Squirrrel Damage

     The gates on the back fence have magnetic latches that look like this:

     During the winter, the squirrels chewed the plastic knobs on the top of both latches until they were jagged nubs.  I doubted the knobs could be replaced.  A new lock costs almost $70.00.  I saw replacement plungers (the knob and post assembly that gets yanked up to release the latch and open the gate) for nearly $40.00 - still to much money.  After all, the rodents might chew the locks again next year.
     I wondered if I could sculpt a new knob.  My medium would have to bond with plastic.  I saw epoxy putty at Lowe's, but the information on the package didn't seem to guarantee adhesion.  I decided to use J-B Weld.  The repair process was not smooth.  I made it up as I went, but it turned out okay in the end.
     I should have taken "before" pictures at the very start.  I started slopping epoxy on the gnawed out areas of the knobs, saw it wouldn't be an easy fix, and decided the project was the stuff of blogs.  These pictures start near the beginning.

The problem was that the epoxy was loose.  Gravity made it slide off.  I couldn't mold it as I might have done with a clay-like product.

 

I needed to form a mushroom shape.  I tried aluminum foil, but it torn easily.  Then I got the inspiration to use stips of duct tape, like petals on a flower.  

Next, I used the top of a soda bottle to support my duct tape mold.

J-B Weld, old bowl, and plastic knife for mixing the two parts. 

View from the top.

View from the side.  I tied some yarn around the base of the knob so the epoxy wouldn't leak out. 

View from the top after the epoxy hardened and the soda bottle and tape were removed.

View from the side.

I used a file and sandpaper to sculpt a new knob.

The gray area is epoxy.  The black is the original lock.

Top view after some black spray paint.

Not perfect, but good enough.  Two latches repaired for five bucks and change.

 

Still Kindle-ated

     The faint glow of the Kindle still smolders on my side of the bed until long after midnight.  Besides reading a few more books, I've begun listening to audio-books.  Before I received the Kindle, audio-books were for long car trips.  They eliminated the frustration of losing the radio station every 35 minutes.  Previously, I didn't listen to audio-books at home because the TV and the stereo components are in the same room.  TV trumps books every time.  There are commercial breaks for going to the bathroom, working on loads of laundry, or vacuuming in three minute bursts.  With the Kindle, I can listen to the narrator in any room of the house, or outside in the yard, while busying my hands with all manner of tasks.  Talk about multi-tasking - the other day, I listened to a book, washed a load of clothes, baked a low fat quiche, and sewed, all at the same time.
     Here are my reviews:

Audio-books

     The Killer of Little Shepherds: A True Crime Story and the Birth of Forensic Science  by Douglas Starr  - A gory story about Joseph Vacher, a french serial killer operating from 1894-1897.  Vacher's crimes occurred at the time French doctor Alexandre Lacassagne was developing modern forensic science.  It's C.S.I. - France.
     Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim by David Sedaris - Really funny, at times really sweet, and at other times sadly insightful.  Sedaris draws his material from his family, a pretty quirky bunch.  
     A Beautiful Truth by Colin McAdam - The only work of fiction on this list.  It's the story of a childless couple who raise a chimpanzee (with nearly fatal results) and also the story of a fictional primate facility in Florida.  The stories are told from the human and the ape perspective.  My take away is that contentment is finding our place in the world.  I'm glad when Louee, the chimp finds his.

Regular Reading

     Lit by Mary Karr - Ms. Karr is a professor at Syracuse University.  She's also a recovering alcoholic.  She has written two other books.  The first book was about being raise by alcoholic parents.  The second, about her teen age coming of age, which was fueled with alcohol and drugs. Lit, the third, carries her addiction to alcohol into adulthood.  After marriage, motherhood, and a stalled careeer, Ms. Karr gets sober and gets religion.  I've long held the opinion that Alcoholics Anonymous is a religion.  Ms. Karr reinforces my belief.
     At Home: A Short History of Private Life by Bill Bryson - This is a history of the world channeled through the way people have housed themselves through the ages.  From open fires in caves to modern furnaces, from poop running down the castle wall and into the moat to modern sewerage treatment, from straw mattresses housing nests of mice to Tempurpedics, we've come a long way.
     Dad is Fat by Jim Gaffigan - Funny.  Mr. Gaffigan is a stand up comic and actor.  Every day life with his wife and five children in a two bedroom New York City apartment is the source of the jokes.  
     The Good Nurse: A True Story of Medicine, Madness, and Murder by Charles Graeber - I love gory stories.  This one hits close to home since Nurse Charlie Cullen, who spent his career offing patients, is a Jersey boy doing most of his dastardly deeds in various Northern New Jersey hospitals.
     Dog Songs by Mary Oliver - It's a collection of poems about her dogs.  It didn't grab me, so I sent it back after the first three poems.
   

Shirlaine Crowley - Girl Mannequin

     One of my Facebook friends posted a picture on her wall of a room full of mannequins, each of them bearing a price tag.  J. C. Penney is selling off unwanted mannequins, she explained.  In case you're in the market, you can purchase a toddler ... for $65.00 ... she posted.
     That post brought back memories.  You see, one of my good friends in college was a mannequin named Shirlaine Crowley.  Here's the story, told by Shirlaine, herself:

     I came to be in the summer of 1972.  Of course I existed for years before, but I didn't live until that fateful summer.  A casual conversation brought me to life and sent me on a three-year thrill ride.
     Who knows when it began?  Probably in the 1950's.  I was barely conscious when I left the factory, on my way to be a fancy clothes hanger in a North Jersey shop window.  I spent years in a sort of twilight, barely noticing when my clothes were changed or my arms were repositioned. All that changed when, in 1972, the store was sold.  The new owners decided to replace me.  A store employee mentioned to her college age daughter that I and my sister mannequins were headed for the trash heap.  Mother and daughter hatched a plan to save me.  I would come home with them for the summer and go to college in the fall.
     The ride to Douglass College was dark and bumpy.  I lay in pieces in a small U-Haul trailer that was packed with clothing, books, and a dorm sized refrigerator.  People stared as I was toted into the building and stuffed into a dumbwaiter for a ride to the second floor.  Next it was down a long hall to Room Number 218.  My new boss put me together and left me standing naked for hours.  People passed in the hall, and they stared at me.  These weren't the interested, polite looks of the people, who peered into the shop window.  These were disbelieving double takes, usually followed by big grins.  The boss introduced me to her roommate, and then to the girls next door.  The plan was that I would be some sort of cross between doll and mascot.  Then thank God, they dressed me.  
     College life was fun.  Dozens of people stopped by the room to meet me.  I was the ice breaker that helped the four friends meet the girls on their floor.  My clothes changed more frequently than they ever did at the store.  I even had a Halloween costume.  The girls polished my nails, styled my hair, and would have repaired my chipped plaster, if they only knew how.  Best of all, I got a name.  They christened me Shirlaine Crowley.  The store, my old home, was originally called Shirlaine's, then Crowley's after the sale that almost sent me to the land fill.
     This was my owner's sophomore year at college, and you know what they say about sophomores.  That girl and her friends could be goofy.  Their dormitory had a front desk with a paging system.  All visitors stopped to sign in during the hours the doors were unlocked.  On several occasions, I was posted behind the desk while one of the quartet crouched under the counter and spoke on my behalf.  One of the girls met a very interesting fellow, who didn't believe in talking mannequins.  He jumped over the desk and pulled the prankster from her hiding place.  This lead to a few interesting dates for her.
     Sophomore year ended, and I went home for the summer.  I eagerly anticipated junior year.  Instead of a big, modern dormitory, I was going to live in a small house.  I had an important roll during the house Christmas party.  I stood on the front porch wearing a bikini and holding a sign that proclaimed, "Party Tonight."  Around midnight, there was a scuffle on the porch.  By the time party goers got outside, I was gone.
     I found out they saw a car speed away, and they got a partial license plate number.  They didn't know what to do.  It seemed silly to call the campus police to report a stolen dummy.  The girls decided to write a letter to the campus newspaper.  They chastised the thieves and pretended they had the full plate number.  They promised that no one would be hurt if I was returned unharmed.  Then they waited.  
     In May, just before finals, the phone rang.  A male voice asked if they were the girls who had lost their mannequin.  He invited them to come to the Rutgers side of town to pick me up.  The girls didn't know it then, but would soon find out that I had been introduced to some pretty kinky stuff in the Rutgers dorm, and I hadn't minded it a bit.  The letter sent to the campus newspaper was taped to my midriff.  I was painted green.  My bathing suit was fine, and that pleased my owner, who breathed a sign of relief that she didn't have to buy a new suit for the upcoming summer season.  The kidnappers presented beer, sodas, and snacks.  After a pleasant visit, they drove the four friends and me back to the Douglass campus.
     I returned for senior year just as green as I left junior year.  Nothing could compare to my Christmas kidnapping adventure, so the year passed uneventfully.   The friends couldn't get housing in the same building, so I didn't spend as much time with two of them.  With the four of them deciding about jobs and graduate school, I was put in the background.  Mostly, I was a good memory and a funny story to tell new aquaintances.  My last hurrah came the week before graduation.      
     Seniors left their many dorms and gathered under the roof of the largest dormitory.  The week was one big pajama party.  What would become of me?  My owner decided I should go out in a blaze of glory.  It seemed fitting that there should be no life for me after college.  One of the most dramatic spots on campus was a ravine over which hung a suspension bridge.  The girls went out late at night, each one carrying parts of me.  They stood on the bridge, said their good-byes, and threw me over.  Eventually, the maintenance people, who must have thought I was some sort of avant-garde art project, found me and took me to my final resting place.

     Douglass graduates come back for class reunions every five years.  Along with my partners in crime, I return to the bridge over the ravine to remember Shirlaine.  Geez, we were goofy.


   

April Fool!

     I loved April Fool's Day when I was a kid.  I would usually stuff crumbled newspaper into my father's shoes on the night of March 31st.  He would fail to acknowledge the joke, so I guess the joke was on me.   When I was still working, one of the girls herded us into the room next door to our work area.  When the supervisor rolled in, she told him everyone had called in sick.  April Fool!!
     There are many theories on the origin of April Fool's Day or All Fool's Day, but nobody really knows how or where the holiday began.  One theory attributes the holiday to the switch from the Julian calendar to the Gregorian calendar.  The Julian calendar (named for Julius Caesar) was introduced in 46 B.C. and was in use in Europe until the late 1500's.  New Year's Day was celebrated at the end of March during the Julian era.  Pope Gregory XIII established the Gregorian calendar in 1582.  The main purpose of the new calendar was to tidy up the pesky fractional day, remaining after day number 365, in the Earth's rotation around the sun.  The Gregorian calendar also changed New Year's Day to January 1st.  The French were the first to adopt the new calendar. Those who were not aware of the change, or didn't believe the news, continued to celebrate New Year's Day at the end of March.  They were labeled fools.  Thus began a tradition of playing tricks or trying to convince people that an improbable event had occurred - not.  The calendar switch was gradual throughout France (and Europe), so there was no official change over date.  New Year's Day could be celebrated in January or March during the transition, so the joke playing must have had other roots.
     Another theory was that the Emperor Constantine's court jester, a fellow named Kugel, claimed he could rule the empire better than his boss.  Constantine allowed Kugel to be king for a day.  During his 24 hour reign, Kugel passed an edict establishing April 1st as a day for absurdity.  Alas, this whole story was made up.  It was an April Fool's prank.
     People are people.  Scientists have long known that different cultures, in different places, at different times have independently come up with the same ideas.  The most likely explanation for All Fool's Day might be spring fever or spring renewal festivals.  The Romans had a spring celebration called Hilaria.  The Hindus celebrate Holi in the spring.  The Jews celebrate Purim.  The Festival of Lud honored the Celtic god of humor.  These are all light hearted celebrations.
     Some folks trace April Fool's Day back to Roman mythology.  Others say the day stems from Christian mythology.  France, Great Britain, Germany, and the Netherlands have taken credit for inventing the holiday.
     So, it's a big who knows?  And who cares?  I like a holiday that doesn't involve sending a Hallmark, wearing a special outfit, giving gifts, or preparing a big meal.  You just need a little creativity to celebrate.  Good monkeyshines to all of you.  Excuse me now.  I have to go and put a rubber rat in the toilet.