Parking on hills

Turns out it wasn't really the starter that was making all the trouble. It was the thing attached to it. What DO they call that thing, what's the technical term? Oh yeah, Motor! There is an ear broken on the motor block, where transmission and motor come together. So they're together, but they're not really together in a good way...sounds like a lot of marriages.

So in the interim, I have to park making sure I'm on a hill. The flywheel is chewed up, there's a dead spot in it. Like my hero RE Lee, I'm lately mindful of topography.

The broken ear on the motor block can't be repaired, because motor block on a 1988 Mustang is cast iron, as well it should be. And it costs $3500. I paid enough attention in Metallurgy class to know you can't weld cast iron. So it was never the starter really. The starter was the canary in the coal mine, trying to tell me the motor had an ear problem, just like Van Gogh.

Oddly enough, I once got my right ear cut off by a chain link fence, but I got better, and I digress.

So now we are engaged in a Great Civil War, testing whether this Mustang or any Mustang so constituted can long endure. I'm sure not rich. I have to decide now if the Mustang is going to get restored fully, or consigned to junkyard. Well, ya know? Middle aged white guys often go in one of three directions:
1.) Go buy a motorcycle.
2.) Go buy a Corvette.
3.) Drive around in a restored classic car.

I've got nothing against motorcycles or Corvettes. I really despise getting old though, but compared to the alternatives? I like English sports cars, always have. And this Mustang, I didn't choose that car, I inherited it. But I'm going to restore it. After all, it got me to Holly Springs and back, with just ONE muffler falling off in the process. Worth restoring just for that day.

Singing in Church

Sitting in the front pew by necessity not by choice, (SOME little Church!) my beady green eyes were darting back & forth. I had been invited to perform because my co-worker is their Minister and he was planning a service a little less structured this week. I accepted because I reasoned that since I didn't much care to participate, probably I should do so.

He had assured me, "Just play Amazing Grace, that's always good." It had been a good service. A man stood and talked of his trying to beat drug addiction without God, and finding it impossible to do so. Then he sang a song.

When the man who talked about drug addiction sat down, this young couple came up front to sing. They were cute as two kittens, neither of them past twenty-five, and obviously so much in love. They gave the Preacher a CD and asked him to play track five. Meanwhile, there I was in the front pew, getting ready to sing Amazing Grace.

Turns out, track five kind of WAS Amazing Grace! They sang it well, but I didn't have time to think about that. I was busy weighing options, and had about four minutes to plan. I could either:

1.) And that was great. Have you folks ever heard the Reggae version of Amazing Grace?
2.) Stairway to Heaven is a song that has always touched me, and here it is.
3.) Play something else, pull something out of thin air.

Four minutes to think, and I thought about the man who spoke of drug addiction. There was a time in my life where that could've been my story. Had there been ample enablers around me, I might have gone that way too. What's so magical about me, after all?

Every Christian has a conversion story, and they aren't all objectively dramatic, but all are dramatic to the owner of that experience. I stood to sing a song I'd written fifteen years earlier, and hadn't played much since.

As I wandered wild and aimless through my life,
As I stumbled like a boxer on the ropes.
As I stood out on the edge looking down,
It was only then that I began to hope.

I doubt that I'll be invited back anytime soon, and that is fine with me. I'd have rather sung Amazing Grace cause it is easy. But perhaps there is something about the Lord, that He/It doesn't want us to be comfortable around Him/It. Track five forced me to dig deep and understand I could've easily been this guy talking about drug addiction. Nothing magical about me that I've noticed yet.

Instructions

Some things in life we take joy in, and to explain the process becomes problematic. First, because this delight is immediate and doesn't come from the same part of the brain that forms words. Second, because often, describing the reason for our smile sheds no light. A smile is good enough.

Point is, at times attempts to explain that which we find joy in is simply a futile exercise. Just shut up and throw it out there. Nobody wants to read another editorial David! It doesn't enhance the experience, OK?

I found this matchbook cover outside a convenience store. Transcript of instructions follows:

Firmly grasp individual match, keeping fingers away from igniting tip. After liberating said match from its confinement, assure that your matchbook cover is closed. Briskly strike the tip across the provided strikeplate on the backside of your matchbook to facilitate ignition of said match. Repeat when necessary. Flame good.

He-man Auto repair

Well, I could have had the car towed to a shop and let them fix it. But I figure anyone who can jump out of an airplane should be able to change a starter. Yet, perhaps the former has no bearing on the latter?

She is a 1988 Mustang convertible, and we have a complex relationship. Neither of us know whether we're in the midst of a slow process that will restore her to former glory, or if I am just too stingy to buy a new car. As with many other relationships, we're just taking it day to day and we'll see what happens.

Two things were certainly not in question:
1.) The starter needed replacing.
2.) Whoever designed the 1988 Mustang thought my hands were much smaller.

And there we were. One of the things about growing older is one's skillset tends to decline in some annoying ways. A good third act demands we reverse this natural process much as possible. Try to hold on to old skills, but find new ones too. Now, I've never been much for auto repair. I'm good with my hands on woodworking or playing guitar, but working on cars has never been my forte.

A light bulb came on over my head! Not old-school light bulb, but one of those new fangled squiggly ones that helps save the rainforests and all. I would change my own starter!

The first day, I got one bolt loose. Only took four hours, so I thought that was pretty good!

The second day, I got TWO bolts loose in ONLY six hours!

The third day I rose early, and fortified by coffee, went again to face the beast. Lying under the car, I just couldn't figure out how to remove the old starter from the underbelly of the Mustang, cause I was pretty sure that was necessary before putting the new one in. After some debate with myself (like two hours) I realized I must remove this tubular steel brace and then starter would come out just fine. A couple of more bolts loosened, and WOW!

No headhunter in New Guinea has ever been prouder of a trophy than I was when I held the decripit starter in my hands. Was all I could do not to knock on neighbors' doors and show them the starter. The replacement went along at a dizzying pace! It only took four hours!

The Mustang started right up! Well, after I charged the battery. Turns out I'd accidentally left the key switch on four days. Hey, anybody could make that mistake, all right?

The only thing I really regret is taking three bolts out when the job only required two bolts loosened. Turns out that third bolt had nothing to do with the starter. It was actually one of the bolts holding the transmission to the motor, and you know for best results in vehicle operation, those two have to stay close together.

But hey? Anybody who can jump out of an airplane can spend three hours removing, then another four hours replacing a bolt they needn't have messed with in the first place, right?

Skydiving

Some just shook their heads, while others exclaimed, "OOH! I've always wanted to do that too!"

But regardless of opinions pro and con, there I was about to skydive for the first time. My opinion, when you hit 50 you are embarking on the third and final chapter of your life. Now would be an acceptable time for a few plot twists.

I wasn't a bit afraid, until the instructor began giving me pre-flight instructions. I suppose I had presumed his title was purely honorary or something. Up until the instructions started, my perception of the experience had been:

1.) Pay $200.

2.) Get securely fastened to a professional skydiver.

3.) Jump from plane, land without incident.

So learning I was expected to do certain things and do them correctly made me a little uneasy. Knowing me as I do, and recalling that I have messed up a thing or two along the way, maybe this skydiving wasn't such a great idea after all?

Just a little male pride was enough to get me through. Quickly, all the chutes were packed, we were suited up and bustling onto the airplane. Not much time for second thoughts.

At 15,000 feet, I was somewhat nervous when the plane door was opened. I've been on lots of aircraft before, but never one with the door open. But by then, we're going. Stand in the doorway, rock forward on ONE, TWO, and on THREE thrust hips forward with all your might, and there you are!

Freefall was a little frightening. I had meant to yell "Geronimo!" as I've heard is customary, but just remembering to breathe was a chore. After that hard jerk of the canopy opening though, it is all worth it. We floated down through clouds towards a landscape that looked so much more beautiful than it had at ground level.

I would have been happy to stay up there an hour like that, but you know gravity. All too soon my feet were in the gravel of the landing area, and it was over.

So now what can I do with this experience? I intend to use it as a motivational tool, sort of my own personal "If they can put a man on the moon" thing.

When faced with something I don't particularly feel like doing, but know I should, I resolve to say: "Now anybody who can jump out of an airplane ought to be able to do this!"

We'll see what trouble that attitude gets me into in the near future!