tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67334818982591309442024-03-14T02:54:04.709-04:00Sexton ChroniclesA writer's perspective on writing, fun, life, adventure, and Sexton Chronicles.David J. Steelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09261611532245283582noreply@blogger.comBlogger313125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733481898259130944.post-88655996907404820502017-09-21T21:03:00.001-04:002017-09-21T21:03:40.373-04:00Did You Super Glue Your Hand? You're Not Alone<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Last Wednesday morning, I decided to change a watch strap. The keeper was a little too loose, but I wasn't worried. I have Super Glue!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> By the way--let's add Super Glue to the list of things I shouldn't be allowed to play with.</span></div>
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I took the keeper off the watch strap, then carefully peeled it open. I grabbed a tube of Super Glue and removed the cap. It was a new tube, which means it was sealed. We have the generic Super Glue, by the way, and unlike the brand name--as I learned--the cap isn't designed to be reversed to puncture the foil cover of the opening.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> I didn't realize that. Holding the tube of glue in my left hand, I reversed the cap and attempted to punch a tiny hole in the glue tube with my right hand. It didn't work easily.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> As a result of not giving up when wisdom dictated I take a different path, I squeezed harder with my left hand and pressed harder into the tube with the cap in my right hand.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> You know physics better than I do, but I should have realized I was building significant pressure on the tube and that "success" would also be failure.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> Sure enough, I succeeded in puncturing the top of the glue as well as succeeded in creating a volcano of Super Glue.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> The Super Glue--which is indeed both super and glue--squirted out all over my right hand.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> I dropped the nearly empty tube in my left hand and plucked the cap out of my right hand.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> Less than a second later, I realized I had--quite successfully--glued my thumb to my index finger, my index finger to my second finger, and my second finger to my third finger. The pinkie remained free and clear in a defiant stand against the oppression of the evil glue.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> I attempted to open my fingers. I was not successful. I wriggled my pinkie like a British lady and found some comfort in the knowledge that I hadn't glued my entire hand together.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> Fortunately, I'm left-handed. I used my left hand to Google how to get Super Glue off when you're dumb enough to seal your fingers together.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> The recommended softening the stuff with nail polish remover.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> As you well know, Tanya doesn't wear nail polish. Neither do I. Fortunately, I found some nail polish remover--which is useful for things other than removing nail polish--in the back of the cabinet in the bathroom.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> As Google suggested, I softened the glue with lots of soap and hot water. When my fingers were pink and puckered--except for the parts in direct contact with the evil glue--I was able to pry them apart.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> I used nail polish remover and scrubbed. It was useless. I had a nice, crispy glaze between each finger</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> I was able to chip it off eventually... Took three days!</span></span></div>
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David J. Steelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09261611532245283582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733481898259130944.post-27607671529448559242016-01-26T02:15:00.002-05:002016-01-26T02:17:20.869-05:00Confessions of a Watch CollectorI have 41 watches I wear regularly. Yes, forty-one. Two wrists--only one of which bears a watch--and forty-one watches.<br />
I spent some time trying to decide the difference between a collector and an addict, and, well... I'm not sure there is one. There isn't a Watches Anonymous, so I suppose that's one difference. I have been asked--somewhere around watch #12 why I collect watches. My answer was, "I can't afford to collect cars."<br />
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It all began when I bought my first self-winding watch when I was a kid. I was a Cub Scout and there was a Scout Show. For every 5 tickets I sold, I could win a Scout Buck. I sold a lot of Scout Show tickets. Really a lot. I had a hundred Scout Bucks when the show was done.<br />
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I bought a Boy Scout watch. Self-winding, Timex. I thought it was cool. At the age of 10, having a watch at all was pretty cool. Having one that wound itself--in a day when no one had a battery watch--was really cool. I wore that watch from 5th grade through college. The only reason I don't have it anymore is that I noticed the words "water resistant" on it when I was in Florida on spring break and decided that meant I could wear it swimming.<br />
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I was right. I could <i>wear</i> it. It was full of water when I got out of the pool, but I had worn it.<br />
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I hummed taps when I pitched it. Gave it a Scout salute. I've searched for another one like it, but there aren't many around. As you've probably guessed, Boy Scouts aren't easy on watches.<br />
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Then, although I looked for more self-winding watches, I spent the next 20+ years caught in the World of Quartz watches. It's a good world--they're accurate, and inexpensive, available in every price range, and...boring. Yes, I said <i>boring! </i>I don't like that lurching one-second-at-a-time movement of the second hand. I don't like that they're lightweight. I don't like that the battery dies when you least expect it. I don't like that the ones at the drug store counter are just as accurate as any in the world.<br />
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I want a machine on my wrist. In 2005, I decided it was time to find another self-winding watch. I had some trouble. No one had called them "self-winding" for a long time. Why would they? Few people needed to wind a watch. Quartz watches don't need to be wound. There's no spring. There's only a battery. Boring!<br />
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In 2010, I found an "automatic"--post quartz apocalypse wording for "self-winding" that I liked. It's made by Seiko, and it isn't humongous like some of the watches sold today. I bought it for $65. It was blue.<br />
...and that's when the trouble started. The same watch also came in tan, green, and black. Yes, I bought all of them. Four watches, two wrists, and only one wrist wears a watch.<br />
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I could have stopped there. Trouble is, in saving my money to buy those watches, I noticed several others that I liked. I discovered that Russians make watches, mechanical watches. So...soon I had 4 styles of the Vostok Kommanderski. They're Russian handwinders, cheaply made, but modeled on Swiss watches.<br />
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I got tired of saving money to buy watches, but I was also getting tired of looking at the watches I had. I started buying different leather straps to put on my watches. The lady at the local jewelry store got tired of me having her put different straps on my watches. I'm not one to push myself on others, so I bought a spring bar tool and learned to change my watch straps by myself. That was an error. Now I have a drawer full of watch straps and I switch them around when I get bored.<br />
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Then my wife gave me some money, and I got some money from my Dad for my birthday. By then I had my eye on some Bulova watches that were automatic... Bought one. Bought another. Then I found another on Amazon's warehouse deals...<br />
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I discovered that Orient makes Japanese automatic watches. They're very accurate, come in lots of styles, and if you look for great deals, you can find them. They have lots of models in lots of price ranges. I started buying them.<br />
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...Then, after being chided by my very understanding wife for keeping my watches in a desk drawer when not on my wrist, I bought a nice box to hold my watches.<br />
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That was a problem, too. The watch box holds 20 watches, and I didn't have 20 watches.<br />
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Can't have a blank space in a watch box. Unheard of! Nature, they say, hates a void.<br />
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So... I set about finding cool watches to fill my watch box.<br />
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I should have stopped at 20 watches. That's one very nice box full of nice watches. Did I stop? No. Hell, I bough another box that holds 20 watches...but when I first got it, it had 19 empty spaces.<br />
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Less than a year later, I filled that box with 20 watches. Most people wouldn't have filled it, and many would have stopped when they filled it.<br />
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I didn't. When I had 22 watches and a box that held 20 watches, I bought another box. Guy logic at its finest.<br />
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Insane? Hell...uh...in a word? Duh. Yes! Collections are insane! I'm fine with that, by the way.<br />
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In the midst of all of that, when my mother-in-law passed away, I was given some of her father's watches. Only one of them worked--a vintage Glycine Airman, a Swiss watch favored by pilots. It started ticking when I picked it up--after sitting in a basement, untouched, for 20 years. That thing is accurate within 30 seconds a day, even though it was new in 1968.<br />
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Swiss! If you've ever wondered why Swiss watches cost so much, it's because they really are that good.<br />
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That meant I had not one, but <i>two</i> bugs. I wanted a new Swiss watch. Finally, around Christmas this year, I bought one. It's a beauty. The Hamilton Khaki King. I bought the black one on Amazon for $360. Unfortunately, it also comes in tan... That one cost me $380.<br />
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Sigh...<br />
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I fell in love with Hamilton watches. The company has American roots--American designs--and is now part of the Swatch Group, and they're Swiss. Swiss AND American!<br />
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I had to save up for a couple of months to buy it, but I bought this one...for $700. It will run for the rest of my life...and probably the life of whoever gets it when I go to that watchmaker in the sky.<br />
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The only real problem with buying that blue watch is that it's watch #42. I have two boxes that hold 20 watches each, and...I found some more that I like. I'm going to need another watch box soon...and I like the ones that hold 20 watches, so...<br />
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One of the nice things about these machines I wear is that they won't die. Unlike quartz watches, the movements inside don't wear out like quartz movements. They can be maintained and repaired as long as parts are available.<br />
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Someday, I'll kick the bucket... My watches won't. Attendees at my funeral will be asked to check the bottom of their chair. If there's a sticker, they can choose a watch from my collection. That's my plan.David J. Steelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09261611532245283582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733481898259130944.post-8623964920731473832015-05-31T22:43:00.000-04:002015-05-31T23:50:40.035-04:00I Wanted to Make Our Anniversary Special...and Boy-Howdy, It was!<div style="text-align: justify;">
My wife and I celebrated our 23rd anniversary last Friday. I wanted to do something special, not because 23 is some sort of special number, but because it's easier to do big surprises when the expectation is low than when the expectation is high.</div>
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I was aiming for unforgettable--and landed firmly on unforgettable. <i>Unforgettable.</i> Lots of things are unforgettable...including surviving the <i>Titanic's</i> first voyage.</div>
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I decided to do dinner outdoors. Not just <i>any</i> dinner, but a very special dinner. For that I needed help.</div>
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<b>The Plan:</b></div>
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The plan was straightforward. I work at a restaurant, and a friend of mine has impressed me mightily with his skills as as chef. I asked him to make a special meal for my wife and I, to be served outdoors on our anniversary. He agreed happily and readily. He's a great guy.</div>
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Another great guy plays the accordion at the restaurant where I work. I asked if he would be willing to come out and play at our little party, and he agreed. When he asked what I'd like him to play, I told him we were married in 1992, and anything from that time period would be great. He said he didn't know <i>Unchained Melody</i>. (Spoiler alert--he learned it.)</div>
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I planned to tell my wife we were going out to dinner. Period. I was lucky in that I didn't have to give much more information than that, other than to tell her on the day that she might want to bring a rain coat.</div>
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<b>The Weather Report:</b></div>
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When you plan an outdoor event, you need to plan for the weather. We concocted this plan three weeks before our anniversary. I started watching the extended forecasts. On the day, the weather report predicted a 50% chance of light rain during our dinner.</div>
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So... Hedging my bets, I modified my plan. Instead of putting a white-linened table in the middle of a field, I bought a tarp to put over the table. I went out in the hot sun, selected a spot, and set up. It was 88 degrees when I set up the table. </div>
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<b>Getting My Wife There:</b></div>
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It's no fun, I suppose, to celebrate an anniversary without your spouse. We've had exactly one anniversary apart in 23 years, and as I recall, it was kind of a bummer. But what to tell her? A week after setting the plan in motion, I got around to checking her schedule. She had a conflict. I asked her to cancel it because, "I have special plans that can't be changed." Fortunately, that was enough for her. Until the day... Then she had questions. Lots of questions, especially when I told her to dress casually and bring rain gear.</div>
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<b>The Menu:</b></div>
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If you're in the Mid-Michigan area and you're looking to have a special meal catered, I highly recommend Tyler Stark (810) 931-2718. I wanted some surprise in this for me too, so I didn't give him any guidance other than a budget. Here's what he came up with, delightfully presented in a picnic basket and served out of mason jars:</div>
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<u>Appetizer:</u> <i>Smoked salmon dip with capers, pita chips</i> and <i>bread with tomato basil dipping olive oil.</i></div>
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<u>Soup:</u> <i>Orange carrot puree with a hint of ginger--served chilled</i></div>
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<u>Entree:</u> <i>Brazilian Endive salad with bleu cheese, walnuts, raspberries, smoked asparagus tips, and grilled chicken in a berry vinaigrette dressing</i></div>
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<u>Dessert:</u> <i>Fruit cup with cream cheese dip</i></div>
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<b>The Music:</b></div>
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The restaurant that employs me also employs some top-notch accordion players. </div>
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-S0QDdVpgCwY/VWvCYQet6jI/AAAAAAAAAkw/a1ZwreE11yQ/s1600/DSCN0070%255B1%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-S0QDdVpgCwY/VWvCYQet6jI/AAAAAAAAAkw/a1ZwreE11yQ/s320/DSCN0070%255B1%255D.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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My friend Trent Arbaitis is one of them. When I asked if he would be willing to come out to our little picnic dinner and play a few tunes for us, he agreed. Here he is, smile, lederhosen, accordion, and...giant storm cloud over his shoulder. The storm cloud isn't his fault.</div>
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<b><i>Enter the Weather...</i></b></div>
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All was going according to plan. My wife--her curiosity running high--was in the car with me, trying to guess where we were going. As we approached the field, I had a nervous eye on the tops of the trees, waving in wind that hadn't yet touched the ground. She saw the blue tarp in he field and said, "Look! Someone is having a picnic." I told her that the <i>someone</i> was us. We parked and approached the table. I pulled her favorite flowers (blue iris) from a cooler, and put them on the table. A minute or two later, Tyler pulled up in his car and chef's jacket. Introductions were made, and he served us our appetizers. As he served the soup, Trent pulled up and started to play. My wife was grinning wide. The food and music were great!</div>
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<b><i>And the heavens opened up and poured water...cold water. Grey, misting, sheets of water...</i></b></div>
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<b>We retreated!</b></div>
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Laughing in the rain, we made a dash for our car--conveniently located behind the accordion player--who was busy stashing his instrument in is car. We decided to finish our picnic at home, but still had to pack the table and the tarp away. Tyler jumped in the car with us and described the rest of the meal. He and Trent stuck around to help us take down the equipment. Both men went well above the call of duty, and we really appreciate it. Good friends do things like that for each other, and I've promised them I will do the same for them if the opportunity presents itself. I hope it does.</div>
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We ate the rest of the food when we got home and put on dry clothes. We'll never forget this anniversary, and in a strange way, the rain only enhanced the experience.</div>
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David J. Steelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09261611532245283582noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733481898259130944.post-6129198351145685972014-10-14T20:54:00.003-04:002014-10-14T20:54:59.351-04:00The Wrong Way to Size a Watch Bracelet<div style="text-align: justify;">
I started with damn and worked my way up to sonofabi**. I think
sonofabi** is quite handy. Especially when I start something I'm not
sure I can do.<br /> I bought a watch, and Amazon sent me the one on the metal bracelet instead of the leather strap I wanted.<br /> I decided to re-size the bracelet by myself. Watched a YouTube video on how to do it. I have the tools.<br /> Bent the first tool I tried to use because I missed the hole. Damn.<br /> Then I watched a different video and used a different <span class="text_exposed_show">tool. Struggled from damn to sonofabi** in a hurry.<br />
Wasn't sure I was going to like the steel bracelet, but was determined
to re-size the sonofabi** and put it on the damn watch anyway.<br /> I
did. Poked myself three times and drew blood--three times in exactly the
same spot. My cries of sonofabi** grew quite rapid and loud.<br />
Reassembled the damn bracelet and put it on the damn watch after
removing one more link than I should have. Sonofabi** rang through the
air in the room.<br /> Put a link back in. Stabbed my sonofabi** finger in
the same damn spot three more times. Did the "sonofabi**" in sign
language because I was already waving my damn finger around.<br /> Re-re-assembled the watch. Didn't like the result. It didn't quite fit.<br /> So I removed one of the micro-adjust pins. It flew in the air, bounced off my damn head, and now I can't find the sonofabi**.<br /> Then I took the damn bracelet off the damn watch and put the parts of the sonofabi** bracelet in a damn drawer...<br /> ...and put the silicone strap I took off the watch in the first place back on the watch.<br /> Learned a lot, namely...leave well enough alone.</span></div>
David J. Steelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09261611532245283582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733481898259130944.post-2244625775023605962014-09-10T23:49:00.003-04:002014-09-10T23:49:41.635-04:00Bought myself a good fountain pen, and I'm going to use it.<div style="text-align: justify;">
Okay, I'll admit it. I splurge on a regular basis. I usually splurge by buying a watch. I collect those and make no apologies for it.</div>
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This time I splurged on a pen. It's a beauty. It's the Parker Sonnet. I got a good deal on it, but it was still $93 by the time I paid the sales tax.</div>
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Why would any sane man spend a hundred bucks on a pen?</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zupXc7QALfM/VBEW_QGVWzI/AAAAAAAAAgI/sU3kp9u835Q/s1600/sonnet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zupXc7QALfM/VBEW_QGVWzI/AAAAAAAAAgI/sU3kp9u835Q/s1600/sonnet.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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I asked myself that very question when I skipped over pens that cost half that much and chose this one. That's the Parker Sonnet in stainless steel. The nib (that's the part that touches the paper) is 23k gold plate over stainless steel, and so are the gold accents on the cap and clip.</div>
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I have been using fountain pens for years, for reasons explained elsewhere in this blog. I have had cheap ones, and most of them are okay. They'll get the job done.</div>
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I think like most people who spend money they have to think twice about on an object they don't really need (my definition of a splurge), I feel a little guilt (and gilt--for the wordsmiths out there) when I think about the purchase.</div>
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I didn't test the pen at Staples when I bought it and shelled out my five $20 bills. I pulled it out of the box, saw that there was an ink converter--the device that sucks the ink out of the bottle--included, and felt the balance in my hand. It's not too heavy, nor too light. Unlike some fancy pens, it doesn't slide in my hand. I can write with it for hours.</div>
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My wife bought me some fountain pens when she visited Vietnam recently. They're made for students, and they work okay. They scratch the paper--sometimes even cut through it, and sometimes they just stop writing. It's beyond frustrating. Other fountain pens can leak ink inside the cap. Some make an annoying sound when put to paper. Some come unscrewed in your pocket. Even a fountain pen from Parker that I spent $40 bucks on and like a lot can become loose. I have to tighten it before I put it to paper.</div>
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My guilt went away when I got home and filled the pen with ink. It filled smoothly. When I put it back together, the balance was perfect. Not just good, but perfect. The cap fits tightly on the back of the pen. It's not too long. It's not too short.</div>
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And when I put the pen to paper and wrote my name, I swear I heard angels sing! They were singing about my lousy handwriting, but a song from angels is a song from angels. Here's where the gold plating really pays off. The pen slides smoothly, soundlessly, even over the roughest paper. The gold shines in the light and calls attention to the fact that it is a fountain pen, a pen steeped in tradition, and--thanks to Pelikan--a very bright royal blue ink.</div>
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The guilt, but not the gilt, went away after writing a few pages. This pen is the most expensive pen I have ever purchased, but that's okay. I plan to keep it for a very long time.</div>
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I found myself wrestling with a dilemma. I have an excellent pen. Should I keep it at home and only use it in a safe environment, saving it from harm by using it only rarely? Or should I take a risk and carry it with me so I can enjoy it wherever I am?</div>
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The dilemma lasted roughly 30 seconds. I don't believe in not using things, no matter how much they might have cost to buy. Having a fine pen is good. <i>Using</i> a fine pen is better. If I drop it and bend the nib--which I've done, sadly--I'll save my pennies and buy another one.</div>
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After all, it's a pen. It's a nice pen...but it's just a pen.</div>
David J. Steelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09261611532245283582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733481898259130944.post-2470435100557702062014-07-18T22:59:00.000-04:002014-07-18T22:59:25.551-04:00I Had Never Heard of Orient Watches, But I Bought One and Was Impressed<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jOciBN_kFo8/U8naZtW2ueI/AAAAAAAAAfE/aQHkjpTGPtQ/s1600/orient+cosmos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jOciBN_kFo8/U8naZtW2ueI/AAAAAAAAAfE/aQHkjpTGPtQ/s1600/orient+cosmos.jpg" height="248" title="Orient Cosmos" width="320" /></a></div>
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I collect watches. I'm not sure why, and I really don't care. There are lots of ways to tell time, and it isn't hard to find a clock.</div>
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I have several watches, and my favorite are automatic watches. They used to call them self-winding. Most watches today are quartz watches. They run on power from a battery. The second hand ticks along one second at a time. I find that lurching second hand to be a distraction, and I think it takes away from the beauty of the watch.</div>
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Besides... I cuss like a sailor when I look at my watch and see that the battery stopped. Sometimes it's fun to cuss, but I like to know what time I started and what time I finished. I can't do that if my damn watch battery died.</div>
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So, I started collecting watches. I have about 16 that I use quite a bit. Sometimes I change watches a couple of times a day, just because I feel like it. Yeah, that sounds like an addiction. That's okay. At least I know what time I started...</div>
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I bought several Seiko 5 automatic watches. Seiko makes good watches in all price ranges. I like mine a lot. I recommend them.</div>
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While lurking around eBay--shopping while my unsuspecting wife sleeps--I happened to see Orient watches pop up quite a bit. I was leery when I spotted them. They look interesting, but I thought at first they were another Chinese brand that might or might not work. </div>
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Orient watches are NOT, repeat, NOT Chinese.</div>
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They are, in fact, Japanese. They're aren't many stores in the USA that carry them. If you want one, you'll probably have to buy it online.</div>
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You won't be disappointed. They're good watches. They keep excellent time, they are very well made, and you get a lot of bang for your buck. I have three of them now, and I'm waiting for the one in the picture to arrive. I get the ones that come on a leather strap, and the quality of the strap is top notch. I've read bad things about the metal bracelets some of them come on, but can assure you that the leather strap is high quality.</div>
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The quality is so impressive that Seiko bought a controlling interest in the company, but was smart enough to let Orient keep doing what it does best--make affordable, quality automatic watches.</div>
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And now for my one and only disclaimer: I don't work for Orient, don't know anyone who works for Orient, and am not being compensated in any way whatsoever for writing this.</div>
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I don't recommend buying the watches from Orient's site. They are priced <i>significantly</i> lower from other sellers on eBay--most of whom offer warranties. I paid $149 for the watch in the picture, about $100 less than manufacturer's suggested retail price.</div>
David J. Steelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09261611532245283582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733481898259130944.post-79092373985739111582014-03-29T13:45:00.001-04:002014-03-29T13:46:38.406-04:00Bad Customer Service Before They Even Said "Hello".I went to a local Chinese restaurant to get some take-out for my wife and I to enjoy for lunch. I've never been to the place before, and I doubt I'll go back.<br />
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They managed to offend me before they even said hello.<br />
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I had only a moment when I walked in before a friendly person greeted me warmly, but it was enough. I had time to read the signs on the wall behind the register. All five of them.<br />
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<i>"No Returns!"</i><br />
<i>"What You Order is What You GET!!!!"</i><br />
<i>"No refunds!!!!" </i><br />
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<i>"No Personal Checks!!!!"</i><br />
<i>"We Have The Right To Refuse Service FOR ANY REASON!" </i><br />
<i>"No Phone Calls When You Approach the Counter!"</i><br />
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In short, these folks managed to say "No" to me six times before they even looked at me.<br />
<i> </i><br />
I ordered the food I went there to order, and paid a fair price for it. The clerk was friendly, the food was ready quickly, and it tasted good.<br />
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Very good.<br />
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I won't be back. They forgot something about guests, customers, whatever they want to call us.<br />
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They forget that without us, they don't exist.David J. Steelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09261611532245283582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733481898259130944.post-14142969737702439562014-02-25T20:49:00.001-05:002014-02-25T20:49:25.262-05:00Chase Bank (2014) and the Patriot Act <div style="text-align: justify;">
My wife and I bank with Chase, but not on purpose. We opened accounts at Bank One years ago, and now Bank One is gone and Chase is the bank.</div>
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I'm not a big fan of Chase Bank, but we stay with them because of the people at the Chase branch in town. We really like the people at our local Chase bank.</div>
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Yesterday, February 25, 2014, we each got letters from Chase. From my wife, they wanted to know her occupation. They wanted to know if I'm an American citizen.</div>
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Before I saw the letters, my wife called Chase to inquire about why they needed the information. Both requests seemed a little odd. The explanation she received was that they needed to know the answers because of the Patriot Act--which, as you might recall, was passed in October of 2001.</div>
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This is not the first time we've had trouble with Chase. I got ticked off at Chase a few years ago when I received a phone call from someone claiming to be with Chase. They wanted to "verify" my account and asked me to give them the number from the back of my debit card. I refused to give them the three digit number. I said, "You called me. <i>You</i> tell <i>me </i>the security code, and I'll tell you whether you're right or not." The called hung up on me.</div>
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The next day, I went to my local branch and asked about the phone call. They told me they had received a memo from the corporate office warning of the scam. Then I went online and found a statement from Chase indicating it's awareness of the scam. I was angry. At no time did they seek to warn me, the consumer, of the scam that endangered my financial security.</div>
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So it was with great skepticism and a bit of anger that I greeted their question of my citizenship.</div>
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But I trust the people at our branch, so that's where I went today.</div>
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I was told that the request for information is indeed because of the Patriot Act. Apparently, Chase is out of compliance because they do not have that information on file for everyone. They're scrambling to get the information, probably to avoid paying hefty fines for non-compliance.</div>
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I have no sympathy for it. First of all, there is the total slop of ignoring or not complying with a law over a decade old. Secondly, because they were sloppy and have continued to be sloppy with that same law for thirteen years, it makes me wonder what else they've been sloppy about. I want my bank to have credibility, and this shoots a hole in their corporate credibility.</div>
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The people I talked to at the branch were honest and open with me. One reminded me that she asked me for my driver's license a couple of weeks ago and said this was why. She was a little frustrated because she updated my records two weeks before Chase sent me the letter. That made <i>her</i> wonder if her efforts have been in vain.</div>
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Bad form, Chase Bank. Bad form.</div>
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She asked if she could update the record with my citizenship. I said, "Of course."</div>
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Then I told her that Chase wants to know my wife's occupation. I said, "She's a teacher, but you didn't hear it from me."</div>
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She asked, "Do you want me to update her record?"</div>
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I smiled. "No. Let's see what Chase does to find out. I like you guys, and I want to keep banking here, but if Chase pisses me off again...I'll bring you flowers and cookies when we close our account and move to a bank that has it's act together."</div>
David J. Steelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09261611532245283582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733481898259130944.post-88637102057711932952013-09-07T23:51:00.003-04:002013-09-07T23:51:52.844-04:00Tomorrow is Grandparents Day, and They're All Still With Me<div style="text-align: justify;">
Tomorrow is Grandparents Day. I miss my grandparents--including the great grandparents I knew--but I'm not sad.</div>
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They're with me every day. Sure, I can't see them or talk to them, but I don't have to look far to see how they have touched my life. Over the mantle of our fireplace sits a portrait of my great, great, great grandfather. We don't look much alike, but if one looks closely at the set of my eyes and then looks at the portrait, there is a definite resemblance. I have his eyes.</div>
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We have a china cabinet, and in the cabinet on the top shelf sits a platter. That platter belonged to my great grandmother on my mother's side, and I think of her when I see it. I wonder what she would think of my cooking when I serve food from it.</div>
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I remember my great grandpa Beck. I got a pair of his shoes after he died, and they fit like they were made for me. It seems I have his feet. I don't plan to give them back... My great grandmother, Grandma Beck, taught me how to crochet. I don't do it anymore, but I still remember how. I have cookbooks from my grandmother on my mother's side. I've cooked a couple of those dishes and although I know they're not quite the way she made them, I still like to make them.</div>
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On one of the walls in the staircase in my house there is a counted cross stitch sampler. My great great great great grandmother made it in 1836. When I look at it, part of her is with me.</div>
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There are a couple of my grandfather's degrees hanging on the walls in our house. I like to look at them because I think they're cool. I'll confess I'm glad one tradition stopped somewhere along the line--on my grandfather's high school diploma, they listed his grades by subject! He got excellent grades, but someday his great grandson (my nephew) might ask about that B-, and I won't know what to say. </div>
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I miss my grandparents and great grandparents. I miss the ones I knew, and I miss the ones I didn't know. I'm thinking of them, but not with sadness. I'm thinking of them with gratitude. I can look in the mirror and see legacies they left me. I can see the parts of them that became me. It's cool; it's life.</div>
David J. Steelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09261611532245283582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733481898259130944.post-22496204026393190762013-08-10T09:40:00.001-04:002013-08-10T09:40:22.312-04:00Goodbye to Judy. We'll Miss Her, and We'll See Her Again<div style="text-align: justify;">
My mother-in-law passed away a couple of weeks ago. I loved her dearly. She was an excellent mother-in-law: loving, supportive, and non-invasive. I never have been, nor can I ever be (and wouldn't want to be if I could) a mother-in-law. It can't be easy.</div>
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She didn't want an obituary written. She didn't want any fuss made over her. She was over-ruled by her children. Memorials and funerals are for the living, not for the deceased.</div>
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Today is mom's memorial service. Actually, it's a memorial service <i>for</i> her family and friends. She happens to be the honoree. A couple of weeks ago, I posted about laughter in funerals. I think there will be laughter in today's service--at least I hope so. Laughter heals as much as tears. There's no reason the two can't be mixed.</div>
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My wife is holding up well, as are her siblings. The past couple of weeks have gone a long way toward passing through the grieving process. We have been waiting for this day, for this service. Waiting with a strange mixture of dread, hope, love, and sadness. The dread is that no matter how well done they are, no matter how deep the belief is in an afterlife, death is hard for the living. There is a finality to memorial services and funerals that is as hard to accept as it is necessary. The hope is that it will go well, the memories happy and strong, and that everyone will feel better having said their goodbyes.</div>
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I'll have some tissues in my pocket. Maybe I'll need them, maybe I won't. My wife will probably need me to have them handy for her.</div>
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I take comfort in the solid belief that I will see her again, in a happier place where time has no meaning and the ravages of age and infirmity are but a dim memory.</div>
David J. Steelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09261611532245283582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733481898259130944.post-10195051776266158762013-07-28T23:13:00.000-04:002013-07-28T23:14:59.684-04:00Leadership Lesson I Learned at the Age of 11, and Needed Again<div style="text-align: justify;">
I started a new job, and I'm excited about it. It's a management job, but also a very 'hands on' job. Like any job, regardless of previous experience, there are things that have to be learned.</div>
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In the case of this job, I have to learn to manage people in a restaurant. It's a large restaurant, and there are a lot of people, including a lot of managers.</div>
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One of the things I like about the place is that the servers carry food on trays, and they carry the trays on their shoulder. It's an impressive sight, and servers have been carrying food that way, in that location, for over 100 years.</div>
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There was a problem. I was afraid to carry food on a tray. I worried about picking the tray up without spilling it. I worried I might dump it on someone by accident. Planting noodles on someones head is not my idea of a wonderful experience...for anyone concerned.</div>
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I have the enviable task (and I mean that sincerely) of getting to learn about every department in a large restaurant. Cool stuff!</div>
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I made it through the first couple of days of training without lifting or carrying a tray. People told me that was okay. In my new position, I won't have to carry a tray.</div>
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I almost let myself get away with that. Almost.</div>
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A friend of mine once gave me a photo of an Eagle. The caption of the photo is simple. <i>Leadership is Action.</i> I believe that. Leadership <i>is</i> action.</div>
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These are not small trays, by the way. They're about two feet across and three or four feet long. We load them heavily.</div>
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I worried about carrying the tray. I rationalized, as demonstrated above, a way out of carrying trays.</div>
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In the end, it was my eleven-year-old self that kicked me into (here's that word again) <i>action.</i></div>
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<i>Now we come to the title of this post. I </i>needed<i> my eleven-year-old-self</i> to teach older me a lesson.</div>
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<i> </i></div>
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That lesson was learned when I failed a basic BSA swim test my first year as a camper. The Boy Scouts call you a "swimmer", as opposed to a beginner, when you can swim 100 yards and float for a minute.</div>
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I failed my swim test the first year. It was not a big deal to anyone but me. Swimmers could go out in a canoe. I couldn't, unless I had a buddy who was a swimmer who would take responsibility for me. I couldn't go out on one of the small sailboats. I couldn't go into the deep water, or use the high dive.</div>
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It wasn't a big deal to me until I got elected to the position of patrol leader. I thought about summer camp, and I worried about the swim test. It was okay for Tenderfoot Scout Dave Steele to flunk the swim test.</div>
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I felt that a patrol leader ought to be able to pass a simple swim test. It's not a BSA requirement. In fact, I fell into a happy time period when an Eagle Scout could earn Scouting's highest rank without getting swimming merit badge.</div>
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I spent several nights convincing myself I could pass the swim test. I convinced myself that I <i>had</i> to pass the swim test. In my head, I went over it stroke by stroke.</div>
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When summer camp rolled around... I passed the swim test. I didn't pass it with flying colors. I snorted a bunch of the lake through my nose and sent it out my ears like a whale spout. I floated for a minute. By floating, I mean that I was somewhere between the surface of the water and the bottom of the lake.</div>
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...I passed. Had I not passed the first time, I would have done nothing else all week until I passed. It wasn't really about me. It was about leadership.</div>
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The first day of server training came and went, and I did not lift a tray. The second day of server training came and went and I did not lift a tray.</div>
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I didn't feel good about that. No one pressured me to carry a tray. I decided--me, and that 11-year-old Boy Scout that still kicks around inside me--that I <i>would</i> carry a tray like every server and most managers.</div>
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So, I borrowed a tray and brought it home. I piled it with dishes and walked around our dining room--dodging cats. At the restaurant, we never have to carry trays up stairs...but I did it at home. I picked it up. I put it down. I thought about putting a cat on the tray, but ruled that out. By then I was having fun, and the cats were hiding.</div>
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Today I showed up for work, determined to carry as many trays as the job required. I was nervous. As nervous as a cat with a lunatic in the house carrying trays of dishes up and down the stairs.</div>
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I did it! I don't know how many trays of food I carried through the crowded dining room. I don't know how many times I picked up a tray and put it down. After a few times, it became routine. I almost dropped one, but managed to slide my hand into a better position and didn't spill a drop of soup or soda. (Let's not talk about the puddle I almost made in my pants when I felt it slide.)</div>
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Leadership is action.</div>
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David J. Steelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09261611532245283582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733481898259130944.post-20979676726485611042013-06-28T23:03:00.000-04:002013-06-28T23:28:27.853-04:00A Good Funeral Includes Laughter<div style="text-align: justify;">
I believe.</div>
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It's okay to be sad at a funeral or memorial service. Sadness comes easily at a funeral. Even for those strong in faith, the knowledge that we won't see the person again until the end of our time on this earth makes the passing of the friend hard to bear.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Being sad is the easy part. The hard part is celebrating the life. That's why many funerals--at least the ones I like--are called life celebrations.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Today my wife and I went to the memorial service of our friend Jack Beamish. If Jack was still alive, there wouldn't have been a funeral for him today. (That's the "duh" sentence.")</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This is the "ah ha" sentence:</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Jack Beamish lived. Jack Beamish touched my life. He touched my wife's life. He touched the lives of a lot of other people. We went to a memorial service, a celebration of Jack's life...because he <i>lived!</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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Like anyone else walking around on this planet of ours, Jack had his quirks. Some of them were pretty funny.</div>
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<i> </i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Jack was, among other things, the ranger at a Scout camp. He and I shared a small cabin the summer I met the woman who became my wife. He was in his late sixties at the time, and I was in my late twenties.</div>
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<br /></div>
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On more than one occasion, I would wake to the sight of Jack heading to the shower in his briefs. The sight of a man in his briefs isn't one of my favorites. It ain't my idea of a great way to wake up.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I said to him once, "You look like the Grinch...and I don't want to see him in his underwear either."</div>
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<br /></div>
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He laughed, pointed out that seeing me in my underwear was no great prize, and took his shower.</div>
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<br /></div>
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You know, sometimes at memorial services they ask if anyone has a memory they would like to share.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Thinking of the Grinch line and Jack in his underwear... I took a pass on the opportunity to share what was on my mind. I just shook my head and laughed (yes, I did!) to myself.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There was a lot to laugh about, thinking of Jack. The man had a great deal of love for people, and the camp he nurtured and cared for. His love of the Lord was always there, but never forced upon others. He was a true friend. He was also human, and we all do funny things.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I was grateful for the great job one of his fellow Scouters did with the eulogy. He was able to help us remember Jack's quirks, personality, and love. He spoke of a life well-lived, and the laughs he brought from us were genuine, warm, and <i>needed.</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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My wife cried during the memorial service. I held her hand and passed tissues to her when she needed them. My eyes misted once or twice because I miss Jack, but I couldn't bring myself to cry. He had 87 years of making a difference under his belt when he went to the Lord, and I believe (really <i>believe) </i>I will see Jack again.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I'll say it again, just like I did at the beginning of this entry:</div>
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I believe.</div>
David J. Steelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09261611532245283582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733481898259130944.post-7527213632860407632013-04-27T22:17:00.001-04:002013-04-27T22:26:37.822-04:00One Cat, One Window, One Stepladder, and an Involuntary Body Piercing<div style="text-align: justify;">
There's a window in our staircase. When open, it provides a nice breeze through the upstairs landing and helps cool my writing office.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The only problem with opening and closing the window is that I have to stand on a stepladder to do it. If you're afraid of heights, that's a problem. You find yourself looking straight down several stairs, or peering out a window high in the air. A fall from there would be quite painful.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
My cats like that window. They sit on the sill and feel even more like kings of the world than they usually do.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This evening I opened the window. When it got cool a little while ago, I decided to close the window. Jake--the current Cat King of the World--disagreed. He was perched on the sill. His way of getting to the window is easier than mine. He jumps from the landing to the sill, and he does it quite well. When we first bought the house, I was pretty sure I would find a cat-shaped hole in the screen and a cat shape on the lawn below.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
When it got chilly and I wanted to close the window, I looked up at the sill and saw Jake looking down at me. I told him I wanted to close the window. He gave me a stare, in the way cats stare, that indicated he had absolutely no intention of abandoning his post.</div>
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A smart man would have let him stay there and gotten himself a sweater.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm not dumb, but I <i>am</i> a wee bit stubborn. I wasn't about to let a cat--King of the World or NOT King of the World--tell me I couldn't close a window.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I opened the stepladder, the one that leans against the wall under the window on the staircase for the sole purpose of letting me open and close the window, and climbed up.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I was eyeball-to-eyeball with King Jake. "We can do this the easy way, or the hard way," I said. "The easy way is for you to jump over to your ledge and walk off with your dignity intact."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Jake, unlike most cats, maintains eye contact with humans. It's his way of showing superiority. That's my fault. I teach cats to look people in the eye. It freaks people out in a way that makes me giggle.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"The hard way," I continued as if Jake understood a word I was saying, "is for me to pluck you from the windowsill and carry you down this ladder to the stairwell."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
His look said, "Bring it."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Life was about to get more interesting than I wanted. I should have known it would, but I had my stubborn on.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I lifted the cat from the sill. I tried to make assuring sounds as I did so.</div>
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The assuring sounds came out in an embarrassingly girlish scream.</div>
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Jake poked a hole in my chest with a claw from hell. The claw to the chest made me jerk back on the stepladder. I was balanced on the stepladder with my big toe as the only point of contact. My scream caused King Jake to look me in the eye and hiss. Time froze, or at least seemed to freeze, as my big toe protested my weight.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I performed a little cat-like acrobatics myself, scream, big toe, cat and all...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
...I think Jake and I actually switched places for a microsecond--with me in his arms and him holding the ladder with one claw from Hell...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
...That scared Jake, and we switched back.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I used the big toe from my <i>other foot</i>, the one in the air along with the rest of me, and the cat in my arms, to find the next step down.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Big toes and cats and even small men such as myself are bound to invoke gravity whether we want to or not. I landed on a stair on my tush, which ain't nearly padded enough for such a landing, and expelled a rush of air (that sounded amazingly like a little girl's scream and a mix of manly cuss words) and found myself eyeball-to-eyeball with a very unhappy hissing cat. The searing pain in my chest was not the result of a heart attack. It was the result of the freakishly large cat claw stuck in it. I think the claw originates somewhere behind the damn cat's shoulder, extends down his spine, and looks tiny from the paw.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He withdrew the claw, and bounded down my extended body...bouncing on my balls just to show me who's boss...before darting off to the kitchen.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Lying on the stairs, I realized several things:</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1. I was alive, with no broken bones, and I had completed all the exercise I wanted to complete for the day.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
2. The cat was no longer on the windowsill.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
3. (This one is important) <i>The damn window was still open!</i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I climbed the ladder again, closed the window, climbed back down the ladder, folded the ladder, and rested it against the wall.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Thankful I was wearing a dark shirt that hid the trickle of blood running down my chest, I returned to my writing office and hoped my wife would ignore anything she might have heard.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>She didn't.</i> She sat in her chair, reading a book on her Nook, and glanced at me when I walked in the room. "Did you get the window closed?"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Yeah."<i> </i> </div>
David J. Steelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09261611532245283582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733481898259130944.post-34071454594042100132013-04-23T10:21:00.001-04:002013-04-23T10:24:18.273-04:00We Have A Rule: Don't Do Dishes in the Bathtub<div style="text-align: justify;">
...As you might guess, it's <i>our</i> rule, not <i>my</i> rule. In other words, I didn't make the rule...which means I might or might not follow the rule.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The rule came about because our crock pot doesn't fit in our kitchen sink very well, which makes it difficult to wash. I solved that problem once by taking out the ceramic lining and washing the thing in the bathtub.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Proud of my ingenuity, I left some bits of carrot and a few hunks of celery on the bathtub drain and waited for my wife to inquire about the presence of vegetables in the bathtub, then admire my ingenuity.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The first happened...the second did not. In fact, she made up a rule:<i> Don't to dishes in the bathtub.</i> Not ever. Not one bowl, not one spoon, and certainly not a crock pot.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Dishes. She specifically forbade the washing of <i>dishes.</i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
She never said a word about ironing board covers.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i> </i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I use a lot of starch when I iron. I also iron every seam when I make clothing, and I recently made a pair of pants. Our ironing board cover was matted with starch and bits of black thread.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Ironing board covers aren't expensive. I pay about five bucks at a store a couple of blocks away. It's not a big problem to replace the ironing board cover, but I hate spending money on such a boring purchase. Still, the one on the ironing board was beyond it's usefulness.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The cheap ironing board covers I buy don't hold up in the washing machine. They're made of cheap cotton and by the time they go through the spin cycle, they're shot.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But... As I was ironing a shirt before showering this morning, it occurred to me that I could <i>clean the ironing board cover in the bathtub while I showered.</i> This is known as killing two birds with one stone. It's also known as living dangerously. I do these things with the knowledge that I will--most probably--have some explaining to do when, not if, I get busted.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, I removed the crispy thread covered ironing board cover and tossed it in the tub. I closed the drain and proceeded to take my shower. I kicked the ironing board cover around in the water, watching the water turn yellow with starch and fill with threads. When I rinsed myself, I rinsed the ironing board cover.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
When I dressed, I went upstairs and put the ironing board cover back on the ironing board. Wow! It's clean, baby! Saved myself five bucks in the process, too!</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm a genius. I don't say it often, but it's true.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Now we come to the part of my "genius" that's going to get me killed one of these days--maybe even <i>this day.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You see, there's a yellow ring around the bathtub now. The yellow ring bears quite a few black threads.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i> </i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
A true genius would clean the bathtub.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm not going to do that. I'm testing a hypothesis. My hypothesis is as follows:</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
By the end of this day, there will be a new rule, a corollary to the Dish Rule of 2010: <i>Thou Shalt Not Wash Fabric in the Bathtub.</i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm not a fan of rules...but for some reason, they tend to grow in my path. They grow like weeds in my path.<i> </i></div>
David J. Steelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09261611532245283582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733481898259130944.post-73676751064988070282013-04-20T00:42:00.000-04:002013-04-20T00:52:09.999-04:00Pride in My Pants. Wait! That means I made the pants.<div style="text-align: justify;">
If you know me, you know I'm not a big guy. If you don't know me, you're about to know I'm not a big guy. I have a 29" waist and a 29.5" inseam. It's not easy finding pants that fit.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There's a couple of ways around that without having to gain weight. (Yes, I'm prepared to go into the witness protection program if someone with anger management issues decides to chase me down the street with a pitchfork for complaining about being too <i>small</i> to find clothing that fits well.)</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
One would be to pay a tailor good money to build me a pair of dress pants. The other way is to learn to sew and tailor a pair of pants for myself.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I chose the second option. Sewing isn't new to me. From my first stint with a sewing machine as a 7th grader forced to take a home economics class, I developed an interest in sewing. As a Boy Scout hell bent on earning the rank of Eagle Scout before his 14th birthday (Yes, I was 13 when I earned my Eagle), I earned badges so quickly that my mother taught me to sew them on my uniform myself. That was a gift to me, and self-defense for her.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have made several garments for my wife, and if you look around on this blog, you'll find some photos of quilts I've made. In fact, the background of the blog is a photo of one of my quilts.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Pants aren't easy to sew. There's a lot more to pants than people give them credit for. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iNQjvEzqZyA/UXIQC9wCkKI/AAAAAAAAAaE/4nXxvc5JXVE/s1600/photo+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iNQjvEzqZyA/UXIQC9wCkKI/AAAAAAAAAaE/4nXxvc5JXVE/s320/photo+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I did it, as you'll see at the end of this post.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Here's how:</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1. I dug out a pattern I bought a long time ago when I wanted to make a suit. Never made the suit, but I kept the pattern. It's still available, for about $15.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
2. I took a trip to Joann's. I like that store, and I am almost always amused by the person who cuts the fabric. They're still not quite sure what to make of the situation when they find themselves face-to-face with a solitary man holding a bolt of cloth. It's almost as much fun as ordering a Happy Meal with coffee at the McDonald's drive-thru. It locks 'em up for a while.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
3. I cut out the pattern pieces so I could take advantage of the cutting layout suggested on the pattern. Nowhere in the instructions does it say to do this--but the paper pattern is going to get cut into pieces anyway, and you can't match the grain lines (some pieces are cut on the long threads in fabric and some cut on the short threads, otherwise known as "warp" and "weft") if you don't cut the pieces out beforehand.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
4. Then I cut the pieces from the fabric.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RJIEvQF0n5M/UXIRskBdpLI/AAAAAAAAAaM/CporlMmEjEs/s1600/photo+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RJIEvQF0n5M/UXIRskBdpLI/AAAAAAAAAaM/CporlMmEjEs/s320/photo+3.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I use two pairs of scissors when I sew. The cheap ones with the plastic handles are for paper. Paper is made from trees, and it's hard on scissors. No kidding! Besides, I'm not new to the sewing thing, and I appreciate my Ginger sewing scissors--true left-hand scissors, but that's a different story--and use them only for fabric.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The piece on the cutting table is actually two pieces being cut simultaneously, the front of the pants.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There were more than thirty pieces cut for the pants. Everything from pockets to zipper flaps, to belt carriers, to facings for the pockets, welts (double welts for the back pockets), etc.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
5. Then I read the instructions for the construction of the pants. Again. Then I read them again.*</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
*Let me insert a couple of points for those men who might be reading this, who might be tempted to scoff at the idea of a man sitting in front of a sewing machine. <b>One:</b> Don't think of it as a sewing machine. Think of it as a single-cylinder engine. One piston, holding a needle, punching holes in something. Feel better? <b>Two:</b> The making of tailored clothing was the province of men long before the word 'seamstress' entered the lexicon. <b>Three: </b>There doesn't need to be a "three". I refer you to one and two.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
6. I fired up the third (behind scissors and sewing machine) most important piece of equipment needed for sewing a fine garment. I'm referring to my iron. I press each seam as I make it. Some seams can only be reached properly as the garment is being built, and that bit of detailing makes or breaks the garment, at least as far as I'm concerned.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
7. I <i>followed </i>the instructions. Vogue has pretty good instructions, and those who use them do well to follow them to the letter. If you don't follow them to the letter, be prepared to use the fourth most important piece of equipment--the seam ripper. I screwed up and sewed my back pockets closed. That was embarassing only because I didn't realize I did that until I put my new pants on and couldn't put my wallet where it belongs.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's okay--indeed expected--to cuss loudly, frequently, and with enthusiasm when using a seam ripper. After all, you only use it when you screw up. Plan to screw up at least six times for a complicated garment, and less than that for an easy one.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h1OFYnU9MZk/UXIVUJ_VD0I/AAAAAAAAAaY/Q7n_GDMcj10/s1600/photo+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h1OFYnU9MZk/UXIVUJ_VD0I/AAAAAAAAAaY/Q7n_GDMcj10/s200/photo+4.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
8. As I completed each step, I tried on the pieces I built. Sometimes I used pins to see how the fit was coming along. That's one of many reasons I'm glad I used dark cloth. It hides the blood when a pin takes a little more interest in my skin than it does in the fabric... That's another perfectly acceptable reason to cuss while sewing, by the way.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6D4a4wP9Y8Q/UXIVUOePvZI/AAAAAAAAAac/AqLxBm7YGOc/s1600/photo+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6D4a4wP9Y8Q/UXIVUOePvZI/AAAAAAAAAac/AqLxBm7YGOc/s200/photo+5.jpg" width="103" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
9. Eventually, I ended up with a pretty darn good pair of pants, especially made by me for me.</div>
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<span id="goog_505230950"></span><span id="goog_505230951"></span><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span id="goog_505230950">10. Of course, I can't resist a little bragging about making my pants. Most people look at them, and me with a bit of disbelief. That's why I like to use printed fabric for the pockets. I refer you back to the photo at the top of this post. See the green fabric? That's leftover from a quilt I made my wife some time ago. You can't see it in the pants, but if (when) someone looks at me like they don't quite believe my pants are homemade, I just turn out a pocket and show them the green. That I'm using good fabric for the pockets also gives the advantage of having pockets that will last as long as the pants.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span id="goog_505230950">This final photo is of me in my pants:</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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David J. Steelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09261611532245283582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733481898259130944.post-19914509118876633922013-03-12T14:49:00.000-04:002013-03-12T14:51:26.383-04:00Old Watch Band? Kiwi Shoe Polish to the Rescue!My wife thought I was nuts. You know...again.<br />
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I couldn't argue with her when I looked at the old leather watch strap I pulled out of my nightstand drawer. It was old and dry. Leather dust came off when I rubbed my thumb over the faded tan leather. Sure, I could have gone down the street to the jewelry store and spent $15 on a decent new one.<br />
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I didn't want to do that. I wanted to see if I could breathe new life into that old piece of leather with some shoe polish, some determination, an old t-shirt, and some time.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DqtE3p1F5kU/UT92hlLI92I/AAAAAAAAAZ0/6dzI8NZtiIQ/s1600/Picture+052.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DqtE3p1F5kU/UT92hlLI92I/AAAAAAAAAZ0/6dzI8NZtiIQ/s320/Picture+052.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Shoe polish brought back the shine.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Look at this! Hats off to service personnel who manage to keep their boots and shoes shined and glossy. I shine my own shoes on a regular basis, and I'm glad I took the time to polish that old watch strap. Not only is it supple and strong, it's already shaped to my wrist.<br />
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I won't kid you. It took half a tin of Kiwi Shoe Polish to make it look like it does now. Hours of buffing with piece of an old t-shirt. I sat at my writing desk, watching TV, and buffing the strap. The color is darker than the original, but it has a nice patina.<br />
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I was tempted to cheat and apply a coat of polyurethane. That would have given a better shine and added some water protection. It also would have stopped the aging process in its tracks. I didn't want to do that. I have some watch straps that are coated in polyurethane, and I don't care for it. Eventually the poly starts to peel off, like sunburned skin.<br />
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Now I'm eying my old leather jacket. It could use a little sprucing up... Maybe I'll buy another tin or two of shoe polish and go at it. On the other hand, maybe I'm better off finishing the last Sexton Chronicle. More people care about that than care whether my jacket shines or not.David J. Steelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09261611532245283582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733481898259130944.post-13063235528782604822013-02-16T22:36:00.001-05:002013-02-16T22:36:31.753-05:00Goal Setting, Achievement...and Building A Watch<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>This is about goals.</b></div>
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<b> </b> </div>
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<i>Why build a watch?</i></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Fh3Fi8ClW7s/USBGFSURhbI/AAAAAAAAAZg/tr0UJBbndes/s1600/watchdiagram.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Fh3Fi8ClW7s/USBGFSURhbI/AAAAAAAAAZg/tr0UJBbndes/s320/watchdiagram.jpg" width="288" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>My watch will look a little different.</b></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b> </b></td></tr>
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I think it would be cool to wear a watch I make myself. That's all, and that's enough.</div>
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Don't laugh too hard, but I won't blame you if you want to laugh a little. I will succeed in this endeavor.</div>
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I'm writing this on a computer I built. Computers are bigger than watches, but they're no more complicated than building a watch. I didn't make the mother board in this computer and I don't plan to make my own watch movement, so I'll confess I'm skipping the hard part of making a watch.</div>
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I think (and I could be wrong) that if I can build my own computer, I should be able to build a watch.</div>
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I have a habit of success when it comes to goals I set for myself. I was an Eagle Scout by the age of fourteen. I wrote (so far) ten books and published them.</div>
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Now I want to build a watch. Yeah. I can do this.</div>
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How? I'm not sure...yet. </div>
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I started collecting watches a couple of years ago. I have several of them now. I have some Chinese mechanical watches, and they work pretty well. I have a couple of Seiko automatic watches and they work great! I don't need another watch, but I have the watch bug so I'll probably keep buying them as I roll along this path called life.</div>
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This is kind of an evolutionary path for me. The Chinese watches I bought all came with cheap straps of a doubt-able material they call "pleather" or "man-made leather". Junk. I got in the habit of going to the local jewelry store and having them put new straps on my watches as soon as I got them. I've said all I mean to say about those experiences.</div>
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The other day I ordered a watch tool kit and now I'll be able to change the straps on my watches by myself. I have a watch that needs a new quartz movement, and I'll order one and install it myself. I have another watch that came with a cheap clasp and the bracelet is too large. With my new tool kit, I'll be able to replace the clasp and remove the link myself. It'll be fun and satisfying.</div>
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Well shoot, I thought to myself... Why stop there?</div>
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All I need to do is buy a watch case, a dial, a movement, a strap, assemble it, and it will be mine. I'll have a Steele. Most people won't know I'm walking around knowing what time it is wearing a watch I built myself. I'm not doing it for recognition. I'm doing it <i>just to see if I can.</i></div>
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I've given some thought to how I'm going to go about it.<i> </i>This is the planning stage of goal achievement. We know that what: I want to wear a watch I built myself. I'm giving myself a year to do it.</div>
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<b>Steps:</b></div>
<ol style="text-align: justify;">
<li>Determine a plan of action.</li>
<li>Learn how by tinkering with watches I already have.</li>
<li>Learn how by reading tutorials online.</li>
<li>Order the parts piecemeal as my budget allows. That will take some time, and that's okay. I have other watches to wear, and I want to make myself a nice watch.</li>
<li>Assemble the watch parts and <i>make sure the darn thing works before showing it off.</i></li>
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There are several decisions I'll have to make along the way, and it will be fun doing the research to do them. For example, do I want to buy expensive materials as I go, so when I get done I'll have a better watch than I could afford to buy already assembled? I'm leaning that way, but a wee bit o' caution is entering my mind. If I do that and I fail, I'll have a bunch of high-priced pieces parts that aren't good for anything. On the other hand, if I buy cheap parts and finish successfully, I'll have a unique, but cheap watch. Nah.</div>
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<i> </i></div>
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When I make clothes for my wife (which I do often), I use quality materials. Always have, even when I was just learning to sew. By the way, I know more about watches now than I knew about sewing when I started making clothes for her. I don't think I want to go to the trouble of building myself a cheap watch even when I'm learning.</div>
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<i></i><br /></div>
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On the other hand, I don't think I'll spend the hundred bucks or more that it would take to put a Swiss movement in my watch. I don't have a spare hundred bucks around to play with in this experiment. I can get a very good movement for under forty bucks, so I think that's the way I will go.</div>
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I found a couple of sites that sell watch parts. It's fun looking at their selections and playing (in my mind) designing the watch. I want a white face. I want the date. I want three hands: hour, minute, and second. That leads to a lot of choices. I'll have fun poking around deciding what I want.</div>
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It's kind of lay-away the hard way. I'll buy the case first. Stainless steel, probably. Then I'll buy the dial. Then I'll buy the crystal. Then the movement, then the strap. Lots of choices. I'll build the thing in my head a hundred times before I get it assembled.</div>
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Some guys build their own cars, or refurbish an antique. This is probably a lot like that. It's a disease I wouldn't wish on anyone, but one I'm glad I have.</div>
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...I'll post pictures when I'm done. Don't hold your breath. This is going to take a while.</div>
David J. Steelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09261611532245283582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733481898259130944.post-75037465034306001262013-02-14T22:39:00.000-05:002013-02-14T23:55:49.197-05:00I Have Had Enough of Minor Watch Repair at Jewelry Stores<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RfPOEmQK0-g/UR2e5z16PNI/AAAAAAAAAZM/tjEKz2AFhpA/s1600/watch+repair+kit.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RfPOEmQK0-g/UR2e5z16PNI/AAAAAAAAAZM/tjEKz2AFhpA/s320/watch+repair+kit.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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The photo on the left looks like it could be a tool kit for the dental hygienist from Hell, but it's not. It's a watch repair tool kit. I ordered it today from eBay for the whopping sum of $18.99, including shipping. </div>
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I have had enough. Enough that I shall underscore it in italics: <i>I have had enough!</i></div>
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<i> </i>Don't get me wrong--I'm not angry. I <i>was</i> angered a few times along this particular path, but I'm past it now. Now I'm doing something about it.</div>
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<i> </i>Good things have happened when I have entered the Land of I Have Had Enough in the past. I learned to make bread by hand when I walked into the land of Had Enough with my bread machine. I learned to do my own clothing alterations after a stint in the Land of Had Enough. Both of those journeys were successful. I make my own bread, and if I need to take in the waist of a pair of pants, I can do that. In fact, I can make the pants from a hunk of cloth if I'm in the mood to do so. I built this computer after a jaunt in the land of Had Enough when me old one died a piece at a time.</div>
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So now, in this current reality, I can munch on a piece of homemade bread while I wear a pair of pants that fit like they were made for me, talking to you through this computer I built. I like this world.</div>
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In my wildest dreams and or nightmares, I never thought I would see the day come when I would decide to do my own watch repairs. </div>
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Sane people will wonder why I'm going to attempt my own watch repairs. It's a reasonable question. Most of the things I want to have done to my small collection of watches cost under $10 when done by qualified personnel at a jewelry store. When I need a battery put in a watch, the lady down the street will do it for $5.00, including the battery. When I want a new strap put on a watch, the store that sells it to me can put it on for me. Fine and dandy...but! </div>
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But the lady at the jewelry store down the street always puts on the wrong size. I think she struggles with getting the pin in if the fit is too tight. There's another jewelry store in the next town, but I'm no longer speaking to them. There is a snobbishness there that I find intolerable. I would complain to the owner, but that's where the snobbishness originates. Frankly, I would rather have a close enough job done by a friendly person who tries hard than a perfect job done by a person looking down their nose. (Unless it's a tall person looking down their nose. Then it's okay because I'm not prejudiced against tall people. They're people, too!)</div>
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Today I went to Walmart because I was looking for a leather strap to go on one of the Seiko military watches I own. I found the right size and handed it to the clerk with my watch. She rang it up and handed it back to me. I said, "Please put it on the watch for me."</div>
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She said, "I can't do that."</div>
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"Why not?"</div>
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"It's a Seiko. We don't sell Seikos."</div>
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I thought she was confused. I pointed to the strap. I said, "It'll go on there just fine. It has pins, like the strap."</div>
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"We don't sell Seiko," she said. She said it as if it made all the sense in the world.</div>
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"I don't need you to sell me a Seiko." I smiled. "I already have one. I just want that strap on it."</div>
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"It's policy," she said--again as if that made all the sense in the world.</div>
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"It's a stupid policy." She looked shocked. I said quickly, "I'm not blaming you. I'm blaming Walmart." I handed the strap back to her and thanked her for her time.</div>
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Now that I think about it, it's probably not that stupid on the part of Walmart. If she damaged the watch putting a new strap on it, Walmart would have to buy me a new watch instead of just grabbing another one off the shelf.</div>
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That was it. That was, as far as watches are concerned, my gateway to the Land of Had Enough. I'm not mad at Walmart. I'm not mad at the jewelry store down the street. I am coldly angry with the jewelry store run by the snob, but I'm not going to use this as a pulpit from which to lambaste them (but the temptation is there.)</div>
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I came home, logged on to eBay with my homemade computer, ate a piece of homemade bread, and in my well-fitted pants, I ordered a watch repair kit. When it arrives, I'll order some parts I need to: put new straps on my Seiko watches, order a new movement for my L.L Bean field watch (they no longer make that watch, or it would be under the L.L. Bean warranty), fix the bracelet on my BSA watch, and put a new battery in my Timex watch.</div>
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I have never done any of the above things, but I'm not worried about that. Like learning how to sew, make bread, and repair or build a computer, I'm sure it will take some time and trial/error on my part. That's okay. In fact, I enjoy the process.</div>
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If something happens and I don't enjoy the process...well... I refer you to the photo. See the free hammer? I think I know what I'll do with it.</div>
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David J. Steelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09261611532245283582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733481898259130944.post-40898911935855032922013-02-01T00:04:00.000-05:002013-02-01T00:04:49.215-05:00I'm Gonn Fix That Dryer, One Way Or The Other!<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>It's you and me, clothes dryer. At the conclusion of this exercise, either you're going to work, or you're out. Unless, of course, I blow myself to kingdom come in the process. If that's the case, I'm taking you out with me. Got it? Good.</i></div>
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Oh. Hi! Ya heard that, huh?</div>
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I am by no means a handyman. We'll call that a strike before I start when it comes to my chances of successfully fixing the dryer. What I <i>am</i> is two things: 1) damn stubborn when I want to be, and 2) durable.</div>
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The results when I try to fix something are pretty good. I have only a dim idea of what I'm doing, but I keep hacking away at a solution until I find one that works.</div>
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Sometimes the results are pretty funny. A couple of years ago I put a new light fixture in my den. I have hard-earned respect for electricity, so I powered down the entire second floor of the house when I did the job. I wired the fixture, went to the basement, turned on the power upstairs, then went back up to check my work.</div>
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The light fixture was off. That meant I did something wrong. So...stubbornly, I got back on the swivel chair... That's right. I was <i>standing on a swivel chair with a pair of pliers, reaching above my head to disconnect a light.</i> By the time I realized the power was on--because I commented on something said on the TV in the room--it was too late. I did forty-three pirouettes and lay on the floor in a puddle of brain goo, saying, "Bzzzzt! TV ON, POWER ON! Moron! <i>huvvuvuvuvvvvvv."</i></div>
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<i> </i>The problem with the dryer has been going on for a few days now. It runs for a few minutes, then stops. It's like something physical is blocking something else physical.</div>
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<i> </i>I went online and looked at a variety of trouble-shooting sites. The motor isn't burned out in the dryer. I'm pretty sure of that. I think the culprit is lint.</div>
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I washed the lint trap and put it back in. That didn't fix the problem. Then (feel free to laugh soon), I pulled the panel under the door off. There's another lint trap there. It was full. FULL! So I took it up to the bathtub and scraped and scrubbed it.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
If you ever do that, be smarter than I was. <i>Clean the tub before your wife goes to take a shower!</i> She thought I had washed the fur off both of our cats and left it for her to find. After she finished screaming, she went looking for the animals. When she found them, she knew she had me to blame, but wasn't sure she really wanted to know what it was I washed that covered the bath tub with off-white fuzz. No. I did NOT tell her what it was.</div>
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Reassembling the dryer wasn't easy. It would have been easy, but my wife knows me well. She hides her tools for fear I might try to use them...to do things like foul the bath tub with gray fuzz. She's not wrong, in case you haven't figured that out.</div>
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I put the cover back on with a screw driver and a socket (couldn't find the socket wrench, but I found the sockets). I might have cussed a bit.</div>
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That didn't solve the problem.</div>
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I removed the lint thing again and looked behind it. That was when I saw the cone of flame that is the provider of the gas heat that dries the clothes. It glowed blue and hot when I started the dryer with that panel off. I should probably apologize to my neighbors for the girlish screams they endured until the flames went out. I'm pretty glad dryer manufacturers build safeties into those things.</div>
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I put the panel back on. Took me a while with the screwdriver and the socket. I blame that on the fact that I was trying to do that without sticking my face near the cone of fire that lives in the dryer.</div>
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The problem was, and remains, unsolved. I think there's more lint. I think I have to remove the exhaust hose (it's one of those collapsible metal tubes) from the dryer and the outside vent and run a cat through it to clear it of lint. With the amount of lint I washed down the bath tub drain (give yourself twenty points if you think that will be my next repair job), I think it's highly probable my dryer vent is clogged.</div>
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The last time I checked that hose, I found a dead bat. No kidding! He came in from outside in a life-changing quest for warmth, and ended up getting his fabric softened...</div>
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So tomorrow, after my wife goes to school, I'm going to remove that exhaust hose. I'll put a bit of catnip in one end and a cat at the other, then go upstairs and pour myself a cup of coffee. If, when I go back to the basement, I see what looks like at least two cats, I'll call the operation a success and put the exhaust hose back on.</div>
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...Then I'll ask my wife to finish the laundry.</div>
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<i></i><br /></div>
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David J. Steelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09261611532245283582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733481898259130944.post-22711252094580364002013-01-24T23:43:00.001-05:002013-01-24T23:44:04.637-05:00Some Thoughts on Happiness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iPuEufPj06w/UQIHNwcyhGI/AAAAAAAAAY4/FOYVOdFWWas/s1600/Positive-Attitude-For-Fitness.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="252" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iPuEufPj06w/UQIHNwcyhGI/AAAAAAAAAY4/FOYVOdFWWas/s320/Positive-Attitude-For-Fitness.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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This isn't a sermon. It's not a quick fix for unhappiness.</div>
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Lots of people have written about happiness. Some of it's good stuff, and some of it isn't. There's no method to obtaining and keeping happiness.</div>
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It's up to you.</div>
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I was unhappy for a long time, but didn't know I was unhappy. I had a good career, but somehow it just wasn't satisfying me. I didn't recognize the correlation at the time, but the higher I went up the ladder, the more I drank. The more I drank, the less happy I became, and the combination of the two led to some interesting--and not <i>good</i> interesting--twists and turns.</div>
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In a path I don't recommend to anyone, I got very sick (Wernicke encephalopathy--which you can read about in this blog). I came pretty close to dying and had to make some difficult lifestyle changes.</div>
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I'm glad I did. I'm glad I got sick--and even happier I recovered--and I'm glad I made the lifestyle changes.</div>
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How does that make me happy? It doesn't. Not by itself, anyway.</div>
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I made a <i>decision</i> to be happy. Maybe it's because of the illness. It might have allowed me to open my eyes and see that happiness is a decision. I <i>decided</i> to be happy.</div>
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Deciding to be happy is the easy part. After that, I needed to decide on the <i>how.</i> My wife, always, and I mean <i>always</i> a source of happiness in my life, stayed with me through it all. </div>
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One day, while cleaning toilets at 4:00 AM as part of my duties as a housekeeper in a big restaurant, I looked at the Johnny mop in my hand an almost felt sorry for myself. There I was, a man with a college degree and seventeen years management experience, wiping bodily fluids off a stool at an ugly hour of the day.</div>
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It made me sad, for about thirty seconds. Then I reflected on how much I had come to dread staff meetings, and long hours, even for the noble cause for which I worked.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
My sadness left. Maybe I banished it, and maybe God blessed me a little bit (again) that day. I started to grin. The job was about as unglamorous as I could imagine, but I did it and did it well. I found it strangely satisfying.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I was free! Not free financially. I needed the money they were paying me. Trust me, cleaning toilets at 4 AM didn't feel like any sort of noble public service, even though it is.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I looked up. Up at the ceiling of the restroom, and then (in my mind at least) <i>through it</i> to blue skies of a world. A world that didn't care what I was doing at that hour. The world was marching on.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The reason I quit my salaried position, was that my wife and I wanted a chance for me to pursue what makes me happy. In my case it was writing. I wanted to write books.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was a concrete goal. We set a deadline--a couple of years--for me to get books into the marketplace. Sure, I dreamed big. I dreamed of writing a bestseller, backed fully by a publisher. It hasn't happened that way, yet. I think it will someday.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I've written several books and self-published them in Kindle format (available at Amazon), Nook format (available at Barnes & Noble), and in paperback and hardcover available here: <a href="http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/Misticuf" target="_blank">www.lulu.com/spotlight/Misticuf</a>. I'm not a housekeeper anymore, but I didn't give it up because I was unhappy with it. Other positions in the same company became available to me, in no small part because of my attitude.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I started getting up early enough to watch the sunrise. I find happiness in watching the birth of each new day. I quit drinking--at first because doctors told me I would die if I didn't--and learned to enjoy sobriety. I learned that it's okay to love simple things. I learned that if I thought I was going to have a bad day, that's what I had. I learned that if I decided to have a good day, that's what I had.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Guess which I decide now, decide <i>consciously</i>. I decide to have a good day. I'm fond of telling people to make it a great day, and I mean it.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Deciding to make each day great is an important step, but it's not the only step. Sometimes we have to make tough choices. If there's something in your life that makes you consistently unhappy...you have to change something about the situation. Don't take that the wrong way. Don't march into your supervisor's office tomorrow and say, "Steele says I have to quit." </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have no idea what you have to do to be happy. You might not even know what you have to do to be happy. Maybe you're happy and don't know it. Take stock of what you have, and you might find you have a lot to be happy about.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
What's my point? Simply this:</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Happiness <i>starts</i> with <i>a decision to be happy.</i></div>
David J. Steelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09261611532245283582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733481898259130944.post-77895507377229345652012-12-13T19:45:00.001-05:002012-12-13T19:45:57.636-05:00One Elevator, One Coat Rack That Doesn't Fit--And One Stubborn Guy<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm happy to serve as a greeter in a very large restaurant. It's a fun part-time job. Tuesday night there was a party, a large party, and two people brought an extra coat rack from upstairs and put it in the lobby.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I promised to put it back in its proper place when I went in on Wednesday morning. The proper place was up one floor and at the opposite corner of the building--a considerable distance away.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I knew the two people who brought it to the lobby brought it down from the second floor on an interior cargo elevator. I <i>thought</i> they did it that way because there were a lot of guests in the building and they didn't want to drag it through the crowds.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I should point out that the coat rack is about eight feet long, and it's not the kind that folds in the middle.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I should also point out that I'm five-foot-six and weigh 128 pounds. I'm not a member of the Big & Tall club. Hell, I'm not even a mascot.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Wednesday morning when I went in, I grabbed the end of the coat rack and started to pull. I decided it would be easier (I was wrong, but we'll get to that) to pull it down a public corridor, around a corner, through another lobby, and take it up a passenger elevator to the second floor.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's easier for two people to move the thing than it is for one person to move the thing, but I'm pretty good at walking backward, so I pulled it a couple hundred yards. Did so with pride, did so with no problem.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
When I pushed the button to summon the elevator I realized...<i>the coat rack is longer than the elevator is deep.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
A smart man would have pulled the coat rack through a dining room, into the kitchen, and taken it up the larger cargo elevator.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i> </i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I decided not to do that. Not after dragging it that far.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
When the elevator doors opened, I pulled the giant coat rack in at an angle. That put me in the far right corner of the elevator.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I cheered when the doors closed neatly, without touching the coat rack. Cheered!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
...Then I realized a couple of things:</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1. The elevator wasn't going anywhere until I pushed a button to change floors.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
2. There was a giant coat rack between me and the buttons</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
3. Flipping one's middle finger at the elevator buttons will not make the elevator move</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I decided not to wait for three hours for the building to open in the hopes that someone would push a button to summon the elevator and inadvertently rescue the man trapped behind the coat rack.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, utilizing height I don't have, I wriggled under the hangars and stepped over the boot shelf...and pushed "2" so the elevator would go to the second floor.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Proud of myself, I said, "HA!"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Then...in the stumbling way of a man who has not yet had enough coffee to be allowed to walk around by himself...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
...<i>I wriggled back through the coat rack to stand where I started in the first place!</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
That place, in case you don't remember, was <i>trapped behind the coat rack!</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I realized my mistake while the elevator rose. I also realized I would have to remove the coat rack in a hurry because the elevator would return to the first floor all by itself if I didn't move fast enough.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i> </i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
When the elevator doors opened on the lobby on the second floor, I started to push the coat rack out. I was NOT breathtakingly successful in this endeavor. The wheels got trapped on the tracks for the elevator door.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i> </i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Once again utilizing my lack of height, I wriggled under the hangars and stepped over the boot shelf. I lifted the wheels out of the elevator tracks with both hands and pulled the thing, at a grindingly slow pace, out of the elevator.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I didn't cuss. I coddled the thing. "You can do it, coat rack. C'mon out. Gooooood coat rack!"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Once in the lobby, my and my coat rack, I put my hands on my hips like a super hero and said, "Welcome home big guy!"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
That's when I saw--we'll call him "Hank"--Hank. He was watering the live Christmas tree in the lobby. He didn't lift a finger to help me, and I don't blame him. He was stunned. He was watching me with the same disbelief people use when they see forty-three clowns step out of a compact car.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I looked at Hank and he said, "That coat rack doesn't fit on that elevator."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This kind of statement, the kind that flies in the face of reality, amuses me to no end. I said, "Sure. <i>Now </i>you tell me."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I put the coat rack where it's supposed to go, and counted it a personal victory. Yes, I rode the elevator down... I had to apologize to the buttons for my crude hand gesture.</div>
David J. Steelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09261611532245283582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733481898259130944.post-74516025973942304452012-11-28T17:48:00.004-05:002012-11-28T17:48:54.138-05:00I'm Toast! (Trying to make a right out of two wrongs)<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">About twenty years ago, I bought a nice electric blanket for my wife and me. I spent some bucks on it. Got the kind with a control for each side of the bed.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I use the electric blanket a lot. Heck, I like to crank up the window AC in the summer and <i>still</i> use the electric blanket. Yeah, baby! It's one of those quirks that make me...me.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">My wife, on the other hand, almost never turns on her side of the blanket.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I'm banking on that being the case at least until tomorrow.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Now we come to the two wrongs:</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b>Wrong One:</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">When we first got the electric blanket, I screwed up when I made the bed. I put <i>her</i> control on <i>my side of the bed! </i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I started out with my control set on 3 of 10. I was still chilly when I climbed in bed about half an hour after she went to sleep, so I turned it up to 5 of 10.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Half an hour later, still cold, I turned it to 6 of 10.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I slept unwell for an hour or so and was still chilly. So I cranked the control up to 7 of 10.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>I didn't notice she had one leg sticking out of her side of the bed. </i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Half an hour of the fetal position, after she elbowed me away, I was still cold.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">So I cranked the control thing (while cussing through chattering teeth) to 9 of 10.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Then I hit 10. Ten, the big one-oh.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">She was flopp<span style="font-family: sans-serif;">ed</span> over onto her back. A fine sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead. She was still asleep, but her hair was plastered on her sweaty head.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Honest... It wasn't until morning that it occurred to me that I might have made a mistake and left myself in control of her slumbering fate.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Unfortunately, she figured out what happened. It's taken me 20 years to live that one down.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b>Wrong Two--time to fix the original error:</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">She still doesn't use the electric blanket much, but I use it all the time.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b>It stopped working on my side the night before last. I've been cold. I've been shivering.</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>Hmmmm...</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">So, this afternoon on my way home two things ran through my mind:</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1. I won't have time until tomorrow to buy a new blanket</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">2. She <i>probably</i> won't turn on her side of the electric blanket tonight. If she <i>does</i>, the light on her dial will come on and she'll <i>think</i> she's turning up the blanket.<i> </i><b> </b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Tomorrow, I'll buy a new electric blanket and we'll be fine.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Tonight, she'll either:</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">A. Not turn on her side of the blanket and I'll get away clean with my little game</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">B. She <i>will </i>turn on her side of the blanket and figure the whole blanket has stopped working.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">C. I'll get an elbow to the ribs and curl up with a cat on the couch.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Lord, please... Let it be "A".</span></div>
David J. Steelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09261611532245283582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733481898259130944.post-25542355353495904532012-11-27T20:46:00.001-05:002012-11-27T20:46:32.013-05:00Found the Pen I Thought I'd Never See Again<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">My wife knows I like fine pens. I have lousy handwriting, but that doesn't mean I have to settle for one of those stick pens or click pens that make the rounds, often with tooth marks on the end--sometimes from many, many mouths.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> <a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4E7zRU5CkmY/ULVp9AhVWVI/AAAAAAAAAYM/eOG-6U28OAc/s1600/Radiance+Ball-Point+Pen+and+0_5mm+Pencil+Set+Forest+Green_gif.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="64" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4E7zRU5CkmY/ULVp9AhVWVI/AAAAAAAAAYM/eOG-6U28OAc/s320/Radiance+Ball-Point+Pen+and+0_5mm+Pencil+Set+Forest+Green_gif.jpg" width="320" /></a> About twenty years ago, she spent some of her hard earned money on a Cross pen and pencil set. They were emerald green, with gold plated clips. They weren't too heavy, or too light. They felt good in my hand and looked good. I lost the pen, and although I missed it, I received a Mont Blanc rollerball pen shortly after that as a recognition for a job well done. The Mont Blanc won a little piece of my heart...until I got tired of paying $14.99 a week for re-fills. They're <i>real proud</i> of those refills! </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> Cross stopped making that particular line of pens and pencils in the 1990's. Of the two--the pen and pencil set, or the wife--I would much rather still have my wife by my side than the pen in my hand. Lucky for me, she's still here!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> Still... I want both. The trouble is, Cross didn't make that particular set for very long and they don't make that one anymore. By the time I decided to seek replacements for the set I lost, they were out of production. I thought I had lost the opportunity. I let the idea go.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> Now there's eBay. I didn't trust eBay when it was just an auction site. I don't know about you, but when I want to buy something, I want to buy it. I don't want to stay close to my computer and try to beat someone else. I don't want to compete for my stuff.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> When I shop eBay, which I do a lot these days, I go for the "buy it now" option.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> The other night I was thinking about my lost pen and pencil. I wasn't really interested in replacing the Cross ballpoint... I'm a fountain pen guy now. I'm assembling a collection of cheap, Chinese fountain pens. Fountain pens are a left-hander's friend. The ink soaks into the paper and doesn't smear when I write. The nib--the point that delivers the ink--makes a nice sound as it rides over the paper. It doesn't slip like a ballpoint, and that improves my handwriting marginally.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> So, with a little time to kill, I stared pecking around eBay. I searched for "Cross Fountain Pen" just to see if I could find one in my price range.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> ...And there it was! Not only did I find a NOS (New, old stock) Cross fountain pen, I found it in the style and color of my long-lost pen/pencil set. The seller has them in green, burgundy, blue, and black. The price is right for me, too. It's a nice pen, the kind you don't let other people borrow or use. I've learned my lesson on that one, the hard way. I like a nice pen, and this one fits the bill: gold plated appointments, and an ink converter included so I can fill it from a bottle of ink. I think I'll collect all four colors.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vk-uW6rU59A/ULVpzb9HtkI/AAAAAAAAAX8/MPyVJbkGmp0/s1600/cross+solo+fountain+pen.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vk-uW6rU59A/ULVpzb9HtkI/AAAAAAAAAX8/MPyVJbkGmp0/s320/cross+solo+fountain+pen.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> I'm not afraid I'll lose it, but I wonder how long it will take me to remember to unscrew the cap rather than just yank it off the end. The good news is that it's a quality pen, and I'm pretty sure the worse that will happen if I forget to unscrew the cap is that I'll transfer it from one hand to the other while looking like an idiot. I can handle that. It's good for a middle aged man to look like an idiot from time to time...</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> ...It keeps him humble and prepares him for old age!</span></div>
David J. Steelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09261611532245283582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733481898259130944.post-21722830169092258462012-11-01T23:53:00.000-04:002012-11-01T23:53:26.097-04:00I'm Starting to Enjoy Ordering On-line<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HJDcTeM7PBc/UJM-O5GsPdI/AAAAAAAAAXY/Dm0oxdgJUnU/s1600/new+pen.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HJDcTeM7PBc/UJM-O5GsPdI/AAAAAAAAAXY/Dm0oxdgJUnU/s320/new+pen.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I like to buy local products and shop in locally owned establishmen<span style="font-size: small;">ts whenever possible.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Sometimes that's not possible<span style="font-size: small;">, and I'm faced with a choice of driving to a bigger city (the one <span style="font-size: small;">I live in has a population of under 3,000) to shop around in the hopes of finding what I want. Or I can buy online. With the price of gas... I buy a lot online.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I'm not the only man who has developed a strange hobby, and I have a budding collection of fountain pens and mechanical watches. I've extolled the virtues (according to me) of each in past posts and I won't dwell on those this time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> I'm starting to enjoy ordering things online. I don't particularly care which site I use to place my order. I do wish I could find American products I could afford when it comes to mechanical watches and fountain pens, and I'm hopeful that I'll be able to do that soon. Call it a goal of mine.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5difKvZscXA/UJM7-OeJLQI/AAAAAAAAAXQ/7hy8LlCAv10/s1600/Flent+watch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5difKvZscXA/UJM7-OeJLQI/AAAAAAAAAXQ/7hy8LlCAv10/s320/Flent+watch.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> The fountain pen and the watch pictured here are items I found on eBay, and they're coming to me from Shanghai.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b>What's Exciting About Buying Online?</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b> </b>Some of you are old enough to remember "mail order", and it would be silly to say that ordering online is much different. It's slightly faster to order online than it is to use mail order. I don't have to wait for the mail to carry my order to the seller. I have my PayPal and checking accounts linked, so the ordering process is pretty much instant.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b> </b>You know what I really like? Tracking! It's cool, at least to me. I get a link and I can watch--in incredibly slow motion, timed with a calendar--the source of my anticipation.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> Computers and automation keep me updated far better than any person from any company I ordered anything from by mail. I know, for instance, that the pen pictured above is on a truck in Allen Park, MI and will arrive at my local post office around 6:00 AM tomorrow. By noon tomorrow I'll open the envelope, pull out the pen, and proceed to wash the nib and fill it with ink.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> I think I'll break in my new acquisition by writing a chapter in <i>Sexton Retribution</i> by hand. That'll be cool. The pen is a Hero fountain pen made in China at a factory that used to be owned by Parker, a factory that was shuttered when Chairman Mao covered the country in communism, and was re-opened a while back. It's stainless steel and cost me a whopping $4.99, shipping included. If it's like the other Hero pen I bought, it will work great. The watch is an automatic (self-winding) skeleton watch, made of stainless steel, and cost me a whopping $16.99, also including shipping.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> I'll be able to track that shipment around the world, too. I get a kick out of reading the updates and imagining my little purchase on planes, trucks, and conveyor belts on its way to me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> Strange, the things we find exciting, isn't it? I like my little collection of pens and watches. It amuses my wife to see me amused with such things. She can't complain, though...she's a scrapbooker.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> That's it's own illness, and it's not that different from a man with a drawer full of fountain pens and watches.</span></div>
David J. Steelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09261611532245283582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733481898259130944.post-19718841293646234772012-10-06T00:06:00.001-04:002012-10-06T00:09:40.392-04:00Reading -- As Important for the Writer as Writing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dcYg6RkBYHo/UG-rIdIvWgI/AAAAAAAAAV4/Tm0TLRGDa-Y/s1600/mind+break.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dcYg6RkBYHo/UG-rIdIvWgI/AAAAAAAAAV4/Tm0TLRGDa-Y/s320/mind+break.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I'm working on my 10th book, which happens to be the fifth (and final) book in the <i>Sexton Chronicles.</i></span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">You should buy them all, by the way!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Commercial aside, I'll get back to the story:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> I've been banging away happily on my own books. If you read <i>Blackout: A Look Inside Wernickes</i>, you'll remember that I was quite ill about seven years ago. In fact, I could easily have died from that illness. As I recovered, I typed the work of several different authors. I was trying to rebuild my brain, and I'm glad I did that. Doing so allowed me to take note of every facet of each author's writing. More importantly, it helped me flex mental muscles that hadn't been flexed--or if flexed, bent to hell and back--and come back to myself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Lately, though, I've been doing the <i>second</i> most important thing a writer can do. (The most important thing a writer can do is write.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> I've been reading. Like the guy perched comfortable on the side of the mountain, I've been enjoying the spectacle of other people's fiction. In one sense, it's a break. I get to relax and let someone else unfold events, build characters, and give me a new perspective.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> It's not easy to read when you're a writer. I don't analyze other people's writing if I can help it. I'm not a nit-picker by nature. Unfortunately, though, I do find myself caught up in the trees rather than the forest sometimes. I see sentences and paragraphs and can have a heck of a time just...well...<i>reading.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><i> I forced myself</i>. I forced myself to start spending a couple of hours each day in my favorite chair, in what I now call my reading spot. Reading Spot. It's an old, brown wing chair I bought right after I graduated college. It sits under a lamp on the top landing of the staircase on the second floor of our big house. When I glance up, I can look out the window at the trees, sky, and a bit of the street below.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><i> It's good to read</i> without judgement. Without trying to figure out where the story is going, or where I would take it if I was the writer. I'm happy to report I've been able to do that lately, and it's precious to me. I'm not going to imitate the style of the authors I'm reading. I'm not even thinking about their style. I'm just reading.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><i> </i>Actually, I suppose there's more to it than that. I'm <i>absorbing.</i> There's no way to pinpoint what I'm learning as I read. I just let the images, characters, and story take me to where the author wants me to go.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><i> Then, when my fingers caress my own keyboard, </i>they do so with more grace. That's probably not the right word, but it's close.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><i>It's the most enjoyable way I've found to improve my own writing.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><i>And now for a blatant commercial -- </i>Try one of my books. I think you'll like them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><i><a href="http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/Misticuf" target="_blank">Books by David J. Steele</a> </i> </span></div>
David J. Steelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09261611532245283582noreply@blogger.com0