It Has Been a While. . .

 

Good evening.  It has been a while since we’ve spoken at length and much has happened in the last few years, so please, allow me to re-introduce myself. . .

I was born into a family of mechanics, engineers, world-travelers, and explorers.  Granted, most of the world-traveling was by ancestors immigrating to the United States, or relatives in the military, though I have put my fair share of arc-seconds behind me on this tiny globe of ours.  Like so many others, I take with me as much of that familial experience as I can carry.

I fancy myself a “professional amateur”--I am a woodwright, an engineer, a blacksmith, an author.  I have been a personal trainer, an electrician, a computer tech, and I also cook.  I am a father of four, grandfather of one, and of all I have accomplished in life so far, that is what I am most proud of. 

Now that the children are grown and slowly moving out into the world, I have been slowly turning my focus toward all those things I love to do, but haven’t done much of because of priorities.  Kim and I are remodeling the home in which we plan to retire, we are looking to travel more frequently, and my shop, though an unmitigated disaster at times, gives me an outlet for my creativity even now, as I am building my personal library.  To that, though my bochord is extensive, my most enjoyed subjects are science fiction, history, and science.

I have written short stories, published poems in anthologies, and published one book.  Among other projects, I am currently working on three books—a sequel to “Cooking for Adventurers”, a small science fiction adventure, and a rather lighthearted take on people-leading, as that has been my occupation, most recently. 

I have an unnatural love for Indian cuisine, am involved in a torrid, unending affair with coffee, I do enjoy a gill or two of Irish whiskey, now and again, and take my tea warm to piping.  I take great pride in the fact that, among other things they’ve learned, my children can all cook well for themselves.

I am a lover of the outdoors, cycling, camping, and am a trained and practiced survivalist and am competent in works of bushcraft.  Despite the fact that my joints have begun complaining incessantly over the abuse I have imparted upon them in the last half-century, I still enjoy a good distance hike, and am training to begin distance cycling again.

So why am I telling you all this?

Though it is coming at the twilight of one year and the dawn of another, this is not a ‘resolution’.  I dislike New Year’s resolutions, as they are milestones for procrastination.  If you want to improve something about yourself, why wait until an arbitrary ‘start point’, rather than starting now?  As the agglomeration of experience and hobbies noted above (and note that it is an abbreviated telling) will tell you, I am the poster child for ADHD and OCD, which are the two great tastes that really suck together.  A long time ago, I resolved to myself (not on New Year’s Day, by the way) that, no matter what, I would make a mark on the world, regardless of how small it might be.  In that my children are grown, capable of independent thought, and not, in fact, axe murderers, I believe that I have accomplished that.  I am, however, only a half-century on this planet and, the Great Bird of the Galaxy willing, I will be here for at least another half-century.  I plan to spend that time learning, discovering, and, most importantly, teaching. 

Thanks to the whole ADHDOCD mess, I have struggled my entire life with terminal boredom.  I was labeled as one of the “gifted” kids in school, but the truth was that things came easily for me due to the amount of reading I did because the world as it presented itself to me was dull.  I would read stories of explorers and adventurers, then research their findings, independently.  I would read historical accounts, then spend time at the library diving into other books to determine if the findings in them were accurate.  I was convinced from an early age that encyclopedias were watered-down trash, because they were not as illuminative as listening to a lecture by Carl Sagan.  This all happened to me during the formative years when children usually learned interpersonal skills.  I had learned manners from my family, but something as basic as starting a conversation was a bit out of my grasp.  It took a while before I developed that ability to a point that I could use it with confidence but, as a result, I had a very small circle of friends through my school years. 

We, as a society are sort of in that boat, right now, though for other reasons.  Our access to unbridled information is as unfettered as it has ever been, but that has robbed us of our objectivity.  One thing journalism classes hit home for me was the mantra, “confirm through two sources”.  I have since amended that to, “confirm through two reputable sources”.  In the days before the internet, you had to prove you knew what you were talking about to become published.  Nowadays, anyone with an internet connection and a conviction can publish anything they want, and somebody is going to read it.  I’d like to say that the crackpot stuff is an obvious spot, but we have people pouring boiling water on their icy windshields and drilling holes in their phones, because someone with a Tictoc or YouTube told them to do it.  I grew up watching Star Trek, and had faith that we would be in a much better place by this age; smarter as a society. 

I am not so conceited, nor self-important to think that I could change this in the world.  My goal, rather, is to attempt to do my best to impart good information to those I can, work my art, write my stories, and help those I can help.  A quote that comes to mind is from Bertrand Russell:  “Love is wise; hatred is foolish”. 

Let’s try to be a bit more wise. . .

Holding Momma's Hand. . .

I’d like to tell you a story.  

We’ll start on April 3rd, 1974.  We lived in an older house on South 1st Street, not far from the Kentucky Fairgrounds and what would become ground zero for an EF-4 tornado that would be remembered with horror for years to come.  I have only vague memories of the house, as I was just a bit over a year old, but I do have memories of that night.  I remember noise–howling winds and crashing sounds.  We were in a dark place, obviously the basement, and I recall being held, tightly-wrapped in a massive blanket, my mother calmly singing “Song Sung Blue”.

It was no secret that mom hated bad weather.  As a young child, she rode out a tornado in a mobile home, getting a massive scar on her knee and losing a pet parakeet, but she and my grandparents managed to survive the ordeal.  Any time the weather got bad, she would project calm as best she could, but was always frantic about making sure everyone was tucked away, safely.

Like so many other people, my mother was my first best friend.  We watched Star Trek and Battlestar Galactica and Scooby Doo, and she would read me stories of Uncle Scrooge and his adventures, and Agatha Christie mysteries, which I would later read to her, after I had learned how.  She gave me a love of both stories and storytelling, science and science fiction, and a sense of adventure that started in the backyard and expanded to a realization that bikes were for more than just riding around the block.  I learned how to operate, tear apart and rebuild a sewing machine just by watching her and, of course, how to read a weather map and how to get to safety.  She could always find a reason to be happy, and would dance around the house with me on her hip, to the music of Elvis or Neil Diamond.  I clearly remember her singing along to “Canta Libre”, never once stumbling between the English or the Spanish.

She was proud of her Kentucky roots and, though she was rather quiet and reserved around people she didn’t know, wouldn’t hesitate to speak her piece.  She was always crafting and learning new crafts, which also became a part of me.  She could knit for weeks on end, and would donate piles of winter hats and scarves for no other reason than she loved doing it.  She loved to ride, and to camp, and to read, and to play Scrabble.  She loved burnt hot dogs and flat Coke, and was fiercely proud of me and all of her grandchildren.

The last time I saw her smile was when she got to see her great-granddaughter.  I held her hand for the last time tonight.

Song sung blue

Weeping like a willow

Song sung blue

Sleeping on my pillow

Funny thing, but you can sing it with a cry in your voice

And before you know, it started feeling good

You simply got no choice

Goodbye mom.  I love you, dearly.

Donna Jean Wilkins

October 30, 1946-September 25, 2023

Ten Minutes to Noon. . .

 

 How many stories have we all heard in our lives?  Where did they come from?  Over the years, I’ve collected uncounted works of fiction and historical books, each one read many times, but the stories I enjoy the most are those told.  As a child, I would find an unoccupied seat at the table and let the family’s stories wash over me as the night would wear on.  Stories from uncles and grandparents; tales of childhood and work and war, all spoke of character and characters, triumph and tragedy.  I learned so much from those treasured nights, and of the storytellers, the one I always enjoyed hearing the most was my dad.

My dad was a ‘boomer’, born in 1946.  It was a simpler time, by his telling, much easier to get into trouble.  Some of his earlier stories were of bumper skiing and building match head rockets, while his most regaled were of hunting and work and gardening and time spent at camp.  They were all part of a larger tapestry--the story of lessons learned and a life lived.

Today, at ten minutes to noon, the story ended.

As my own story progresses, I have done my best to see that his continues, those lessons of the past best taught through his experience.  Everything from hunting skills, fire building, mechanic work, tooling; all need to be passed on.  How many parts of the story are there to tell?  I have no idea.  They have become such a part of myself that their wisdom roll off my tongue with little effort, a measure of joy in the realization that they were his.  As I held his hand today, gazing down at eyes that I desperately wished would open again, I wondered how much of that story I still hadn’t heard.

Dad wasn’t just an excellent storyteller; he was an artistic complainer.  This was another ‘skill’ he passed on to me.  I didn’t fully appreciate the subtlety of a finely-honed ranting skill until years ago, on a fishing trip to Barren River, when he accused the Kentucky Department of Fish and Wildlife of seeding the river bottom with spring-loaded rocks to make people think there were, indeed, fish there.  He’d never give up, though.  Through it all, we would do brake jobs in the rain, we re-packed bearings on the side of the road, and he kept fishing.  We did so much, but it still wasn’t enough.

He was on this world for seventy-two years.  He sailed two tours in the Navy during Vietnam and has seen parts of this world I haven’t.  In the Navy, he met John Wayne, and a few years before that, he got a ride across town from Muhammad Ali.  He could rebuild engines and work with wood, and could never seem to do enough of what he loved.  His story was voluminous--in his life he spoke millions of words; sometimes eloquently, sometimes not so much.  His last words to me were, “Oh, yeah”.  My last words to him were, “I wish you could hear me”.

That was ten minutes to noon.  So many hours later, I can still barely see to write.

Ronald Wayne Wilkins

December 27, 1946-January 28, 2019

Cum Magis Circa Caelum. . .

So, here we are again, at the end of another 940 million kilometer orbit around the sun.  This is a monumental day, as tomorrow marks the first day that people born in the 2000s can be considered adults.  The question is, will they be any better at it than the rest of us?

I am not going to spend the little time I have between now and the chiming of the New Year dwelling on politics or the general condition of human society as a whole.  Those of you that know me are more than aware of my thoughts on either matter, so we will not waste our time.  I am also not going to spend time spewing inspirational quotes of the “new year, new you” nature.  You all also know where I stand on resolutions and their inevitable end. 

Why do we believe in thresholds?  Why does everything have to have a special starting point?  If you want to start getting in shape, why wait until New Year’s, or even just Monday?  Just start!  You want to learn how to play an instrument?  #*@% the new year—make a call and start lessons!  You want to help make the world a better place?  Don’t worry about which charity to donate to or what socio-political crisis to angst over—try teaching your kids to not be assholes!

Modern humans have been on the planet about 200,000 years—of that, civilization as we know it has only been around about 6000 years.  In that time, we’ve waged wars, burned libraries, exterminated entire groups of humans, hunted untold species to either near or total extinction, deforested entire landmasses, and generally just made a total mess of everything.  What can you possibly do to erase any of that?  What. Can. You. Do?

Do you want my advice?  Well, you’re going to get it anyway.  I know that many of you are not responsible for any of what has happened over the last six millennia.  Some of you may want to, secretly, egg it on just for the entertainment value.  It’s not my place to judge which of you are which—just listen up.  Take a good, long look in the mirror and ask yourself some questions.  Ask yourself if you believe you are a responsible human.   Do you do your best to make sure that your presence at least doesn’t make anyone else’s time on Earth miserable?  Do you keep your beliefs out of other people’s business?  Have you taught your children to think for themselves and to be empathetic towards others?

Yes?

Well, then. . .  2018 shouldn’t be too bad, then.

To all of my family and friends, I wish the best for this New Year to come.  Health and peace to all of your families and neighbors—may you all have good adventures, full cups, and leave happiness in your footsteps.

TLDR:

Stultus Est Sicut Stultus Facit. . . DEFINITELY NSFW

This post has bad f*#king words in it. You've been warned. . .

Alright, boys and girls, listen up. . .

Since my video equipment isn't cooperating, I'm going to do this here. Consider this a Soapbox rant, and take it for what you will.

Earlier, I made reference to a post by saying "Now it's time for the stick". This was a reference to an earlier statement this past week as to how the American public has gotten so used to the government giving them the carrot, that they've forgotten how to use the stick.

The stick is the Constitution.

The Constitution of the United States begins by stating, "We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence [sic], promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America." We've all had to learn those words growing up, but paying attention to what they actually mean seems to have gotten lost to the adventure of public school rote memorization. Rather than the intention of the Constitution, which was to establish a government of the people, while protecting them from the threat of tyranny, the people have given total control to that very government, allowing it to grow out of their control and become a force that controls every aspect of the people's lives. We are distracted by petty matters of religion and politics designed to get our hackles up in such a way that we do not see the truly world-shaking events of the day. We are fed a diet of pap and pablum, following the lives of idiot celebrities and getting swept up in such trifling matters as sexual preference and who gets to urinate where.

Are you fucking kidding me?

This year, we watched the DNC violate the principles of neutrality, not just favoring one candidate over another, but actively working to stop his campaign. We watched superdelegates who, despite the obvious will of the voters in their states openly say that they would vote the other way, because reasons. How many primary elections did we see openly discriminate against voters, simply because they were of the demographic that would most likely vote against their prized candidate. How many people bothered to take notice when all of that was seemingly shrugged off? How many people bothered to take notice when those of us who cared called "foul"? Some people made jokes about our socialist candidate, and how the only ones voting for him were looking for a free handout.

Again, are you fucking kidding me?

I have worked all of my life. Nothing has ever been handed to me by the government or any public agency. I have had financial aid for college taken from me because I "no longer qualified" for loan programs, or I "made too much money", even though (at the time) I was working for just better than minimum wage. I could have cried about it, but I moved on. I started a family because I decided to make a difference in the world the best way possible--to raise children capable of critical thinking who question everything, without just accepting what they are told. Given the rising costs of education, it would be nice to be able to afford to send them to college without worrying where the money is coming from. You know--how the rest of the free world seems to be able to do, because most countries do not treat their students as a source of income? Yes, it truly isn't free, but I would like to see the taxes I pay every year do something besides make large holes in other parts of the world, just because the people who live there don't believe the same things most people over here do. I work two jobs--one full time, and the other of my own conation--to make ends meet, provide for my family, and sock a little away for a retirement that may or may not come, thanks to the machinations of our government "by the people". Like everyone else, I would love it if my health insurance didn't take so much of a chunk out of my earnings. Wouldn't it be nice if some of our tax money went to alleviating some of that burden, rather than getting lost in the workings of a government so enwrapped in the economical status quo that it would rather raise a generation of science-ignorant sheep who believe that global warming is a hoax just because they could make a snowball last winter? This year, Alaska reached the 90° mark. People were swimming in the friggin' ARCTIC OCEAN!

What the actual fuck??!!

A friend of mine, whom I consider to be quite intelligent, commented on my aforementioned post that, "I get the feeling the "stick" is going to be a few years of [a] Trump presidency"--meaning that the division of the party by disillusioned, disenfranchised voters would cause an upsurge in support for the Republican candidate, simply because they don't want to see Hillary take the White House. Where this might, to those uneducated in the way the electoral process works, be a practical solution, voting for the "lesser of two evils" is not a viable solution. Again, years of two-party structure has blinded the public to the fact that there are, indeed options, and I'm not talking about voting for the guy on the street corner with a bullhorn and tinfoil hat that was able to buy his way onto the General Election Ballot for his "grassroots" party. Don't just vote for the other guy, because your candidate got a raw deal. Do. Not. Do. The. Stupid.

Personally, I would love to see Sanders swoop in as an Independent at the last minute, taking all of his supporters with him. Being of a rather pragmatic mind on the matter, I do not expect it, but it would be nice. Taking the "glass half full of the wrong liquid" stance, I would say my general faith in the American public is well-rooted, and that the worst possible outcome will happen, come November 8th.

The thing of it is, the President doesn't mean a damned thing.

The Constitutional "stick" to which I was referring was the fact that, alongside of the presidential election, comes the congressional elections--469 Seats are up for reelection, including 34 seats in the Senate and 435 in the House. Without the legislative branch of government behind him or her, the President is little more than a source of hot air occupying the White House for a time. Sure, there is the ability for Executive order, but that can only go so far, provided the people make the necessary changes to Congress. This is more than just voting in an opposing party--we have suffered eight years of Republicans doing nothing but stonewall the Obama administration, while accomplishing little in the improvement of the human condition. If we sail out of November with Trump and a merry band of religious fundamentalists, all that has recently happened in the way of advancing equality and acceptance will vanish in a puff of smoke that smells vaguely of musty bibles and brimstone.

This is the Twenty-fucking-First Century. Compared to where we were when I was in High School, we are living in a science fiction movie. We have access to the sum total of human knowledge through the marvel of the internet, yet we use it for sharing pictures of cute cats, watching porn, and spreading pseudoscience and hearsay. Educate yourselves. You should, occasionally, READ A FUCKING BOOK THAT DOESN'T HAVE WORDS IN BUBBLES! Hey! Maybe you could read one on the UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT, since most people seem to have forgotten their seventh-grade civics classes (assuming they were paying attention in the first place). Embrace the horror that is global warming, because that's the only way we will be able to slow it down. Realize that vaccines are probably what allowed you to live past your thirties. Don't believe everything you hear--research your facts through at least two reputable sources before spreading them around. Question EVERYTHING, and, above all else, pay attention to your elected officials. Are they doing what YOU think they should? Note that I didn't say "what they tell you they should". We have the ability to turn things around, but we have to get behind the right candidates. I'm not talking about career politicians--I'm talking about regular people running for office. If you want to effect a change, get involved! I once said that "there could never be another Davy Crockett in Congress". That is only true if his potential constituents are too apathetic to get behind him.

Get off your asses.

Don't just vote blindly because your favorite party says it's right. They are pushing their own interests.

Get off your asses.

Learn and do.

Fixing Stupid. . .

A little while ago, I purchased a used truck.  Nothing fancy by any stretch of the imagination, just an older, rusty truck that I could use to haul materials and projects for the Makerspace.  Now, it did have one fault--a wheel cylinder was leaking, meaning I had a brake job coming in the very near future.  I decided to tackle that on Monday.  Now, brake fluid is nasty stuff.  Somewhat acidic when heated (as is the case with friction-prone environments), I expected a mess when I took the drum off, but I'm getting ahead of myself.  Yes, friends, this vehicle has rear drum brakes which, if you're not prone to doing brake jobs every other day, are a bit of a pain in the nether regions.  Let's start with that.

I had obtained the wheel cylinder before even tearing into the assembly, knowing that was the problem and hoping that nothing else would be needed, save for a couple of cans of brake cleaner.  What I ended up with was five lug nuts that had been impacted on so tightly that it took an hour and a full can of penetrating oil to remove, an additional hour of beating and heating to get the drum to release, a handful of springs rusted almost to the point of being unrecognizable that were covered in a thick goop of DOT3 fluid and road grime, a completely missing emergency brake assembly, two BENT cylinder pins, and something that didn't look quite right that I couldn't quite put my finger on.

A somewhat leisurely-paced trip to town for some new pads, springs, adjuster kit, and a drum was made quite memorable by the fact that even the manufacturer doesn't make the cylinder pins anymore (an assumption on my part, due in large to the fact that the local dealership told me that they couldn't be ordered).  When I asked them what they do when a vehicle comes in needing those parts, I was told, matter of factly, that "nothing ever happens to those".  That's great--thanks for the assurance.

Upon returning to the workshop to put my little fiasco aright, things really got interesting.  The brake lines that were supposed to have been replaced not long prior to my purchasing the vehicle were having nothing to do with the whole "free spinning coupler" idea.  Add one ruined brake line to the list of replacement parts.  It was only after I got the cylinder installed and began putting the assembly together that I realized that the last trained monkey that worked on the truck assembled the entire set backwards!  I'm not talking about the usual drum brake screwups like inverted springs; I mean the entire brake drum was assembled back-friggin'-wards.

The above diagram is prevalent online.  In fact, if you were to contact a dealership to get a diagram of the drum from their records, it is pretty much the same thing, though exploded.  This graphic shows the right rear drum.  To use this picture to assemble the left rear, you have to invert the image.  This is why the retainer pins and cylinder pins were bent and the emergency brake guts were left out--there was a good deal of force required to put it all together in this manner.  If you assemble it in the proper direction, everything literally falls into place.  This is why the diagram includes the emergency brake cable.  The E-brake cable comes from the front of the vehicle.  Notwithstanding, the adjusting lever is usually mounted on the trailing side of the drum (this is what I noticed from the beginning.  It just didn't register immediately as a goof since I haven't worked on drum brakes since 2002), a dead giveaway should be the positioning of the primary shoe.

Now, I realize most of what I just said is gobbeldygook to anyone who hasn't worked on older brakes before.  The main point is, I had every bit of this trouble simply because somebody either got in a hurry and cut corners, or they couldn't properly read directions.  I've done these rebuilds before, but wasn't too proud to find a diagram or consult another mechanic for advice.  The easiest way to hurt yourself or someone else is to think you know how to do something when you really haven't got a clue.  The internet is full of people like that--a fact to which some of my electrician friends can attest.  I just spoke to a friend of mine in the trade a little while ago who shared a story about someone on one of his jobs wiring a phase to ground.  In non-electrician lingo, that is a good way to get your chicken Kentucky-fried in a hurry.

Though we wish it were, life isn't always simple.  Not everything you do can be as mindlessly simple as building birdhouses or changing light bulbs, nor is everyone fully equipped to do everything.  If the sum of your electrical experience is plugging appliances into the wall, then you probably shouldn't take on the task of updating your breaker box.  Need a brake job but have never done one?  Get an experienced person to show you how to do it, rather than muddling through and maybe injuring someone in the process (or aftermath).  You've heard the phrase, "you can't fix stupid".  It turns out that you can, usually with an inordinate amount of labor and swearing.  The thing is, it's much easier to just head it off at the pass. . .

You're Kidding, Right?

I hold in my hand an oil pen. I'm not even sure how many of these I've used over the years or even how long I've had this particular one, though it has been in my toolbox since my dad and grandfather began giving me tools when I was in early grade school. Since this is my last one, I decided to go online to see if they even made these anymore, as they are remarkably handy and a very good light oil for everything from sewing machines to glass cutters.

Imagine my surprise when I get to the interwebs and find out that, not only does Chevron not seem to know what I'm talking about, but there are all sorts of listings for these on "vintage" and "antique" sites for sale. I didn't delve too deeply into the whole list, but the highest end price I found for this little lube pen was $37 plus shipping for a tube that was only 3/4 full. Keep in mind, fellow makers, that these were, largely, given away for free by the tool truck guys or sold for a few cents by auto parts stores.

I've noticed this trend a lot over the years. When I lived in downstate Michigan, I had a business buying and selling old video game systems (read: Atari 2600 era), repairing and refurbishing them in the process. The money wasn't fantastic, but it helped pay an extra bill or two, and it was a somewhat rewarding hobby inasmuch as it was self-supporting. Most of my trade in this business was on sites like eBay, where you usually had a good chance of snatching up parts and supplies for a nice price, while fetching an excellent resale on whole systems with games and novelty items like actual working controllers. The thing was, out of every fifteen or so legitimate auctions, you always could find twenty or more others who had a starting bid of well over $100 or more, simply because they had something that looked old and slapped a "vintage" label on it. Some fell for it, most would pass. These were the people who would get frustrated and finally give up, selling it to me or others of my kind for $5 at their garage sale, or doing so indirectly by donating to Goodwill Industries.

The same holds true for just about anything, really. If something is old enough to spark a bit of a childhood memory, while not being recent enough for the owner to know what it actually is, it usually gets put up for sale in consignment shops and antique galleries for much more than it would have been worth back when it was still useful. I still have radio tubes in my workshop; I wonder what people would think those are worth?

A large portion of my hand tools are more than a few decades old. Thanks to my grandfather, I not only own tools that are approaching the century mark, but I know how to use them. By the logic of some of these antique sites, I could probably sell my entire workshop and use the proceeds to restock it twice, with plenty of change left over. Therein lies the bigger question: Why would you want to get rid of something perfectly useful that has lasted so long? I was actually taught how to take care of my tools, but even with that in mind, could you really expect something purchased today to last for ten decades and beyond? Getting back to our original subject, when does something's value exceed its intended worth? How much value does someone else have to put on my little pen of handy oil to justify setting it on a shelf as a decoration, as opposed to utilizing it for its intended purpose? Is my sewing machine really knocking that loudly? And, what if this "antique" is keeping another one in good condition? I've used two of these pens in the last ten years just keeping an old, 70s model B&D jigsaw running. What is that item worth?

All I wanted to do tonight was cut the bottom off a wine bottle to use as a diffuser for a lighting project, not get caught up in an emotional dilemma over whether or not my little Chevron lube pen is a tool or a memento. I guess I'll keep it for a little while longer, but that sewing machine better not start a ruckus. . .