even realize where she is."
While in the vehicle, the old woman repeated the same thing over and over again: "I hate to be a bother. Its costing you money fussin' over me. I hate botherin' people. You got family. You don't have time for no old fool." She repeated this mantra at least three or four dozen times. "I ought to know better. Checkin' on those cows." She did have cows. The problem was that they were no where near her house. Had she not slipped in view of the vehicle's headlights, she would have ventured into a hilly pasture in pitch darkness, with no way to get back up the hill to her home. Within minutes, she would have surely frozen to death in the bone chilling weather.
The paramedics asked her more specific questions to asses her mental health. She denied having a phone. She said she could walk home. When the young woman told Irma that she was in town and not on her road, the old woman said, "I'll just stay here then."
"But you're in our van, Irma. We need to get you home."
"I don't want to bother anybody. I hate it that I caused you so much trouble."
"Its no trouble, really. We just want to get you home. Do you have any body to look after you?" the man asked.
"I don't know."
"Do you have any children?"
Her answers ranged from "no" to "yes, one" to "two". She finally said "a girl" but couldn't remember her name. She laughed pretty loud after she said that.
The paramedic finally decided to call 9-1-1 to get the fire department and sheriff involved, so they could get her into her house and look for phone numbers of loved ones. With the emergency folks in tow, the young family drove the elderly woman back to her home in the country. "I think that's my barn." Her brain was warming back up. "That's not my house, though."
"I think it just looks different at night, Irma," the man replied. Those nice boys with the fire department are going to see if they can open a door so we can get you inside."
"Who?" She had no idea what was happening. Finally, the crew and the young woman made their way into the house. Post-it notes were everywhere. Reminders not to give out personal information on the phone, emergency contact info, and countless messages from someone named Judy. The young woman deduced that Judy must be the daughter and she called the number. A man answered and said Judy had just left to go check on her mother a minute ago. She should be arriving any second because she only lives about a half-mile down the road.
Just then, a car pulled into the driveway. Seeing the rescue vehicles, the woman began to scream, "Mom!" "Oh, God, no!"
The young husband jumped out of his vehicle and yelled "Ma'am! Its okay! I have her in my van. She's okay." He then gave a condensed version of the story to the daughter as they all helped the old woman to the house.
After she was safe and sound in her own home, I asked her, "Do you remember my wife Bethany? She's the one who helped you out of the snow when you fell?"
"No," she said as she laughed a big, beautiful belly laugh.
"You take care, okay Irma?"
"Okay."
Bethany and I walked back to the van and sat for a moment while the fire department moved their vehicle out of our way. A firefighter approached us and said, "Thanks for calling us. We'll have the deputy talk to the daughter and try to convince her that her mother can't be left alone anymore. She would have surely died if you hadn't found her."
In talking to the daughter, Bethany found out that Irma had Alzheimer's. We had been concerned as we drove by her house last summer when we saw her pulling weeds in 100 degree heat, with no one else around to watch over her. Now, we realize we were right to worry. Judy lives close by, but doesn't spend every moment at her mother's side, and it is obvious that someone will need to from now on.
Had we not been running late (as usual) for our Valentine's date, we would not have been there to help Irma get back home. Locked out of her house, wandering around in the freezing night, Irma would have died from hypothermia in no time at all. Our hour and a half odyssey to get Irma home was the most memorable Valentine's date we'll ever have. Alex was trying his best to comfort our elderly neighbor, and should be given a medal for his patience. Our reward- we decided to go ahead to town and have our dinner, after dropping Alex off at his grandma's house, even if it was a little late. It turns out that running late isn't such a bad thing afterall. It may have just saved a life.
The End.
Last evening, at approximately 6:30 pm, a 90 year old woman walked down a lonely gravel road, four miles from the nearest town. It was dark and the wind chill factor was below zero. Suddenly, a car approached and the woman attempted to step off of the roadway into the relative safety of her yard. The yard was covered in a thick layer of ice and the frail woman slipped and fell just as the vehicle's lights illuminated her. She lay motionless, face down in the snow- unable to get back up. The female passenger of the vehicle got out and rushed to the woman's aid. At first the elderly widow was confused and refused help getting back to her feet. But the younger woman persisted and was able to help the woman stand. "Let's get you back inside your house. Its too cold out here for you."
"That's not my house," the confused woman replied.
After repeating the same conversation twice, the younger woman said, "Well, let's just see if anyone is home in that house who can help us." The good samaritan had seen the old lady pulling weeds in that yard on several occasions and was sure that it was indeed the woman's home.
The driver pulled the vehicle up and he and his wife helped the woman into the passenger seat. "We'll just drive up to that house to see if we can find your family, okay?"
The woman laughed hysterically. At this point it was obvious she had no idea what was happening. There was no telling how long she had been wondering around in the cold. Hypothermia may have begun to set in.
"What were you doing out here by yourself?" the concerned man yelled, sensing that the woman was nearly stone deaf.
"I'm going to so-and-so's to get a cup of tea."
The husband couldn't understand the name of the person she was going to visit. "Where is their house?"
"I don't know."
"My wife is going to see if anyone is at this house who can help us okay?"
"Okay," she said, laughing some more.
"Are you sure this isn't your house?"
"That's not my house."
The man was sure he had seen the old woman picking up trash around the yard there before, but could she be right? Was this someone else's house afterall? His wife tried knocking on and then opening each door she could find. But all the doors were locked. The young couple, who were on their way to town for a romantic Valentine's dinner, knew that their plans had changed dramatically. Not knowing who the woman's family were and not having any way to get into her home, they had no way to call anyone to help her. They decided to drive her into town to the local police station for assistance.
When they arrived in the small village, the immediately noticed the lights were turned off at the police station. A quick pull at the door confirmed that it was locked and that they would find no help there. The husband walked into a nearby tavern and asked the owner if he knew the old woman, whose name was Irma Nichols (she was able to remember her name), since he knew everybody else in town. He did not know her, but gave the man a phone number of a local volunteer firefighter. No one answered the phone. Remembering that the small town had just built a new ambulance station recently, he drove the woman, his wife, and his patient young son across town.
A pair of paramedics answered the door when the man knocked. "Finally," he thought to himself. He explained the situation to the men and one of them stepped out to the vehicle and assessed the old woman. A moment later he came back to the station and told the driver, 'Well, she seems coherent and refuses to go to the hospital, so we can't do anything for her."
"We don't know who her family is and we have no way to get her into her home. What are we supposed to do with her?" the bewildered driver asked. "And I don't know how coherent she is. She denied that she lived in her own house. She doesn't even realize where she is."
While in the vehicle, the old woman repeated the same thing over and over again: "I hate to be a bother. Its costing you money fussin' over me. I hate botherin' people. You got family. You don't have time for no old fool." She repeated this mantra at least three or four dozen times. "I ought to know better. Checkin' on those cows." She did have cows. The problem was that they were no where near her house. Had she not slipped in view of the vehicle's headlights, she would have ventured into a hilly pasture in pitch darkness, with no way to get back up the hill to her home. Within minutes, she would have surely frozen to death in the bone chilling weather.
The paramedics asked her more specific questions to asses her mental health. She denied having a phone. She said she could walk home. When the young woman told Irma that she was in town and not on her road, the old woman said, "I'll just stay here then."
"But you're in our van, Irma. We need to get you home."
"I don't want to bother anybody. I hate it that I caused you so much trouble."
"Its no trouble, really. We just want to get you home. Do you have any body to look after you?" the man asked.
"I don't know."
"Do you have any children?"
Her answers ranged from "no" to "yes, one" to "two". She finally said "a girl" but couldn't remember her name. She laughed pretty loud after she said that.
The paramedic finally decided to call 9-1-1 to get the fire department and sheriff involved, so they could get her into her house and look for phone numbers of loved ones. With the emergency folks in tow, the young family drove the elderly woman back to her home in the country. "I think that's my barn." Her brain was warming back up. "That's not my house, though."
"I think it just looks different at night, Irma," the man replied. Those nice boys with the fire department are going to see if they can open a door so we can get you inside."
"Who?" She had no idea what was happening. Finally, the crew and the young woman made their way into the house. Post-it notes were everywhere. Reminders not to give out personal information on the phone, emergency contact info, and countless messages from someone named Judy. The young woman deduced that Judy must be the daughter and she called the number. A man answered and said Judy had just left to go check on her mother a minute ago. She should be arriving any second because she only lives about a half-mile down the road.
Just then, a car pulled into the driveway. Seeing the rescue vehicles, the woman began to scream, "Mom!" "Oh, God, no!"
The young husband jumped out of his vehicle and yelled "Ma'am! Its okay! I have her in my van. She's okay." He then gave a condensed version of the story to the daughter as they all helped the old woman to the house.
After she was safe and sound in her own home, I asked her, "Do you remember my wife Bethany? She's the one who helped you out of the snow when you fell?"
"No," she said as she laughed a big, beautiful belly laugh.
"You take care, okay Irma?"
"Okay."
Bethany and I walked back to the van and sat for a moment while the fire department moved their vehicle out of our way. A firefighter approached us and said, "Thanks for calling us. We'll have the deputy talk to the daughter and try to convince her that her mother can't be left alone anymore. She would have surely died if you hadn't found her."
In talking to the daughter, Bethany found out that Irma had Alzheimer's. We had been concerned as we drove by her house last summer when we saw her pulling weeds in 100 degree heat, with no one else around to watch over her. Now, we realize we were right to worry. Judy lives close by, but doesn't spend every moment at her mother's side, and it is obvious that someone will need to from now on.
Had we not been running late (as usual) for our Valentine's date, we would not have been there to help Irma get back home. Locked out of her house, wandering around in the freezing night, Irma would have died from hypothermia in no time at all. Our hour and a half odyssey to get Irma home was the most memorable Valentine's date we'll ever have. Alex was trying his best to comfort our elderly neighbor, and should be given a medal for his patience. Our reward- we decided to go ahead to town and have our dinner, after dropping Alex off at his grandma's house, even if it was a little late. It turns out that running late isn't such a bad thing afterall. It may have just saved a life.
The End.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
What a Gas!
I have discovered that my truck likes to stall periodically for no apparent reason even after its warmed up. And after driving it for a while and then shutting it off, it refuses to start up again for up to a half-hour or so. This led me to theorize that dirt in the fuel filter canister gets sucked into the filter when the sediment inside gets stirred up while driving, thus blocking the flow of gas to the engine. So I decided to change the filter. Sounds simple, right? I thought so, too.
First of all, this filter is mounted below the engine next to the oil filter in the same housing that contains the fuel pump. Most vehicle manufacturers mount the filter in-line (meaning somewhere along the length of the fuel line where it is easily accessed.) I read in my repair manual how to remove the canister and filter. It said to remove them, discard the fuel in the canister, and replace. "That sounds easy." No where in the manual did it mention that since the filter is mounted at the lowest point in the fuel line (below the motor) a syphon would be created that would suck out every last drop of gasoline from my 16 gallon capacity tank. As fuel poured from under my truck, it splattered on the ground, into my eyes, and all over my clothes. In a panic, I tried to put the canister back on, but since the 32 year old rubber gasket was warped, the unit would not seal and I was soon covered in petroleum distillates. I found a bucket to contain the spill while I proceeded to try to stop the flow of fuel to no avail. Have you ever had rubbing alcohol on your skin and experience its rapid-cooling qualities as it evaporates? Gasoline has the same effect on the skin. Did I mention that I attempted this "easy" repair in 20 degree weather? Within seconds, by fingers were almost completely frozen. I could not move the fingers on my right hand at all and when I tried to manipulate them with my left hand, I noticed that the flesh on my digits was literally frozen solid. The tissue was so firm that I couldn't squeeze a depression into my fingers. It felt like squeezing a piece of chicken straight out of the freezer. Then I started freaking out. I think I may have even cried a little bit, although I am not sure if it was from pain, fear, or frustration.
I ran inside and rinsed my hands with cold tap water. Gradually as I regained feeling in my fingers I turned the temperature up. Eventually I was able to move them again. I peeled off my gas soaked clothing and took a long hot shower. As I thawed, I realized that gas was still pouring out of my truck and that the one, five gallon bucket would not be enough to contain the toxic flood. I hollered for Alex to get dressed so we could go to Columbia to find a fuel filter. One half-hour later we arrived at the parts store. I told them what I needed and they spent the next half-hour looking for it. None of their catalogues had any parts listed for vehicles older than 1985. (Apparently, mine is the only 1975 Ford truck still running in the entire world. I guess they didn't think anyone would need replacement parts for trucks that should have been crushed decades ago.) Finally, after three different people got involved, I had the right part. I arrived back home nearly two full hours after starting this "routine" maintenance operation to discover the tank was done draining. I replaced the filter, gasket, and canister. Then I poured the nearly five full gallons of gasoline through a coffee filter into my gas can, leaving the murky sludge at the bottom of the bucket. (Luckily, my tank was not full.) I then re-filled my truck and went back inside to wash my hands at least a dozen times. The fumes, and three beers, helped me sleep very well that night.
After discovering fresh tire tracks and foot prints in the ice and snow near our campsite at the bottom of our property while hiking in the woods this morning, I realized that the neighbor who was blasting his shotgun at me last year (whom another neighbor witnessed driving around on our property last fall) was up to his old tricks again. So Alex and I hopped in the truck to take it for a test drive and to tell this knucklehead across the road to stay the hell off of our land. When I pulled into his driveway, I had intended to let the truck run, but it was up to its old tricks again, too. It died. I politely, yet directly told the neighbor in no uncertain terms that I know that someone drove onto my property and then got out and walked several hundred feet further onto my land in what appeared to me to be an attempt to either hunt or track down a wounded animal that ventured onto my land. The woman of the house actually said that they didn't even own a four wheel drive. What amused me was the fact that I was standing there looking at their 1996 Dodge Ram 4x4 at that exact moment in time. I told them that I wasn't accusing them of anything, but they in fact did own a four wheel drive truck with mud tires that had a tread pattern very similar to the ones I saw on my property. I reminded them that they and everyone else were forbidden to be on my land for any reason at any time. I told them to tell their friends and family and anyone else they knew to stay off of my land. (I told them that once before, when they almost shot me, but I guess it didn't sink in then.) They said they have never driven down there and I said, "Have a nice day," having made my point without getting shot.
Then I hopped into my truck, turned they key, and of course- it wouldn't start. After what seemed an eternity, it reluctantly obliged and Alex and I headed home. (Apparently, the fuel filter was not the problem after all.) Gosh, it sure was a lot of fun replacing that cute little three dollar part, though. As I drove away, teetering on the edge of madness, I wondered if my neighbor (and my truck) knew how lucky they are that I don't own a shotgun myself.
First of all, this filter is mounted below the engine next to the oil filter in the same housing that contains the fuel pump. Most vehicle manufacturers mount the filter in-line (meaning somewhere along the length of the fuel line where it is easily accessed.) I read in my repair manual how to remove the canister and filter. It said to remove them, discard the fuel in the canister, and replace. "That sounds easy." No where in the manual did it mention that since the filter is mounted at the lowest point in the fuel line (below the motor) a syphon would be created that would suck out every last drop of gasoline from my 16 gallon capacity tank. As fuel poured from under my truck, it splattered on the ground, into my eyes, and all over my clothes. In a panic, I tried to put the canister back on, but since the 32 year old rubber gasket was warped, the unit would not seal and I was soon covered in petroleum distillates. I found a bucket to contain the spill while I proceeded to try to stop the flow of fuel to no avail. Have you ever had rubbing alcohol on your skin and experience its rapid-cooling qualities as it evaporates? Gasoline has the same effect on the skin. Did I mention that I attempted this "easy" repair in 20 degree weather? Within seconds, by fingers were almost completely frozen. I could not move the fingers on my right hand at all and when I tried to manipulate them with my left hand, I noticed that the flesh on my digits was literally frozen solid. The tissue was so firm that I couldn't squeeze a depression into my fingers. It felt like squeezing a piece of chicken straight out of the freezer. Then I started freaking out. I think I may have even cried a little bit, although I am not sure if it was from pain, fear, or frustration.
I ran inside and rinsed my hands with cold tap water. Gradually as I regained feeling in my fingers I turned the temperature up. Eventually I was able to move them again. I peeled off my gas soaked clothing and took a long hot shower. As I thawed, I realized that gas was still pouring out of my truck and that the one, five gallon bucket would not be enough to contain the toxic flood. I hollered for Alex to get dressed so we could go to Columbia to find a fuel filter. One half-hour later we arrived at the parts store. I told them what I needed and they spent the next half-hour looking for it. None of their catalogues had any parts listed for vehicles older than 1985. (Apparently, mine is the only 1975 Ford truck still running in the entire world. I guess they didn't think anyone would need replacement parts for trucks that should have been crushed decades ago.) Finally, after three different people got involved, I had the right part. I arrived back home nearly two full hours after starting this "routine" maintenance operation to discover the tank was done draining. I replaced the filter, gasket, and canister. Then I poured the nearly five full gallons of gasoline through a coffee filter into my gas can, leaving the murky sludge at the bottom of the bucket. (Luckily, my tank was not full.) I then re-filled my truck and went back inside to wash my hands at least a dozen times. The fumes, and three beers, helped me sleep very well that night.
After discovering fresh tire tracks and foot prints in the ice and snow near our campsite at the bottom of our property while hiking in the woods this morning, I realized that the neighbor who was blasting his shotgun at me last year (whom another neighbor witnessed driving around on our property last fall) was up to his old tricks again. So Alex and I hopped in the truck to take it for a test drive and to tell this knucklehead across the road to stay the hell off of our land. When I pulled into his driveway, I had intended to let the truck run, but it was up to its old tricks again, too. It died. I politely, yet directly told the neighbor in no uncertain terms that I know that someone drove onto my property and then got out and walked several hundred feet further onto my land in what appeared to me to be an attempt to either hunt or track down a wounded animal that ventured onto my land. The woman of the house actually said that they didn't even own a four wheel drive. What amused me was the fact that I was standing there looking at their 1996 Dodge Ram 4x4 at that exact moment in time. I told them that I wasn't accusing them of anything, but they in fact did own a four wheel drive truck with mud tires that had a tread pattern very similar to the ones I saw on my property. I reminded them that they and everyone else were forbidden to be on my land for any reason at any time. I told them to tell their friends and family and anyone else they knew to stay off of my land. (I told them that once before, when they almost shot me, but I guess it didn't sink in then.) They said they have never driven down there and I said, "Have a nice day," having made my point without getting shot.
Then I hopped into my truck, turned they key, and of course- it wouldn't start. After what seemed an eternity, it reluctantly obliged and Alex and I headed home. (Apparently, the fuel filter was not the problem after all.) Gosh, it sure was a lot of fun replacing that cute little three dollar part, though. As I drove away, teetering on the edge of madness, I wondered if my neighbor (and my truck) knew how lucky they are that I don't own a shotgun myself.
Friday, February 02, 2007
Getting Old- The Week in Review
Monday: I went to my first ever professional eye exam as an adult. (I've been having a hard time reading things within arm's reach- especially with my right eye.) I told the doctor as much, because I was a little nervous and clueless as to what to expect. After going through a barrage of eye drops, vision charts, and a lot of "Is this better, or is this better", the doctor scribbled something indecipherable on a prescription pad and said, "You're all set."
(What the Hell does that mean?) "So, do I need glasses or...?"
"If your eyes bother you, then get glasses."
(If my eyes bother me? If they didn't bother me then why would I be here?) "Would glasses make a difference?" I asked.
"Oh, they would make a difference."
"Well, would it be worth getting glasses right now or not?"
"You can get glasses, or you can come back in three or four years and we'll see how you're doing then."
(Okay, you've been SUPER helpful, Doc. Have a swell day.)
After relating this story to Bethany she said, "Just get the glasses. He's always like that."
(Sorry to inconvenience you with my desire for understanding my ocular health, Doctor Indifference.)
Tuesday: I met with the social worker assigned to our adoption case. She asked about my family history and before I knew it, there was enough spin coming out of my mouth to make Tony Snow and the rest of Bush's spin doctors proud. After an hour and a half, she had what she needed and I drove home thinking a career in politics might just be possible afterall.
Wednesday: Cardiac Stress Test Day. Fun! (For those of you unaware of my recent heart-related episodes, a little back-story.) For several months, I have been having frequent irregular heart rhythms. Periodically, my heart will skip a beat for no apparent reason. Sometimes it continues to skip beats for hours on end. When I say "skip a beat" I really mean that my heart stops momentarily. To visualize what this is like, feel your pulse right now. Get a sense of the rhythm of the beats. Count to ten as your heart beats. Now when you get to seven, stop counting and start again at where beats nine or ten would be. Now imagine your heart stopping like this several dozen times in a span of a few hours. A little un-nerving to say the least. But the worst of it is when I have "exercise-induced" episodes during which my heart pounds extremely hard due to performing a physical activity. When this happens, my heart's rhythm feels more like Morse code than a heart beat. The most dramatic example of this occurred while sledding with Alex and Bethany. My heart would not go five seconds without missing a beat. It would also dramatically speed up and slow down in a very unpredictable manner. Had we not been snowbound following the 16 inch snowfall that weekend, I would have gone to the ER. It was more than a little scary, and at one point Bethany asked if I was still alive as I tried to collect myself while laying in my sled staring blankly into the blue sky above. Apparently, a wife doesn't like seeing the love of her life looking dead in a sled. Who knew? (As I typed this paragraph, I felt my heart miss 6 beats.)
Anyway, at the clinic, I was first given an IV. Next, blood was taken and tested. Then, I was injected with a radioactive isotope that would course through my veins illuminating my heart during my imminent gamma ray scan. The scan took place in a machine similar to an MRI and took 16 minutes, during which time I had to hold my left forearm over my forehead due to the cramped space my body was occupying. Next, I was off to the treadmill. I walked, jogged, and ran for a combined 12 minutes before reaching my target heart rate of 180 bpm. All the while, my blood pressure was taken and I was given two more injections. After the run, I was allowed to sit and rest. My heart only missed one beat while running, but while sitting and trying to catch my breath, it started missing beats frequently. All of these episodes were documented on the EKG that I had been hooked up to prior to the run. Next I was given an ultrasound examination during which I could actually see my heart beating. And once, I actually got to see my heart stop and then re-start a moment later. I have to say- that was pretty cool, if not a little bit scary. Finally, I was subjected to another gamma ray scan and eventually sent home with a 24-hour heart monitor to record any episodes at home. I spent 3 and a half hours at the clinic but thankfully had my darling wife right by my side the whole time.
Thursday: On my commute to work, The Mean Green Machine inexplicably died in the middle of a very busy intersection on Grindstone Parkway. The truck was blocking the left-turn lane and the left-straight lane. Rush hour motorists were in no mood for delays and several had the decency to honk and give my dirty looks as I frantically tried to restart the engine. After about five minutes, I decided to push the truck backwards into the left turn-lane, well short of the intersection so that my fellow commuters would not have to be inconvenienced by a man with the nerve to allow his vehicle to hinder their progress toward their infinitely more important tasks. I hopped out of the truck and pushed from the door jamb while steering with my left hand. After a Herculean amount of effort, I was able to get the 3,500 pound behemoth rolling, even though it was on a flat surface. Just when I stopped to catch my breath, I noticed a black SUV bearing down upon me in the left-turn lane. I decided to jump back into the truck and close the door just before the speeding vehicle whizzed by me. I assumed that the driver was turning left, so I decided not to flip him off. However, as he passed me by, his wife gave me a contemptuous look while he drove around the front of my truck and proceeded to go straight through the intersection from the left-turn lane. That's right- I was forced to stop pushing my truck, jump out of the left-turn lane to allow him to pass, only to get a dirty look as he rocketed straight past me. All the while the righthand, straight lane was unoccupied! Nice folks in Columbia. Well, I shook my head in disbelief for a while, hopped back out, finished pushing the beast out of the way, crawled back inside to get out of the 14 degree weather, and sat a spell contemplating my next move. I remembered the can of starting fluid that I had purchased a few weeks ago at a gas station when my truck wouldn't start after re-fueling. I popped open the hood, removed the air cleaner, then stood on the door jamb in the cab while hanging out of the open door while aiming the spray can under the opening between the hood and the windshield all while turning the ignition key. Bingo! It started up. I closed everything up, and limped the truck all the way to work without further incident. (I believe I may have a clogged fuel filter in case you were wondering.) I noted on the journal that accompanied my heart monitor that I had several skipped heart beats and that my heart was pounding through my chest. I was sure that the episode would show up on the monitor when it would be analyzed the next day.
Friday: After work, I went to get the results of my heart tests. After waiting a full hour for the doctor, he finally made his grand entrance. "I have good news..."
"That's a relief."
"We notice a few missed beats on your monitor especially while you were (pausing to refer the notes on my journal) pushing a truck. Although there were several, we didn't see an unusually high number of missed beats over the 24 hour period . Also, your ultrasound, EKG, and gamma scan all show that your heart is perfectly healthy."
"That is good news."
"You'll still feel your heart miss beats and at worst it will just be a little annoying, but its nothing to worry about. I have to say, Travis, there's just nothing wrong with your heart."
"Well, we just wanted to rule out anything serious."
"You're fine. That's all there is to say." And he stood up and left.
I walked to the nurses' desk and announced, "Well, it looks like I'm gonna live."
The nurse said, "That's good. Sounds like a reason to celebrate. It is Friday night, you know." (I think she might have been flirting with me.)
Chicks dig a dude with a good ticker.
(What the Hell does that mean?) "So, do I need glasses or...?"
"If your eyes bother you, then get glasses."
(If my eyes bother me? If they didn't bother me then why would I be here?) "Would glasses make a difference?" I asked.
"Oh, they would make a difference."
"Well, would it be worth getting glasses right now or not?"
"You can get glasses, or you can come back in three or four years and we'll see how you're doing then."
(Okay, you've been SUPER helpful, Doc. Have a swell day.)
After relating this story to Bethany she said, "Just get the glasses. He's always like that."
(Sorry to inconvenience you with my desire for understanding my ocular health, Doctor Indifference.)
Tuesday: I met with the social worker assigned to our adoption case. She asked about my family history and before I knew it, there was enough spin coming out of my mouth to make Tony Snow and the rest of Bush's spin doctors proud. After an hour and a half, she had what she needed and I drove home thinking a career in politics might just be possible afterall.
Wednesday: Cardiac Stress Test Day. Fun! (For those of you unaware of my recent heart-related episodes, a little back-story.) For several months, I have been having frequent irregular heart rhythms. Periodically, my heart will skip a beat for no apparent reason. Sometimes it continues to skip beats for hours on end. When I say "skip a beat" I really mean that my heart stops momentarily. To visualize what this is like, feel your pulse right now. Get a sense of the rhythm of the beats. Count to ten as your heart beats. Now when you get to seven, stop counting and start again at where beats nine or ten would be. Now imagine your heart stopping like this several dozen times in a span of a few hours. A little un-nerving to say the least. But the worst of it is when I have "exercise-induced" episodes during which my heart pounds extremely hard due to performing a physical activity. When this happens, my heart's rhythm feels more like Morse code than a heart beat. The most dramatic example of this occurred while sledding with Alex and Bethany. My heart would not go five seconds without missing a beat. It would also dramatically speed up and slow down in a very unpredictable manner. Had we not been snowbound following the 16 inch snowfall that weekend, I would have gone to the ER. It was more than a little scary, and at one point Bethany asked if I was still alive as I tried to collect myself while laying in my sled staring blankly into the blue sky above. Apparently, a wife doesn't like seeing the love of her life looking dead in a sled. Who knew? (As I typed this paragraph, I felt my heart miss 6 beats.)
Anyway, at the clinic, I was first given an IV. Next, blood was taken and tested. Then, I was injected with a radioactive isotope that would course through my veins illuminating my heart during my imminent gamma ray scan. The scan took place in a machine similar to an MRI and took 16 minutes, during which time I had to hold my left forearm over my forehead due to the cramped space my body was occupying. Next, I was off to the treadmill. I walked, jogged, and ran for a combined 12 minutes before reaching my target heart rate of 180 bpm. All the while, my blood pressure was taken and I was given two more injections. After the run, I was allowed to sit and rest. My heart only missed one beat while running, but while sitting and trying to catch my breath, it started missing beats frequently. All of these episodes were documented on the EKG that I had been hooked up to prior to the run. Next I was given an ultrasound examination during which I could actually see my heart beating. And once, I actually got to see my heart stop and then re-start a moment later. I have to say- that was pretty cool, if not a little bit scary. Finally, I was subjected to another gamma ray scan and eventually sent home with a 24-hour heart monitor to record any episodes at home. I spent 3 and a half hours at the clinic but thankfully had my darling wife right by my side the whole time.
Thursday: On my commute to work, The Mean Green Machine inexplicably died in the middle of a very busy intersection on Grindstone Parkway. The truck was blocking the left-turn lane and the left-straight lane. Rush hour motorists were in no mood for delays and several had the decency to honk and give my dirty looks as I frantically tried to restart the engine. After about five minutes, I decided to push the truck backwards into the left turn-lane, well short of the intersection so that my fellow commuters would not have to be inconvenienced by a man with the nerve to allow his vehicle to hinder their progress toward their infinitely more important tasks. I hopped out of the truck and pushed from the door jamb while steering with my left hand. After a Herculean amount of effort, I was able to get the 3,500 pound behemoth rolling, even though it was on a flat surface. Just when I stopped to catch my breath, I noticed a black SUV bearing down upon me in the left-turn lane. I decided to jump back into the truck and close the door just before the speeding vehicle whizzed by me. I assumed that the driver was turning left, so I decided not to flip him off. However, as he passed me by, his wife gave me a contemptuous look while he drove around the front of my truck and proceeded to go straight through the intersection from the left-turn lane. That's right- I was forced to stop pushing my truck, jump out of the left-turn lane to allow him to pass, only to get a dirty look as he rocketed straight past me. All the while the righthand, straight lane was unoccupied! Nice folks in Columbia. Well, I shook my head in disbelief for a while, hopped back out, finished pushing the beast out of the way, crawled back inside to get out of the 14 degree weather, and sat a spell contemplating my next move. I remembered the can of starting fluid that I had purchased a few weeks ago at a gas station when my truck wouldn't start after re-fueling. I popped open the hood, removed the air cleaner, then stood on the door jamb in the cab while hanging out of the open door while aiming the spray can under the opening between the hood and the windshield all while turning the ignition key. Bingo! It started up. I closed everything up, and limped the truck all the way to work without further incident. (I believe I may have a clogged fuel filter in case you were wondering.) I noted on the journal that accompanied my heart monitor that I had several skipped heart beats and that my heart was pounding through my chest. I was sure that the episode would show up on the monitor when it would be analyzed the next day.
Friday: After work, I went to get the results of my heart tests. After waiting a full hour for the doctor, he finally made his grand entrance. "I have good news..."
"That's a relief."
"We notice a few missed beats on your monitor especially while you were (pausing to refer the notes on my journal) pushing a truck. Although there were several, we didn't see an unusually high number of missed beats over the 24 hour period . Also, your ultrasound, EKG, and gamma scan all show that your heart is perfectly healthy."
"That is good news."
"You'll still feel your heart miss beats and at worst it will just be a little annoying, but its nothing to worry about. I have to say, Travis, there's just nothing wrong with your heart."
"Well, we just wanted to rule out anything serious."
"You're fine. That's all there is to say." And he stood up and left.
I walked to the nurses' desk and announced, "Well, it looks like I'm gonna live."
The nurse said, "That's good. Sounds like a reason to celebrate. It is Friday night, you know." (I think she might have been flirting with me.)
Chicks dig a dude with a good ticker.
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