Have Bag, Will Travel

 Without a doubt, the most useless piece of furniture for me would be a rocking chair. I'd never have time to sit in it. Nor am I actually looking for rocking chair time, quite the opposite.

This week I am crawling around in some attic tracking down electrical problems. (I know, attics and I haven't gotten along well this year. see story). And it's not even my problem.

Blame it on Craigslist. This website has not only given me some great deals on stuff to buy, and short jobs to work, but it also caught my eye with a volunteer need here in Colorado Springs. A group home for foster teens was in need of someone to help sort out some household electrical problems,  and I dropped them a line to see if I could help.

I admit I am not an expert electrician, but how complicated could a house system be?

 "Holy George Jetson, Batman!"  Who knew 1950 technology could be so much fun. You got it right. This house was built in the 50's with a Touch Plate relay system for all the lighting. Not a bad way to wire a house actually.  Low voltage wires are run though the walls instead of heavy to bend and manipulate 12 gauge wires. Each room has a touch plate that switches the hall light on or off.  There is a master control panel that allows you to control all the lights in the house. Neat stuff for the times.

Of course, now, 50 years later the switching relays are failing and it's a bugger to figure out which wire controls which switch. I was even worried about whether the replacement parts could be found. Turned out that the company still exists, and, yes, there is a compatible part to replace the old switch. But get this, the company now produces an upgrade system that will let you manipulate your house electrical systems with your I-phone, or Blackberry. Jetson lives!

The part will get ordered, and I'll finish up with this project, then maybe I'll find time to kick back. Or not, there is a fun demolition project on the air base that has Habitat for Humanity scrounging for re-usable building materials I could help out with.....

What Not To Do On A Monday Afternoon (Pt 2)

I say part two because I've been here before. Stuck in the middle of an intersection with a smashed up car waiting for a tow truck and and someone to come pick me up. It's been awhile, and yes, there have been a few  other times when I've plowed up a car, but the role reversal makes this time unique. It really wasn't my fault this time, and that's a first.  That is possibly the reason I was not that upset over it. I've walked in this young man's shoes.

Each accident has taught me hard lessons of the road. The first taught me the importance of good tires, and or course, "speed management". 

I was barely 16 and in love with the set of wheels my after school job paid for, a 1956 Chevy Pick-up. (Way back in the 70 somethings when you could pick these up on the cheap). I was driving along the rural mountain roads up river from my house in Southern Oregon. Still painted up in green from a fall costume church party I hit an inside curve with too much speed, and bald tires. The truck slipped out, and I plowed head on into the side of the embankment. It was the perfect YouTube moment as the truck did a perfect end over end flip and landed upside down. This was pre-seat belt days, but I never let go of the steering wheel and landed with my feet on the roof liner. Scratch car number one.

Before I finished High School I burned up an engine, (yes, that red idiot light means something) Clipped the rear fender off my mother's friend's VW bug, (sorry Penny, didn't think that other car was that close when I pulled out). I even hit the side of a school bus, (Seems you're still expected to stop at stop signs when you can't see them in the fog). Funny this last one, my dad was the Deputy that rolled out to investigate the accident. "Hi, dad, " as he calls in other unit to do the work.

Somewhere in this early timeline there was a motorcycle wreck that had me skidding sans bike along the pavement until I flew off an embankment and landed in an irrigation ditch, but we don't talk about bike wrecks.

In college I was living in Southern California. One afternoon I gathered up a few friends, borrowed my roommates car, and headed for the beach. I never got that far. I was traveling along a side road that had a left turn to the freeway on-ramp. I crossed right in front of an oncoming car, completely oblivious to the the new traffic control lights installed. Wham!  (Ah, sorry Bob, but your Pinto is a little crunched up).

Now we jump to yesterday, and a twenty year old with some friends, and a borrowed truck does the same thing to me. Thirty years later I'm on the receiving end of an inexperienced driver.  Karma! Nope, don't believe it, but sometimes our past does catch up with you.

In all these collisions, (included this recent one) I've never suffered serious injuries, and never had passengers hurt seriously either.  For that I do believe in God's grace.

Will the banks of the Jordan be like Facebook

"Look who I found", read the subject line of an email from a high school friend I've remained in contact with.  In the note was a link to a blog run by another classmate neither of us had seen nor heard of in 35 years. Amazing how the internet brings long forgotten people back to your mind.

 Another day I am logged onto Facebook and the suggestion for a mutual friend pops up.  Mutual friend? I think to myself as I look at the unfamiliar user name.  I look at the picture, and start to put the pieces together.  I haven't had contact with this gal since she used to visit our house with my aunt nearly 40 years ago. Amazing how the internet brings long forgotten people back to your mind.

Sometimes I ponder on life after my fingers can no longer pound the keyboard. When the blue screen of death truly crosses before my eyes and the Creator performs the greatest reboot miracle possible, the resurrection. I am not clear on whether those that died before us will be there waiting to great us, or if we all get the wake-up call at the same time, but either way, I will be looking for people I've missed, and the tears of joy will be soaking into the fabric of my toga. (You've seen the pictures right)  But recently, finding people on facebook reminds me that the reunion in heaven will last a long long time, and the more I wander the new Earth, the more people I'll remember when I see them face to face.

That will be exciting.  But as the Kenny Chesney song goes, "Everybody wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to go now."

Welcome back into my world new, "old" friends.

Testosterone Reload

The doctors all warn women that immediately after giving birth it takes awhile for their hormonal balance to be restored. What they don't mention it that it must begin to leach out their skin, or even go airborne.

I don't know how else to explain it. I've been hugging and hanging around my daughter and wife so much this week, I was beginning to get all blubbery.  Almost as bad as they are. I knew the only cure was to add some adrenaline into my blood stream and get the testosterone production back up.

Best way to do that.  Ride the bike.

There is a narrow gravel road near here that I've been wanting to tackle all summer. It starts south of Colorado Springs near Canon City at around 5000 ft.  Then within 20 or 25 miles it twists and turns along an old rail bed until it reaches the higher levels around Victor, CO at 10,000 ft.  It has wash outs, blind corners, single lane passes along canyon walls. Just what I needed this afternoon.

There are few structures left of the old rail system, but the tunnels still remain the same, just large enough to allow the narrow gage trains to squeak through.  I wasn't sure my bike would.

I found one old hand dug well that was placed on the route to reload the water tanks to power the old steam engines.

Near the top after miles of slipping and sliding on the gravel, dodging holes, and boulders, my head was clearing, and I was feeling on top of the world again.

7/7

The number seven is a sign of perfection.  Seven days of the week, God rested on the seventh day. Now I have a Grand-daughter who was born with a birth weight of 7/7.  Which is exactly what Christa weighed when she was born 23 years ago.  Consider now the number 23, there are two girls born 23 years apart. 23 minus 2 is 21, 21 divided by that same 7, and you have a number representing the Trinity.

Both girls were 20 inches long. One being born on the 16th, and the other the 10th. 16 minus 10 gives you 6.  Now take the 20 inches and subtract the 6 and you have 14, another factor of 7.

If this isn't strange enough, look at their baby pictures, both taken with minutes of being born. Perfect beauties. 

Left: Baby Noelani 9/16/09

Right: Baby Christa 9/10/86

Ok, I'll quit posting  and blogging so late into the night.