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Sunday, February 29, 2004

Grounded

Adam Kibbe

Across the gap of adjoining parking spaces, and through the silencing barriers of two car windows, Dan was laughing in time with me. As we rolled down our windows to say Hi, we knew without saying we were both listening to NPRís “Wait, Wait, Donít Tell Me”. Heíd just pulled up beside me in front of Daniela’s Cantina (once Daniela’s Tacorito) in Acton, where we were meeting Mike for an impromptu lunch. “Osama bin Laden may still be on the loose, but that’s one baseball that’ll never hurt anybody again,” was among the sidesplitters in the broadcast (referring to the recent, explosive destruction of a small leather-wrapped sphere whose role in a baseball playoff game had bizarrely and ridiculously reached curse status………).

Lunch was tasty, despite Dan’s instant aversion to the Americanization of a cuisine probably never actually found this side of the Rio Grande, no matter the nationality or recency of immigration of its proprietors. But an aside with our waitress got him a slightly more acceptable meal from off the menu, and I thoroughly enjoyed my stock, grilled-vegetable burrito (defiling cheese and all). Mike let us eat much of his, so I’ll not interpret his opinion……. And after much discussion over beer, margaritas, and Mike’s virgin ‘rita (lemonade), on topics mostly engendered by The Passion of the Christ, and other such, Mike broached coming back to his place to have a look at Matthew’s car. He claimed he’d been putting off taking it to a shop for a known but undiagnosed electrical problem, confident that within the collective experience and wisdom of his wide-ranging sphere of friends, someone — he was pretty sure Dan — would be able to solve it for him.

With the hood up in the almost-warm, day-before-leap-day sun, optimism stared down realism. None of us know all that much about cars. The basics, sure, and enough to broadly discuss most topics, or identify most thingies under the hood. But to hunt down an invisible, elusive, presumably electrical problem that had started 30 years ago……………? Where to even begin?

Well, pushing it out of the icy pond in which it was marooned and getting it closer to Dan’s Maxima, with its vigorous battery, was a start. But with jumper cables applied, the merest of clicks issued from the vicinity of the dash, the umbilical for some reason insufficient to even close a solenoid. Mike assured us that time was a factor, having been here before, and so we circled around the possible underlying issues while we waited for some electrical process we couldn’t identify to take place.

For one thing, we noticed a plug of some sort loose in space. Presumably it was supposed to be engaged somewhere. And soldered into the wires that fed it was a curious, lacquered cylinder, which Dan, the ex-electrical engineer, identified as a rheostat, or variable resistor. This jogged memories that Matt’s grandfather Mack, himself once an electrical engineer, had tinkered at length decades ago when symptoms of poor starting first surfaced. This must be one of his interventions. But to what end?

And along the same wheel well, he’d soldered a capacitor from a bare place exposed on a small, blue wire, over to a body mounting bracket, and thus ground. Hmmmmmmmmmm……… More puzzlement.

After many false starts, a little more gas in the tank, and one more-patient-than-usual wait, the Beemer finally turned over and ran. Spurting fuel from a cracked line, and hesitating a bit, but clearly healthy, with its basic parts in indisputable working order. So what had happened to change its earlier rigor mortis? Well, for one thing there WAS a charge in the battery now. Why that would be important, we weren’t sure. Cars with almost dead batteries are usually easily started by jumping. But this one always goes dead again. And a voltmeter quickly showed that the Beemer’s alternator wasn’t participating. At all.

So we got out the manual’s wiring diagram (yes, they have the original manual!), which, while in large part incomprehensible to me, is at least encouragingly simple. It fits legibly on one 5 x 8 (or, being German, 13cm. x 20 cm.) page. Dan identified the key component, the alternator, which Mike and Matt had already replaced months back, from a more instinctual diagnosis. We traced every wire shown in relation to it, and lo and behold………… No ground! None. And thus no circuit. As the old alternator’s ground was missing, Mike and Matt hadn’t installed one, and while we haven’t concocted a theory for why Mack might’ve thought it unnecessary and deliberately removed it, we think we’ve at least identified why the alternator’s not charging the battery.

Then we traced the wiring from alternator to regulator. Dan did an impressive job of explaining what a regulator does, and even correctly guessed which thingie IS the regulator, and then we identified that the wires leading to the regulator end in the free-floating plug thingie……….. A second smoking gun.

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Ye old regulator

A few hiccups of memory bubble up from days when Dan had more grease on his hands. When regulators go bad (and they always do), they CAN be bypassed — while important, they are not critical. And slowly we piece together what might have happened…….. When the Beemer first showed starting problem symptoms, it may well be that it was the regulator. Either because he was frugal, or because it was a German exotic in the stolid Midwest of the day, or just because he could — Mack bypassed it. But not crudely, just by crossing some wires. First he inserted the rheostat to be able to tailor the alternator’s output voltage. Then he inserted the capacitor to drain off any excess voltage into the carriage. Mystery plausibly explained. And yours truly had the last inspiration.

The capacitor showed major signs of cracking. What if the solution had actually become the problem? Dan throws the probes across the capacitor, and sure enough — a short to ground. The damaged capacitor is draining the battery, and the ungrounded alternator’s not there to feed it. Facts fall all over themselves for us.

So Mike calls his auto parts store and orders up a regulator. Should have it in two days and be around $30. We sit around feeling dubiously proud, though the jury’s still out — Mike and Matt will make these fixes, and we’ll get back to you. Yes, we were once again manipulated by Machiavellian Mike into doing his work for him — the spirit of Huck Finn lives on, transported from the Midwest by Wolfman, now playing father in the Northeast.

And Matt, who is now driving anything he can, now that he is — say a prayer — a licensed individual, may one day be able to drive his own car, one that a loving family, visionary father, and host of dedicated friends has made, if not yet possible, at least thinkably likely.

posted by michael at 6:38 pm  

Sunday, February 29, 2004

Leis

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Jeff helping Karen with her lei Peter brought from Hawaii.
Yesterday we may have made serious progress in solving the BMW’s starting problem. I’m hopeful that Adam will fill in the details.

posted by Michael at 8:06 am  

Saturday, February 28, 2004

Not the Thrilla in Manila (but close)

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Peter and Helen.

Brian brought a pocket sized movie camera and took three movies. I combined two, and lost some quality, but the file size is small enough for even the modem impaired. If you’re patient. Click here to watch Matthew crush his poor uncle.

* Note : I was smart enough not to challenge him.

posted by Michael at 11:28 am  

Thursday, February 26, 2004

Rum Drinks

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Neo and his dad.
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Patting the last hair into place.
Brian’s photos taken in the Marriott in Evansville.

I’m embarrassed to say it, but I couldn’t “do” Gauguin. I looked at his Tahitian women, those muted, not brilliant colors, his interpretation of the female form (what was he thinking?), assorted carvings thrown in for local flavoring and could only think of rum drinks from a Chinese restaurant. I’m sorry. Further on in the exhibit were dark, foreboding, wood block prints that appealed to me, but by then it was too late. Diane, however, loved it, especially in respect to the rich French tradition he had departed from to display his own vision. Matt and Hillary politely gave it a thumbs up.
But the fun part of the evening was dinner at the Smokehouse restaurant. There, we toasted Matt’s driver’s license , and Hillary smeared barbecue rib sauce all over her face. Not intentionally, mind you, that’s why each table comes with a roll of paper towels. Matt suggested I take her photo, but I didn’t dare. You see, many of my most prized shots, are arguably not my own, but only Matt knows for sure. Had I taken one of Hillary, it would have been compared, unfavorably, to Matt’s, and I would have been exposed.

posted by Michael at 11:13 am  

Wednesday, February 25, 2004

Gauguin

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Dash Ruthenburg, unfairly passed over for the lead role in that new Mel
Gibson movie.
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Father, and as Sidney Toler would say, Number One son.
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Matt is bringing Hillary and we’re all going to the MFA tonight to see the Gauguin exhibition. Afterwards, perhaps dinner at the flaming barbeque place in Brookline to celebrate Matt’s passing his …. .

3:45 PM LATE BREAKING NEWS

All unessential personnel (women and children?) should leave their vehicles and hide in their homes until further notice. Matthew is now a licensed driver.

posted by Michael at 6:28 am  

Monday, February 23, 2004

Family

Shinydome sent a 360 degree view of
Torroemore.
I like the footprints leading to the spot where the photo was taken, and the grey
tombstone looking things that must be ice fishing shacks. i’m sure we are all thinking the same thing. How great would it be to have a similar 360 degree view in the summer? Is the bass boat steady enough?
I wanted to turn the photo into a Quicktime panorama, but the software to do that, which used to be freeware, is now expensiveware. This site is a gold mine of mountain photos, hiking trails, and those Quicktime panos. Rakkity, how many of those mountains have you climbed?

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Matt and his Indiana grandmother.

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Matt and (lean on me) Peter.

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posted by Michael at 6:32 am  

Sunday, February 22, 2004

Red LIghts

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Man in blue.

Dear Matthew,

Itís my fault. No, really, it is.

Do you remember sitting in momís car waiting for that two hundred and fifty pound trooper with his crewcut, and face hacked out of granite? The guy who barely fit in the passengerís seat. And do you remember all of my helpful questions to prepare you for your driving test?

ìMatt, how far from a stop sign are you legally required to stop?î

ìShuutup, youíre freaking me out!î

ìMatt, how far from an intersection should you engage your turn signals?î

ìShuutup, youíre freaking me out. Donít ask me questions you donít have the answers to.î

ìShouldnít you know the answers?î

ìIíll tell you how many. Itís, shuuttt the hell up, number of feet. Thatís how many.î

If mom had taken you for your driverís test, sheíd have left the teasing at home, and asked sensible questions. As I should have. She would have asked you what your friends had problems with, and you certainly would have remembered that Julie, too, drove right through that tricky red light. The one without an intersection, the one thirty feet before the red light, with a very busy intersection.

Not passing that test is a blip, but what is not a blip is the respect your adult friends (you know the list, we had dinner with most of them last night) have for you. Those that love and know you best, were flabbergasted that you came home without your license. Had I claimed the earthís magnetic poles flipped, they would have said, ìOkay.î But no one could believe that you didnít pass it. Like it or not, you got a rep, boy.

Love,

Dad

posted by Michael at 7:53 am  

Friday, February 20, 2004

Fallon

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Fabulous family photo send by Susan:
“It is the lace curtain Irish (as opposed to shanty) family Fallon †— Rose and Michael being the procreators. †God knows when it was taken ó mid teens, maybe? †Our grandmother, Florence Grace †Fallon Hotze (but was she Hotze at this point?) is second from the left in the standing up row, right behind her mam.”
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“Interchangeable” begs a comment from yours truly, but for once, I’m keeping my mouth shut.
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Susan at age 16, or maybe 15.

posted by Michael at 6:02 pm  

Thursday, February 19, 2004

Panorama

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Jimmy sent me a panoramic view of Torroemore and beyond. This is a remarkable collection of hand held photos – think human tripod with a swivel mount. Yeah, it does make me nostalgic for a 360 degree view.
Wider View

posted by Michael at 9:33 pm  

Thursday, February 19, 2004

Velcro

Weíre home.

Except for Dianeís sickness almost unto death, and Brianís early departure, it was a great visit. My mother is loving, resilient, generous, and truly an inspiring example that as one ages, one does not have to become, as Susan describes it, less crisp. And for that matter, given my fatherís deft touch in the stock market at eighty-nine, he too is a shining role model.


Iím ambivalent about posting this, not because Chris wouldnít want me to, she laughed when she related it to me, but perhaps because my duckís back has picked up some velcro. I might add that when I repeated it to Diane, she laughed and hard, but it all ended in another round of bronchial paroxysms.

Matthew, age seven, and his older brother, Michael, were watching TV, when Michael turned to Chris and said, ì Mom, the woman in that commercial reminds me of you.î

Chris replied that she was flattered that Michael was thinking about her and comparing her to someone on TV, to which Matthew interjected, ìMom, you donít understand. She reminds Michael of you because sheís stupid.î

Our Matthew takes his driver’s test today… .

posted by Michael at 8:57 am  

Monday, February 16, 2004

Lay Lady Lay

Yesterday, after breakfast at Denny’s, after waiting exactly (according to the only person more impatient that I, my father) sixty-two minutes for our food to be served, we drove back home, a few minutes before Jeff and Karen knocked on the back door. Their arrival is not so notable, but the subsequent knock on the front door is. Standing in forty degree weather, no shirt, sandals, a deep Hawaiian tan, AND a SEG, was brother Peter. As surprised as we all were, it paled in comparison to poor, sick, delusional Diane’s reaction.

We drove to the Marriott and Peter walked into our personal tuberculositarium, stood over sleeping Diane, and placed a purple and white orchid lei around her neck. She awoke, looked at the lei, had no idea what it was, other than possibly another juvenile prank by her husband, then looked into Peter’s smiling eyes, imagined they were mine- for a moment- then said, “Is that you Peter, or am I dreaming?”

Besides Peter’s surprise and a brief evening meal in her room, Diane spent another full day in bed, but today looks brave enough to venture out. There may not be great tourist attractions in Southern Indiana, but we always thoroughly enjoy our visits here, and this year’s trip will now be too closely compared to our flu-cancelled Christmas.

Last night’s dinner was another carry out ( that would be take out in New England), this one, pizza and Greek salads from The Deerhead. In spite of the raw numbers of people – Jeff, Karen and Dash too – we didn’t finish two large. What’s up with that?

Brian brought his miniature movie camera and recorded, among other things, Matt and Peter banging out thirty-five ( Peter wanted to do fifty) mano a mano pushups (looks like a training film for Navy Seals), and Matthew crushing his fit uncle in an arm wrestling contest. I warned Peter, but he couldn’t gracefully back down. At least he avoided injury, which is more than I can say. The last time I arm wrestled Matt, I thought I’d been permanently crippled.

Lastly, Brian, given the tenuous nature of this business, flew back this morning on the 10 AM flight. We’ll miss him and we’ll miss Peter doling out instructions to him for a healthier life. No, Susan, Peter’s are not like Joan’s.

posted by Michael at 4:54 pm  

Friday, February 13, 2004

Under the Weather

ìActon Medical.î

ìGood morning, Iím calling for my wife, Diane Canning, who is a patient of Dr. Way.î

Hack, hack, cough, sputter.

ìIs that her in the backgound?î

ìYes it is.î

ìSounds like my husband.î

ìShe’s been like that since Sunday. Had a low grade fever on Monday, which spiked to 102 last night. Congested, hurts to cough, even hurts too breathe. And, we’re supposed to fly out of here this afternoon, so she .. .î

ìSounds like she might have pneuomia, I can get her in this morning…hold on a minute.î

Tick tock tick tock … .

ìCan she get here by 9 AM?î

ìSure can, weíre on our way, and thanks.î

No pneumonia, but what a way to begin our yearly Haj to Evansville. We normally go in April, when the flowers are blooming, but this year Adam and I have plans to fly Matt and company into a remote Maine lake. I hope the snow is gone by then.

Next post from the airport Marriott in Evansville. For a glimpse of the past

posted by Michael at 12:27 pm  
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