Double the Fun, or Yes, She Fixed Her Car

My daughter had to replace the handles to her car. The outside door handle on the driver's door broke a while back, followed a few months later, by the other front door handle. One could still open the front doors to the car, it was just a little tricky. M.H. and her husband B. had pretty much mastered the trick of getting into the car, but then, they got enough practice with it. Anyone else (read: friends or certain over-50-year-old relatives) had problems opening the doors.

Recently, M.H. ordered replacement parts for both doors with the idea of fixing the doors herself. While they weren't the right color - the car is white, the handles, black - they were a decent enough price. Add to that the fact that if she did the work herself, it would be a lot cheaper than taking it to a garage to pay for someone else to do the job.

This afternoon, after starting a couple of loads of laundry at my place, we set off to run a couple of errands, then came home, where M.H. announced that she wanted to fix the doors. Today.

This isn't the first time M.H. has had to deal with fixing this car. However, this time, I had nothing to do with jinxing her car. Also, this time was a more do-able fix.

M.H> went online and checked a video on YouTube on how to fix the handle. Seemed pretty straight-forward. Back out at the car, the tool and new car part came out and slowly, painstakingly, the door came apart.

Finally, the only part that needed to come out was the handle itself. This entailed seemily contorting one's hand and/or tools around metal to reach the brackets. At that point, the one tool that M.H. to do this job - the only tool that fit - came apart, with the end falling into the door. Of course, it wasn't the part of the door with the entire panel off, where all she would have had to do was to reach down and pick the part up. Noooo... It fell down into essentially a narrow metal well-like area.

"Really?" M.H. said. "It had to fall there?"

After several minutes of trying to get the part out, J. offered to try his hand at snagging the part. He'd already helped helped get a stubborn bolt that wouldn't budge off. Sure enough, he managed to fish the part out using a flat-head screwdriver.

A side note: There are certain family members who have not been mentioned today who get confused by the terms flat-head screwdriver and Phillips-head screwdriver. While it seems obvious to me which is which (the flat-head one is self-explanatory, while the Phillips one is obviously the other one), this explanation doesn't seem to help. However, if I tell this particular person, "Hand me the minus-sign screwdriver," or "The plus-sign screwdriver is on the desk; could you get it for me?", I'll get the right one. Think about if for a minute...without laughing. I dare you...

So, part restored, M.H. got back to work putting changing the offending door handle before starting to put the door back together.

As she got the handle back into place, the end of the same tool came off again, falling into the same darn metal well!

"No way! You've got to be kidding!" she exclained as we exchanged aggrevated looks. This time, J. couldn't quite reach it. M.H. had no luck, either. She could touch the thing, but not in a way to be able to pull it out. Maybe if she took that part of the door apart again...but she needed that tool to do that.

Suddenly, I got an idea. We'd kicked around the idea of using Sculpey to keep stuff together while working on the door. Sculpey is a type of polymer clay that comes in really cool colors. Once you make something with it, whether beads, mini sculptures, or whatever, you bake it in your oven. Very addicting stuff. And it might just be what could give M.H. enough reach with the right amount of stickiness to snag the part.

Of course, by the time I brought the stuff out, the tool part was out. Fifteen minutes later, the door was back together.

"The other door can wait," M.H. decided. I wasn't going to argue.

We both agreed that the second door should be easier. She'd already stumbled through the first door, and did a decent job, not to mention the money she saved by doing it herself. (I'd changed a starter relay for my last car, a 1986 Crown Vic, by myself and know I saved at least $200 by doing so; you wouldn't believe the nonsense I heard from several mechanics when I asked for a price to change it out.)

Here's hoping it won't need another fix for a while. But at least M.H. knows how to change the door handle. Not too shabby, if you ask me.

So, We're a Crafty Bunch of Artists...

My daughter, M.H., stopped by this afternoon. She couldn't stay long, but she did want to drop off some stuff, as well as pick up a few things. Nothing earth-shattering.

Sometimes, though, she'll drop off craft stuff, or we'll go out and pick up a few odds and ends. It's always kind-of fun to figure out what crafty, artist-y things we'll end up with. I'm still wondering what kind of painting she did on the black canvas she picked up last month; I know what I'd paint on a one. (Note to self: Must pick up a few black canvases ASAP.)

Artistic talent runs in our family. Mom was a writer, though her writing output seems to have dwindled over the past few years. But when I was a kid growing up in New York (state, not city) decades ago, she had an old typewriter on a desk in a small out-of-the-way nook in the kitchen. I'd watch her write, then, later, as she started fixing dinner, I'd write stories on the same typewriter, hunting and pecking away. One of my job-search cover letters starts out, "I am a writer. According to certain relatives, I was born, not with a silver spoon, but a pencil in one hand and a stack of paper in the other. It took me a while to crawl to the typewriter. (Mom and Dad may have exaggerated a little.)" The apple - or writer - doesn't fall too far...

She also did quite a bit of painting over the years; I have two of her watercolor paintings of flower arrangements on my wall. Years earlier, she'd worked in oils.

Mom and I have two cousins, a brother and sister, who are also very artistic. D. had a small studio in his parents' basement for painting; his sister was also so inclined.

My paternal grandfather's artistry tended toward the mechanical workings of radios, which he repaired in his electronic repair shop for years. But on my dad's side of the family, there are definitely artists and craftsmen. (Check out Art-N-Time Creations.)

My oldest son, J.A., also has a painting hanging on the same wall as his grandmother's watercolors. It's a really cool oil painting of a sunset, and looks like it's of the Southwestern U.S. I've had numerous people admire it; they're almost always surprised upon hearing that J.A. was 13 when he painted it, it's that good. He's now trying his hand at craft beers, with thoughts of eventually starting a microbrewery. (Butternut squash ale, anyone?) I wish he also kept up with the painting, too. He also wrote a lot; I keep running across old notebooks of his with stories and drawings in them.

My younger two, who still live at home, also write. A lot.

Getting back to M.H...When she discovered that some of my old acrylic paints were no longer usable, she decided it was time for us to get some more. Ditto on stuff to make Sculpey creations.

Note: For anyone who is unfamiliar with Sculpey, it's a type of polymer clay that is hardened in a regular oven. I first heard of it from my ex-, who used to make beads with it, then hand out bracelets to various people. I've also used it to make all sorts of creations. (Here is one of the sites for Sculpey.)

The next thing that M.H. and I have to pick up is a bucket of sand; since M.H. lives near the beach (remember the Tampa Bay (Car) Triangle fiasco?), that shouldn't be a problem. Between that and a bunch of shells (both whole and in pieces), we'll be making a bunch of sand candles. We won't get into my photography and videos (you could check out http://robinshwedoproductions.weebly.com).

Sand candles, Sculpey creations, paintings, writing, ale, time piecs, photography, videos...we're just a crafty bunch of artists.