Posted in Life

You’re early

I thought I was doing the right thing. As the mileage on the new car passed nine thousand miles and the oil life percentage sunk to twenty percent, I made an appointment for service. I feared I had waited too long. But it turns out I acted too soon.

When I first started driving, oil changes came every 3,500 miles. As recently as 2003, that was the recommended service interval for our Chevy Traverse. However, in the world of Honda, the mileage lenthened to five thousand miles or so. That was nice, until a service manager told me to wait till the oil life percentage hit thirty before I brought it in. It took seven to eight thousand miles to hit that mark.

So when our newest car, a 2025, hit eight thousand miles, I though I was close. But the oil life was still at 50%. Okay, I guess I had more time. I checked it every week or so, and finally it go to thirty percent. I made an appointment and brought it in.

After I found my seat in the waiting room, the service representative came over to ask if the maintenance light had gone on.

I anwered, “No. But I figured I was at the right mileage.”

Unless the maintenance light comes on, Honda doesn’t want to see you for service. The service rep said, “I’ll have to see if we can get you in.”

When I asked for more information, he explained, “Sensors know your driving habits, and when you’ll need service.” In other words, the car will let me know when it’s time.

In a sense, here’s an example of artificial intellegence getting a foothold in my decision making process. The machine controls me. I respond to its prompts.

I suppose a self-driving car could take itself in for service. I would not be involved.

That’s a little scary. i used to change my own oil and filters. I used to do my own tuneup.

I’ve almost been replaced.

Posted in Life

An unexpected early morning treat

The big dog (Willow the Great Dane) and I got out for our walk at sunrise on Thursday. Just around the bend from our house we passed a young, tall, lean, bearded gentleman from the first house on the street. He was dressed for much cooler weather in a knit cap, long sleeve hoodie, and sweatpants. Really? It was already 78 degrees. Temperatures were on their way to the 90s. Welcome to Florida, buddy.

We’ve passed him many times on our walks. But today he had a red, white, and blue rocket popsicle hanging out of his mouth. His hands were on his phone as the frozen treat stuck out from his lips.

My first thought: Breakfast of champions! My second thought: wait a minute, you guys don’t have any kids. You have red, white, and blue popsicles at your house?

I like ice pops as much as the next guy. But I wouldn’t buy them if we didn’t have grandchildren frequenting our home. You’ll find them in our freezer because the little ones visit and stay at our house.

Nutritional value? None. Zip. Zilch. Nada. Water, sugar, and some artifical coloring. A quick burst of energy? Of course. Beyond that. Nothing.

I know, he’s probably thinking, “Dude, aren’t you cold (in shorts and a t-shirt)? Where’s your ice pop? (Costco has them by the case.) Come on, buddy, support your country! USA! USA!

We always say, “Hi,” when he walks by, but he never responds. He doesn’t even look up. His earbuds filter out us and the rest of the world.

It’s all about the popsicle.

Posted in communication, Life

Disconnect to connect

Photo by Luke Chesser on Unsplash

His eyes suddenly shifted away and down. To his wrist. To his smart watch. A second later, he returned to our conversation. A momentary interruption, but a huge break in attention. It didn’t happen just once. He felt the vibration on his wrist and glanced at a message six times in the next ten minutes. Lunch was punctuated by a stream of digital notifications.

As the class leader outlined the discussion for the evening, a phone rang at the next table. The owner dug into his pocket to retrieve his phone. He didn’t answer the call, but his phone rang a few more times. Must have been important.

I cannot remember a Sunday morning worship service that did not include the sound of someone’s cell phone. From the pulpit or the pew, I watch with amusement as the guilty party scrambles to find their phone in purse or pocket to turn it off.

We live in a world where anyone can abscond with our attention. We surrender real relationships to digital imitations. Our devices rule our lives, and the people we care about suffer because of our allegiance to watches and phones.

I only have one suggestion for those who want to wrest their lives from the dominion of non-stop digital communication: Leave your device at home.

Leave your phone in the car. Turn off notifications on your watch. Go to lunch, worship, a meeting, or an amusement park without any connected devices.

What? I know. Everyone is connected. Everyone is one the phone in line for tickets, food, rides, parking, upgrades, and reservations. You have to see it, right? And you have to respond, right?

Well, maybe not. That like, that comment, that response isn’t time sensitive. I’ll bet it’s not urgent. You can (and will) reply tomorrow.

Posted in dogs, Life

The teeny, tiny service dog

There was no one in line at the paint counter at Home Depot. Sweet! With paint chip in hand, I knew exactly what I needed: two gallons of interior flat.

Just before I described what I needed, a woman held out a white electrical outlet and asked, “Where do I find the paint to paint this?” Caught a bit off the guard, the paint guy pointed and said, “Down that aisle on the right.”

“What kind do I need?” she asked.

The paint guy took a close look and said, “Gloss. Down that aisle.”

“Is it OK to paint this?”

“Sure,” he said.

Her service dog was watching the whole exchange. Her service dog was a five-pound Yorkie, wearing a tiny “Service Dog” vest. I looked down at her. She nervously looked up at me. Neither of us was interested in the situation.

I said, “That is a tiny dog!”

I do not believe English was her first language. She simply smiled at me. I said, “I have a Great Dane.”

Her eyes got big and she said, “I saw one when I was four years old. I remember looking way up at him.”

“Yeah,” I chuckled, “She’s about a hundred pounds heavier than your little one!”

That little dog weighed less than the amount of food I feed my big dog in a day. I now know there’s no minimum weight requirement on being a service dog. That little canine shook so much when I looked at him, I think he needed an emotional support dog of his own!

If he can do the job, more power to him. However, if it were me, I’d want a large dog to be watching out for me. But that’s just me.

Posted in Life

Another dent and another discount

The oven went belly up last week.

I had used it that morning to bake bread and it worked just fine. Salmon was on the menu for supper. I heat up and baste the salmon in a cast iron pan on the stove top for a few minutes, and then put it in the oven for another five minutes or so to finish cooking it.

This time, when I went to put it in the oven, the temperature hadn’t gone up in the last fifteen minutes. That’s strange. I turned the oven on and off. I turned off the breaker, waited a few minutes, and flipped it back on. No luck.

We need an oven for our cookie business. I texted my wife, “I guess you’re going to get the double oven you’ve wanted.” I got online, found the one we had looked at in the store, and bought it. It would arrive two days later. Nice.

The delivery guys arrived right on time, carted off the old applicance, and slid the new oven into its space in the kitchen. It took my wife all of five seconds to notice, “There’s a dent on the handle.” It was about the size of a dime. I went out and brought the delivery guys back in. They looked, took pictures, and called it in.

After a brief exchange, the voice on the phone said, “We can offer a discount of $350.” It took me all of five seconds to say, “I’ll take it.” It amounted to a 30 percent discount on the price of the oven. I knew I could buy a replacement handle for much less than that.

I was right. A new handle cost about $100 from a repair warehouse. It arrived three days later.

I’m impressed by the customer service. I’m dismayed by how easily a shipment is damaged. Then again, I’m sure it survived a long journey from China. And what’s a few dings or dents, right?

What’s the markup on an appliance? I don’t know. I’m sure everyone made money. And we have a working double oven. Sweet.

Posted in Life

Wow, that’s a big bowl!

After a long, leisurely breakfast at Metro Diner, I still had time to kill waiting for a brake job at Brakes-For-Less. I slowly wandered back, thinking I would just wait out front in a plastic lawn chair.

Then my eye caught the sign for Diane’s Natural Market. Nice. I know they have a little cafe. I’ll wait there.

As I walked in, I encountered the smell of a health food store. It’s unique, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. A combo of cardamom, cinnamon, and cumin? I don’t know. It’s just unique.

I ordered a coffee at the cafe and noticed some huge mixing bowls in the food prep area. They looked to be about two feet wide and one foot deep. I commented, “Wow. Those mixing bowls are huge!”

A young lady working in the back glanced at me and smiled. “We’re making big batches of tuna salad and chicken salad.”

Of course. You make big batches of food for the day. I’ve never worked in a restaurant kitchen before, so I’m not familar with the workflow.

That’s not entirely true. I worked at Subway a long, long time ago. I spent a lot of time in the back slicing meats and cheese, shredding lettuce, and mixing up tuna and seafood salads for the subs. A lot of the work was about prep and cleaning, so that we could make a boatload of subs.

After I got my coffee, I thought a lot about food service jobs. I think I would have liked being in the restaurant business. And sometimes I think about how different life would have been in that world.

Posted in Life, trash

Trash talk

The wide variety of trash and recycling out on the curb this morning impressed the big dog and me on our walk. We saw massive piles of trash in front of some homes and just a small bag in front of others.

A family a few houses up the street only ever puts out a recycling bin. They rarely put out a container of trash. How do they do that? They are a family of four, and they hardly throw out anything.

On the other hand, the folks a few houses in the other direction put out multiple overflowing trashcans, along with a stack of trash bags, a pile of boxes, and an overflowing recycling bin. Not just once a week, but two times a week! For a two-person household.

On any given trash collection day, I will see at least three mattresses, two vacuum cleaners, either a dishwasher or a refrigerator, lots and lots of pizza boxes, and a recliner.

I love to see how some organize their recycling bin, with all the cardboard folded to one side and cans and bottles lined up on the other. Picture perfect. I break down all my boxes to get as many in as possible. Most people just pile up all the Amazon boxes any which way.

Some (like me) have all the trash tied up in bags in a lidded container. Others just throw whatever in the can and drag it out Tuesday morning.

So much trash. For all our efforts at recycling, I believe we only have more to throw away. I don’t even know where they put it all.

I’ll add to the pile this Friday. A new range arrives on Thursday, so the recently deceased old one will be on the curb Thursday night. Maybe someone will come by and take it for repair or scrap. Maybe not.

Posted in Life

A snail’s pace

I didn’t see him. The dog did. He’s barely moving. A “snail’s pace” at best. Lol.

I’ve seen snail trails on the street. They wind across the asphalt, leaving slime behind them. If you’re a snail, everyone knows where you’ve been. You can’t lie about where you’ve been. They are slimy and slow, and leave conspicuous tracks.

But the shell is beautiful. I sometimes want life to slow down a bit. Take my time. Enjoy the journey.

Like a snail.

Posted in Life

For better or worse: yard celebrations

Yard art has become a big business. You hire them, an awesome display shows up in your yard over night, your child or significant other is completely surprised, and it disappears a few days later.

Unless. Unless a storm blows through. And then your wonderful surprise ends up looking like the picture on the right. The flamingo party lasted five days. The grad party fell pray to an evening storm the same night. That’s the way it goes.

When my grandson celebrated his tenth birthday, a crop of cutouts appeared in his front yard overnight. I don’t know when they cruised through the neighborhood to set it up, but he was thrilled to see it all the next morning!

I guess that’s the risk you take with this kind of business. Who knows what the weather will be like? Who knows when a storm will blow through. The neighborhood is filled with scholarship announcements too.

One way or the other, everyone will know about your special occasion!