Bug Update: Seeing Red

As it should, the Bug has taken a severe back seat to all of our family responsibilities this summer, but I have managed to squeeze in a couple of small jobs.

Back in May, I decided I was done sitting in a trashed seat. You can see it was once held together with duct tape, but that never lasts. After a while you end up with an adhesive slick that sticks to your clothes. For years I used an old tee shirt to cover the ripped vinyl, but I grew tired of that, too.

These red and white seat covers are not original to the car, but except for the damaged backrest, they're fine for now. Since we don't own a sewing machine, I took the backrest to a local upholster to see if he could do the repair, but the price he quoted me was more than a new set of seat covers for the entire car. I had to pass. When the time comes, I'll install new seat covers. But I just don't have that time right now. What I needed was a quick fix, so I can sit in my car without sticking to it.

What I found was a seat cover for sale on TheSamba.com. The cover was used but in good shape. The only problem was that it was black. I bought the cover, and installed it anyway.

Every time I take something apart on this car, it's a bit like automotive archeology. There were random wads of stuffing from what could have been an old couch under the cover, and the thin board behind the backrest was rotten. Using the tattered board as a template, I cut a new one from a large panel of a cardboard box. Three of the four metal clips that hold the spring frame to the seat frame were broken. Instead of paying someone to weld the clips back on, I used some heavy plastic zip ties to secure the springs to the frame. Maybe the folks on the VW restoration forums would consider that cheating, but I don't really know those people.

I was tempted to run the black seat cover as is. The black color sticks out, but I don't stick to it. And that's a big improvement. But here's the trouble when I improve something. Once I've made the improvement, I forget what it used to look like, and I scrutinize what I now have. Okay that's looks pretty good... I think this could be better. Two of the above pictures are pretty washed out, but the middle shot shows how black the seat really was.

I say, "was" because I decided to take this fix one step further. I have read about vinyl upholstery dye. You can get it in a spray can, and I was curious how red dye would adhere to a black surface.

When I found a bike against a dumpster couple of years ago, it came with a seat with its black vinyl torn loose. Since I also intend to do a headliner install sometime, I thought I'd use the black bike seat as a way to experiment with contact cement and the vinyl dye.

To start, I secured the cemented, loose flap of vinyl with some clips from OfficeMax. Strangely, black clips cost five times more than red clips.

The cement holds really well, and those indentations caused by the clips were much less noticeable a day later.

So, it was time to try the dye. I checked the store shelves for "Butt Worn, Faded Out Red" to get a perfect match for my car seat, but all they sell is "Red".

I used about half of the can, and I think it looks pretty smooth. You'd never suspect this saddle used to be black. See, you can't really see the clip indentations.

To check if the dye would rub off onto my clothes, I mounted the seat to my bike and pedaled around the neighborhood. After several trips around the block, the only thing that was red was the bike seat. Score.

Time to spray the Bug's seat cover... or so I thought. I needed a dry day (one) at home (two) with temperatures between to 70 and 90 degrees (three). I had to wait twenty two days for those three requirements to align.

Finally, on the morning of June 28, it was time to spray the Bug's seat cover. Instead of getting over spray all over the garage, I hung the seat from a solid tree branch in our back yard. 

I went through a can and a half of the spray coating, and the color covered very well. After an hour under the tree, I let the seat hang in our garage for a few days to make sure the dye had time to cure. After that, I returned the backrest to the car.

Even a colorblind guy like me can tell that the colors don't match. But the seat's no longer ripped, sticky, or black. I bet after some time the new color will fade some, too.

Honesty, I don't think most people will notice my mistakes or my missteps on this car unless I point them out. They'll just see the overall effect. The people who are actually looking for my mistakes aren't worth my time or my worry.

Now that I think about it, I should apply that philosophy to other aspects of my life.

Nokia Royale

Cue the James Bond music.

Sunday morning, at 08:15, I deployed the Nokia decoy.

Twenty minutes later, while I was in our bedroom, I heard a stifled giggle and the padding of small feet down the hall. I quietly checked the kitchen island to see if my plan had worked.

"Hey," I yelled in mock frustration, "where's my cell phone?" A burst of giggles coming from Charlotte's room was all I needed for a confirmation. 

This time the phone wasn't too hard to find, Mommy spy was watching, and she gave it's location away.

Considering that once the phone is on this shelf, it's out of Char's line of vision, so this is a pretty good hiding place from her point of view. 

Call Me (a Dinosaur)

Here's a picture of my cell phone:

Now before you throw a rock at me, and yell at me to go back to my cave, I have to tell you a few things.

First of all, I never wanted a cell phone. There was a stretch of time in my life when every time I answered a call I would hear bad news concerning my dad. To this day, my heart simultaneously races and sinks when I hear a phone ring. Since I hate bad news, I also hate telephones. Get a cell phone? Why on earth would I want bad news to be able to find me anywhere and anytime it wanted to? Forget that mess; thank you very little.

Despite my dragging heels, Daphne bought me a TracFone for Christmas in 2004. She assured me she bought the cheapest phone with the shortest service plan she could find, and if I hated using the phone I could just throw it away. But she added,"Though it would be nice to be able to call you whenever I really needed you."

After nine years, the Nokia 1100 is still my cell phone of choice. Again, put down that rock. There are some other things I want to tell you about my phone that might earn it your respect.

1) My phone is the best selling consumer electronics device in the world. The 1100 was only manufactured from 2003 to 2005, but over two hundred and fifty million units were sold during that time. Daphne bought mine at Target, but the 1100's no-slip grips and dust-proof case were really aimed at third-world regions where texting and calling were all a cell phone needed to do. The thing sold like wildfire.

2) Talking about sales, a cell phone like mine sold on eBay for $32,000. Seriously, phones made in Bochum, Germany, had a software flaw that could be exploited to gain access to other people's online banking accounts. Hackers in Russia, Romania, and Morocco were especially interested. Some of these German phones are still for sale on eBay. Today I found one selling for $299:

3) My phone has a fan club and it's own wikipedia page.

4) My phone has a flashlight:

5) I can leave my phone on for 16 days straight without having to charge it. The battery in the 1100 was also used in much more advanced Nokia handsets which needed more power to run the functions my phone doesn't have. What kind of functions? All of them.

6) I can play Snake 2 on my Nokia 1100.

7) In a world full of cracked and shattered display screens, the Nokia 1100 has proven to be almost indestructible. When I was googling doing serious research for this post, I discovered that every product review stated how simple the 1100 is, and how tough. It can even battle Chuck Norris!

But after nine years of dutiful service, I decided I needed an upgrade. So, I went on eBay, and bought my phone some new clothes. I think the new grey housing looks rather nice.

Now, here's the only draw back about my phone. Charlotte knows I like it, so she hides my phone. And she's pretty good when it comes to finding hiding places, but she pretty bad when it comes to remembering where the hiding places are. Awhile back I "lost" my phone for eight days. 

When she was napping today, I went to a thrift store and actually found what I was looking for. A decoy Nokia phone.

The phone was only fifty cents, but there was an electronics sale going that I didn't even know about. Wow, that's 37 cents well spent! I'm going to leave this new guy where I usually place my real phone, and hope this is the one that gets hidden/ forgotten. Of course this Nokia still works, too. It even had a text message from 2007:

Get Dad a Nokia 1100 for Father's day? What a GREAT GIFT idea. Talk about a smart phone. 

Tales from Community Cookbooks: Copycat Edition

My brother-in-law Chris says that if you eat any other peanut butter cup than a Reese's, then you are going to be severely disappointed.

I agree.

BUT, if you ever wanted to eat a square yard of Reese Peanut Butter Cups (and who doesn't dream of that?), then you'd have to resort to a copycat recipe.

While shopping in a local bread store, I saw a sign on their bookshelves marked, "Vintage Cookbooks Make Great Gifts - One Dollar Each." They had a few books for sale, and as I thumbed through one, I spotted his recipe:

Sold.

It didn't take much pleading to get Daphne to agree to make these for me. I have to say, there are many other things in this world that do not taste this good. 

It's not a Reese's, but sometimes close is good enough. 

Whew!

While organizing Deb's things, we came across a few photo albums. To be honest, I always feel slightly guilty when I point out to people how much Charlotte looks like me when I was her age. The resemblance bothers me. What dad wants to pat his beer belly and tell his daughter, "You know what, baby? Someday this will be all yours!"

I want my daughter to be pretty.

After I found this picture of Daphne and her mom, I think we are in the clear.

This picture was taken in June of 1980, and that's almost exactly the age Charlotte is now (Char and Daphne share the same birthday). When I showed it to Charlotte, I asked her who was in the picture? She said, "That's Charlotte!"

Now I know every thing's going to be okay for my daughter. Her mother is most definitely pretty.

These New 3D Televisions Look So Realistic

Cremation, Location, Location

Charlotte has recently become enamored with other people's back yard play sets. She calls them "parks". We live a block and a half from a real park that would probably cost more than our house to construct. So, she isn't getting one of her own.

But that doesn't stop Char from asking. I'll admit some people's back yard playgrounds look pretty enticing to a little girl, and Char will yell out as we pass, "I want to live with that park!"

Daphne tells her, "Charlotte, we can't live there. That house isn't even for sale. People can't just go up to a house and say, 'We'd like to live here, please. So, please move your stuff out.'"

After last week, I have to disagree.

Although she didn't golf, the town home my mother-in-law left her daughters is just a wedge shot away from the Echo Valley Country Club. There are new developments being constructed, but an older unit that's been immaculately kept up is a pretty enticing playground to a grown up girl.

How do I know?

Deb died on a Monday, and her funeral was on a Friday. Three days later while we were still reeling from the loss and trying to figure out what to do next, a woman appeared in Deb's driveway. She was on her phone, and as we fumbled around the garage, she began to slowly circle the house reciting observations.

After her loop, she finally spoke to us, "Hi! I'm blank, and I'm soooo sorry to hear about your mom. I see you're moving some things out of her house. That's soooo sad... I remember how sad it was when my mother died... [long pause] Ummmm, I hate to ask at such a sad time for your family, but could I look inside your mother's house? I'm really interested in it."

Daphne told her that the house was a complete mess, and we just got our two-year-old to sleep after a 40-minute struggle.

"Oh, that's not a problem! I'll be super quiet. I just want to see the bathrooms and the kitchen cabinets." And she just walked in. As Daphne tries to keep this stranger from opening the door to the back bedroom, I spy through a window a woman running/walking down the hill towards us. So, I go outside to meet her.

"Hi! My name is blank. While we were golfing, my partner mentioned that you had recently lost your mother, and you were probably getting ready to sell the house. I just know how hard it is to lose your mother! How are you all doing? [long pause] Did your mother just let the house go when she got sick, or did she take care of it?"

I assure her my mother-in-law took great pride in her house, but somebody else was already inside checking it out. The woman actually looks at me as if I have offended her.

"You already have someone else in there?"

"Kinda," I reply, "But she just showed up, like you."

Another woman appeared on Tuesday, and she was quick to share her empathy... and then her golf handicap.

At this point I selfishly thought the most frustrating aspect of selling Deb's house would be dealing with people's insincerity. I hate it when people assume I'm stupid. But after listening to Boyd, Deb's long time companion, I have realized that none of this is about me at all. He told us, "This is the last time you have the opportunity to make sure that no one can take advantage of your mother."

It's tempting, during all this mess, to just jettison all her property as quickly as possible. You know, just get it over with and be done. But we can't take that route.

Someone might lie to us so they can sneak a peek, but no one is going to steal Deb's house.

Maybe You Should Avoid Our Sale

We just closed the door after the first day of our garage sale. It went really well, but we're exhausted. And I'm not exactly thinking straight. Let me tell you what I mean.

This a typical exchange at the sale:

A retired woman in a golf shirt hands me an item and says, "Excuse me, how much for this mug?"

I reply, "Twenty five cents". She'd then hand me a quarter, and I'd hand her new cup back.

Now, that's what happens in the real world. But inside my head, where I'm not exactly thinking straight, this scenario stretches a bit further:

A retired woman in a golf shirt hands me an item and says, "Excuse me, how much for this mug?"

I reply, "Twenty five cents," and then I'd slightly tilt my head and lower my voice, "Unless you'd like the dollar upgrade..."

"What's the dollar upgrade?"

"I'll show you," and I'd hand the mug to my brother-in-law Chris, who is as sweaty and dirty as I am. Chris would lower his chin, and then seductively run his tongue around the rim of the mug.

Horrified, the woman would gasp, "That's a one dollar upgrade!?"

Then Chris would slowly ask, "Wanna try for the five?"

Who's That Girl?

As seen at our garage sale:

At first I was thinking how strange it would feel to be the example model for this picture frame. Instead of just a few friends and relatives seeing your embarrassing school photos, everyone shopping at Target could admire your personal evolution.

But then I noticed the third grade photo.

What the heck? There's no way that's the same kid. It's like, "Here's me in first grade, here's second grade, and here's the girl who followed us home from the grocery store. Mom says she smelled like pickles."

Hamma Time

I suppose everyone deals with their grief and loss in their own way.

I found myself unable to stay in any one place for much time. Charlotte's a perfect distraction, but after she goes to bed, I would pace. I'd climb the stairs and look in the fridge. I'd close the fridge's door and walk down the steps to the garage. Once there, I'd circle around and head back upstairs to see if I wanted anything in the fridge. I couldn't watch TV for more than five minutes in a row, and I know I was irritating Daphne.

What to do?

I needed a project that could stop me from just spinning my wheels. I needed to make something that required little skill, no emotional investment, and no shopping: it's too late to hit a store once Char falls asleep.

During my fifth walking tour of the garage, I spotted a pair of skateboard trucks in a storage box.

As soon as I picked up a truck and spun one of its wheels, I knew what I was going to do. I was going to make a skateboard. It didn't matter what the skateboard looked like when I was done. It didn't matter if I could actually ride the skateboard when it was finished. All that mattered was that I could keep my hands busy.

Step 1: Find something to attach the skateboard trucks to.
I had a few options here. I could bolt the trucks onto some leftover wood from our deck (too crude), an old shovel (too unwieldy), or an old textbook (too wordy). In the end I chose the bottom half of a water ski. (I might revisit that textbook idea if I find the right book).

Step 2: Shape the board.
The water ski was cut in half at an odd angle, so I used one of Daphne's planter's pots to shape a rounded end. Why use a pot? It's the first thing I saw.

Step 3: Cut the board.
This is a one-man operation. I can't show you me cutting the board, but this is what it looks like after the cut is made.

Step 4: Drilling the holes.
Okay, if you're observant, you'll notice that the above picture already shows that I drilled holes for the front truck. I got ahead of myself, and I forgot to take any pictures during early construction. But really, that was the whole point. I needed some time to not think.

Making anything into a skateboard isn't rocket science. Just find the center of each truck with a ruler, mark both sides of the truck with a dot, and then "snap" a chalk line down the center of whatever you want to skate on. Line up the dots with the chalk line, mark the truck's holes in the surface, and you're ready to drill.

Step 4: Drill the holes.
The water ski was thicker than the length of the truck's screws, so I first drilled a hole that the threaded part of the screw could fit through. Then I drilled a larger hole about half way down, so the head of the screw could descend deeper into the wood. Yes, I could just buy longer screws, but again, it was too late to go shopping. I repeated this step seven more times.

Step 5: Install the trucks.
When I removed the metal fin that was attached to the bottom of the ski, it left a large footprint of discolored wood. I decided it might be fun to incorporate the fin into the skateboard by cutting it down to meet the rear truck. Since I really didn't care, I just guesstimated the angle and attacked the fin with a hacksaw to see what would happen. I was surprised that it went so well.

Step 5.1: Install the trucks with the fin.

I wasn't sure of how to bolt the fin back onto the board, but I tucked the back metal underneath the cushion of a rubber riser, and all was well. The front of the fin is secured with screws and a couple of acorn nuts that I thought looked neat.

Step 6: Varnish the front.
I had no idea if "Honey Pine Satin 310" would match the original stain, but I used it because it was what I could find on our garage shelves. The finish looks far better than it has any business looking.

At this point I thought the skateboard was done, but then I noticed that the small, modern wheels looked out of place.

Skateboards made with hard wood like this were popular from the 50's to the early 70's, and this truck and wheel combo is from a much more recent time period. I couldn't do anything about the trucks, but I installed some vintage wheels from an old roller skate to keep that 70's vibe alive.

Ahhh. Cue the disco music.

Step 7: Apply grip tape.

The back of the board looks really messy with all those holes.

But scrap grip tape can clean things up quite nicely.



Step 8: Name it.

Because my new skateboard has a strange ventral fin and a strange rounded head, I decided to call this guy The Hamma. He reminds me of a hammerhead shark, a pretty strange looking fish.

Look out! The Hamma's coming at cha'!

Step 9: Blog about it.

Notes from the Funeral

If you've read my last post and have also suffered the loss of a loved one, you'll understand why this blog has been silent for a week. For those who are left behind, death is exhausting.

While we were planing Deb's funeral, our pastor mentioned that there was a spot for family or friends to stand in the pulpit and share a few words about her. Knowing that something as stupid as a tampon commercial can bring me to tears, I quickly declined to speak. Daphne, however, felt she needed to say something. On Thursday night, after the visitation, we brainstormed a brief outline of things she could say at the funeral.

The next morning I pulled into the church's parking lot, and we saw a row of cars with bicycles purposely mounted on their trunks. Deb's RAGBRAI team, a group of people who only knew her for one week once a year, had also traveled far from parts unknown so they could pay tribute to her life. The sight was a bit overwhelming.

"Oh, I don't know if I can do this," Daphne whispered.

Deb's family gathered in the basement while the pews upstairs filled with friends. We were seated later, and Daphne and I sat in the front pew with Charlotte wedged between us. When it came time for Daphne to speak, she met the challenge with the courage she inherited from Deb. While she was honoring her mom's memory, I could hear the audience laugh at her jokes, and I suspect she made them tear up as well. I was too busy trying to calm down Charlotte to know for sure.

Charlotte doesn't understand much of what is going on, and she got really upset when her mom left to address the congregation. I couldn't keep her quiet, and while thick tears ran down Charlotte's face she cried, "I don't want my mommy up there! I want her down here with me!"

All I could think to say was, "Shhhhhh. I know, honey. That's exactly what your mom is telling everyone, too."

And Then It Was Over

Last night at 9:17 PM, Daphne's mom beat her lung cancer. You see, cancer can't live without a living body to sustain it.

Throughout her battle Deb showed her true colors. She cared for others first, and thought of herself second. I'm not sure I would have be so selfless and brave, but now I have an example of what to do when it's my turn.

Charlotte has lost a grandmother, but she has inherited so much strength.

Deb, we miss you so much already.

Summer Fun: Then and Now

Last year Char was pretty excited about the fountain while we were visiting the Des Moines Arts Festival.

This year wasn't any different.

But now she was old enough to walk through the water by herself.

For years we had seen these signs in our neighborhood, but we had no idea what a Kids Parade was. 

Turns out, the kids dress up and walk down the street while neighbors who live along the route toss candy into the the street for the kids. What an awesome idea!

Last year we jumped right into the street and grabbed all the candy we could get.

This year we were being a "little bit shy".

But with a little encouragement from mom, 

we were off and running.

The parade route is less than a half mile long, and it ends at a party at the Westchester Park shelter house. Last year year the shelter was packed with kids, drinks, and treats.

This year wasn't any different, either.

For the first time Charlotte was old enough to stay up for the Urbandale Fireworks display, and we sat so close it felt like the fireworks were exploding right on top of us. I was a little worried about Charlotte being scared, but from the very first burst of color Char was enthralled.

Happily, there's still so much summer left to play in.