‘Nother DIY Done

I reaffirmed my firm position as a budgeteer DIYer. My wife kicked this one off.

“I think we need new breakfast bar lights.”

A zillion responses went over my brain’s hill and dale. One landed. “Sounds good. What do you have in mind?”

She had a general description. Phase I began: we began the search. Found them. My wife asked, “Do you think you could install those?”

“Of course,” I confidently replied without consulting any Neurons. The Neurons freaked. “You fool, what are you saying? Did you learn nothing yet?”

“Pshaw,” I replied. The Neurons knew I was nervous but my wife’s easy acceptance that I could the job. I couldn’t let her confidence in me down.

Phase II, we ordered them, received, and inspected them. They came across the country from Philadelphia, PA, on a truck. Eight days in transit.

Next phase: install the suckers. Installing lights aren’t a BFD. Technically. However…they’re mounted on a high vaulted ceiling. I dragged out our tallest ladder and climbed. At a few hairs short of being five feet eight inches tall, I could’ve used two to three more inches to have a comfortable reach for the screws and wires. Beyond that physical limitation, the hardest thing was removing and adjusting the stems to make them level and a height that satisfied us.

But it’s done. Results achieved, and no injuries scored. BTW, those bulbs are our emergency bulbs. Batteries built into them. They work like normal digital bulbs. But when the power goes off, they become emergency lights which provide illumination for six to eight hours. They’ve proven to be a great buy in the last two power outages. Coolest of all, they can be unscrewed and carried around like flashlights.

Next: a new dining room light. I have no doubt I can pull that off. The Neurons are a little worried, though.

Finished A DIY

This one took me a while. It turned out to be a pain in the ass. But as a dedicated budgeteer, I refused to give up.

We have Hunter-Douglas bottom-up/top down blinds in three rooms, including the office. My wife calls the office ‘the snug’, but that’s another story ripe with reverberations about words and their meanings and intentions. Anyway, I pulled on the cord to lower a blind and it snapped. Thus began my DIY project.

That happened in May. I researched and researched and researched but couldn’t find guidance or parts about our particular blinds and how to fix them. In early June, I reached out to Hunter-Douglas. Through a two week session of correspondence with photographs, we learned that my honeycomb Duetto blinds were manufacturered before 2007 so they had a different mechanism from what they currently make. Coming through like champs, though, Hunter-Douglas identified the parts I needed and said, “We’ll send them to you.” And then did, no charge for anything.

The parts arrived at June’s end. Meanwhile, the snug, excuse me, office, is the house’s warmest room. It’s also our most used. With only a desk, wall-mounted TV, a few book cases, a desk chair, recliner, and accent chair, we spend hours each day in that room reading, watching television, surfing the net, playing ‘puter games, and on the phone. It would clearly and easily win a household poll for ‘most popular room’. The cats are there just because we are. That’s their M.O.

One reason this room is so warm is that it has a standard ceiling. Much of the house has a ‘high ceiling’. That lets summer heat climb. Yes, it doesn’t do much to help us keep warm in the winter. The other reason for this room’s warmth is that its big window, which takes up most of the outside wall, faces west. The sun starts blazing through it at 3 PM in the summer. It doesn’t stop until the sun sets five hours plus later. The weather station is in there. When it’s over 90 F outside, this room will easily climb into the upper 80s. We use a vertical electric fan to chill us.

I’d taken the blind down for repairs, so that window was exposed. I dealt with that by hanging a large white bath towel on the window via clothes pins. Didn’t look pretty — you should have seen my wife’s scowl when she contemplated it — but it protected us from the sun and gave us needed privacy.

The parts arrived and I commenced on repairs. All went well. At first. The DIY corollary to Murphy’s Law says, “If complications are possible, they will happen.” For me, the complications came when I tried sliding the entire thing back together. It would not go as shown in ten million online videos. Talk about aggravating. Infuriating. Frustrating.

My wife was sanguine. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

I shook my head. “I think I might have to take it in for repairs.”

“Whatever you think is best.”

That was in mid-July. I researched repair centers while studying the blinds. Every third day or so, I’d try again to slide it all together. I tried carefully greasing pieces, and I tried different angles. But in studying the blind issue, I became convinced that the top fabric piece was the culprit. It was hitting against the pull/cranking mechanism. I think, I decided, I might need to cut that thing. I really didn’t want to cut that that thing, though. It’s not just fabric; it is fabric and plastic, and holds the mounts for the spools and shafts which operate the up/down mechanisms. It keeps it all aligned. Besides, I tasked myself, how exactly are you going to cut it? Exacto knife? Pocket knife? Box cutter, carpet cutter, tin snips, wire cutters?

No, I finally said: nursing shears.

With the plastic/fabric slid in as far as possible, I picked up the nursing shears. These are scissors which hospitals use to cut away clothing when people come in with injuries. With them, I cut two inches on either side of the end of the recalcitrant plastic/fabric piece. Lifting it up, I slid the thing home and closed my little flap.

Well done, I exulted.

Except, the lines were now hopelessly tangled.

Aw, fuuuucccckkkk, I morosely groaned.

With some work, I untangled it all enough that I could mount it and close it 80% of the way, top to bottom. But I could not raise it from the bottom. I could lower it from the top, though.

“You did it,” my wife said when she saw.

I shook my head. “No.” I explained the remaining problem. Then came the gut-wrenching clincher. “I might need to take it back apart again.”

Eyes widening, she literally blanched. “Oh, no.”

I set my jaw. “I put it together once. I can do it again.” My fingers were crossed when I said that.

I left it like that for several days. Every once in a while, I gazed at it all and thought about what needed done, but I was chicken shit. I worried that I’d make it worse. Finally, sucking it up, I said, “Enough.”

I took it all apart again. I carefully worked on the lines and spools and untangled it all. Then, I put it back together.

I did it in the morning so the sun wasn’t beaming through the window. It was cool, in the high sixties as morning developed. I had the window open. Despite a cool breeze, I was sweating bullets.

But it’s up. Together. And it works.

Thank the DIY gods.

An Oven DIY Update.

Well. That’s over with. A new igniter is installed and working in my GE Profile range

It was not easy. Not the 30 minute job advertised. Noooo. Because, manufacturing. So.

Part arrives. Looks right. Saturday afternoon, I begin.

Turn off power to range. Remove top iron grills and burner covers. Empty bottom storage of the baking sheets and iron skillets. Remove oven door. Slide out from wall. Unplug. Turn off gas.

Now we’re cooking.

Remove racks. Remove two screws from the back on the fire shield. Shift back, lift up and remove fire shield.

It’s all going like a dream.

Locate igniter. Bingo, right there. Remove two screws. Remove two screws. Remove…two…screws…

One breaks off. Fuck Second one just turns and turns, apparently stripped.

Try a zillion fucking ways to get that screw out. No. Go.

Three hours have passed. I’m dripping sweat. I stop for the day. Realize sometime during the evening, I’m going to need to grind off that screw head. I need a tool for that, research options, and make shopping plans.

Ten o’clock. I get ready to go shopping. My wife pops off to a friend’s house. She calls as I’m walking out the door. The friend has a Dremel I can use to grind the head off. His son has it as his place, about two miles from my place. Off I go to pick it up and bring it back.

The friend’s son is a friend and a retired editor and literary agent, so we talk books and publishing for thirty minutes. He’s always a good visit. He’s also just lost his cat to cancer; another ten minutes is spent on sympathy and pain.

Back at home, gloves and goggles are donned, the grinder is plugged in, and the head is ground off. The igniter is freed from its bracket but remains wired in. To get to that, I should remove several more pieces but after that previous screw episode, that is not going to happen. I instead cut the wires to the igniter and remove the plug out the back. Next, I twist and shift my fingers, screwdrivers, and pliers until the new igniter’s connections are through the 1.25 inch through the back. I really could have used four more hands and much longer arms during this process. The igniter is put into place. New screws are installed.

Then, reverse disassembly. Just enough to let me test that puppy. Gas on. Power on. Plugged in. Fingers crossed, oven turned on.

Success.

The range’s empty space is cleaned, then the range is manuevered back into place. Everything is returned to its position and the tools are put away. It’s 2:30.

Time for lunch. Water. And rest.

Two More DIY Jobs

It’s another year. That means more do-it-yourself work.

First, praise be to the net and the help that it provides.

My DIY needs began without any foreshadowing. We have up / down Duette honeycomb blinds in the office. The right sash raises and lowers the blind’s top while the left sash raises and lowers the blind’s bottom. This arrangement allows broad and flexible configurations. We drop the blinds’ top halfway in the morning to let early daylight into the room. Later, we raise the top all the way and then raise the bottom about two feet. Bushes block most of the bottom window so we get light without direct afternoon sunlight, which can be scorching, but still have privacy.

I pulled the cord to make this arrangement the other day and won ‘snap’ for my efforts. The ribbon tape which controls the inside mechanism broke apart. First thing I did was remove the blind and take photos of the labels. Labels on products are packed with information.

Then, to the net! I researched how to repair it. I figured I could do it. As usual, the challenge is to find the right parts. Unable to do it, I reached out to the manufacturer, Hunter-Douglas. Six emails, four days, and two photos later, they sent me a link to a KB article for how to fix it and told me they’re sending the needed parts, free, in ten to fourteen days. I’ll update you after that.

The second job came to light an hour later. I preheated the oven to bake potatoes. Only the oven didn’t go on. The burners lit so it wasn’t a gas issue, nor a general electrical problem.

To the camera!

To the net!

Quick research pointed to the igniter for my eight year old GE Profile range model PGB911ZEJ4SS. I should trouble shoot to pin it down but I gambled, hunted down the part, WB13X25500, and put in the order. I’m waiting for its arrival.

Will it work? As with everything, time will tell.

This Sunday

Sunday morning started with the usual Sunday morning white man with cat issues, which is replying to the demand, “Feed me, feed me, feed me, and get these other cats away from me,” in surround sound because I have three of them. They didn’t care that we’d fallen back an hour, clock-wise, here in ‘Merica. Their clocks weren’t affected.

Eventually, the beasts were fed, watered, and released back to the backyard wilds, freeing me to be me. I slid to the computer. That’s when the morning took an oomph turn. My mighty HP laptop wasn’t connecting to the net. Everything else in the household was connected; why was I selected for this cruel honor.

Something about the machine was off. Memories of being a younger person and working on my cars were awakened. I started car life with a 1965 Mercury Comet sedan. Forest green and automatic, a lively 289 V-8 was under the hood, as we said in those days. It was a stoutmobile. She’d run.

She was like my first girlfriend. I learned to do things, and did the standard stuff, from gapping and replacing plug and points (and all the wires) to brakes, muffler, and shocks, and all the fluids and fuses in between.

I think, because of that car, I’ve always since tried to fix things myself. Tried is a key verb in that sentence. (Is it a verb? I don’t know. I used to know these things.)

Details of what I did and the results will be avoided. No need to restore my stress levels by recalling those excoriating details. I worked on the computer for hours, returning it to connectivity. Doing so demanded a need to run recovery, a Microsoft Windows 10 process that’s not as nice as it sounds. Lots of personal files were removed (yeah, they said that wouldn’t happen, and they were wrong), along with apps and programs that I’d installed.

I had back ups of files, and MS does have some file recovery stuff. Eventually, though, I had almost everything. For some reason, I lacked the bible for the latest novel in progress. Don’t know what happened to that doc.

Reading old files slowed the process. Oh, there was The Soul Stone written years ago, never submitted nowhere. I read and enjoyed its first pages, along with Spider City, Everything Not Known, Everything in Black and White, and some stranger works, and the first draft of the self-published words, like the Lessons with Savanna series and Returnee. All still there, waiting for me to turn my attention back to them and do something more with them.

Not on this Sunday, though.

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