Orange Peels & Moth Wings

Whoa, nelly! What the hell happened to November? I know, like an old warped record I keep singing the same ol song, and it goes like this "please, oh please, let this year end." Ok, maybe not a song...a diddy? Certainly, it ain't no jingle. Jingle is waaaay too happy a description for this downright miserable, kleenex-filled mental mind melt of a year. So, poised and ready to kick 2009 to the curb, the days seemingly go on forever. Slowly, they loll by, some worse than others. Now back at a "real job," our family has adjusted yet again to new schedules and we have had to hit the gas together. Our week days merge into one long menagerie of buses, day care, making toast while brushing teeth and splitting up wars over whose freaking eraser is whose. The last month in particular was an extreme vapor speed burn out of 30 days - add to that an immediate double-digit-decline of the turkey population and an instant double-digit-incline of body fat, and it is downright head spinning. It seems though the restoration of "red bird" has ramped up, matching our breakneck pace of the last couple of months....and I am not complaining! If you have followed the last few entries, you are up to speed on the painting "negotiations" at our house. Not a big surprise that CJ and those big brown eyes and his awww, shucks earnestness have won me over, again. How do you think I had kid #2? No one gives birth twice without some serious coercion. The guy even brought visual aids to the table. Storage box diving in the basement for photos of previous vehicles and his painting ability all lined up like a P.I. chronicling a crime, he made his case. He could do this. Ok, all joking aside I truly believe in this person "more than anyone in the whole, entire millionth, gagillionth universe of all humans" as Hannah would say. So.....viscoine tent? Constructed! Curious/doubtful/eye rolling neighbors taking pre-paint tours? Completed! Hundreds of dollars dropped at Hawley's Paint? Yep, er, maybe not dropped - but diverted for a while! So, I came home on painting day #1, eagerly shook off my bag and coat, anxious to see the results. CJ was mumbling something about "how hard it is to paint in the dark." I stopped dead in my tracks, preparing for a new game of "bowling for husbands" with any large inanimate household object I could lay my hands on. He quickly assured me everything was fine while cracking a beer, swallowing hard and avoiding eye contact......never a good sign. And, the first day was no easy road. The lights in combination with the compressor was too much of a load and tripped the circuit breaker and cut off the power. So, yes, CJ was indeed in the dark. And with the compressor off, it caused low pressure and some serious orange peel on the drivers side that had to be re-done. And despite the home made tent, a lot of bugs have to be sanded out. But, I must say our little "red bird" is shining bright red again like a polished cherry plucked straight off a tree. She almost looks proud... perched up on a dais saying "yo, check me out." CJ went from continually saying to me that this was going to be "no show car," to saying that "verona red has never looked so good." I have to agree. She looks brand-spanking, much like the day Owner #1 found her. Recently, I received a note back from Owner #1 (I tracked him down from his name scrawled in the original owners manual and dropped him a line). He said that he stayed local, and still walks by the auto repair shop that was the original site of the BMW dealership in Mill Valley in '73 where he bought Red. He wrote that selling Red was one of those moves/mistakes under "What was I thinking?" It turns out that Owner #1 and I shared the same ultimate dream car - a 1973 BMW 3.0 CSI...actually, that was until tonight. Now my dream car is safely tented up, nestled next to the house under shimmering holiday lights, waiting patiently until she can be set free.

Loathing Lego's

I hate legos. At home with a cold the other day, I am unable to just lie in bed. Kid free, alone in the house. I can literally count on one hand the number of times this has happened to me. The day looms large, cabinets are just yearning to be organized, internet sites to surf, kids clothes to sort and ohhhhh goodness, lifetime movies to watch! But Christmas is coming, and we are on kid crap overload, and should be more preparing for the "more kid crap" overload coming soon. So, nose clogged, chest feeling like it is filled with lead, I tackle the toy boxes in our playroom. 'Cause you see I pretty much ping pong between a laissez faire "just throw it anywhere so it is outta sight" attitude or an amp'ed out P-Touching-OCD-organizer universe. I don't own a P -Touch, and am not on a first name basis with the people at the Container Store, but I admit it. I strive one day to be like this. I am a serious binger of all "crap" in the house to the extent that CJ threatened therapy. So, I try to play it cool, and not be too excited that I am alone, a box of hefty saks in hand and the hours stretched before me. I tackle the lego's first, knowing there will be a day when I am able to reach organizational lego nirvana. I can beat this. There are other reviled kid things that I have learned to live in harmony with: do-it-yourself beading kits, moon sand, play doh, lincoln logs.....the list goes on. But legos... Here is why I cannot make peace with this brand: you purchase a box set of "City Racers" or "Mission to Mars" and once constructed and ohhhhh'ed and ahhhhh'ed upon it gets destroyed and thrown in a big ol bin. The little step by step brochure? In the big ol bin too. But it will never be constructed again. The ol bin is just a mess of teeny tiny little pieces mixed in with dog hair, and dried bits of play doh . We've ziplocked and sorted within an inch of our life - we've even dedicated a shelf in the closet, but nothing will ever resurrect Indiana Jones and the Tomb Raider to it's original state. It just ain't happenin'. And now there's the BMW. All torn to bits, parts shoved everywhere, looking like a rejected Speed Racer set. But this little project of ours needs thousands of dollars in parts to make it a set again. When Colin shows me pictures of his progress, I feel that same uneasy heartbeat and itchy armpit that signals I am really worried. But forward we go, and I have no doubt Colin will make our little "Red Bird" whole again. He worked as a mechanic years ago many places, but namely for Paul Heynneman to make some money while he was a reserve fire fighter waiting to get hired permanently. These were the days when I basically lived in Japan and left notes for CJ on the fridge, reminding him I loved him. I don't know if Paul realizes it, but the chap kept us going, filling in the blanks on mortgage payments and funding emergency reunions in Hawaii to remember why we married each other. CJ went to see him after we bought the car, and Paul told him he had a lot of 2002 parts still. Coincidentally, Paul is an alumni of the same Autozentrum in San Rafael where our little "Red Bird" had her service appointments. He told CJ he used to take the cars being serviced on test drives up our street. The "Red Bird" probably was test driven past our house many times decades before we lived here. So, a very long parts list to Paul later to supply us with all the window seal weatherstripping and body gaskets we need, CJ kept going with what he could get done part-free. He fixed the clock which he was super excited about. He re-soldered the bad ground wire and it now makes that faint ticking sound you should hear in a car like this. He took out the rear window and got more rust (damn rust!) out of the A & C pillars. He finished most of the body work and finished priming it for paint. Apparently, Paul also owns a set of BBS wheels cut specifically for a 2002 that CJ is coveting. The current wheels tend to rub a little bit, and I laughed when CJ told me that they rub the way my first car in high school (one of the boxy VW Jettas) rubbed when I had people (CJ was one of the "people") in the back. I bought that car from my brother, who then wrecked it about a week later avoiding a deer. Come to think of it, I also had a another tire rubbing car when I lived in the Caribbean. Some guy on the island called "Muff the Diver" (yes, for real) kept plowing his Ford Laser into the drainage ditch near the pub where we drank too much and played trivial pursuit. Muff the Diver had no business operating a motor vehicle or owning a dive operation, but he was remarkably talented in doing everything with a cigarette and beer in his hand. So, when ol Muff went off to Ft Lauderdale for an alcohol treatment stint (yeah, that was successful when we all lived in the Caribbean) I bought the Ford Laser for $150 bucks from his brother Kim. The car was seemingly great, until I picked up a rather large local woman on the side of the road to give her a lift to town. The tires rubbed so badly I smelled smoke. I surveyed the damage and could see I needed a new set of tires badly. I worked on a sailboat and went off on charter for about a week, and left the car with my parents while they were visiting with explicit instructions to put no one in the back seat or the tires would be toast. I returned to a car with two flats and my dad said it "just like that" right after I left. Riiiiight. That is why a 250 lb local lady bought him two Jagermeisters and thanked him for the ride home when we were sitting at the pub. Another $150 bucks gone, and carless again. Oh well, I had heard some guy had a VW Gurgel (like a Thing) on the other side of the island he was trying to offload for $50 bucks. He'd make it a custom marine plywood top for $75. It just didn't have keys. Now that I think about it, we just left that Ford Laser sitting in a dirt lot where my dad was unable to go further. I wonder if it is still there? I love you and miss you Dad. I wish you were here with us. Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

The Red Bird

I received an email today from owner #2 Robbie - of Andy and Robbie. I was happy to hear that she was enjoying the blog, and not sticking pins in a little voo doo doll doppelganger of me. When you incorporate people into stories, good or bad, it always makes me feel a little devious that they are unknowingly going into my invisible basket of material for a later date. Maybe that is why I can never start my book. I will piss too people many off. Anyway, Robbie wrote to me about the "Red Bird," and how she used to shine in her day. This is not a picture of our car, but I what I envision she will look like when her day to shine returns. The painting of the car has been a hot topic in our house. CJ has done a lot of research, found great green tips for painting and being environmentally conscious, figured out how many coats of paint and clear coat are needed...and you see where this is going? He is campaigning to do this himself. Now, if you've read past entries or know CJ personally, you know that he is meticulous in everything he does. Packing for a roadtrip is like watching molasses drip slowly off a spool....he takes his time in ensuring everything is "just so". Thankfully, I have learned to dump everything in the driveway and let him configure it all in the truck to his hearts content. CJ is a calm person. He doesn't get his feathers ruffled easily. When the truck is finally packed, and the kids are being buckled up, what he doesn't want to hear is "can I have my American Girl doll from the back daddy?" Everyone's got a breaking point, and boy, this is his. But she is daddy's girl, and the whole big brown eyes, wide toothy smile thing gets him every time. "You need it now Hannah?" he implores. She just nods sweetly, as if she hasn't been sitting on the top step of the stairs watching this entire process go down. It is almost amusing to watch: he grits his teeth, rolls his eyes, makes some indistinguishable sound and painfully tears up his little rubix cube of bags and fishing poles in the back in search of one doll. He is the dishwasher loader in the house. Probably fits about 20 more things in there than I do. He even re-loads what I have just loaded. Maddening. When he folds laundry, he actually buttons the buttons and zips the zippers of every pair of pants in our family before folding. Who does that besides Alice from the Brady Bunch??? But, painting. Hmmmmmm, how do I say this since he will invariably be reading this??? Painting is just not his strength. He gets pissed at the roller and talks to it even though it can't talk back, tries to break some sort of invisible ticking timer and emerge as "SPEED PAINTER OF SAN RAFAEL!" And what's that? You say you want to go on holiday??? Come on over! Holidays are ALL OVER our walls! So, as we get closer to the "paint job" for the car, let's just say it's becoming an "animated conversation." We kind of stare each other down in the driveway, car between us, and change the subject rapidly before we start to look like the in-the-driveway-screaming-couple-from-across-the-street. I, of course, am gunning for a pro painter. I do recognize I am the one that lives in a world wanting certain things, and don't connect until after the fact that these things cost money. I accept this. But, as more things get stripped and primed, we are closer and closer to an inevitable showdown. Last night, a neighbor got wind of the "red bird". You know how it is in suburbia. He stopped by while walking his dog. Turns out, he used to have a car restoration business. He said "he's gonna paint it?? here??? Wow." And he did that thing guys do. You know, the incredulous chuckle while nodding and not making eye contact. I went inside, closed the door, ignored my kids desperate plea's for food and immediately rang CJ at the firehouse. Not home, answering machine. It is now 14 hours later. No call back. Maybe it was my message. Maybe I sounded too desperate to talk. Or maybe, just maybe, he somehow knew the subject.

It All Started with a Stove

A couple months ago, Colin's mom was over and we were cooking dinner, crammed in the kitchen talking. We really should have "before" pics of our kitchen (afters not available yet...or ever, probably). No joke - it is the ugliest kitchen in existence today. I know it is all relative. If you walked into a car showroom in 1973 and saw the new flesh-colored Datsun 510 wagon my mom used to drive you'd say it was "to the max!" back then. Same goes for 1956, when our house was built, and this heinous design-suicide of a kitchen was dreamt up. Certainly, if you ran in the same circle as the Murgatroyd's (previous owner of said kitchen) you'd be maybe even be envious? (Their last name really was Murgatroyd...as in "Heavens to Murgatroyd!" Those kids must have had it rough in school). Anyway, standing up against our ugly cabinets, watching CJ cook, the conversation almost always leads to, "what are you guys going to do with the kitchen???" Translation: "this is so god-awful, do something...soon!" Our stove is as big as our new 2002 tii, and is a lovely shade of puce (not puke, puce - which, evidently looks a lot like puke). It has some sort of massive dashboard situation with an enormous clock and shelf, which I am sure was revolutionary in '56, but today serves only as a time-out timer for Cian and a place to hold Colin's various symbolic rocks and spice jars. You get the picture, it ain't pretty. The rest of the kitchen is just as charming- tortoise and chocolate colored linoleum, a beige dishwasher that smokes, melts anything plastic and sounds running Pinto when switched on. The best thing going in this kitchen is the cabinet hardware - and that came that from our last god-awful kitchen after we remodeled it. So, Colin's mom delicately suggests that we give her friends a buzz because they have a Viking stove they are trying to get rid of. My eyes light up and I said to Colin - "Call them!! Now!!" So, Colin gives them a ring a few days later and leaves the following message: "Hey, Andy heard you got a stove you need a home for, if you are still looking to get rid of it - call us. More importantly, if you still have your 2002, we'd love to buy that! Ha ha." So, since you know what's on jack stands in our side yard now, I guess you figured it out: stove, not available. So, the kitchen took a backseat and now we are 100% car-restoration focused. Colin seems to have moved on from his daily kitchen-hating angst, to a serious wish-we-had-a-garage angst. We have been married for almost 10 years, and in that 10 years this is our 4th house. We started in Petaluma, fixed up and sold. Moved to San Rafael, fixed up and sold. Moved to Tiburon, fixed up, freaked out and sold. And here we are. Back in San Rafael, and garage-less. Each home we've lived in had a "must have a garage" criteria, and CJ always went right to work happily setting up his workshop before anything else. This house, like many from the 50's, has a converted garage that is lovingly/hatingly referred to as our "toy room." Before we moved in we said, "that room is going back to being a garage!" But as soon as we started unloading the moving truck, we quickly realized we were attempting to shove 2500 sq feet of furniture into 1800 square feet, and also had two VERY "energetic" kids that needed all the room they can get. So, once the rains came last week, the "why-don't-we-have-a-garage" rumble resumed, and CJ is down on the side yard under our beach "easy up" that he erected over our newly rust-free car trying desperately to keep her dry. Scrubbing seats clean with a toothbrush, cutting out little cardboard shapes to make replacement parts and removing trim is all done while earnestly wishing for a space to work his magic. So, there he is, crouched under this ghetto contraption of a shelter in the misting rain and fog pulling out the weatherstripping and quarter windows. When he stripped the interior of the car, the carpet was not salvageable, but the rest of the interior was stored in the basement for a rainy day so he could check out what shape they were in. We are fairly certain the backseat had never seen the likes of children - no crayon marks, bubble gum or slurpee stains - it actually looked like it had never seen a passenger of any kind. My Pathfinder hides all kinds of disgusting stuff on a daily basis - little villages of dried booger collections under car seats being the most palatable. Yesterday, we were unloading the car after a day of errands, and a baby lizard poked it's head out of the bags in the back staring back at us. That was a first. So, we were pretty stoked the back seats are in such great shape. They just need to be re-stuffed with foam as the horsehair is falling out at the bottom from age. Soon we'll start searching local salvage yards for front seats and front door panels as we didn't get so lucky there - they are toast. CJ has some sunny days ahead to finish his custom air dam meant to cover the valance which has a huge hole in it....the culprit? Rust. Damn rust. The man is an artist though, and this is the kind of opportunity that gives him a chance to express himself. It amazes me what he can do with what seems like nothing. When I had my store, he took some metal rug arms out and instead of trashing them, we now have a custom fireplace screen and a bbq stand! So, while there are only a few thousand tii's of this year out there in the nation, ours will stand out from the rest with that special CJ stamp on it that makes it ours.

A True Mill Valley Native

I love classics - books, furnishings, clothes...and of course, cars. A true classic is timeless, and looks good on anyone. Take for example Converse. You may think a strange example, but I love that my five year old has a pair of navy Chuck's, and in the same day I can sit next to a 35-year-old guy commuting on the ferry and he is sporting the same pair. He doesn't look idiotic like, say, if he were wearing my five year old's bat man jammies with removeable cape. They are not classics - they are just cheap polyester $9.99 licensed crap from Target. Adults and kids alike can wear the exact same pair of shoes - and they both look cool. Real classics span generations - like Levi's, an old Rolex and our little 2002 tii. Many people have wistfully commented on yearning for this car when they were younger, wishing they had one now or smiling with the memory of having owned one in the past. Like many classics, this car has history. And her history was in a waterlogged manila folder that overflowed with articles and service receipts. I took the folder back to bed with me one Saturday morning and leafed through the yellowed, moldy pages to learn where our car had been, and what had been done to her. A chap from Larkspur originally purchased the car brand-new from Mill Valley Imports on 489 Miller Ave across from the 2am Club(a true Mill Valley native)on January 29, 1973. He meticulously logged all of his service appointments between Mill Valley Imports and BMW Autozentrum in San Rafael up to 64,000 miles in 1977. The service manual was so slim, so simple. It was not mind-bendingly complicated and huge with glossy, expensive photography like we have today. Just a very simple little manual that exuded it West German roots: here is your car, here is what you will do to take car of your car, now write your name in the upper left hand corner and do as we say! Done. Easy! This car was number 2,644 of 4,522 built between 1972 and 1973 for the United States. The second owner purchased the car from West Bay Bavarian in San Rafael, and then we purchased the car from them with an amazing 135,000 original miles (they live in Paris for six months every year). In the last five years that they owned the car they put just under 500 miles in the car which is amazing, but also meant she sat alone a lot, unused. Owners #2 are a wonderful Berkeley couple (we are biased since they are close family friends, but we think they are doubly amazing for letting us buy this car from them), and even though the car just sat a lot, they remained diligent about keeping her mechanically pristine. They also kept excellent records and great clippings about 2002's from over the decades. I almost wish they hadn't because it is here that I found a BMW 2002 tii that is the most fantastic, blue green peacock teal color I have ever seen. It is called agave green. Agaaaaave, it just oozes killer color. If that was not torture enough, it had the richest, perfect-shade-of-honey camel interior seats I have ever laid my eyes upon. Colin responded to my finding with "It looks like we'll have to get another." Ahh, the man knows me too well. Most of the articles they kept were written by people like me - remembering these classic cars - the smell of the interior, the shifting of gears and the fantasy of being able to drive one. A 1983 article deemed the 2002 the most practical car for lugging "kids and groceries around town and still provide great motoring on the open road." Our definition of that today? Range Rovers, Suburbans. Oh, my stomach turns. It is not that I have not fallen into the keeping-up-with-the-Jones-and-their-black-Range-Rover, I just gave it up when the town I lived in looked like a President was visiting at all times with the amount of black luxury SUVs traversing the single road in and out of town to simply get kids from school, to soccer and then home again. It is too much, too big and put so much in perspective for me. It was a time in our lives when we had worked really hard to get more, more, more. Thankfully, like an asteroid falling from the sky on top of our heads we got the message. Less is more. Park the SUV, lower the mortage, eat in, spend time together. So, here we are. Another week gone by, and lots more work under our belt. Colin has inherited a perpetual cough from the rhino liner and fiber glass he used to repair the spare tire well that had also rusted through (damn rust!). He completed the repair on the drivers side floor pan and got the accelerator pedal back in - always helpful for driving! He has started removing trim and doing body work in preparation for paint. This was exciting - until he found a whole lot more rust in doing so (damn rust!). So, the front lower valance and the lower front fenders where they meet the rocker panels will have to be un-rusted before we can move forward and do the pretty stuff. But you know what? It feels good. Making something old new again. Giving a classic what she deserves.