9-3-09

Out with the old, in with the new; selling and buying vehicles

“’59 Cadillac, ’57 Chevrolet.”
David Allen Coe sang about his favorite cars and motorcycles as did many musicians.
Bruce Springsten, Stevie Ray Vaughan and Dwight Yoakam also sang about Cadillacs and the blues man K. C. Douglas was “Crazy ‘bout a Murcury” back in ’49.
The bottom line is that everyone loves their cars and they will obviously sing it from the mountain tops.
I think all of us have that special car we loved to drive at some point in our life, usually a first car, or the vehicle you and your friends would drive around in ’til all hours of the night meeting up with all of your other friends.
For me, one of my favorite modes of transportation was a ’76 metallic green Ford van.
The “Green Van” as everyone called it was empty on the inside but loaded with fun.
At one point, I played bus driver. There were a lot of my friends that hated riding the school bus and paid good money to arrive at the front doors of Thomas Stone high school in style. Well, maybe not in style but at least not on the bus.
I was able to cram about ten of my closest friends in the van and make a good chunk of money at the end of the week.
Then one day, my father told me that it was time to sell the “Green Van.”
My heart stopped for a split second and I think a tear emerged from the corner of my eye.
The end of an era.
Recently, I sold a Jeep that Leigh and I have had for about eight years.
While I was cleaning all of our personal items out of the truck, I started to get a little bit of an empty spot inside of me.
This truck drove us back and forth to Boston for many years. When we moved to Maryland, it comfortably delivered us on either end of our weekend trips to North Carolina.
The Jeep trailered loads of furniture, motorcycles, and bicycles all over the east coast. I even raced another SUV around the DC beltway at one in the morning. Not a proud moment.
This truck saw two newlyweds turn into homeowners and then into parents.
That’s a lot of stories tucked into the crevices of that truck.
We are now searching for a replacement vehicle that is a little bigger to help haul our expanding family around comfortably. Although giving up a vehicle can be a somewhat sad event, the excitement of a new truck can overcome that feeling.
Our life gets to make a slight upgrade. Trucks eight years ago pale in comparison to those of today.
The children might have the opportunity to have some built in entertainment which will provide Leigh and me with a bit of quiet time on a long trip.
I am sure there will be many family memories that will be made in whatever we buy. Weekend road trips, football tailgating in the fall and trips to the beach in the summer.
When my son is old enough to take care of the new truck and change the oil, he will have his own vehicle to haul all of his friends around in, stay out all night and shed a tear when I sell it.
Bryan Pinkey can be found searching for his old “Green Van” or at bpinkey@nccox.com.

8-27-09

Home is where the heart is, if renovations haven’t sucked the life out first

My wife and I fancy ourselves as closet designers and house flipping geniuses.
We watch a lot of HGTV. In an attempt to protect my manliness, Leigh turns it on and I somehow get sucked in, if that makes a difference.
In Boston and Maryland, Leigh and I were addicted to working on our property. We didn’t have very much money to work with so the game was simple. We maxed ourselves out, working with what we had, doing as much as we could by ourselves and then sell for as much profit as possible.
We did this a couple of times and had a lot of fun and learned a whole lot more.
We didn’t have children at that time so Leigh and I were able to focus all of our time and energy toward details.
The first place in Boston was a nightmare.
At first glance, this condo was beautiful. About 80 years ago, the nine foot walls were constructed and the seven foot wood wainscot was installed. All of the wood doors were solid and the floors were the same.
This place was love at first sight. The only problem was that the kitchen and bathroom had to be gutted.
Sounds like the start to a good HGTV show.
Unfortunately, we weren’t being filmed or paid for our adventure. It would have been a great show if it was.
When we raised the sledge hammer in the air and let it slam into the tile on the bathroom floor, the floor dropped about three inches around the toilet. We had a toilet that looked like it was floating above the busted floor.
We had just opened the proverbial can-of-worms except ours smelled like a sewer and cash.
There was only one thing to do. Out with the porcelain convenience, out with the sink and out with the tub.
The beams below were exposed and we found a window in the wall at the shower that had been boarded and tiled over and only latched shut. This hidden window had been leaking and allowing water to run down the wall for who-knows how many years.
The beams rotted where they joined the wall and had “slipped” past the brick ledge that had been holding them in their place since the 1920s.
It took us three months from the day we bought the place until we were brushing our teeth and taking showers to finish the project. We didn’t even think of starting the kitchen for another year.
Today, we are living in our house that we built with our own two hands. It is ours and I made sure all of the beams were secured and I didn’t install any “hidden” windows in the bathrooms.
One day we might decide to tackle another fixer-upper and maybe even try to turn it for a profit, but for now Leigh and I will be content watching HGTV shows that exploit other homeowners in dealing with their pitfalls and money traps.
We now catch ourselves coaching the unsuspecting owners on the TV shows like armchair quarterbacks on Sunday afternoon.
“Don’t buy that house, that hill in the back yard is going to cause drainage problems in your crawl space.”
“Inspect that wall behind the stove, there is a reason the drywall has a big crack in it.”
We know it all now, we are experienced-professionals, homeowner extraordinaires. With our wisdom, there is nothing that can stop us from being ace renovators.
One important thing we learned is not to jump into that arena again without reviewing the “tape” for many, many years to come.
Bryan Pinkey can be found charging his drill... and putting it back in the case or at bpinkey@nccox.com.

8-13-09

The downside of going to ‘Big School’ is a shock to all in earshot

It seems that over the past few months, my family and I have been in doctors’ offices every week.
For one reason or another, everyone has taken a turn, some of us more than others.
Personally, I never care one way or the other if I have to go. Sitting in the waiting room means I have time to read, check e-mail and maybe play on Facebook for a few minutes.
My children don’t feel the same way but I am sure once they get to the age that they have a handheld device in their possession, it will change.
Nash isn’t that bad when we go. She still doesn’t know what’s coming until the nurse comes in with a tray of needles that somewhat resembles a cigarette girl from days gone by. She quickly remembers her last visit and starts into shriek.
“DaaaaaAAAAAdeeeeeEEEE!”
Ethan has never looked forward to going to the doctor. He has kicked and screamed from day one. I always had to take him when he was a baby because Leigh couldn’t stand listening to him scream and cry.
I remember one time that he had to have a couple of vials of blood drawn. He was putting up such a fight that the nurse put us in a chair, had me hold him and still strapped BOTH of us down.
Ethan was mad at me for about three days after that.
This year has been a bit of a turning point for Ethan.
This year marks his leap into the N.C. educational arena.
He is going to “Big School.”
No more naps, no more snack time, no more all day recess, no more fun.
Ethan is excited.
We have noticed that he likes to help out setting the table, getting things for his little sister and even cleaning his room.
I asked him why all of a sudden he has decided to do these things.
“That’s what big kids do,” he informed me.
Two weeks ago, a little hesitation surfaced when he found out that he needed to take one more trip to the doctor to receive a few “School Shots.”
The little scholar took it with stride and said, “Well, that’s what big kids do.”
Last Wednesday Leigh and Ethan walked through the double doors to the Children’s Center and that’s where the fun stopped.
“MOmeEEEEE!”
“I DON’T WANT SHOTS. I hate shots.”
Leigh and the nurse tried to calm him down and must have done a good job because no one got strapped down.
The nurse began the shots and Ethan began to yell again.
“STOP.”
“It hurts, your hurting me.”
More nurses came in as the first shot was completed.
They then tried to explain that the next would be quick and wouldn’t hurt.
“I don’t want it,” Ethan yelled.
“Hold still,” said the nurse.
Ethan replied with, “I HATE NURSES. I HATE THIS PLACE.”
Leigh tried to rationalize with him by telling him that Ms. Amie (our neighbor who is a nurse and our family doctor during weekend emergencies) is a nurse and that she is nice.
“I like Ms. Amie, but I hate THESE nurses!”
By this time the shots were done, half the nursing staff was laughing and looking in.
He made it through the shots once again and is now ready for “Big School.”
I am sure that in the years to come, he will get better at going to the doctor and dealing with procedures that he doesn’t want to have done... I sure hope so. Could you imagine him at age forty five getting a colonoscopy?
Bryan Pinkey can be found apologizing to nurses or at bpinkey@nccox.com.

7-23-09

Summer nights are for friends, fire flies, and flashlights

It is officially summer time.
Now, I love the cold weather but I also love the hot evenings as well. What makes me feel all warm and fuzzy is seeing the sun tuck itself behind the trees, turning the sky a calming pink-blue-gray color and the clouds slightly darker than the sky behind them.
Around this time of the evening there are a few things that I like to do. One of them is that I like to sit outside in the quiet. When I get the time to sit on the porch with a cold drink and a cigar and watch the dragonflies hunt gnats, watch the fireflies light up the wooded area around the pond and watch the sky turn from its pinkish blue to a dark purplish black, I find myself at complete peace.
When I was growing up, around the age of twelve or so, I lived outside during the summer. Really, my parents wouldn’t let me in the house at night.
No, the neighborhood kids and I would have to be dragged in or threatened with not going out the next night in order to get us inside at the end of the day... or night.
I lived in a neighborhood that had, let me count, about fifteen rug-rats plus me, my brother and sister. We all ran Woodglen Drive like a gang in the Bronx back in the ’20s
After dinner and dishes, our parents would let us out for round two.
Prior to all of us having to go in for supper, we would talk and plan phase two of our summer day.
Flashlight Tag.
The sport of kings.
This was a game that required great skill, a cunning sence of strategy, and physical stamina that would rival that of a Roman gladiator.
Flashlight Tag was based on the rules of regular hide-n-seek. The only differences were that you played outside, at night, in a pitch-black yard and used a flashlight to “tag” the person. You had to call their name when you spotted them.
As soon as the fire flies started to illuminate the dark air that held the trees in their place, we would start the game.
The first person “it” was determined by a tried and true round of paper, rock, and scissors.
Everyone would then decide on a “base” and we would set the boundaries of where we could hide. The latter was a rule that no one ever seemed to abide by.
We took this game seriously. Actually, at twelve years old, we didn’t have anything else in our lives that was serious and that was the beauty of it, there was nothing serious in our lives... no cares.
When the counting started, we scattered like cockroaches in a quickly light room. Some darted for a bush, others sought refuge under a car that was parked near the woods and there were always a few weak players that would just hide close to base so that they could run and be safe as soon as the “it” person turned their back.
Not me. I would climb trees, shimmy into drainage ditches and my favorite thing to do was to scale the back of a van and then leap from the roof of the van to the roof of the garage that it was parked close to. This would allow me to quietly go from one side of the peak of the roof to the other and watch the entire game unfold without being seen.
Sometimes a friend and I would switch shirts and hats so that when the person doing the “tagging” would shine the light on us and call our name, they would have the wrong person and we would be safe.
... Sigh.
What a carefree time. I miss it.
It was a great time of my childhood. I felt so alive then.
Now when I sit on my porch and smell fresh cut grass and watch the fire flies do their illuminated dance around the pond, I often find myself looking around the yard for the best hiding spots.
As soon as Ethan and Nash are old enough, I plan on introducing them to the game that their old man was once the king of.
Although now, I doubt, you will find me climbing into the drainage ditch in the pitch black or leaping around like Spiderman, but I will know the best places to find them.
Bryan Pinkey can be found hiding close to base or at bpinkey@nccox.com.

7-16-09

Free strikes again: Giving a dog a home comes with a price

Free has struck again. This time, with a vengeance. I think it heard me talking about it last week.
We have a new dog. A “free” one.
I do need to back track a little bit.
We had a real pretty, all white, bird dog my son named Susie. She would run around the yard and hunt dragonflies and crickets all day long. When I was painting motorcycles, she would sit in the shop with me and curl up in the open storage space in the bottom of my rolling tool box.
Although she liked to eat my airbrush hose as I painted, I still liked her.
One day, in the old cemetary across from our house, a funeral was held. That evening, she was gone. Yes, I am blaming someone for taking Susie.
My son was heartbroken. We all were.
Last year, after a year had already gone by since Susie left our family, Ethan asked me, “When is Susie going to come back?”
Do you know how hard it is to tell a four-year-old that his dog is never going to come back?
Well, Leigh and I knew that we were going to have to find another dog.
Fast forward to about two months ago. An opportunity came along for us to adopt a German Shorthaired Pointer.
A young man who had good intentions of hunting a young dog found himself going off to college.
Good for him, good for us. I didn’t want to pay the premium for a bird dog and I prefer to “rescue” a dog anyhow.
After a few phone conversations, a delivery date was set and a rendezvous point was picked, The Pinkey family found itself with a new four-legged member of the family.
Ethan kept telling us that when we got a new dog, he was going to name it Susie. I asked him what its name would be if we got a boy dog.
With a little bit of thought and then a look as if to say, “Dad, there is a tree growing out of your head,” Ethan said, “Susie.”
But When the dog came to live with us, he already had a name. So for now, “Jack” is our dog and Ethan seems to like the name.
I forgot that even “free” dogs come with a price.
We had a hard time keeping Susie in our yard when she was with us... obviously... she is gone. This time around we decided to be proactive about the situation. A hidden fence system was purchased.
I had the honors of installing the system. After laying out the wire and realizing that we needed twice the amount, another trip to the hardware store was in order. While there, small wire nuts, more electrical tape and a new jug of small engine oil for mixing with gas to run the borrowed trenching equipment.
The “free” dog required a bag of food, a collar and, of course, dog bones.
Free. I forgot about the fine print.
I got the wire laid out around the yard, installed batteries in the collar and connected the power source. Everything was working.
After I attached the leash to Jack’s collar, I walked him around the yard and then toward the white flags that indicated the boundary of the “fence.”
I pointed to the flags as we got close and let him hear the beep that the collar was emitting.
Zapp! It shocked him when he walked to the edge.
After a couple of times of this he got the idea that the flags were not a good thing to get close to.
I let him off of the leash and he stayed. Not once did he go to the edge of the yard. I wouldn’t either if I had an electric shock device hooked to my neck!
So our free dog is loving life. He eats his food, hunts dragonflies and sleeps outside of his doghouse.
I do need to read the fine print a little better because I also missed the part about the “free” services that he offers back to us.
Jake has decided to clean up around the outside of the house by getting rid of shoes, forgotten toys and scratching old paint off of the side of the car when he greets us as we come home.
It’s OK, I guess. I needed new shoes and Nash was outgrowing the big wheel anyhow. I think I understand why we didn’t pick the dog up at the owner’s house though. There is a No Return policy on free.
Bryan Pinkey can be found buying rubbing compound, shoes and replacement toys or at bpinkey@nccox.com.

7-9-09

My new dirty, four letter word that starts with F is FREE

I love free swag as much and maybe even more than the next guy. I was trained well.
I grew up watching my old man go out of his way to acquire free items. If he heard that you could get free blood from a rock he would walk away with a full pint.
Sam’s Club is the mecca for free samples. My dad and I would go there on a Saturday and walk the aisles. We would visit all of the ladies at the end of each aisle and snack on the free samples they were handing out. The two of us ate everything from shrimp, crackers, trail mix, tuna fish... you name it, we ate it.
The one thing that I quickly started to see is that free comes with a caveat. Free tends to cost you money.
When we would leave Sam’s Club, there was normally a cart full of items that we never really needed. The free food turned into about $150 worth of junk.
Once, when I was in high school, a friend of mine gave me a stereo receiver that he couldn’t get to work. First of all, I am a stereo junkie, second, I am a “free” junkie.
I took the thing apart and checked connections. I couldn’t do anything to get it to work, so I took it to Circuit City. Eighty dollars later it was working.
Now, I can justify the $80 by saying that I saved because the stereo would have cost me about $250 brand new.
My uncle Al made a comment once about lottery tickets that has always stuck with me. When asked if he played the lottery he said, “No. I don’t. I save a dollar every day that I don’t play.”
Such wisdom. It holds true to taking free stuff. If I didn’t take the free items, I would save my money. This pearl didn’t seem to stick for me in this scenario.
Recently a new friend of mine offered me an old pick-up that was junking up his back yard. I am in need of an old truck for the dump and utilitarian needs around the house and ponds.
This nineteen seventy-something Dodge with a police Interceptor engine (that is a real big engine) has the cab redone and runs decent. Buuuut it needs body work, needs to pass inspection, needs insurance, and a new battery and some fresh wiring.
So, once again, here I stand at the proverbial crossroads. Do I take the gift or save my money.
I can’t wait to mash the gas on that old truck!
Something I never gave much thought about in this arena is children. Technically, they are free but, man, do they come with a price tag!
First you have to pay to bring them safely into the world. Diapers, clothing and toys follow. Add in a little bit of day care, school pictures and snack money.
You would think that as they got older that maybe they would get cheaper to maintain. Wrong. They break more stuff. Now you are maintaining children and broken toys.
One thing I have found out is that children like to play with stereo equipment. They also like to pull the knobs off of free stereo equipment.
My old trusty free stereo might end up costing me some more money in new repairs but as long as it doesn’t go over $250, I am still saving, right? Maybe I’ll even save enough to afford a free truck.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached at bpinkey@nccox.com and an archive at jbryanpinkey.blogspot.com.

7-2-09

The master of audio / video equipment almost meets his match

I’m a pretty smart guy. I know when to get out of the way of an oncoming car, I know when to come in from the rain and my wife has helped me learn how to shut my mouth at just the right moment. I also have a fairly good aptitude for figuring out how things work.
TV and stereo equipment have been a closet fetish of mine for a very long time. I have this uncanny ability to just look at the stuff and be able to follow input and output paths, read speaker impedance labels and I can also figure out how to set flashing clocks on VCRs.
Once in awhile my father would come home with a new TV, VCR or some other piece of audio/video equipment. Normally, he would just leave it in the box and wait until I came home. “Think you can hook this up?” Dad would ask.
“Wow, a new stereo... with 5 channel output and Dolby Pro Logic!” I would shout.
With a clueless look on his face, he would tell me to hook it up after dinner.
I haven’t changed at all to this day.
The somewhat new technology of being able to program and record shows and entire seasons on a video recorder that comes standard from Direct TV was a great addition to my collection of A/V equipment. This piece of equipment, however, has given me a little bit of trouble.
Maybe it is just a learning curve or maybe my skills are being phased out and I am slowly becoming one of those people who just can’t keep up with technology.
I think it is the learning curve.
Leigh and I have a few shows recorded and some have been programmed to record for the whole season. We haven’t watched them yet.
Not too long ago, we realized that there were some strange shows on our list that neither of us would ever watch.
I chalked it up to a mishap until Leigh and I were sitting down together one evening to watch a recorded program. She turned and looked at me and said, “When did you start recording cage fighting?”
“Uhhhhh, never.” I replied.
“And when did you start watching Days of Our Lives?”
My reply was the same.
We deleted them and watched the desired show.
Over a few weeks, we noticed more of the same thing happening. Strange shows at strange times showing up on our recorder. I also noticed the bright orange recorder light on while we were at home.
I would turn it off and thought either we had a ghost or a malfunctioning recorder.
One night, after the unit’s memory was full, I sat down and began to delete and reprogram.
The next morning was a Saturday and we were all relaxing and cartoons were on. The children were watching TV Leigh and I were enjoying the calm.
Leigh and I left the room for a moment and came back in. The recorder’s bright orange light was on again. A little bit angry at my time wasted the night before, I walked back to the room to tell Leigh that the recorder was still acting up and I was going to throw it out the window.
She laughed and I walked back out to the living room.
When I rounded the corner I quickly realized what was causing my dilemma.
A 22-month-old girl was laying on the book case in front of the A/V equipment pushing a bright orange button on and off.
Quickly, I leaned back and yelled down the hall to Leigh, “The recorder is fixed. I got it all figured out!”
I knew I could fix it.
Bryan Pinkey can be found reading his owner’s manual over and over while his daughter giggles or at bpinkey@nccox.com.