File this observation under the heading of: Things I’m learning kind of late in life.
It really stings when gasoline runs down your arm and stops at your armpit as you work on your back under a car or truck.
This, I learned today, when I replaced the fuel filter on my old Ford Bronco. The Bronco died on me this morning as I tried to get to the Muscatine Community Y. It died in the middle of the street, about half a block from the Y. And it wouldn’t start. I finally had to call a tow truck to pull it home.
After thinking about it and talking to my mechanic brother, I decided to buy a fuel filter, disconnect the fuel line from the back-end of the old filter and then hit the ignition to make sure the fuel pump still worked. It did, so I took off the old filter (this is how the gas ran down my arm) and put on the new part.
The stinging would have been worth it if my effort had fixed the problem. But it didn’t. A friend stopped by and we tried several different things, but the Bronco is still on the shelf.
This leaves me unsure of what to do next. Maybe a great idea will come to me by morning.
Still, I’m pleased. I did a few things today I wouldn’t have even tried until recently. And I ended the day, dirty, sweaty and covered in grease and gasoline.It was great.
My dad would have been pleased. But he also may not have believed it, which is why I took the photo. It’s not “Daddy’s Hands,” to quote singer Holly Dunn. But it’s closer to it than I’ve come in a long time.
Also on my mind: It’s been reaffirming to hear lately from the many people who have me in their prayers as I keep looking for a new career. I can’t find adequate words to express my gratitude.
But I want everyone to know I’m hanging in there. It helps to know that even though I’ve felt a little down lately, I’ve not hit bottom the way others have. This item on the web today was kind of an eye-opener.
Making and selling meth is definitely not in my future no matter how the job search turns out. I’ll leave that to Walter White.
Brome Hill 