You are currently browsing the monthly archive for April 2009.
Maintenance is not my favorite word. It is the term that identifies the non-elective demands that crowd our schedules with surprises. Convenience is never a part of these projects.
Some times, ok, many times it is the product of that learned skill of procrastination. We frequently chalk it off to a lapse in our memory. But, when the truth is told, we just don’t like doing it. We hope it will go away or maybe fix itself.
That’s the way it is with my stove. One of the four burners was malfuntioning. My thinking was that with three operable burners it was good enough as it was. But, of course, I’m not the chief cook.
I examined the broken burner several times. Diagnosing the problem myself led to no reasonable solution. The unit needed a repair that was beyond my skills.
After months of contemplating the problem, I finally was able to take it apart. The problem was easy to fix if I just had one simple part. But, simplicity isn’t the name of the game when it comes to appliance parts. No one could sell me the simple part that I needed. It was attached to a larger part and I would have to buy an entire unit.
Days passed without any other solution. I finally relented, brought in my damaged part, and hoped to buy the expensive replacement. But, that would have been too simple, right? Right! No one had the part that I needed. They were all similar but none of the limted selection had the exact fit for my stove.
I called a national hotline. They had my special replacement item in stock. But, first I had to give them the model number of my stove.
I went to the stove and could not find a model number. Days slipped by again. My son asked why I was delaying the repair.
I told him that I couldn’t find the model number of the stove and challenged him to look for it. He did. He found it. This next generation of show-offs are quite annoying.
Armed with the stove model number I went to the warehouse and bought the new part. It was twice the price of any other part in the local home improvement stores. It’s got to be a conspiracy against the do-it-yourselfer. But, it’s fixed and I did it myself.
photo credit: GoodSearch image
This afternoon I had brought a well tuned instrument into the woods with me. It felt comfortable in my hands. Someone had designed it for ease of use. Even an amateur could operate it without any training. Shrugging off my self-consciousness, I operated this small unit with a noticeable measure of disbelief.
Once I made my initial attempts of calling out into the woods with the sound of a female turkey, I waited in silence. Of course there’s no way that I had any clue of what I just said to any other turkey in the woods. The instructions on my purchase did tell me that this turkey call was imitating a hen. I can’t even fathom what a female bird says to the waiting world.
During that moment I rolled the turkey call around in my hand. All of the parts are man-made. Yes, plastic, metal and rubber were shaped and manufactured to produce a squawking sound. The biggest question in my mind is whether a city-boy could produce a sound that a real turkey would find genuine let alone attractive.
That’s when I was shocked and surprised. Off in the distance a male turkey answered my call! Yes, a real bird heard my chirping and responded.
My reaction was a total body experieince. I jumped a bit out of my seat. Quickly I scanned the horizon and tried to zero in on the direction of the love sick turkey.
In my mind I fumbled with the next turkey squelching. While my excitement almost made me eagerly answer, I forced myself to be coy and hard-to-get. After a long excruciating lull, I finally answered back.
There was no way that I knew what I was saying. What human being really talks turkey, anyway? But, the Tom answered again.
For over fifteen minutes I carried on a conversation with a wild turkey. My sounds were female clucking, chirping, purring, squeeling, and flirting. For all I know I could have been reporting on the current events, sports scores, weather report, or instructions on how to cook a turkey. That wouldn’t have been very romantic but who knows what I was saying.
The bird never showed up. He was content to talk from a distance. As it was he had the last word. After he stopped talking I did too. Afterall, I wasn’t going to be easy for anyone.
photo credit: Bruce Fong photography
I spent a day listening to the sounds of the woods. The air of the great out of doors is filled with something softer. These are things that can’t compete with the city on a decible level. They are audible not as noise but as sounds.
Instead of forcing them into my brain, they need me to intentionally give them attention. Yet, taking away the noise pollution of the city and starting with a blank canvas on the easel of the woods, is a life cleansing experience that too many have never experienced. This was a day to be enjoyed.
Wild Canadian geese flew overhead. They talked with each other, honking about direction, destination, formation or whatever geese discuss while in flight. Both in visual organization and audible cacauphony, they made me smile when I heard them.
That overhead sound was set aside when something much closer captured my attention. At first it was the rustling sound of dry leaves off to my right. Turning my head to see and hear I spied a pair of chipmunks. They were teasing and wrestling while foraging for nuts in the grass, sticks and dirt. Their chatter almost sound like human chuckling. Again I smiled.
Not far away I was reminded that Spring is in the air. This time it was a pair of squirrels screaming at anything in the woods that they did not like. They are the announcers of news in the woods. Of course they did not like me in their home. But, soon their love-making drove them back into a tall tree and they disappeared behind a wall of leaves.
A pair of mallard ducks flew low over the tree tops. They were likley looking for a water landing somewhere in the woods. Quacking to each other was a comical addtion to the sounds that the feathered population was making in the out of doors.
The highlight was a pair of whitetail deer that roamed into the meadow. One of them snorted and stomped the ground with her hoof. She stared right at me seeing if her sounds would make me move and give away my identity. I froze and just stared back. In one powerful leap she disappeared into the woods, silently reminding me that God’s creation not only have its beautiful sounds it also has its amazing silence.
photo credit: Bruce W Fong photography
Saturday’s actual weather was a puzzle. All week long the forecast was for a beautiful and warm day. Every Michigander that I know was looking forward to the weekend. We were in for a disappointment.
My commitments had me scheduled for an all day conference. It meant speaking to a gathering of men, bringing God’s Word to them, and serving them in any way that I could. The hour and a half drive to the venue had me thinking. If the weather was going to be sweet then, maybe I could hop on my motorcycle. Up until the late hours of the night before I was contemplating this idea. But, finally, due to my early start I opted for a four wheel transport and a controlled cab environment.
That decision proved the old adage that discretion is the better part of valor. Road construction made the freeway rough for miles. It would have been a tough ride on a two-wheeler hawg along with the stop and go traffic jams.
The worst part of the day was that it didn’t come close matching the beautiful weather that had been forecasted. Instead, dark clouds loomed on the western horizon. The further I travelled West the darker the clouds became.
While I was indoors for the entire day, I could hear the thunder exloding overhead and the torents of rain beating down on the roof of the church. At least three times we were all startled by the crackling of thunder claps around us. They seemed so close. Lightening was closer than any of us realized.
Just along the North side of the church a cheery tree stood and welcomed all of the guests for the day. It was only ten feet from the building. On its limbs were the first buds of the Spring. This tree was ready to burst out into bloom. Little did any of us know that this storm would be its undoing.
One of the loud explosions that made many of us whince was a bolt of lightening that hit that tree during our conference. It snapped the trunk and broke it like a brittle twig. That was a mere ten feet from where I taught my seminar. If something so unusual could happen so closely to where I stood, maybe I should be paying attention to a possible great blessing from Almighty God.
photo credit: GoodSearch image
Thursday’s weather forecast was one we Michiganders live to anticipate. The sun was shining, the temperatures were hovering in the mid 60’s, there were no high winds, and precipitation was non-existent. That’s when I took a very close look at my schedule.
One agenda was burning in my mind. This could be a great day for a motorcycle ride. Care to join me?
Clothing is very important. Each piece from tough jeans to over ankle boots to leather jacket, and helmet are for protection “just in case.” Skin doesn’t do well sliding over asphalt.
Small items like a bandana to keep your neck warm is something that you are grateful for after just a few minutes riding on the road. Protecting the extremities are often forgotten while riding in a controlled environment of a car. But, a mile into a motorcycle ride and every piece of exposed skin screams for protection.
I’m a big fan of good quality gloves. Whether it’s rocks on the interstate, wasps on the country road, or falling down hands first, I like kevelar reenforced gloves to be a part of my regular gear. If they are tough, flexible, and climate friendly I won’t ride without them.
The bike is checked out. There is plenty of gasoline of course, mid-grade octane or higher. Then, the oil is topped off just right. My radiator fluid is right on and tire pressure is perfect for both front and back.
Polish is my last task. With the chrome glistening I smile. The windshield is sparkling so I grin. My bike is raven black and glossy, so a quick polish and it mirrors whatever the reflection is. This is pride of ownership at its best.
But, standing back and admiring my bike has only limited satisfaction. There is something far more enjoyable than that. It’s time to climb on board.
I throw my leg over the saddle and settle into a well designed seat. It feels so good that I can’t imagine a custom seat feeling much better. Clasping my padded ISO grips, I steer my bike out of the garage and into the sun. Already I am feeling the cheer well up inside of me.
Finally, I turn on my ignition and press the start button. My 1600 cc fuel injected cruiser roars to life ready to consume the road. Hold on. We are going to have a ball! There must be motorcycles in heaven.
photo credit: GoodSearch image
A month ago I was driving at posted speeds down a local expressway. Like everyone else around me I was dodging potholes, gritting my teeth when I hit one, and slowing down to maneuver as safely as I could. Then, I hit a stretch of road that had no craters in it. I was back up to cruising speed.
That’s when I was curious about how my truck was running. The driver’s side window was vibrating. It made enough noise that I was annoyed.
It was time to take some mental notes. Even at low speeds the vibration was noticeable. I could not only hear it but I could feel it in the truck seat and on the cab floor.
My friends at the auto shop took it for a spin. Their diagnosis revealed that it was the drive train that was suspect. At 125,000 miles they wanted to check the u-joints and replace them if necessary. I gave them the green light.
In three days I picked up my truck, paid my bill, and happily drove home. But, that is not the end of the story. Just days later I was on an errand and my son was tilting his head while we cruised down the interstate, “I thought you had this vibration problem fixed?”
Today was the follow-up visit. I brought my faithful truck, Bubba, back into the auto shop. They hoisted him up on a rack and started the engine up. All eyes were rivetted on the transfer case.
You don’t know what that is either? Just remember that it helps shift the engine and that it is a very expensive fix. Get the picture? Groan.
Well, that’s why so many of us fall in love with our vehicles. It is not just a machine that needs to be fixed. We wash it, wax it, shine it up, and stand back and admire what we own. It is an extension of our personality. Our identity is transferred to what we drive. Our wheels personify so many of us. Pride of ownership is reflected in “our ride.”
So my buddy, Bubba, is sick. The transfer case will be removed today. It will be shipped over to a specialty shop. They are experts and specialists who will fix what is broken. When they put him back together again, he will be just fine and so will I.
photo credit: GoodSearch image
The smoke in my neighborhood is just me with my BBQ grill fired up. Can you imagine the conversations? “Honey, there’s a lot of smoke outside. Should we call 911?”
“Where is the smoke originating?” he inquires without breaking from his email.
“Hmm . . . there’s so much that it’s hard to pinpoint the source,” she struggles while peering down the street through her kitchen window. “Let me call Darla. Maybe she can tell.”
After a quick phone call and a long conversation about tomorrow’s shopping, she hangs up. Then, she calls into the living room by leaning around the door jam. Her comment is emotionless, like she should have guessed the problem all along.
“Honey, it’s just Bruce. He’s grilling outside again. Do you want to walk over and see what tonight’s burnt offering is?” she giggles again.
Whether there is a lot of smoke or not, the aroma will make even the satiated drool with desire. BBQ smoke will always stimulate the taste buds. With that comes a wry smile like all of us guys get when we are cooking outdoors.
Admittedly, there is a lot to learn about grilling. Timing everything is always a challenge for me. When my wife asks me how much longer I need to grill, I usually say 3 minutes. That puts her into hyper-drive. When she’s got her portion on the dinner table in 3.75 minutes, I’m still grilling, unsure of how long I really need.
One technique that I have down so far is opening the grill with a pair of tongs in one hand and water spray gun in the other. Invariably, when the lid goes up so do the flames. Like a firefighter on call, I douse the flames and smirk at the charcoal on the night’s dinner.
My family is used to picking off the outer layer of burnt sauce and meat. That gives the delight of a tasty surprise on the inside. Tonight’s offering was more like jerky. It was tough but very flavorful.
Maybe the fire fighters who come by on occasion will give me some tips. If I could learn how to cook better, I sure that I would be generous enough to share the fare with our courageous civil servants. All in all, it’s a great way to cook. It’s not a chore to do. Rather, it feeds the family and gives an offering to the Almighty at the same time.
photo credit: GoodSearch image
My plate if full. Life challenges are immense for me. I figured at this age it was a matter of managing success, enjoying security, and smiling all of the time.
Oops, life just isn’t that easy. Twists, turns, and surprises are more like it. Turning on our life radar is a great attempt to control the uncontrollable. But, looming in the distance with swiftness to swoop in are trials that catch us while we are busy at life.
It is not a unique phenomenon to anyone of our lives. Major struggles in the lives of other people put my set of troubles in perspective. The stories around us are so sad.
A good friend let me know that she lost her job last week. I was not surprised. While I am not a prophet nor the son of a prophet but having worked for many Not-for-profit organizations, I saw this one coming. Still it was so sad to hear that news.
Today, her husband may hear that his job is over too. That’s a double-whammy. A short brief escort out of the office takes a matter of minutes. But, the effect after years of service will linger for the rest of people’s lives.
In my neighborhood there are over a half- dozen houses for sale. Many are owned by banks and are in foreclosure. Families got upside down financially and they walked away from their homes. They owed more for their houses than what they were worth due to the housing slump.
After years of enjoying great memories in a house, people have to leave those havens with nothing. The American dream of equity for our retirement has disappeared. Where is the hope?
We who are asking that question are the hope. The financial world is upside down. But, people who matter to others are still here and offer great value.
Do you know someone who is hurting? Give them a call. Don’t be nosey, just be encouraging. Send them a note, write them an email, text message them with your cheer, pray for them and let them know that you are. Don’t fish in the world of their privacy but just be their friend.
Let the love of Christ be your gift to others. Our trust in Him in hard times is filled with genuine hope. This is what is real life, life that is built on what is eternal.
photo credit: GoodSearch image
My wife and I have been into Spring cleaning for a week. Our kids wanted to help and I feel that it would be improper for me to stop them from sharing such kindness. Theologically, I think yard work is part of the punishment for original sin.
Now, the front yard looks sharp. Shrubs are pruned and look like a professional landscaper spent hours on their care. Leaves are raked, weeds are pulled, and flowers splash color at key parts of the yard. My kids get all of the kudos. While I only get partial credit, I was thoroughly invigorated by being outside.
Now, for the last several days we turned our attention to the inside of the house. It’s like weeding on the inside of the house. Spring housekeeping is another part of the penalty for original sin.
This journey has been a terror on clutter. We had piles of refuse loaded up on our front yard. We even peeked through the blinds to see what the garbage collectors would do when they stopped at our house.
We were amazed when the driver joined the other worker for a two-person removal of our garbage mountain. They had it cleared in no time at all. So, with our conscience clear, we will load up the garbage pile one more time this week. We have plenty to take out to the road curb.
Day after day we have been inside sorting, tossing and simplifiying our lives. But, yesterday the weather was too good to keep ourselves cooped up inside. We took a break.
We pointed our car North and let the enjoyable ride begin. A friendly tourist town awaited the two of us. We had heard that new shops had been developed and clever enhancements made to the Bavarian village.
The normal hour-long drive took a little longer. I got lost. As we wandered around on country roads trying to gather my bearings, the warmth of the sun felt so good. We enjoyed that so much that the extra time to get to our final destination really didn’t matter that much.
Once we arrived at the tourist attraction, we strolled from shop to shop. It wasn’t a matter of buying anything but, just being together and enjoying being outside of the house. I even wore shorts for the first time this calendar year. My sunglasses got a lot of wear. If I hadn’t forgotten where I packed the sunblock, I might have used that too.
photo credit: Bruce Fong photography
A couple trees on my lot have been bugging me for years. They are growing out of control and need to be removed. After many moments of skillful procrastination, it was finally time.
There was no giant blue ox to assist me. But, I had an advantage that Paul Bunyan never experienced. Modern industrial chainsaw technology would be at my service.
I grabbed hold of my nifty chain saw and heaved it up as I walked toward the two doomed trees. I removed the fuel cap. Opening a freshly brewed two-cycle gas and oil mix, I filled the thirsty machine until it was brimming over.
Finally, I topped off the oil. There is never too much oil for sending the cutting chain through living tree bark and wood. All of the mixtures were in proper proportion.
It was time to do the man-thing. Burly men with their chain saw scoff at standing timber. What must be felled will be toppled.
With the confidence of lumberjacks who have gone before me, I primed my saw. I toggled the ignition, pulled out the choke, and braced my foot against the handle to steady the start of an eager beaver of a wood chopper.
Two pulls of the starting cord and the roar of my yellow saw jumped to life. With ease I lifted the cutting machine into place and felt the power of the sharpened chisels racing around the cutting bar. Keeping in mine all of the safety measures that I have learned over years of handling this dangerous machine, I moved the chainsaw into cutting position.
Like a hot knife through butter, the wood chips went flying. A straight cut severed the trunk and tree. After a brief moment, the eight foot straggly sickly eye-sore sad-excuse for a tree leaned hard to the right. Its struggle to stay upright was futile. “Timber!” I shouted in my mind. The first tree lay on the ground.
I turned my head to spy the second task just a few feet away. It couldn’t escape its fate. Depressing the trigger of my cutting tool and the sound of a racing engine brought down the second tree. Without a pause I trimmed the limbs of both trees and cut up the trunk into two-foot length pieces.
Paul Bunyan would have still been swinging his axe. The blue ox would have looked longingly for a reprieve. Yeah, I’m Asian and I can handle a chainsaw.
photo credit: GoodSearch image
