Our travels have been a breeze with ‘nary a wait line anywhere. Our Portuguese/English speaking limousine driver met our flight with a printed hand held sign and escorted us to our intermediate launch pad, the Sonesta, in Cocoanut Grove. This is our jump point and rendezvous. There was just enough light left when we checked in to visit the Dinner Key Marina across the street. I got a short jog during the late sunset. Some yachts have christmas spirit with colorful lights running up the forestay to the mast head and down the backstay. An old friend will meet us shortly for dinner chow and a stroll here in the district. South Florida. What a contrast this is. Tomorrow our ship will come in!

I’ve settled in at my hotel/apartment. The sun streaming in, the pigeons, and the steam heat going tick tick tick woke me about 0730 this AM.

I went out last night because it was “only” in the 30’s and it seemed like a good time to supply the kitchenette with some breakfast fixin’s. I found a market that was open and was able to choose some ‘sept cereales pain aux’, ‘jus D`Orange avec pulpe’, and ‘2% lait partiellement e`creme’ and how do you say:::
S h r e d d e d W h e a t.

What an anchor it is for this country to be dual. I mean, we had to carry an extra flight attendant last night just so that they could get the briefings done. The simplest of tasks takes twice as long. When we stopped short of the gate briefly. The captain had to PA to remain seated with your seatbelts, once and then again. Although, if you were trying get current with your French or English you could get up to speed here pronto.

Invention: Safety Conk-Out
Purpose: thwart car jacking

Background: Now a-days when the thief wants to heist your car, rather than defeat the myriad of anti-theft car alarms with electronic keys, he waits until you have it mobile (turn-key) and at a stop light intersection pops the driver’s door open and yanks you out. Away he goes — unless you have my invention. The Safety Conk-Out would purposely disable the vehicle should a door open while the engine was running and transmission in-gear. You’ve seen the perps trying to evade the police chase in their stolen vehicle? (Cops – Fox TV network) When they realize that best escape is to try and bail and the foot pursuit phase begins. They drive along with the door half open looking for the best opportunity sometimes to jump out only to abort and climb back in and speed away. Many times when the crook exits and keeps on going he leaves the vehicle in drive and it idles away to wreck or cause property damage. Safety Conk-Out will foil this nonsense.

Actualization: Low cost. All new cars have computers. Many new cars have door ajar warning lights already. This invention could be implemented as a software upgrade with very little hardware modification. The logic would re-set itself after a given length of time say 10 minutes. Opening the door with the shift in Park would not trigger Safety Conk-Out.

The freezing rain ended just before daybreak yesterday but by then the power was already out. We suffered through the ice storm bundled layers deep in thermals, sweats,mufflers, and mitten caps. The trees bent, strained under the oppressive weight from ice accumulation. Many of them packed it in with a loud echoing report. And we’d cringe after hearing the snap-crack-pop hoping that our house was out of harms way. After 12 hours without TV, PC, reading light, heat or hot food the electricity was restored. Jubilation and group hugs followed.

This sunny morning is the big thaw and it’s a beautiful thing — with frozen bits releasing and cascading from the higher branches. The reflective crystals shimmer and sparkle as they dash on the ground. They are relieved of their burden and we are happy to escape the big freeze — a nice little reminder of what we have and what we so easily take for granted. What a show!

The heat is on but it’s blowing cold. That is why I’m in the crawl space below. I’m cross legged in front of the errant furnace. The pilot light is out the burners are dark. I view my immediate cool damp shadowed surroundings and observe mouse droppings on top of the unit case. Hmmmm, must be a warm spot where they like to hang out. I wonder if they are off in the black at safe distance tiny little eyes watching silently as I ponder the problem. I stike a match for a re-light and the pilot begins to hiss it’s usual burn pattern but refuses to stay lit. By process of elimination I narrow the fault(s) down to two. The entire burner assembly must come out so that I can repair the thermocouple and or R & R the valve assembly to which it transmits.

The thermocouple is a fail safe device that monitors the pilot 24 and 7. Should the pilot fail it would be unsat for the main gas valve to open even though commanded to do so by the thermostat. Obviously closed spaces would begin to fill with the poisonous explosive mixture. The part of the thermocouple which actually senses the flame is really technically called a thermocouple junction. It is two dissimilar metal wires which are fused (or welded) together at the end where they are (enclosed and protected by an outer metal case) immersed in the hottest part of the pilot flame. When heated, the thermocouple junction actually produces D.C. voltage from the energy of the flame similar to the way a solar panel cell produces electricity from the energy of light. The output of a thermocouple is a very minute voltage (30 millivolts) but it is sufficient to operate a very small electro-magnet latching switch on the main valve.

It is this latch that is safely defaulting to OFF. This hardware is contained and sealed. This prevents anyone (mice included) from messing with or trying to defeat the mechanism. I will replace this unit as well as the thermocouple — the end of which has been exposed to burning flame for the last 10 years or so. This last inch of tube may in fact be the culprit. I’m not sure how the heat transferring qualities of the copper have been transformed over the length of usage. That would be an easy fix indeed. Simply nip the dead ending and feed through a fresh length. But, as it turns out, a new component is only $5 and change. Gimme two! (one extra for the next time)

Mission completed I exit the dark confines. Your heat is restored, stay warm meeces!

A sympathetic neighbor offers the use of his mower. Mine refuses to crank, even after dozens of pulls on the recoil starter. I figure that the lawn needs one last trim (before the falling leaves end the cutting season). Won’t it run at least o n e m o r e t i m e? And then, I won’t have to worry about it ’till next year! Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way. It has died, nary a cough or a sputter, and the reality is that my yard will look unkempt for the rest of the year. Can’t have that. Don’t want to suffer the indignity by borrowing either. I pull like mad on the rope handle hope fading, cajoling: “Come’on baby! Kick!” Choke on or off, she’s a no-go.

Not willing to be beaten but irritated to have to do now what I was willing to put off until spring, I roll the beast back into the garage. A cap full of raw gas down the carburetor throat allows the engine to run for a few seconds so I deduce that there is inadequate fuel delivery. It’s a carburetor problem. I remove it with a 3/8 socket, first sliding off the fuel hose clamp from the tank and draining the old gas into a container. The place now reeks with fumes and it’s on my clothes and skin. The kids pop into the garage to see what ‘Dad’s doin’ and remark that they ‘love the smell of gas’ Must be genetic because neither one of them has ever turned a wrench. Nor do they offer to get their finger nails dirty with grease…

I pull the carburetor from the manifold and disassemble as much as possible. Removing the jets and float bowl I explore and learn Ah-HAH! that an intake orifice had clogged with debris. Let’s hope that I am able to reconstruct the delicate parts (and not have any left over) because I think that I’ve got it solved. Soon the machine will be filling the neighborhood with the droning noise of success and glorious triumph.

There’s a rather rough looking gathering sharing the Sheraton Hotel and Conference Center with us. Recovering alcoholics and narcotics abusers. Not all of them fit the ponytailed, goateed, tattooed mold. They wear plastic ID badges like chains around their necks. I observe that spouses wear them too. Are they there with them for moral support, or were they partners in crime? Shoot. Some have their whole fam damily with them! (can’t be a child’s idea of a fun weekend) I acknowledge my fortune in not having been reared with that kind of element.