I'm the King of the World

Up close and personal with my lawnmower

I've been writing this blog on and off for a year and a half, give or take. I have written of triumphs and failures, adventures and pratfalls, lessons learned, all kinds of memories-- good, bad, and otherwise. Life can be tough. So can we!

Isn't it great when you get those little wins that just put wind in your sails? Maybe you unlock the solution to a problem, achieve a goal you have set, or take care of that task that has just been bothering you forever. I got some things done this week that make me feel like I'm the king of the world!

First, some background information... We've had two lawnmowers in our almost 25 years of marriage. The first was an old, beat-up electric mower; its origin is a mystery, as are its current whereabouts. It barely functioned, but helped me keep our small yard in order. About 16 years ago, my father-in-law bought us a shiny new gas mower, a sturdy Craftsman that has cut and chewed through everything we've thrown at it.

I have taken pretty good care of it; keeping the oil clean, not letting old gas sit in it over the winters, even changing the air filter as needed. It has performed well, but in the past three or four years it has run increasingly rough-- a few stalls here and there, a little sputtery at times, and sometimes tough to start. In fact, beginning last spring, it would only start if I popped the air filter housing off and sprayed some starter fluid in the little hole behind it (something I learned last year. Thank you, internet!)

So last year, it made it through the summer fine, and in fact I put in a new spark plug, air filter, changed the oil, and drained the fuel tank. All the stuff the internet told me a good lawnmower owner ought to do. In the fall, I put it in the garage to hibernate for the winter, and haven't thought about it since. Or at least I hadn't thought about it, at least not until about a month and a half ago. That's when I first felt the touch of a peculiar kind of madness.

As February turned into March, the sun came out, the grass started growing, and every week or so there would be a day suitable for mowing. The front yard was getting pretty scraggly and uneven, and the backyard grass was becoming really hard for Piper to navigate through.

It was time to get to work.

So I filled the gas can with new gas, filled the lawnmower's tank, checked the oil and air filter, shot a blast of starter fluid into it, and yanked on the cord. Reluctantly, the mower sputtered and stuttered and finally, rebelliously started... I mean I could feel this thing just doing its best not to start-- it just wanted to rest.

But I got it going, and because it was running a bit inconsistently I decided to start with the front lawn in case it just gave up on me-- I gotta keep the neighbors and the (HOA) man happy. It stuttered a couple times and stalled out, but I nursed it back to life with the starter fluid and carefully made it through the front yard. As I made my way to the back yard, I had to blast more starter fluid into it just to get it to fire up again. I made a couple passes across the lawn, and Old Faithful just gave up-- it would not start.

I worked on it for a while, blasting more fluid, adjusting the starter cord, monkeying with the spark plug, triple checking the oil, grimacing, sweating, praying, growling, but the thing would not start. Oh well, at least the front was done, I could keep the man off my back, and there was a fifteen by four foot patch that Piper could get up and down. This would buy me a week, maybe two...

My mowing buddy

So I spent a week researching everything I could about mowers. I downloaded a pdf of the owner's manual, and even downloaded a copy of the manual for the old Tecumseh engine that powers it. I learned how to oil the bore (after learning what a bore is and why you would oil it). I learned how to test spark plugs (not by spitting, licking, or doing anything else unsavory to them). I even learned how to take apart the carburetor (after I learned where to find it and what its function was).

I drained the fuel in the mower, thinking maybe some condensation was in the lines somewhere. I drained the gas can, worried there may have been a couple ounces of bad gas or even water condensation that had contaminated the fuel I put into the mower. I freaked out my family by having a big bucket of dirty drained gas in the garage (don't worry, I put a lid on it). I learned about two-cycle and four-cycle engines, and which was which and what I had.

I had been perusing Craigslist for mower repair, and I caught my eyes wandering over to the used lawnmowers, doing math in my head. We just had a $1200 car repair, and on top of that we still need a new radiator for the van... The budgeted amount we have for a lawnmower is about the same we'd spend for a tune-up-- maybe 60 bucks. The old beaters that "run like new!" and were "just serviced" were going for as little as $60-- maybe that was the way to go!

But at this point I had become Captain Ahab, and this mower was the great white whale that had taken a bite out of me or worse, a bite out of my pride. This thing haunted my every waking minute, and I promise you, I even dreamt of the cursed machine. I even took a personal holiday to try to will it to life. I don't even take personal holidays on real personal holidays, like kids' birthdays and stuff. The more I fought with this thing, the more determined I was to get it working. I had what I would call a healthy obsession, although reading my own words now makes me question how healthy this whole ordeal has been.

I cleaned and reassembled the carb and some other parts again, this time taking care to run a piece of wire through the teeny little (pretty much invisible) hole in the bolt that holds the float bowl to the bottom of the carburetor-- surely that was it! But nope, just a couple sputters when I tried to start it.

I changed the oil again, to be sure. I bought another spark plug, to be sure. I got new gas, to be sure. I had done everything I could do that could be done by an amateur mechanic like me. In fact, I did everything that a professional mechanic would do to this mower, short of completely stripping and rebuilding the engine. I had certainly done everything included in the tune-ups I saw being offered around town for $60 to $90. My spirits sank... The whale was winning.

After watching my one-jillionth youtube video of a guy named Zeke or Earl tearing apart a lawnmower (my apologies to the perfectly gentlemanly Zekes and Earls out there), I had the thought to take apart the carb again, clean everything, and stick it all back together. The only problem... it was almost midnight when I had this notion.

But I just knew this was it-- I had probably missed something, perhaps putting the float bowl on backwards so the float couldn't drop all the way. Or maybe the o-ring or a gasket was kinked, letting in air, throwing off the mixture's proportions. Maybe something just needed to be tightened. Or cleaned. Or lubricated. This had to be it! There was nothing else that could be done, and nothing else that could cause the problems I was having. My lawnmower didn't just 'get broken,' right?

So there I was, repairing the mower in my garage at midnight, my clangs and clinks the only sounds to be heard in our normally pretty quiet neighborhood. About an hour later, well after midnight, I tightened the last bolt and cleaned up my work station (comprising a cluttered bench top and my yard waste bin, which put the mower right about chest height, perfectly comfortable for Captain Ahab's stiffening back).

I stared the mighty beast in its face, or at least at that front part. I ceremoniously declared that I would start the mower 'on the morrow' (yeah, those were the words I used as I spoke to my nemesis). It was kind of late, and if I truly was able to fix it, I wanted to roll right out the door and mow like the wind, and that of course couldn't happen at 1 a.m. I got a perfectly comfortable night's sleep, while visions of me mowing like the wind danced around in my dreams. I'm telling you, I just knew it was going to start.

I woke up bright and early (okay, at like 8:10 or something) and put on my mowin' pants and work gloves. I shot a fresh blast of starter fluid down its throat and faced the moment of truth. I yanked the cord. The great beast sputtered, shook, and growled for just a second, then quit. Again, I repeated the ritual-- pull the air filter off, spray, stick the filter on, yank the cord, cough, cough, sputter, dead. I did it again, and again, and then once more. It was clear to me this beast was just not going to start. The white whale had won, swallowing the last of my pride, and any semblance of manliness that remained.

I looked more intently at the used mowers online, and noticed that this one guy who had a couple mowers for sale also did repairs. I called him up, and we talked for about twenty minutes about the finer points of lawnmower mechanics and witchcraft. Jim (that was the guy's name) was really helpful, and I had tried 19 and a half of the 20 things he suggested. But he gave me some good tips and told me to call him if they didn't work, and he'd see what he could do.

I won't lie, it was kind of cool having a chat with another lawnmower matador and sort of knowing what I was talking about. I felt how Captain Ahab must have felt when he was talking to the other captains whose legs had been bitten off by various whales and sea creatures. At least I (like they) had given a good fight.

I did the one last thing he mentioned, popping off the float bowl again and checking it really well for varnishing or any sediment in the fuel, but it got me nowhere... Just the same dead mower, snorting for a second, giving me a glimmer of hope, then crushing me with one last whimpering breath.

I am telling you, I was crushed. I mean, this had gone on for weeks now; it consumed every spare thought and minute I had. I looked at the used mowers online, and even at the cheaper new mowers at Home Depot (where they pretty much know me by name, at least in the lawnmower area). There's an old-timer there named Ed who is a really nice guy. But all the mowers Ed showed me were more plastic than metal, and I had taken apart my machine enough times to recognize the crappy, flimsy parts and materials they offered compared to mine, unless I wanted to spend $600 or more (which I couldn't).

As I lazily searched yet again for 'mower repair' online, I stumbled across an ad for some kind of apparent miracle elixir called 'Mechanic in a Bottle,' which you put in the fuel tank to clean out your tank, lines, and carb of any residue or gummy build up. I was, of course, skeptical. I have used additives before, to mixed success (but never real success). In fact, I just dumped an eight dollar bottle of sludge into my van's leaky radiator I mentioned above, and I'm not sure what it even did-- it still drips a bit.

But I read some Amazon reviews and thought, what the heck, it's six bucks. If this doesn't do it, I will have tried absolutely everything else there was to try, three or four times, and it's just time to get another mower. Six bucks was a small price to pay for having my temporary insanity be proven to be, well, temporary. I went back to Home Depot, said hi to Ed, who has been absolutely no help at all, but who is again, really nice, and bought a four-ounce bottle.

I took it home and half-heartedly poured three ounces into the tank, knowing there was no way this snake oil would work. I popped the spark plug out, pressed the primer bulb a bunch of times, and pulled on the starter cord a few times to be sure the potion soaked down deep into the innards of the engine, and then let it sit the recommended four hours. Yes, four hours.

Finally the clock showed 3 pm-- it was, as they say, go-time. I trudged to the garage to try and start it. I did my routine, popping the filter off, a fresh blast of starter fluid, six slow and steady pumps on the primer bulb, then a rip of the cord. And something a little different happened. My half-heartedness became whole-hearted craziness once more; the whale was in my sights. With that first pull of the cord, the mower sputtered and coughed and wheezed and groaned for a good fifteen seconds before it coughed itself back to sleep.

Fifteen seconds! That was about thirteen seconds more than it had done in weeks! I shot another blast of starter fluid into its belly, tugged again, and it shuddered and shook and kept coughing and spewing thick smoke from its muffler... Could this be a sign that the crud that kept it from starting was getting burnt off and exhaled? The mower shook and shuddered and kept on chugging, trying to will itself back to life. I started rolling it toward the lawn, ready to put it to the test.

The mower kept on going, certainly less powerful than it was in its younger years, but a whole lot better than it had all last year. I got through the front lawn again-- once again foiling the man with his camera and his rules and his high standards; we were HOA-compliant in no time! I had tamed the beast! Or brought it to life, or whatever... I was mowing, man!

I knew the real test would be the back yard-- the long grass back there had all but killed the thing a few weeks prior. But before I put it to the big final exam comprised of eight-to-twelve inch tall grass, I thought I'd try an intermediate task...

Skipping the starter fluid, I pumped the bulb six times, pulled on the cord, and...

Time... Stood... Still.

I am not a man who gets emotional very often. In fact, many of you know that empathy was rated as my 34th strongest natural tendency or talent theme-- out of a possible 34 choices. Yes, when you put all the natural talent themes that some really smart people identified in a list, empathy is the one I least display naturally. Now, I took that test ten or twelve years ago, and I imagine I have grown in that time-- and probably grown more emotionally mature and in tune. Maybe. I don't know. Ask my wife. Well, maybe not.

Anyway, the point is, it takes a lot to make me get all mushy and stuff. But when that mower roared back to life, without any starter fluid being poured down its metal gullet, I think a little tear may have dropped from the corner of my eye onto the lawn under my Croc-and-sock-laden feet. It has been years-- years!-- since my baby has started up like that! I'm telling you I relished every minute of that one-hour mow. (Yeah, the back lawn was pretty long and nasty. It took a while).

I think I learned something in that moment. I don't know completely what that something is, but I am confident I learned it. You see, a week ago, I tried to fire it up again, and was back at square one-- nothing. However, this time, instead of weeping, groaning, sweating, comfort-eating and the like, I jumped on Amazon and one-click-ordered a new carburetor for $14. This hadn't dawned on me before, but had just come to mind.

The carburetor arrived last Saturday. I took a half hour or so, put that sucker on my mower, and it is roaring like new! I've tried it since, and I'm telling you, it is good to go, and there is no hesitation, no stuttering, no starter fluid fuss or muss.

This simple part swap would have possibly fixed everything a month and a half ago when this all started. However, back then I had no way of knowing that the carburetor was the problem, or even where the carburetor was. Also, had I just swapped out the carb when there was still a bunch of gunk in the fuel lines, or maybe even some bad gas or condensation fouling things up, I might have just messed up the new carburetor, and junked the mower out.

Also, the process of testing different possible issues and learning the ins and outs of small motor operation and repair has really gotten me sharper, and I'm now better prepared to handle other potential issues that may arise with this mower, future mowers, and maybe even other motor-driven devices. I even thought it might be fun to fix mowers part-time on the side. If genius is 99% perspiration and 1% inspiration, I feel like the Edison of lawnmower repair... but that could just be the emotional high talking.

I don't know how many more seasons I'll have with my old gal (I'm talking about my mower, of course). It'seems to be running like it may give me another 16 years, but we'll see. But I do know that I have figured this thing out, and it was tough, maddening, dirty work. But you know what? Today, and every time I mow the lawn with the old Craftsman, I feel like I can do anything. Almost like...

I'm the king of the world.

Musings from the Saddle on a Warm Spring Night

The girls and I had a great time on our bikes last night! We rode along the Columbia River and Vancouver Lake, on one of the first warm, sunny evenings of the year.

The route is really nice-- a (mostly) paved trail that runs along the lake, at times in the shade and mostly in the sun. It rolls along small rivers and creeks and eventually along the mighty Columbia River. Mounts Hood, St. Helens and even Adams were all clearly in view on this perfect evening. Where else can you stand in one spot and see three volcanic peaks, a richly historic river, and an inviting blue lake (and get home in 20 minutes?)

We rode past fields of crops packed with geese, stretching their wings in the warm setting sun. Red-winged blackbirds sang and flitted through acres of wild blackberry bushes. We took a break on the sandy beach, and watched a massive tanker slowly trudging upriver. We laughed and ate gummy bears and those chewy coke-bottle things, while a couple of kids rode out of control, dragging their shoes on the ground to stop just short of crashing into the sand and rocks.



My view most of the ride

The path has markings every quarter-mile, and we started racing each other, alternating quarter-mile sprints with quarter mile rests. At first, I dusted them both. After the fourth or fifth sprint, I had no chance of winning. It was a blast, and a nice little workout. And of course it got me pondering life and... stuff. Following are some musings I had while in the saddle. Well, mostly while in the saddle-- some of these thoughts came a bit later.

The ride home goes right past a Frito-Lay factory. There is approximately a half-mile radius of motivation-killing, fitness-fighting, crave-inducing hypnotic potato chip aroma. In the twenty-four hours since my ride, I have consumed about a pound and a half of Cheddar Jalapeno Crunchy Cheetos. I blame this bike ride for my binge-- it was partly my calorie deficit, and partly the hypnotic snack stank. But still, I blame the bike ride.

I should have worn bike shorts. Even though it was just an hour or so in the saddle, that hour took its toll. I repeat... I should have worn bike shorts-- this is not the burn I had hoped to feel.

Annelise and Corrinne have gotten really good at bike-handling, and they ride fast. This made it so much more fun to ride together-- hanging in a group, and pushing each other when we needed it. When they were littler I nicknamed them 'Speedy' and 'Hammer.' It's fun to see them riding like this!

The Boy Scouts were right about their motto, 'Be prepared.' It took me about three hours to get the bikes tuned up, to get extra tubes, to get the rack on the van, etc. I'm glad I did, as I caught a slowly leaking tube and some brakes that needed a tweak or two. Had we just thrown the bikes in the back of the van and rode as is, we'd have had at least one flat, and no spare tube. In my experience, manic over-preparing pretty much ensures nothing bad will happen with the bikes. And even if it does, well, we're ready for it.

A little rest break

I gotta lose some weight. I mean, really, I gotta lose some weight. We have set our sights on climbing Mt. St. Helens this summer, and I do not want to be holding anyone back for that. I have anointed Annelise and Corrinne my fitness and diet coaches, instructing them to pester and push me into getting healthier. We'll see how this goes... Annie especially loves dealing out the tough love. I worry her 'coaching' may drive me to even more drastic stress-eating.

What a resplendent world we live in. Every place I've lived in--and that's a long list-- just has so much beauty and awesomeness and richness to enjoy and explore. What a blessing to be in such a particularly amazing part of the country!

I'm proud of how well Annelise and Corrinne rode-- I couldn't ask for better riding partners. And I'm looking forward to longer rides and some tough hikes with the family this spring and summer. Mt. St. Helens, we're coming for you!

Catching Up with Liam

Today, after an easy 3 mile run

What a difference a year can make! It was exactly a year ago this week that we learned our then-
fourteen-year-old son Liam had an unknown condition causing proptosis of his left eye. Proptosis occurs when the eye is pressed outward for one of several reasons. In Liam’s case, MRIs showed there was clearly some kind of mass pushing outward on his eye and inward on his brain. At the time, neurosurgeons and ophthalmologists thought it was an aneurysmal bone cyst, a sort of boney growth that is filled with blood and other fluid.

To make a long story short, Liam underwent neurosurgery—a craniotomy expected to take three to six hours that actually took about ten. You can read all about this experience in several blog posts starting here. Our wonderful neurosurgeon took care of the issue, using healthy bone from inside his cranium to repair the compromised part of his orbit, and using a little fat from his belly to ensure his eye was in the correct spot. Finally, she used healthy bone, collagen, fibrin glue and titanium microplates to ensure his skull would heal and be strong.

Liam’s recovery was long and challenging. He barely moved for the week he was in the hospital after his surgery. He couldn’t stand sounds of any kind—and light gave him headaches too. He was wonderfully patient and polite with the nurses and other caregivers working with him, even though the varying levels of pressure in his head and spine made every sensory stimulation some form of torture. He never complained; he just quietly and bravely endured the longest week one could imagine.

Recovering, less than a year ago

A few days after the surgery, occupational therapists began working with him, helping him work on his memory, helping him sit up, helping him get his balance back, and assisting him as he gingerly walked around the halls, towing IV bags as we held his arms to keep him steady.

At home, he mostly stayed on the couch for another week or two, occasionally getting up to walk, though it was a few weeks after the surgery before he was able to walk on his own or go up and down stairs. It was hard to imagine that he would ever be his old, talented self.

A month or so after the surgery, Liam was able to get back into his homeschool work and finish 8^th grade. He began the summer before high school still meeting with the occupational therapists every week or two as they monitored his slow progress. Liam was able to start running again, but he’ll never be able to play any contact sports, or even his favorite sports in which there might be incidental contact, like basketball and skateboarding.

Liam was also really struggling to follow a lot of basic verbal directions. He had trouble hearing a command, processing it, remembering it, then following it. As last summer came to a close, the therapists told us that Liam should either have someone accompany him at school, taking notes and helping him stay focused on teachers’ directions, or at the very least get the teachers to write out special lesson plans for him.

With Mom and Grandma Louise

Throughout this entire ordeal, we felt like we had been incredibly blessed by God. We had just moved to the area less than three weeks before his diagnosis, and we received amazing care from wonderful doctors and nurses—we can’t imagine being treated any better. My new job was much more conducive to all his tests and procedures and his long recovery—there’s no way I would have been able to be home and at his appointments as much as I was had we never moved.

We had people from all over the US and Canada praying and fasting for Liam and our family—many of those prayers from people we have never met. We felt the strength of prayers offered in many Mormon temples around North America too. Our home teachers from Church were just amazing, and not coincidentally they were a surgeon and an optometrist, so they had a real interest in and understanding of our situation.

When we moved, we’d decided to let the kids finish the year doing homeschool, which ultimately really helped us get through all of the appointments and recovery okay, without the kids needing to miss all that school. We had no idea about Liam’s condition when the kids started their homeschool program. All that spring and summer, we had seen miracle after miracle—some huge, some small, and all of them just wonderful reminders that we are loved by so many, and most importantly a Heavenly Father who knows what we all go through.

As the start of the school year approached, Liam, Darcie and I felt like we should just let him start with no accommodations, and we’d monitor his grades and use the therapists’ solutions if he really ran into some tough problems. He had always been a bit above average at school, so we were hopeful he would maintain that level and enrolled him in his classes. Six months after undergoing brain surgery, Liam was a high school freshman.

15th birthday

Liam worked really hard at school, and did homework every night. He probably checked his grades online once a day, maybe even more often. He was determined to do well enough to get into a good college, and he put in the work. I’d often see him using the internet to try to figure out math problems and techniques, or studying literary works and commentaries. While I was hopeful he’d do okay, I have to admit I worried that he’d do well enough on his homework, but would struggle with exams.

But Liam pressed forward, taking a circuit training class for PE since he can’t really do a lot of team sports, and also a film production class and the usual reading, writing, arithmetic. He started well, and was getting mostly A’s as he began his first quarter of high school. Week after week, he kept at it, and we were so proud when he finished his first quarter with all A’s and one A-minus!

Now, as he works through his third quarter, he’s still running a 3.95 GPA—just one A minus for the year, and easily the best he has ever done in school by far. He’s also lost 25 pounds, and is in the best shape of his life—he’s so fit and strong! He has also really advanced on the guitar and just plays incredibly well. In every way he is stronger, healthier, and smarter than he has ever been before.

With Ethan and me before a concert

This week—the anniversary of Liam’s diagnosis and the worst challenge of my life—a particular Biblical miracle has stood out to me and taken on new meaning. When Moses led the children of Israel out of Egypt, the Lord parted the Red Sea as they crossed on dry ground. I’ve known that story since I was a little kid, but this week, as I’ve pondered the last year, I am really noticing the significance of that little detail—the dry ground.

They could have walked across damp sand, or jogged past a few puddles here and there, or even run through ankle deep water as they fled the Egyptians. But the Lord ensured the ground was dry! I think God did this so the Israelites would know, without a doubt, that this was His work… It was a miracle, and not an amazing, coincidental feat of nature. I believe He wanted to show them His great power, preparing them for the hardships (as well as other miracles) that lay ahead.

Most importantly, I believe God wanted to show His children that He was absolutely involved with their daily lives, that He absolutely loved them, and that he would absolutely deliver them if they were faithful and simply did their best to walk the path He would provide for them.

A few months after surgery

Thinking of Liam, I can see the path of dry ground the Lord prepared for us as the walls of water stood on every side of our family this year. At every step, we would have been content and grateful for the blessings we’d received so far… The blessing of having great care, the blessing of home schooling at a critical time, the blessing of a supportive employer…

The blessings of gifted surgeons and caring nurses, the blessings of prayer and visits from family and friends and strangers. The blessing of Liam’s successful surgery, of his eye and optic nerve being saved, the blessing of his avoiding meningitis or brain injury. The blessing of his recovery, and ability to walk and run and think. The blessings of increased capacity to work hard at school, to exercise and be fit, to magnify his talents…

The blessing of being able to attend school, and that of attending school without a chaperone or any accommodations at all. Finally, the blessings of achieving his best grades ever, and of being a strong, worthy, obedient young man.

Hiking with his sisters

At any point, this chain of blessings could have ended, and we’d have been grateful for the Lord delivering us that far, with so much love and help. But God chose to deliver us all the way, on figurative dry ground, proving to us without doubt that He lives, that He loves us, and that He will bless us with strength and faith and inspiration, through angels that are spirits and angels that are our friends and family.

I know the Lord does not always just remove obstacles for us, the way He did when parting the Red Sea. I also know that He does not heal every faithful, believing person who has a setback like the one Liam and our family faced. But I do know He chose to show our family His power and love in a way that we could never have expected. He surpassed every hope I had for Liam’s recovery, not only healing Liam and restoring his health, but also blessing him with the capacity, desire and capability of doing things he has never done before, academically and physically.

I really do believe Liam’s experiences are as significant and amazing as the Lord’s miracles in Biblical times, and we’ll be eternally grateful for His intervention in our family’s lives.

Looking forward to more adventures!