Some Minor Updates.

1. We have plumbing in the new (old) half-bath on the side porch! Mr. Scout and his plumber hacked, sawed, and felled a 300-lb. cast iron vent pipe from the side of the house, replacing it with a temporary in-wall unit until after the 4th of July. This morning, after delivering Finn to daycare, I picked up a new toilet and sink from the Gucci Lowe’s. They will get installed tomorrow along with the door and some temporary drywall to make a functional bathroom for the parade.

2. The carburetor on the Scout is being assembled as I type, and hopefully I will get a call this evening with an update and the go-ahead to pick it up. Which is good, because we have new piles of debris to haul away from the house.

3. I made a few edits to the files here on the site in an attempt to speed up pageloads. Let me know if you see any difference (it’s that little link to the left that says “comment”).

4. Plans are afoot for a vacation stay in the Outer Banks in September right around Finn’s birthday. We have a house picked out with a stunning view of the beach and a lovely in ground pool for the girl to splash around in. We are excited to have something fun to look forward to.

Number 6.

Wow, what a busy weekend. I feel, this morning, like somebody beat me up with a baseball bat. That’s not to say it wasn’t a great weekend—in fact, it was fantastic. Saturday was our sixth wedding anniversary, and in a rare display of forward thinking, I had a day of fun planned for my bride. Finn and I woke at our usual time, went out on a hike for food, and then returned home to Mama to share breakfast. We then spent some family time in the backyard working in the garden and assembling our new adirondack chairs before Aunt Christi arrived to take over babycare duties.

Jen and I then drove out to Lisbon to have some tasty lunch at the Towne Grill (fantastic smoked barbecue and sweet potato fries, YUM) before exploring Sun Nurseries for landscaping and gardening ideas. You may laugh at our romantic idea of alone time, but it was some of the best time I’ve spent alone with her in ages. It’s also nice to carry on a conversation without interruption for more than five minutes.

In the late afternoon, we had dinner reservations downtown at Cinghale, Cindy Wolf’s newest restaurant, which is billed as authentic country-style Italian and feels open and friendly inside. Taking the opportunity to dress up like adults, we ordered cocktails, selected from the Presto Fizzo menu and had a sommelier pair a light chianti for the meal. Everything was superb, from the service to the food, and if you go, we recommend the duck.

After dinner, we had tickets to an evening with Anthony Bourdain and Eric Ripert at the Hippodrome theater, where we sat in an audience filled with adoring foodies and listened to the two chefs talk about food, the restaurant business, fame, and famous people. I liked Bourdain before—I’ve caught his show a couple of times over the years—but having heard him talk I think we may seek his programs a bit more in the future. (I have a general dislike for cooking shows, mainly because I can’t taste the food myself, but I like the format of No Reservations, which is a mixture of essay, travelogue, and restaurant review).

After the show we walked through the lobby, where tables were arranged with all manner of different food for tasting; as it was only 10PM, we got a drink at the bar and sampled some chocolate before meeting up with some new acquaintances of Jen’s from her yoga class. It was about this time that a woman stopped over to check our wrists for armbands… apparently there was a more expensive ticket offered which included the tasting and a meet-and-greet with the chefs that we were not invited to, so she bounced us! I guess there’s nothing like a little lawbreaking to spice up an anniversary.

Sunday morning I cruised over the Bay Bridge to wrench on trucks with Mr. Scout, who is so tantalizingly close to being finished with his project he can taste it. During the course of the afternoon, we got the passenger’s door hardware completely installed (the driver’s side regulator was broken), chased down a bad wire in the temperature gauge, mounted the license plate holder and light, mounted the Tuffy console, and a myriad of other small things I can’t remember. We even fired it up and took it for a brief spin down the block, which was fantastic! He plied us with delicious tuna steaks and homebrew, but I somehow dragged myself away to boogie home in time for the LOST finale.

Overall, I was happy with the way they wrapped things up. I don’t share the hate some people have expressed for the final church theme, and I liked how they explained the flash-sideways construct in relation to the whole mythos of the show. Each of the sideways awakenings were handled pretty well (Juliet/Sawyer was really good, as well as Claire/Charlie), and I was happy to see characters from the first seasons come back one last time. The final sequence was good too; I liked how Vincent came back to be with Jack at the very end to close the circle. It’s not often I invest heavily in a TV program, and I’ve had my moments of doubt with LOST over the years, but I’m sad to see this one end.

Weekend Wrap-Up.

Saturday morning, I let Finn talk quietly to herself in her crib while I snuck downstairs and got her breakfast together. Weekends are my days to wake with her while Jen sleeps, and she knows the routine well enough now that when I’m the one who opens the door, she’ll whisper, “Mama seepin” and stay quiet all the way down the stairs. While she ate her breakfast, I sipped coffee and planned out our route based on the yard sale signs that appeared Friday evening. After she’d finished and we changed her diaper, I dropped her in the backpack and we slipped out the door.

The first one was right around the corner, and it was the best of the day. For $11, I found a tricycle with a training handle, and three Melissa & Doug puzzles in fantastic shape. We ran them back home and then continued on into town for breakfast, stopping off at four more sales along the way. There were some interesting items and some total crap, but nothing we really needed, so we picked up food and turned for home. By the time we got back, an hour had passed and Mama was awake, so we sat together and enjoyed a quiet morning before the day got started.

Finn is getting more and more comfortable in the pool as the weeks go by. She tried jumping into my arms from the edge of the pool last week, and it’s now one of her favorite things to do. We try to stay in the water as much as possible, though, because they have the place chilled down to arctic temperatures for some unknown reason. Usually by the end of the session, she’s shivering even as she’s laughing, so we try to bundle her up into the locker room as quickly as possible. We’re actually going to look into switching facilities for that reason, because we don’t want to give up on swimming with her.

She passed out so completely on the car ride home that I had to scoop her up like a linguini noodle and pour her into bed without any lunch. While she slept, I joined Jen and we cleaned the house like a couple of tornadoes straightening up everything in sight for our dinner guests: S. and D., whom we haven’t seen in ages. They were kind enough to bring over a metric ton of awesome sushi, so we started pouring stoli & tonics and dug in. Finn stayed awake long enough to eat two full meals: a standard Finn dinner and an entire plateful of kid-safe sushi (cooked and vegetarian choices). After she went to sleep, we stayed up and almost killed the bottle. Thanks for a great evening, guys!

Sunday morning Finn and I repeated our quiet ritual and snuck out right at eight, hiking into town under a big umbrella to stay out of the drizzle. After picking up breakfast, we took the long way home, waiting for rainclouds to give way to blue skies. Finn chattered in my ear the whole way, making sure to say “seeyoulaterbyebye” to fire trucks, concrete trucks, pickup trucks, dogs, people, planes, flowers, and every person walking the other way. We took a new route and explored a whole area of the ‘Ville I’ve never really noticed, which was interesting.

At 11, after breakfast, we walked down to the center of Catonsville to take in the first day of the weekend Farmer’s Market with our friends J. and A., and we were pleasantly surprised by the amount of people who were there and the amount of people we knew. It was enough that for the first time, I actually felt like we were part of the community and not just people who owned a house in the neighborhood. The market itself was smaller than the weekday version, but with the turnout they had, I’m sure it’s going to grow quickly. We visited with friends, took in the stands, and picked up a wide assortment of sundries: A bison delmonico steak, six tomato seedlings (and one zucchini), a pound of organic strawberries, and one chocolate-on-chocolate gourmet cupcake.

With the new motor installed

In the afternoon, while Finn napped, we split up to attack different projects: Jen worked in the garden to plant seedlings and finish the back beds, and I started pulling the headliner out of the Saturn to get the sunroof closed. Following the directions I’d found online, I got the entire thing disassembled and down within about twenty minutes. Before I continued to page three, where it said pull eight bolts and remove the entire sunroof assembly, I decided, in a rare and uncharacteristic moment of intelligence, to plug the spare motor I’d pulled from the junkyard into the switch to see if it worked. To my surprise, it did—so I bolted it into place and closed the sunroof. At that point it was a simple matter to clip the headliner back up and bolt everything back into place.

After the tracks were down but before the glass went back in

Pleased with my success, I hurried to get everything cleaned up, then ran inside to give the newly-woken girl a snack, strapped her in the car, and hustled up 695 to the bike store to look at helmets and rear panniers before they closed for the evening. We wound up talking to the manager of the store, who was very helpful, and ordered a 1-3 y.o. helmet for the girl as well as a wicker and leather basket for the front of the tandem. We’ll have to return the pannier I bought—the whole point is that we got a free child’s bike seat at a yard sale that’s designed to snap onto a metal pannier, but the way this is constructed it won’t go on completely. So, back to the store I’ll go. (I found it hard not to be thinking about upgrades to my other two bikes while we were there, but we’ve got to get Mama something to ride first).

Dinner was quiet and delicious: leftover sushi and a garden salad, followed by our cupcake, split three ways. Finn has also learned how to clink glasses for a toast, drink a bit, then put her cup down and say, “Ahhh.”

When it was time to lay down, we wrassled on the bed in her room and made her giggle by kissing and tickling and zerberts, and then read a book until her eyes got heavy. She repeated, “Iluboo” as we closed the door and then quietly murmured herself off to sleep.

Good Friday.

Last week, Mr. Scout texted me about playing hooky sometime in the near future to hit the junkyard. As it turned out, I had an office holiday this Friday, he was on this side of the river, the sun was out, and Mama had Finn with her for the majority of the day. So we made the best of things.

Our wishlist was long, but one of my top priorities was to find a new taillight for the Slattern, which had been suffering from a bashed lens since last summer. Last fall, I couldn’t find a donor Saturn of compatible vintage for love or money over several visits, but we stumbled upon three candidates almost as soon as we walked in the yard. Two twists of a star-head screwdriver, one unplugged socket, and I had an unblemished replacement in my hands. Score!

We were also looking for Scout-related stuff, including replacement shoulder belts that could be retrofitted, or a decent set of rearview mirrors.

Meanwhile, picking over the lot from one side to the other, we found all kinds of humor, intentional and unintentional.

I’m a sucker for old, rust-prone, unusual vehicles, so whenever I see something interesting, I stop and shoot pictures.

This Le Car looked almost pristine, even as it sat up to its axles in muddy water. I tried to find a way to pull the single rearview mirror off the door, but I was foiled by strange French engineering and a fear of wet socks.

Next to it sat one of three British survivors in the yard, a rusting heap of an MG. The wooden wheel had already been pulled, as well as the hood (that’s bonnet to you, mate) but the rest of the car looked pretty clean. I was tempted to pull the rest of the chrome badges off, but the entire panel felt like it was going to come with them, so I left it all in place.

Returning home, we lunched on some burgers and then set to work checking out Peer Pressure. We pulled the thermostat and tested it out in boiling water; the valve opened exactly as it should have. So we got to work pulling the radiator out completely. This is a job we’ve both had experience with before, so this time we knew what we were doing (mostly), and had it out within about 20 min. We drained the tank, made short work of each of the mounting bolts, struggled to pull the lower hose off, peeled back the fan shroud, and slid it upwards and out of the truck as pretty as you please. Over a couple of pails, we flushed out the interior and waited until the water ran clear, then flipped it over and hosed out the bottom. Once that was done, we threw it back in, tightened everything back up, swapped the battery in from the Jeep (the Scout battery was dead, dammit) and fired her up.

I’m happy to say she idled for 20 minutes and the needle stayed where it’s pictured above—at the far left of the gauge. Mr. Scout had to leave, so I bid him farewell and then took the beast out on the road for some short mileage, figuring if she broke down I’d be close to home. I had her on the road for about ten minutes and didn’t see the needle budge an inch, at speed or sitting in traffic. I’m going to do some more short-distance test runs in the next week, but if she makes it through those, I’m calling her fixed!

Once again, and as always, thanks go to Mr. Scout, without whose help I’d still be working on the first bolt.

Old Friends, New Friends.

This weekend we took a trip across the Bay Bridge to visit with our good friends K&R, who have just added to their family a peaceful little boy called Zachary. After the initial hubbub of Finn’s birth died down, we realized how valuable it was to see friends, and how awesome it was when they brought dinner, and so we try to pay it forward as much as possible.

Mama outdid herself with some delicious portuguese chorizo stew and freshly baked bread, and we timed things just right to have plenty of visiting before it was time for night-nights and a quiet ride back over the bridge.

Miss Finn was well-behaved, preferring to spend most of her time practicing her climbing skills on two flights of carpeted stairs. She’s getting very fast…

Adventures In Home Insulation.

Mr. Scout drove over from the Eastern Shore this Sunday to help me with a two-part project: making the front porch/office warmer and habitable during 30° weather.

Recapping quickly, when the ceiling went in two years ago, I put R-19 insulation between the joists and another layer of R-19 on top of that for a theoretical insular total of R-38, which should have been good enough to seal up that space and impossible to view one’s own breath while sitting at a desk. In the basement room below, I sealed the cracks in the foundation with hydraulic cement, put in a kneewall with R-13 around the foundation, and installed a new window to replace the original 1925 equipment. All of that work had no effect. After some consultation and inspection, Mr. Scout theorized that the sill plates were uncovered and leaking massive amounts of air (which they were) and that the insulation above didn’t reach all the way out to the soffits, meaning cold air was leaking in through the ceiling.

Last week, I bought a package of Tiger Foam from the manufacturer, and Sunday morning he and I pulled all of the insulation away from the sill plates in the ice room. After he donned a Tyvek suit and fabric mask, I followed him around with the tanks as he shot expanding foam across all of the sill plates, exposed cavities, and dead spaces in order to stop the airflow under the floor.

The second step was to remove the top layer of insulation from the attic space and replace it with blown fiber, making sure we filled the soffits up front with as much insulation as we could. I’m quite sure the “carpenters” who built this porch were more than just drunk; I’d bet they were truck drivers or ditch diggers or college faculty by profession—meaning they had no fucking idea how to build a structure properly, based on how half-assed this whole thing actually is.

After we wrestled a big green washing machine into the side porch, I donned the paper suit and crawled into the attic while Mr. Scout opened bales of insulation and fed the hopper. I shoved the hose as far forward into the soffits as possible and we filled the spaces with as much insulation as we could before it choked the machine. Working backwards, I filled the soffits around the perimeter and then backfilled over the open areas, adding about 6″ to 8″ of coverage over the first layer. When I finally crawled out of the space, I looked like a snowman who’d survived a volcanic eruption; tiny fluffs of paper were everywhere, covering our clothes, the area around the machine, and everywhere we walked.

After returning the machine, Mama served the four of us a delicious dinner, and we tested the new insulation with anticipation—but there was no joy to be had. To our dismay, the room remains as cold as it ever was. The basement room below is (and has been) reasonably warm, which doesn’t explain why the floor in the office is ice-cold. The insulation in the attic is now thicker and covers much more than before, which doesn’t explain why the heat is escaping so quickly.

I guess the the next step, after a few more stiff drinks, will be to commission a home energy audit to see where we’re leaking and how we can stop the bleeding.

Back To The Grind.

Wow, it’s already Tuesday and I haven’t finished writing about the weekend. Well, here goes.
Firstly, we scrambled for a good portion of Saturday to clean up the house in preparation for guests; in between scrubbing and vacuuming and straightening we made time to check out a local butcher that Jen’s been curious about for years. Walking into this place is like stepping back in time—it’s a small store fronted with cold cases filled with meat of all sizes, flanked by six attentive butchers. I stood in awe, holding the baby, unable to process all the choices, until Jen suggested we ask for help, and we walked out with four beautiful porterhouse steaks twice the size and half the price of what we would have found at the grocery store. Along with the steak we decided some fresh Maryland crabs would be an appetizing side dish, so we ordered a dozen and a half 55′s from the restaurant down the street. Dinner was delicious, and our wonderful guests brought a salad, drinks, many questions about childbirth, and a beautiful cocker spaniel who was happy to lay at our feet and get pets from two puppy-starved adults. I enjoyed myself talking so much I didn’t realize how late we stayed up.
Sunday Finn and I rose early (a little too early, if you ask Papa) and after some toast, blueberries, and yogurt we went for a short walk around the neighborhood while everyone else slept. Over coffee and bagels, we introduced the baby to the puppy, and the two of them got along famously. Finn is fearless in the face of large slobbering dogs, which is a great sign—she giggles and reaches for them even as they’re licking every inch of her face.
After our guests got back on the road, Mama and I decided to lay low and enjoy some time laying on our bed with the girl in the air conditioning; she played happily with her toys while we watched the Matrix (perfect mindless Sunday entertainment) and when it came time for her nap we all laid down for some rest. In a weekend of highlights, I’d have to say that was one of the best parts—just the three of us relaxing together on a big comfy bed, with noplace to go and time to enjoy ourselves.

Happy 4th of July!

The parade was fantastic this year, and a big thanks go out to everyone who came and shared the party with us. We hope you had fun too!

The Curse of Genetics

Scout News!

Go here for details.

Thanks, Mr. Scout!

We are getting the dregs of the winter storm here in the Mid-Atlantic, which translates to rainy sleet. I went out to grab some supplies for tomorrow’s resurrection attempt and found that Mr. Scout had dropped by unannounced at some point today to put a hat on the truck.

Give Thanks for Coffee and Carrot Cake.

I stopped into Zeke’s Coffee in Lauraville this afternoon to say hi to the Toddfather and pick up some beans. While I was there, he gave me an impromptu primer in small-batch coffee roasting and let me shoot a few pictures.

Zeke’s takes pride in buying beans from single plantation growers, insuring the beans are of the highest quality, and roasts them in small batches using hot fluid air, much like a popcorn popper, for a consistent and even roast.

They’ve been in business since 2005, and their coffee is featured in restaurants and cafes across Baltimore. The selection has grown by leaps and bounds since I’d been there last, and they have a huge selection of organic and fair trade varieties. I can’t wait for tomorrow morning’s cup!

On the subject of food and friends, I should also mention the excellent meal we shared with Mr. and Mrs. Scout the other evening at the Salsa Grille, a Spanish/Latin American restaurant hidden in an otherwise unassuming strip mall just inside the Beltway. While the bench seating was a little uncomfortable, the atmosphere was friendly, the wait staff was attentive, and the food was delicious. I had the Caribbean Paella (I know, I know, but I wanted chicken and seafood) which was large enough for two people but good enough to make me try to eat the whole thing. I left impressed enough to move this to the top of our local restaurant choices.

After dinner, I tempted our company with the promise of cake, and we stopped into the Catonsville Gourmet to see what they had left. Even though the wait staff was closing up for the night, they carved us four slices of cake, offered us milk and coffee, plied us with water, and made us feel at home, something I doubt we’d find at most other restaurants where the chairs were already up on the tables. (Their service has always been nothing but impeccable). We were finally able to get Mrs. Scout the carrot cake she wanted for her birthday, while Jen and I were able to satisfy the craving for chocolate cake we’ve had for a week. And, because we were commenting on it but did not order it, they gave us a slice of Smith Island cake on the house. Their desserts are all from Sugarbakers, and they did not disappoint. It felt great to get out and enjoy good company on a random Tuesday given the rapidly approaching Life Event. Especially with cake.

Jen has gotten the baby’s room as close to done as possible; this weekend I will be moving the office downstairs and clearing out space for a third bedroom so that we might finally be able to clean something. Mr. Scout will be by on Saturday to install the final door while I try to tie up a bunch of unfinished projects before the weekend evaporates. (The lawn? I mowed it this evening, for the first time in a month.)

On Trucks and Bromance.

Continuing our illicit and misunderstood affair with all things rusty and loud, Mr. Scout called me yesterday to tell me about a pair of 800 B’s he needed to check out in Elkridge, not far from here, and asked if I’d like to play hooky with him. He used his most sultry meet-me-in-the-junkyard voice, which he knows I can’t resist, and picked me up after lunchtime. We turned off Rt. 1 through town and onto a side road parallel to the railroad tracks, snaking up into a wooded community where two trucks sat rusting mere feet from the tracks.

The 800 B was the final variant of the original Scout model, produced for a short while in late 1971 before the rollout of the Scout II. It came with a choice of a 4-, 6-, or 8-cylinder gas engine and multiple transmission options, and little other creature comforts. Designed in the late 1950s as a competitor to the Willys Jeep, it was a wildly successful utility vehicle produced by a manufacturer of agricultural equipment, which meant it was a bulletproof way to get from field to town and back again when one needed to fetch a part for the tractor from the dealership. I was a little excited when he told me about them, because the only trucks I find more appealing than the Scout II are the Scout 80-800 series.

The two examples we looked at were in pretty rough shape from sitting for an extended period of time. The “runner” had a 6-cylinder 266 cubic inch engine and a 3-speed stick (most likely a Borg Warner T-18), and it was painted a bright blue. The color couldn’t hide the fact that several of the body panels were laced with rust, and the interior floor was gone in several places. We were told the transmission was shot, which was the reason for its retirement, and apparently it had been sitting for several years waiting for a donor.

The second truck had a V-8 of indeterminate size (because of their similar body mounts and identical bellhousing setups, IH engines were very easy swapouts) and the same transmission, but it was in much worse shape. An advanced state of cancer had taken the body tub and most of the panels, although the top was in reasonably good condition.

After an extended viewing, we both agreed these two trucks were well beyond our help, even though they contained a wealth of rare parts. I think they add up to 2/3 of a decent Scout for a man with lots of spare time and a tolerance for pain—but not this man. It’s gotten to the point now where I’ll hear about a Scout for sale and set my expectations purposely low because of the condition I usually find them in, and these were no exception.

Riverfront.

This weekend, we had the good fortune to be invited to a riverfront cabin in West Virginia to spend the weekend with friends, both human and canine.

We were treated to warm, dry weather, more food than we could eat, cold beer, water only a few degrees cooler than body temperature, and a welcome case of vacation amnesia.

Claddagh the dog showed off her training for the Women’s 500 meter individual medley, rarely leaving the water in favor of chasing dragonflies and herding sticks.

Later, she shipped out for a tour as the first mate of the kayak.

Saturday night we sat around a fire and made s’mores, and I attempted not to ignite our marshmallows into flaming sugar bombs.

Big, big thanks go to Mr. Scout and his lovely wife, who made the whole thing possible. My brain, My wife, our baby, and my carpal tunnel THANK YOU.

IT IS ALIVE.

Between client meetings this afternoon, I got an email this afternoon from Mr. Scout, asking me would I like to stop over this evening for the inaugural first crank of the engine? I don’t think a squad of Marines could have kept me from seeing that sight, so I threw my cameras in the Jeep and hauled ass over there.

It’s gotten further along since the last time I saw it, and the first thing I noticed was the engine block painted with a fresh coat of International Harvester red. There’s a new Holley carburetor and a set of shiny new exhaust pipes hung from the frame to go with a MASSIVE new distributor, stainless steel brake lines, and huge new gas tank. It is, in effect, everything I wanted to do when I owned her.

Five minutes after I got there, the engine roared to life. It sounded fantastic, too—clean, smooth, and even. They let it run for about a minute before shutting down (the radiator isn’t attached yet) and we retreated to the yard until the exhaust dissipated. At this point, they’re done with the mechanicals, and it’s time to get the tub onto the frame.

Memorial Weekend.

This weekend was spent as any good summer weekend should be: lots of friends, outdoor activities, and laughter. I carried my camera with me pretty much everywhere but only took a select few pictures, which seems to be the M.O. these days.

I had a chance to catch up with Mr. Scout on Friday, who has been hard at work on a familiar friend:

Compare that shot with this one:

He’s been able to get the body off, have the whole thing sandblasted and painted, then replace the fuel tank, brakes and brake lines, water pump and fan assembly, as well as a pile of other things too long to list here. it makes my heart feel good to see the old girl looking better.

We then joined he and his wife for the Herb Festival on Saturday morning, where we enjoyed the sunshine and picked up a cartful of plants and vegetables from the assembled vendors, including this little gem:

This is a Northern Purple pitcher plant, not as sexy or elegant as a Venus Flytrap, but still deadly to our eight-legged friends. Leaving the festival, we wasted no time feeding it a live ant, which now seems to be in a state of digestion. I set it up on our office windowsill in wait for more unwanted tenants, and we’ll see how well it does.

Thus endeth the photographic portion of the weekend; we had another dinner and picnic scheduled for our remaining days, interspersed with yardwork, sloth, and delicious scratch-made coconut cake. Not a bad way to spend the holiday, in my opinion.

TechShop

Check it—an episode of BoingBoingTV with a cameo by my friend John, about TechShop, a Silicon Valley community tinkering space. Instead of a normal tool library with hammers and drills, this is a shop with stuff like CNC plasma cutting machines, full-size hydraulic presses and three-dimensional printers. The last time I was out in San Francisco, I met up with John for dinner, and he was telling us all about this place—this is yet another reason I would love to move to California.

Big Red Truck.

There’s really not a whole lot to talk about today. The internets are boring, and it’s a gray, rainy day outside.

But in brighter news, our buddy Dave, who is always doing nice things for us, swapped our Jeep for his Ford F-350 pickup yesterday. I figure he must have spotted me Sanford & Sonning a load of 2x4x10′s out the passenger window of the Jeep Saturday (their combined weight would easily have broken the roof rack) and he took pity on me. So the problem this week is to get as much demolished as possible while I have an all-purpose utility vehicle to haul it away in—the crap on the floor and out in the garage goes first—and then I move on to the front porch. Fortunately/unfortunately, I have a bunch of paying work to wade through first, so I can’t start swinging any hammers until that’s complete. Thanks Dave!

Relics and Artifacts

Our new gallette iron (Berarducci model Grand GI-3) showed up yesterday! It’s in absolutely beautiful condition when compared to the other one I bought last year. Notice the difference in the size of the patterns—the top is a Petit GI-1. I must now resist the urge to track down a GI-2 to complete the trio.

And, as a heartfelt and thoughtful birthday gift, the Scout’s new daddy gave me this beautiful display case, with a fender badge cut from the original sheet metal and a copy of the VIN tag (he needs the real thing to re-register the chassis with the DMV). I need to dig up my Chewbacca action figure and put him in the case too.

The King Of Beers.

I couldn’t wait for the full two weeks to pass, so I popped one of the beers in our basement and sampled the brew this evening. The result: A rich, medium hopped wheat beer with a sweet finish and a pleasant carbonation. Very tasty.