The scrapper has left the property...

After four months of sweat and tanks of gas to get to the scrap yard... propane for the cutting torch... chains on the tractor... every scrapper in the yard is gone.  The yard isn't empty exactly, because the horse trailer project still waits for us and the old Pontiac waits for a new owner.  In the last week, the last two old Ford trucks went to the Great Scrapyard in the Sky.  

I won't say I hated to see them go.  My ol' Man's exact words were "Not a minute too soon."  He's been feeling the pressure to get the yard emptied.  Truth is, there is something ridiculously sad about sending a wreck off to scrap.

This had been a useful truck up until a few years ago.  When its owner got out of the snowplowing biz, he brought the two black Fords out here with the intention of doing some kind of project.  But good intentions are hard to keep up with once jobs and kids and mortgages happen to a guy.  He chose to spend his time and money on his wife and kids instead of difficult old trucks.  He made the right decision.  It's hard to let go though, and I know that.  The transmission from this one and the engine from the other truck are still here; he'll be picking them up soon.  Once a gear head, always a gear head.  

I grew up with stuff like this in the backyard.  Only back then it was stuff from the 50s and 60s.  

I knew that it was, and is, actually possible to take an old wreck and turn it into something that can be driven.  It's just that it takes huge amounts of work and money and time.  I'm not willing to sacrifice any of those things anymore.  

But I'm still fascinated by an old truck with a rotten floor.

In 1981, you could still get a truck with a plain bench seat, rubber floor mats instead of carpet, and a steel headliner.  It was practical and all about WORK.  No cupholders, nothing... fancy.

Although it still boasted some mighty spiffy fake woodgrain!!

(Notice the CB holder beside the radio.  As my kids would say, "old School.")

Yeah I'm sure in its day it was a bitchin truck, with that row of clearance lights on the roof and whip antennas, it was a mean ol' 4x4.

So anyways, it and its slightly newer brother, languishing behind the hill for years, are outta here.  

It's the end of an era.

(And the beginning of a nice, empty piece of land at the back of the property.)

Why doesn't my brain work this well when I'm awake????

So I was dreaming about driving my dad's van.  I don't know why the van, because I have my truck.  It's legal to drive and everything.  I mean, it wasn't for a month because I couldn't afford to renew my plates, so I parked it, and now I think it's sounding kind of loud, and Bucky said he noticed the muffler hanging kind of low... since that truck EATS exhaust systems... mm, mufflers, yum... but I have a trip permit on it now so I can drive it for the next week or so... in real life.

But in dream world, I was in the ol' Safari Van.  It was exactly the same except it had been changed over to standard shift, and the shifter was a big long steel rod with a T handle at the end, which was up near my ear, like Rat Fink.  I had to reach way up to shift it.

So in other words, the usual.

I was pulling the stock trailer into town, to the fairgrounds, for a horse show.  I was thinking I'd just be there to help out, not compete.  Not ready to compete this year.  Again, like usual.

When I got there, I opened the trailer

and saw

nothing

because the horse trailer had no floor.

JUST LIKE IN REAL LIFE!

In the dream I was thinking things like, "Heck, I really gotta put a floor in this thing," and "Did I put horses in this trailer, or did I just drag it here for practice?" and "If I put horses in this trailer, did they fall out somewhere on the highway?"

Looks like I'll have to put "buy lumber for trailer floor" on the long term project list.

Parts Chasin'

My dad's a pro Parts Chaser.  He can find rare and necessary machinery just about anywhere.  He can drive a vintage Ford pickup down the highway while rubberneckin' to see what priceless treasures might be hiding behind barns and trees and old school buses.  

This is a skill, folks.  Anybody here ever driven an old Ford truck?  Anybody?  Especially the pre-70s vintage?  

Does the term "twin I-beam" strike fear into your arms?  Did you ever have to wrestle a big steering wheel just to go down a straight line?  Do you know what I'm talking about here?

Now, while you were sawing away at the wheel, were you able to spot interesting discarded pieces of things stashed inaccessibly with a split second glance?  If so, my friend, you either are or have the makings of a slick parts chaser. 

Dad's pretty much perfected it over the years.  He's also got an undiagnosed A.D.D. which in my opinion makes for great parts chasin.  Just a quick turn of the head, just enough time to decide if a second look is needed, and flick back to the road ahead. He cruises along, swiveling his head side to straight ahead to side and back, making sure he sees all the sights and still keep the truck between the yellow line and the white line.

When I was a kid, I used to love heading out to wherever with my dad.  Maybe it was just a trip into the next biggest town to the hardware store, but a scenic route could always be found.  Also it was almost guaranteed that there'd be a snack involved.  Sweetie and I would argue about whose turn it was to go get a bag of chips I mean go to town.  

I'd just gawk at everything with my little-kid-eyes, because I did not yet have those finely tuned parts chasin skills.  If we were lucky, he'd put on the brakes and take a turn into a gravel lane.  I'd sit in the truck and scan for small furry critters to either pet or avoid, depending on their attitude, while he poked around the house deciding what door to knock on.  Sometimes he'd reach the person responsible for that perfect piece of whatever it was he wanted out behind the lilac bushes.  Sometimes an angry looking old lady would tell him to go away and she don't care about so-and-so's junk.  Sometimes nobody was home, so he'd leave and plan to come back another day when he had time for the scenic route.  

And usually, I'd have to take a wiz because I begged him to buy me a root beer when he got his coke.  He'd find a quiet stretch of road with a deep ditch.  The ability to use the outdoors as your, ehem, facilities... that's another valuable skill when you're parts chasin.

Last year, Dad happened to drive by a place with a stock trailer parked out by a fence line beside the barn hidden behind a rock pile or something.  He offered $200 and went back there the next day with an air pig to pump up the flat tires so he could haul it home.

He really did score.  It won't take much to fix it up.  The floor's been removed, and it's waiting for some metal work before we get busy greasing up the axles and suspension.  Jethro got to use a chainsaw to take the old plank floor out.  Oh what fun- he just doesn't get to use a chainsaw very often in his recording studio!

I hope to be pulling that trailer behind my truck by the end of the summer, with two speckled horses inside.  

I've got a long way to go before I am near my ol' man's skill level in parts chasin, mostly because I'm deterred from it by my mechanical ineptitude.  You know, once you chase down the parts, you have to use them to fix up the thing you already have at home, or else fix up the new thing you just got.  Get it?  I can use a hammer and a screwdriver and that's about it.  It's sad but I'm coming to terms with it.  I really did inherit a love for old things from both my parents.  It's obvious in the way I scan the curbs in the subdivision the night before garbage day.  

Huh.  Looks like maybe I've been developing my parts chasin skills after all.  

Valentine's Day Can Kiss My Butt!

You’d think a woman who’s been happily married for 15 + years would just love Valentine’s day, but sadly, I don’t really love it. I would like to but I’m either too cynical or too practical.

Being the kind of neo-hippie, tree hugging, Mennonite metal head that I am, I like to avoid anything that smacks of materialism. I get really irritated when something good, like romance becomes something dirty and ugly and has radio commercials chiding men into buying crap for their lovers.

And it is crap. I know that plenty of women (and I’m sure lots of men) love being showered with gifts. I just hate the idea of an obligatory gift. I don’t want my man to buy me something because he thought he had to. If he’s going to spend money on me, I want it to be something that he just knew I wanted. You know, because he knows me so well, and can, like, read my mind.

Okay okay, I admit. I’m a woman. I want my man to read my mind. Sorry.

I try to make it easy for him though. I do not expect material gifts, and I don't make him guess. I have a picture of an Appaloosa horse on my bulletin board. See? That way he knows, right? I don’t ask for much, do I?


I’d go without ten years worth of stupid obligatory gifts for one Appaloosa. (I’m ready to fall in love again.)

Here’s a list of crap I do not want:

-any kind of diamond jewelry. I have all I could ever need: my engagement ring. He bought it for me in 1990. It cost a whopping staggering stunning $800 and I vowed that I’d never ask for something like that ever again...because never in my 19 years did I imagine that somebody would buy me a thing so pretty and so expensive. I’m the first in my family to get a diamond ring. I have two rings on my left hand, and I will never need any more. I consider myself lucky.

-roses. Believe it or not. Don’t get me wrong- I love roses. They are one of my favourites, even though I have yet to successfully grow them. I even have a bouquet from two years ago, dried and darkened to purple, on top of my piano. They’re looking very Tim Burtonesque. But how many clumps of dead roses can I have in my house? Can I bear to see them die and throw them away?

And the other problem with roses is the cheapness factor. If it’s for Valentine’s day, they better be the good ones and not the half dead ones that were picked up hastily at the gas station....because it’s the thought that counts, right??? I don’t like the thought that he almost forgot and that picked up a Dog House Avoidance Present!
Of course then I’d feel all guilty because the good roses cost a lot and that’s money that could be spent on groceries, or fuel, or the Appaloosa Fund...

-cards. I don’t want a friggin card from him. Not from him. Not from the love of my life and father of my children. A card, from him? Pfffff!

-Lingerie. Um...unless it’s flannel. And long sleeved.

-chocolate. Okay, I’ll cave. But only if it’s the good stuff. And didn’t cost a fortune. Because it just doesn’t last long enough to justify a huge expense!

Most of all, I resent the guilt. I hate the thought that all of these people are spending money out of fear that if they don’t, they jeopardize their love. I hate it that we are led to believe that love is conditional on material things.

We’re human though. We’d feel disappointed if there was absolutely no recognition!

Here’s the thing about my man, and why I fall in love with him regularly. He knows me. He knows all the freaky stupid things about me, and as much he is forever trying to comprehend me, he knows what I like.
You know what he wanted to get me for Valentine’s day?

Chrome valve covers.

You see, my truck is in the shop. It’s been there for almost a week, and it’s getting a new engine. It was a necessary operation and a painfully huge expense. There was no choice; it had to be done. We really don’t have a few thousand to spare. We don’t usually have that kind of dough lying around waiting for occasions such as these and especially not this year!

Since we had to yank the smoky old 305 out of the truck, we decided to just say Screw It and put a 350 in. Same size block, but just a wee tiny bit more power. That truck was slightly underpowered so it’s not like I’ll be haulin ass around town but hey, every little bit helps.

He wanted to order up some chrome valve covers. He wanted to proudly pop the hood for me to see my new engine for the first time and--- cue the angel choirs--- revel in my look of joy when I first behold my beautiful shiny small block V8.

This just isn’t the year though.

He fessed up last week. I kissed him. It’s the thought that counts. Maybe after the Appaloosa fund has done its part we’ll start a Valve Cover fund.

Want more proof that he’s a keeper? And is a very romantic man?

Last July we celebrated our 15th anniversary with a little weekend getaway. It was a little more than we could afford, but we couldn’t really afford a hell of a lot of anything. Basically we dropped off the kids and critters at Grandma’s, drove for two hours, and hung around at a country hotel where we had a really amazing meal (which I didn’t cook or clean up and therefore loved) and went to the beach.

It was very romantic. But then, he whispered in my ear that he couldn’t get what he really wanted for me.

A stock trailer.


I melted like butter. He was going to give me a horse trailer for our anniversary. So what if he actually hadn’t- it's more important that we don't starve or get kicked out of our house and it’s the thought that counts!!! Yeah, I know, you’re thinking he just said that to get on my “good side” and why wouldn’t think that? Well, you’d have to know him. He can’t lie to save his life. He told me he had it all planned out: he’d take the truck one Saturday morning, leaving me fuming that he was not only ditching me but taking my truck!! Then roll up in front of the house with the trailer hitched up and not say a word.

Man. So killer romantic.

So what about him? Do men get to expect gifts for Valentine’s day? This isn’t a one way street, is it? I hope not.

I suppose the reason why there isn’t much attention and advertising on what to buy men is because let’s face it, men are easy to please. God bless.

I’ve give him the same ol present every year.

Happy Valentine’s Day, everybody. For those of you who are attached, say an I Love You, and mean it.

For those of you who aren’t, go buy yourself a box of chocolates!!!

Love to you all!