Hung

Tags

anger, door, fatherhood, handy, hung, husband, pride

I think I should add the blog title as a tag and see what kind of traffic comes to this blog.  Then again, that may not be a good idea.  After all, she bop.

See what a big handy Dinty Moore type of manly man I am?  The finish is finished, doors hung and operational.  If you could see my hairy chest right now, you would see it puffed out and proud.  This is what my blog is for.. bragging without being called a doof to my face.

Look what I can do.  (leg kick)

My next door neighbor, Gladys Kravitz (not really, but you old Bewitched fans will appreciate that), saw my FB post where I showed off my doors and just had to come over to see them.  She was impressed.  She told Mir that she wants oak doors like that.  She wants to borrow me.

I’m not that easy.

As I write, I am receiving texts from adoring fans, requesting that I write something dirty.

I’M NOT THAT EASY!

Sorry, my one fan.  I’m feeling sexy in all my manliness right now, but not dirty.  Unless you want to hear me talk about how I scrubbed the bathroom last night, gave it everything I had, pushed my sponge in as hard as I could until it was sparkly and shiny.  Ooooooooh, it was.

And of course, my wife woke me up this morning to tell me I had missed a spot.  I said nary a word, cast not a scornful glance, exited the bed, scuffled sleepily to the bathroom, observed, retrieved my sponge from under the sink, shuffled back into the bedroom, handed her the sponge, and climbed back in bed.

She is overly and annoyingly obsessed right now, all because our daughter has arrived with her new beau.  As I started this blog, I could hear her scrubbing away up in our upstairs bathroom, somehow finding fault with the hour long job I had done in our bathroom last night.  You can’t make a thirty year old bathroom look better with a sponge.  A moment ago, she appeared next to me holding the shower curtain liner that I installed the week after Christmas.

“What are you doing?  I put that in a month ago!  And I spray it with the daily shower cleaner every morning.”

“It’s amazing how bad these things get in a month.”

“I’ll tell you what is amazing….”

We had an argument last night.  Our son’s first semester grade report arrived in the mail.  I knew it likely was not good even though I was assured that he had brought his grades down to passing grades, from D and F grades.  Both Mir and Nate had given me that assurance.  The report showed three C grades and four D grades.  To me, that is not passing.  I was not happy.  And I was the bad guy for being upset, told I had no business being shocked because I do not care.  You are not the one who calls and emails his teachers every day.  OK.  I refused to comment on how crazy that is.  But I’m not shocked, I am upset and I should be.  You don’t care, she kept saying and saying it in front of our son, deflecting the real issue.  Finally, I had it.  I put sensitivity and productive discussion aside, called her a name I will not repeat, and walked away to finish hanging those lovely doors.

Suddenly I don’t feel so manly. The doors look great and she had to admit that since our Gladys Kravitz said so.  All it took was one word to take that manly feeling away.

My daughter is here.  She brought her boyfriend with her.  I get to spend all afternoon and evening with them both tomorrow.  I am smiling.  I wish she would stay.

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Honey Do Goes Into Panic Mode

Alyssa is bringing her new boyfriend home this coming Thursday.  She has warned my not to embarrass her.  This visit was my idea, an invitation to go to a music festival this Friday called ‘Winter Jam’.  For ten bucks, if you can get in the door, you are treated to ten different bands.  It should be a blast.

With the new boy visiting, Mir has gone into house panic mode.  We have a list of 22 projects around the house and yard that need to be accomplished this year, a list I put together and presented to Mir two weeks ago.  Suddenly, several of those projects became necessary to get done before this Thursday.

I’m trying.  Some are simple, such as replacing the chrome soap dish in the upstairs shower.  The old one was crusted with lime build up.  Took some coaxing to get the old one out and I broke a tile in the process, but it’s done.

There is the downstairs laundry.  The cheap old bifold doors that were there no longer close, the hardware worn out, and they just don’t look good any more.  So I went to Menards yesterday afternoon, after my ride, picked out some unfinished oak doors and some stain.  Last night I took out the old doors.  Today I put the first coat of stain on the new doors.  I have never applied stain before.  I hope it turns out OK.  I can’t wait to see the finished finish.  One picture is one of the unfinished set of doors before stain.  The other is right after I put the first coat of stain on.

Dang That Was A BIG Block

Yesterday was one of those weather gift from God days.  I saw it coming, quivering with anticipation all day Friday as I saw the predicted weather pan out on my phone, temperatures reaching into the upper thirties by noon, sunny.  There was a bit of wind predicted, but not enough to be an issue on the bicycle.  That was the reason for my quivering — I couldn’t wait to get outside on my bicycle.  Cabin fever is always at its pitch in late January, this year no exception.  The dirt trails were not going to be rideable, I knew, since the melting snow and ice would leave them muddy and soft.  It didn’t matter.  I felt like riding my road bike.

Saturday morning greeted me with beautiful colors as I stuck my head out the back door at 8:30, a late morning for me.  I felt a satisfied smile move my lips as I felt the chill of a winter morning on my sleep warmed face.  Nick the sheltie slipped by me, his tail held high and bushy as he leapt from the back deck, chasing whatever he always anticipates to be outside.  He stopped a few bounces from where he started, realizing there was nothing out back but a few startled birds, now chattering at him in the safety of our silver maple’s limbs.  Nick sniffed carefully around the icy snow around the base of the tree, daring the birds to come down to challenge him.  None did.  Satisfied that he had established his ownership once again, Nick cocked his leg towards the trunk of the maple then turned to trot back to where I leaned in amusement against the jamb of the sliding glass door.

“Feel better?”  Nick sniffed at me as he reentered the house, checked his food dish, then took his position at the foot of the stairs, guarding the sleeping inhabitants upstairs while keeping an eye on my movements.  I shut the door behind him, shifted my attention to preparing the morning coffee and my breakfast.  Quiet.  Wonderful quiet.  Mir and Nate would be asleep for a few more hours.  My plan was to enjoy a fresh omelette, toast, and coffee, ease into the morning while I waited for the close to optimum riding temperature at around 10:30.  I would catch up on reading blogs while eating breakfast, maybe write one, then pull my bike off of the indoor trainer and replace the rear trainer tire with a tire for outdoor riding.  My riding clothes — base layers and tights, fleece lined long sleeve jersey, bibs, vest, and wool socks were laid out for my ride.  I knew I had to take Nate to his driving class at 12:30, so a 10:30 departure would get me a nice relaxed 20 mile spin with time to spare before we had to leave.

My PC would not connect to the internet.  Later on in the day I would discover that a failed Windows 8.1 update was preventing my PC from connecting.  I began to frown a little.  I don’t like my revelry routine to be interrupted.  So I cleaned up my breakfast dishes, emptied the dishwasher, scrubbed the omelette pan, then retreated to the couch to catch up on Words and read a book (Team 7-Eleven by Geoff Drake for those who want to know).

Mir got up early.  I heard her footsteps upstairs and the shower go on as my cheeks hit the couch cushion.  Nick rushed upstairs, his job now to guard the bathroom door as Mir showers.  I had 10-15 minutes of peace left, I thought.

Not.

5 minutes was what I got…nothing more.  I won’t bore you with the details.  Let’s just say my peace was disturbed, replaced by hastily measuring for carpet that apparently we need before next Thursday but can’t afford.  I wasn’t shopping for the carpet with her, my wife at least realizing that she is not going to get me out the door with her most Saturday mornings.

I finished the measuring and greeted Mir’s sister as she came in the door.  They left.  It was 9:30 and my bike wasn’t ready.  I turned my attention to the bike, replaced the rear tire, put the wheel on the bike, climbed the stairs to change into my riding clothes.

“DAD!!!  Can you take me to the golf course driving range?  I have a team meeting in fifteen minutes.”  Arggggh.

My revelry was gone.  I changed into jeans and tshirt instead.  As I put on my shoes, my phone rang.  It was Mir.  There were a few commands she had forgotten.  I was not pleased.  I was going to miss out on a January ride opportunity.  Disappointed, I turned into a spoiled adult male brat.  Stomped around.  Pouted.  Maybe I could get an hour if I took my bike with me when I dropped Nate off at the driving school.  It would be a short spin west to open country, to Johnson’s Mound, a destination I knew would be a treat to ride this time of year.  That helped my peace of mind, but I still didn’t like my Saturday being packed tightly in between tasks and responsibility.  I whined.  I complained.

Then it all changed.  Nate’s team meeting at the golf driving range was cancelled.  In the car on the way home, Nate informed me that his driving class was optional for the day.  He wasn’t going to go to class.

I swear that the sun actually brightened at that moment.

“Dad, ride as much as you want.  I know you need to.”  I about ran off of the road.  This could not be my son talking.

As soon as we got home, I was in my riding clothes and out the door with my bike.  Freedom.  I spun around the corner, pedals turning easily with the wind at my back.  Up ahead, another rider flashed by in the direction I was about to turn.  A few blocks ahead, he stopped at the traffic signal at the entrance to my neighborhood.  That rider just happened to be Jon, one of my best riding buddies.

“Where ya headed, Steve?  I’m meeting a few friends at the taco stand in Wheaton.”  That was a bit more than I wanted to do.  I just wanted to get a quick 15 or 20 miles in, an easy spin.  Jon looked at me with anticipation.  He knows that I don’t back down easily.

“Aw shucks, Jon, I don’t think I am up for riding with anyone today.  I am just planning on riding my short loop.”

“Ride with me a bit and see if you change your mind.”

I felt better than anticipated, especially as I warmed up.  Jon and I are good friends, the chatter making the riding seem effortless, a conversational pace.  We came to the spot where I should have turned for the next leg of my loop, instead I stayed with Jon.  There was a little voice in the back of my mind telling me I was probably making a mistake, but I felt good and likely would stay that way.

We were early so we rode an extra five miles while we waited, then met Randy at the taco stand.  We rode a few blocks to pick up another friend, Bruce, a guy I have never met before.

“Hey, guys, you up for a group ride?”  Bruce asked after Jon and Randy introduced him to me, “Rusty Chain has a ride starting in a few minutes.”

Dang.  The Rusty Chain group, fast and strong.  But I was already partially committed, so I followed them to the start a few blocks away.  I counted 12 guys as we pulled up.  I was not ready for a group ride.

One guy on a Motobecane, a very nice titanium bike, complimented my Serotta Legend Ti with sincere appreciation.  At least I had that going for me.

The route was discussed and we rolled.  The pace picked up as the riders began to warm, still conversational at around 20-21 mph.  We snaked around until we hit the circuit for a popular early season crit, one I have raced a few times.  I knew the back end of the circuit has a killer hill, one that even with momentum takes a strong effort to crest.  Instantly I regretted not watching my weight this winter season.. either that or for letting myself join this group ride.  I dropped off the back as we neared the crest of the hill.  It would take a huge effort to rejoin the group.

And I made it, my breathing heavy as the group hit a rolling straight and picked up the pace.  Into the wind, the group maintained a little over thirty mph for a 2 mile stretch.  I was at the back of the group, happy to be in the draft and glad that I have at least kept enough power in my legs from mountain biking to survive the surge.  It didn’t hurt that I was close to home and would be bidding adieu to the group shortly

I made it.  32 quick miles on January 24.  A gift.

Had to take a crazed selfie with my bike after returning it to its place inside, both of us glad to have the pleasure to ride again.

Ummmmm… whaaaaaaaa?

Not only am I an adult, as I claimed a few days ago on this very blog, but I am a very nice adult.  People like me.

Because I am good enough, I am smart enough, and gosh darn it.

I try to listen to people.  I try to take them at face value.  I talk.  I share.  Most people, especially my wife and children, consider me an extrovert.  I am a terrible flirt.  I love to poke fun.  I like it when the poke fun favor is returned.  All in all, my in person persona is not all that different from my non-inperson persona that you see here and when I comment on your blogs.

The office I work at now is located in a Regus center, an agency that rents out office space to people.  I and my two coworkers each rent an office there.  It’s nice with a fitness center, gourmet cafeteria, underground heated parking, receptionists, coffee service, kitchen, postal center.  There is a diverse crowd here with a lot of different races and ethnicities represented —

Myank, a professional writer with a warm personality who always greets me and stops to talk.  He is interesting to talk to just from his experiences as a writer for Associated Press.  I like hearing his take on the world, a balanced view that reflects not only his experience and education, but his culture.

Nancy, a petite 50ish regional director for a woman’s clothing retail chain.  She has a real down home air about her, mixed with the affluence that is common here in the western suburbs of Chicago.  My boss has a thing for her.

Jay, a quiet but friendly guy who the women in the office drool over (I have witnessed it, heard the lust in their voice when they talk about him).  The guy is addicted to golf.  He stops by my office now and then to catch up on things, wants to know how my son is doing with his golf.  It’s dangerous when he and I get into a conversation.  We can talk forever.

Annie, one of the Regus center managers, a tiny woman with a big laugh and smile, always clad in a nice dress with heels.  We bonded right away and I can honestly say she is one of the best friends I have here, besides my boss.  When her husband comes to visit her, he always stops by to see me because I was one of the first people Annie wanted him to meet.  She flirts a little, pokes fun and takes it back, a pleasure to talk to.

And then there is Dennis.  Dennis is gregarious, one of those people that seems to always be here, wandering the halls.  Friendly and unassuming, he is one of those guys that seems to like everyone.  He is a little odd, one of those people that will latch on to you if you treat him as if you don’t notice that he is odd.  I try.  I listen to Dennis and honestly enjoy talking to him.  My boss thinks that is funny, calls Dennis my best buddy.  Dennis also has a crush on Annie, so that makes him want to be around me more.  I like Dennis, but some times I also have to tolerate him , an awful thing to say.  He shows up at my office door randomly, invites himself in, hangs out while I work or write emails or even talk to customers on the phone.

Today a Dennis visit took a strange turn.  One might say that Dennis is very comfortable around me.  Mid morning, there was a knock on my door and it opened before I could answer.

“I wonder if you could help me with something?”  Dennis asked as he closed the door behind him, turned towards the door, lifted the back of his shirt for me to see.  I thought that maybe Dennis was going to show me his disease.  Come Together started playing in my head.

“Ummm..”

“I just went to the chiropractor but he didn’t remove the electrodes.  Can you pull them off for me?”  Sure enough, a little of the wire had looped into his belt loop and two sets of wires led up his back to where the electrodes were stuck to his back.  I grabbed each electrode, ripped them off (Dennis didn’t flinch) then reached up his back to remove the two remaining.

My boss is going to love this story.

A Booger of a Predicament

I couldn’t have picked, although maybe I should have, a better day to wear green.  Green provides camouflage for certain substances.  Green makes it possible to accidentally blow a large chunk of booger on one’s shirt while laughing at a coworker’s funny story and have the nugget disappear into the sea of green on my chest.

“Ha ha haha..PHOOT..er…ohhh…” (where did whatever large object that just thrust out of my nostril go…oh, heh heh, it’s on your shirt, Nostrildamus)

That happened to me this morning.  While intentionally launching a nostril nugget in private can be unusually satisfying, accidentally performing the same task while engaged in conversation with another human being takes some of that satisfaction away.  Not all of it, I have to admit, but some of it.  And since I was wearing green when it happened, the satisfaction while momentarily removed from embarrassment quickly returned when I realized my coworker did not even notice the green slime embedded with force on my shirt.  I should wear a green shirt every day.

This was not the first time in my life that bodily substances suddenly excreted have been a potential source of embarrassment to me.  Let’s rewind back to my awkward teenage years, a time when pimples reared their ugly heads.  No one remembers me as a pimply faced kid or anything.  I wasn’t pimply faced, but now and then a gargantuan third eye would emerge, quickly growing to enormous proportions as it became engorged with creamy white pus, the pressure building quickly and threatening to burst with such force as to rival any volcanic eruption.  One such third eye appeared right in the middle of my nose the first morning of a trip I took with the high school youth group at the church my family attended, the type of trip where a boy just hopes to get lucky (noticed) by an object of his affection, maybe impress said object enough to get some smoochie face in the woods some time during that trip.

Two potential objects, Renee and Kelly, both blonde and cute had both been vying for my attention during the early stages of the trip.  And they both stopped to talk to me outside of the boys cabin that morning.  I was keenly aware of the protuberance exerting pressure at the end of my proboscis, tried to ignore it until Renee decided to point it out.

“Geez, Steve,” Renee pointed with a grin, “that sure is some large…”

POP!!!!

Mount Vestevius erupted violently — and on Renee.

I wonder if she would have noticed had she been wearing a white shirt?

I AM AN ADULT

Tags

frozen pizza

I am an adult or at least I like to think I am.  Nothing makes me feel more like a helpless child than failing to accomplish what I think should be a simple task.  Do you know what I mean?

When I was a boy, I used to hate it when my mom looked over my shoulder while I was trying to do something.  That something usually was my attempt to prove that I was a big boy.  Mom watched the entire time, not quietly.  My mother has never been one to sit back silently (bless her dear soul).  She waited to give me some type of instruction, maybe step in to rescue me or completely take over.  I hated that.  Hate, hate, hated that.

“MOM!  I CAN DO IT MYSELF!”

Now that I have a working oven again, I decided it was time to cook a pizza.  It smelled lovely as I waited nearby, typing away at a project on my computer.  I have a nice little wood pizza thingamabob to take the pizza out of the oven.

I can never use that thingamabob properly.  It is supposed to make the insanely easy difficult task of taking a cooked frozen pizza out of the oven.. easier.  As you can see in the picture, the pizza just about was shoved back into the oven when I tried to play Mister Professional Pizza guy and slide the wood pizza thingamabob quickly under the pizza.  I love it when I see the cook do that at pizza restaurants, flipping the pizza into the air a little.  When I try it, I usually just crinkle the pizza up or worse.  Tonight, I had to enlist the help of a fork to loosen the pizza from the rack and slide it on the wooden thingamabob.

“SEE MOM.  LOOK.  I DID IT MYSELF!”

Happiness Is A Warm Companion

Tags

dog

Nick, my blue merle Shetland Sheep dog, might just be the best companion I have in this world.  The picture to the right was taken earlier this evening, as I witnessed the cheese wheels of the Green Bay Packer bus completely disintegrate.  My trusty and true companion was right there with me, soaking in the attention as he laid across my lap.  Now and then I would get lost in the game, forget to pet his head.  Nick then rested his head on my chest and looked up at me with pleading eyes.  He stayed with me the entire second half of the game.

I like my dog.  Nick is a very good family dog, loyal to every member of my household, his job to accompany and protect us all.  There are times when he does get very annoying (practically every day) as his breed has a tendency towards anxiety, especially separation anxiety, and he barks every time there is a hint that one of us may be leaving the house — get up from the couch, pick up a coat or jacket, put on socks/shoes.  Lately he even waits for me to sit up in bed each morning, barking if I swing my feet over the edge of the bed.  Yes.  It is annoying.  But Nick so makes up for it with all the good he brings to us.

He wants my attention.  He often demands my attention.  He has very bad breath.

Mister Fixit Rides In The Snowy Woods

Tags

handyman

I was a dedicated employee yesterday, did not listen to the siren’s call of my cold and lonely mountain bike.  Work won out, probably a good thing as Thursday afternoon was busy, with a potential 300 piece order thrown at me out of the blue.  Bgddy “I’m All Carbon” Jim encouraged me to stay the course and make the money so I can buy new bikes, so I did.  Thanks, Jim.  You have that all important focus.  I will have the funds to pay for that full suspension Trek Superfly 8 that I put on layaway last weekend before I know it.

BUT today was just too good of a day to pass up.  By the afternoon the temperature was in the mid thirties, perfect for a ride in the woods.  Since my boss always encourages me to wrap things up early on Fridays, I did.  Good thing I brought my bike with me to work this morning.  At one o’clock, I locked the door to my office, changed into my super spandex and emerged to fight the snowy trails of my favorite mountain bike park, Saw Wee Kee.

It

Was

Freaking

Glorious

The sun was out, shining off of the white snow.  Every contour of the landscape was highlighted and I could see the berms that had been created years ago when Saw Wee Kee had been the dumping ground for a strip mine.  All of the ponds nestled in between the berms, invisible behind the greenery during the summer months, were in full view, frozen and serene as I pedaled over the berms.  Fat bikes had created a packed path along the trails, a smooth ride as the metal studs on my tires dug into the snow.  The sun warmed me, a pleasant sweat soaking the first layer of clothing.  I was comfortable.  Happy in the quiet beauty.

“This is where my bike took me today.  Nice, eh?”  I posted on FB along with a picture taken on the trail.  I like to share the sheer enjoyment I feel when I ride.

Especially when I am riding trails so peaceful.  When I am out in the woods I feel like that place is just for me.  The moment really is mine.  I am in God’s creation and, well, it WAS made for me.

You should have seen the river, frozen over with only a little bit still flowing in the middle.  The ice was built up along the edges, snow covering the ice, gleaming in the afternoon sun.  I stopped, drank it all in.  Sorry, I didn’t take pictures.

I wonder what this year holds for me.  Riding has become so much a part of me that I can’t see myself doing anything else any more.  Once the weather warms up, I wonder if my routine is going to return to what it once was, which was riding each and every day, several times a day.  Those days were wonderful, my body thanking me for it, and I felt good.  I want those days to return again.  I don’t think I will be playing ball this summer, so that will not keep me from riding.  Hope springs.  Watch out if I do get into that zone.  I get pretty cocky.

=========

AND Mister Fixit struck again yesterday.  This time it was our gas oven.  Last November, the oven quit working.  I had a pretty good idea what the problem was but was not quite sure.  Having fixed our gas clothes dryer before, I was fairly confident it was the ignitor.  However, the oven has a little bit more to it than a clothes dryer. What if what I thought was wrong was not the problem?  I could spend hundreds of dollars trying to guess the solution.  On top of that, the holidays were upon us with expenses, so I really couldn’t afford the part.  So we found other ways to cook — range top, microwave, slow cooker, broiler.  Everything but the oven worked.

A week ago I decided to troubleshoot the oven.  By now, after twenty years in our house, I have enough experience fixing appliances to be able to figure out what is wrong.  Now that my job also includes technician duties (by default — my boss is not a tech), I am gaining technical confidence as my experience grows.  With the oven it was really just a process of elimination — the range top works, the broiler ignitor starts the broiler, so the gas valve and control board must be OK.  If the ignitor for the oven, a glow plug of sorts that glows as it heats and eventually lights the flame for the oven, lights then my only choice would be to remove the ignitor and see if it is pulling the right current.  I didn’t have to do that.  When I took the oven apart and turned on the oven, the ignitor did not light.  My evaluation was easy.

I got paid yesterday.  Bought the replacement ignitor.  Took me all of five minutes to replace.  Voila.  Working oven.  I made Ghirardelli chocolate brownies last night to celebrate.

Mister Fixit.  Rides.  Rocks.

Conflicted

24 degrees F.  No wind.   Sunny.  Temperature supposed to reach into the 30s this afternoon.  There is snow on the ground.

I hear a little voice calling to me.

Steeeeeeve, it’s getting a little lonely out here in the garage.  Let’s riiiiiiiiide, TEST THOSE STUDS!!!

Thus the conflict, albeit minor and nothing life threatening.  There is this little thing called work getting in the way, as well as a task or two or three that should be done.  Ahhhhhhh, but life is short and is meant to be enjoyed.  Problem is that one of those tasks is way over due and my reluctance to perform that task is tarnishing my stellar reputation as a dedicated hard working individual.  If I put it off for tonight, I likely won’t do that task out of a lack of energy (combined with a lack of enthusiasm).

And there is that snow on the ground.  It might make that ride just a bit challenging, potential injury looming should my siren bike successfully lure me out for that ride.

The bike on the trainer is happily warm inside my house, content for the half hour jaunts I have been taking.  Riding inside sucks.  I need to spend the money on indoor bike classes, something that keeps me on the bike and motivates me to do real work when I am on it.  Either that or I need to listen to my cold, whispering friend out in my garage.

Take me somewhere, Steeeeeeeeve.

There is also the fact that I am the only person in our three person office this week.  My associate and boss is in the southwest right now, making calls with our sales reps in New Mexico and Arizona.  Our office manager is in Budapest all week for training.  Drat.

Hmmmmm.

Argh.

Aughhhhhhhhhhh.

Errrrrrrggghhhhh.

Clutch Time

Tags

driving lesson, Nate, panic

What was I thinking?

I was thinking that the boy seemed confident, ready to try, ready to knock my socks off with his knack for….

Driving.

Nate is 15 years old and started driving school a week ago.  He has two months of classroom, then six weeks of behind the wheel instruction.  I take him to his classes on Saturday and Sunday.

“You want to try driving the VW on the way home today?  We can go over to the Pella drome (a wide loop with no traffic — where I taught my daughter to drive).”  Nate looked at me sideways.  I am not sure he expected me to offer to let him drive.

“Sure, dad.  Driving is easy.”  I am not sure how he knew that.

“Scared of the stick shift?”  My little VW has a six speed manual transmission.  I had some doubts about the VW being the first vehicle Nate attempts to drive.  The clutch can be intimidating and confusing to a first time driver.

“Not at all.  I can handle this.”

Nate was a bit too confident, although he always has had excellent hand to eye coordination, essential for driving stick.  Once he got the car moving, it shouldn’t be a problem.  The rest of the way to class, Nate asked me questions about gear selection and how to use the clutch.  He wasn’t really getting it, but I felt like he would get it once he tried driving.

As we got close to the Pella drome on the way home, I heard in my dome…

Nah, I will quit trying to rhyme.

Nate asked me if we really were going to stop for a driving lesson.  I assured him that we were.  We took a right turn while I explained that I wanted to take a drive around the course first just to make sure it wasn’t icy.  Can’t drive on ice your first time, I assured him.

It was icy.  The only other choice was the Dupage Technology park close by, a sparsely travelled area also with wide roads.  It’s a little more challenging, with two roundabouts in the middle.  I drove us in, found a nice long boulevard to start off on, parked, shut off the engine, removed the key, got out and switched places with Nate.  Before I let Nate take the driver’s seat, I pointed out the different pedals with an explanation of the purpose of each — clutch (for shifting gears), brake, and accelerator.  Nate took his place in the driver’s seat as I took my place in the passenger seat, buckled.

Let it be known that I was calm, cool, and not the least bit nervous.

“Looks like you need to adjust the seat.  You know how to do that?”

I told him where to find the seat adjustment handle and Nate pushed the seat BACK a few inches.  Dang.  When did the kid pass me up?  We went through how to find each gear, including reverse.  I explained that you have to depress the clutch to change gears.

“Do I keep the clutch pedal in?”

“No.  The gear won’t engage until you let the clutch out.”

“Oh.”

The kid was actually asking good questions.  He pointed to the top of the gear shift knob.

“What is the R for?”

“Reverse.”  I told him to push the clutch in, then showed him how to push the gear shift handle down and over.  Nate tried it without a problem.  “OK.  Tell me what each pedal is for again.”

“Clutch.  Brake.  Accelerator.”

“OK.  Now I think we are ready.”  I hoped we were.  “Push the clutch in, hold it, and turn the key to start the car.”

That took a try or two before he got it right.  Car started, I explained the method of putting the car in first gear, then slowly letting the clutch pedal out while giving it some gas.  I was pleased to see the recognition in Nate’s eyes.  He followed my instructions by taking the car out of park, shifted daintily into first gear, then successfully negotiated the balance of clutch to gas pedal.  We were rolling.. straight.

Wow.  Not bad.

Nate had paid attention to me, shifted to second on cue.   We had gone several hundred yards without distress, now rolling along at around 25 mph.. downhill and straight towards one of the roundabouts.

I never panicked, not once, when I was teaching my daughter how to drive.  My boy changed that.  He panicked first, couldn’t figure out how to turn the wheel to drive around the roundabout.

“HIT THE BRAKE!!!”

“I AM!!!”

“THAT’S THE CLUTCH!!!”

By the time he found the brake pedal, he had driven over the curb, stopping on the grass in the middle of the roundabout.  Had he kept going, he may have driven over two more curbs, down an embankment and into a pond.  Mercifully, he popped the clutch when the car jumped the first curb or else we may have kept going.  A quick inspection revealed no damage.

“I hate to do this to you, Nate, but I should probably get the car back on the road.”

I told my son that maybe we should wait until our van was available to drive. It has automatic transmission.  When he learns to drive the van, a vehicle with less to think about while driving, we could tackle driving my car.

You know, I taught the first one to drive.  Maybe it is his mother’s turn……