An inquisitive old fart with a camera
Another chore put off for the better part of 15 years: for the first time, those doors close properly. What makes it sweeter is that the jack plane wasn’t functional before I started, and I was able to engineer a solution to that. Wonderful tool when it works!
Not long after we moved in, I had the bright idea to insulate the roof above our bedroom. I started with the north (sunny, because we live in the southern hemisphere) side, ripping little 1×1″ strips to support thin tongue-and-groove lambriz pieces, above which I installed fiberglass insulation.
I seems fairly straightforward until you recall this was an owner-built house, meaning that the ceiling beams are not only not evenly spaced, they’re not even necessarily parallel. So I could only cut strips for a foot or two at a time before I’d have to measure again, scramble down the ladder and downstairs to cut more pieces, slightly longer or shorter.
Which is part of the reason I didn’t proceed with the south side as well (which btw still gets plenty of sun in the summer).
The problem lay in finishing each row at the top. They ended with a gap, and insulation showing. After staring at that for far too long, I finally decided I needed a solution. It’s a bit complicated to explain, but required more lambriz, clamping and gluing, a template, drilling and installing screws, among other things.
All while balancing on the penultimate step of an eight-foot folding ladder.
One of those small projects that makes all the difference, if only to me. Oh, and one fun detail. I bought one piece of lambriz – 3.3 meters – and this is what was left over when the project was done 😉
Big-ass bandsaw blade. I had to go to the aserradero today for a piece of lumber, or else wait until they reopen on 10 January.
Later I saw a guy carrying it out, so my guess it’s going for sharpening while the place is closed.
My project is rebuilding a window awning bracket that rotted.
You can see the diagonal piece missing in the back. The board propping it up was one I made to hold up an avocado branch I thought might break under the weight of fruit. It was exactly the right height.
And the cutout I made for the branch was perfect as well. I love it when stuff like this happens.
A friend returning to the States for an extended period generously offered us the use of his car, and refused to accept any money for it. I wasn’t too concerned about that, because I could tell it needed some work.
And boy, did it: entire front suspension and brake pads, rear wheel cylinders, alignment, oil change … a little over USD 700. But, seeing as we’ve had the car seven weeks and probably will need it one more, the cost will come to something like USD 12.50/day, and we “leave the campsite cleaner than we found it,” as was the goal when I was a camp counselor. Win-win.
But there is one more thing it needs: a new battery. Sometimes it doesn’t want to start, and this morning it simply didn’t, even with my command “Engine-start!” as I turned the key.
Which is from a silly 2009 movie called 2012 Apocalypse. If you have access to US Netflix, you can see it at 1:42.
The movie has some other compelling scenes: the Vatican destroyed in an earthquake (1:30), the White House destroyed by an aircraft carrier in an immense tsunami (1:34), and helicopters flying in the Himalayas with giraffes slung beneath them (1:44) – you just can’t make this stuff up.
Anyway, maybe I’ll spring for a battery. I have to go to the supermarket now. Engine – start!
The friend who loaned us his car when he left for the States refused to accept money from us as rent. That didn’t bother me, because I was pretty sure it needed a little attention. So: oil change. Then front shock absorbers, mounts, stabilizer links, and brake pads. Then rotate, balance tires, and align front end. And now to the auto electric shop for the “check engine” light and nonfunctional – despite apparently good bulb – right rear turn signal.
This shop is chaotic inside, with parts and tools everywhere.
Which, I guess, is why I found the neat paths around an island of alternators amusing. Chaos, but organized chaos.
A few years ago, I looked into buying replacement plastic door shelves for our Bosch (not a good brand when licensed to Brazilians, unfortunately) refrigerator, and they were available from a place in London. I put it off, though, and discovered a year or two ago that they are no longer available for our model. Uh-oh.
But our refrigerator guys were here at some point last year installing a DC split (heating/cooling) unit in our bedroom. DC because a DC motor can be variable speed, unlike AC, so you don’t get crazy noise, and temperature fluctuations. This is helpful if, for example, you’re trying to sleep. We put the previous unit downstairs in the dining room, where it performs admirably despite its diminutive size.
I asked the refrigerator guys about the plastic door shelves. And as an aside pointed out the long dent in the side of the refrigerator that had appeared after they removed it for repairs, a year or three before. The more senior of the two, in his 30s, was horrified at that revelation and offered to fix the shelves for free with epoxy. Can’t complain!
Well, yes, actually can, even for a free job, where a few days turns into a few weeks, and we have to wait a few further weeks for the sticky epoxy to set, since apparently mixing equal amounts of Part A and Part B (thoroughly) presents challenges I am unable to fathom.
Alas, yesterday we realized that the bottom shelf was falling apart, probably because it’s the recipient of the heaviest loads. I consulted with Nico, font of knowledge specializing in the Uruguayan knack of fixing anything with anything, and he suggested I heat plastic with a candle to bend it. (Last time I heated plastic to bend it was around 1974, working in a screen printing shop and making little countertop displays.) I had leftover acrylic from fixing shattered glass in a door window in a casita where a certain muchacho lived for several years, and it worked like a charm. Well, excepting soot.
Of course this involved fun with dangerous power tools, in this case my table saw with all safety “features” removed immediately. I marked the depth of each tab cut with a marker. The only problem I had was lifting one tab to put epoxy underneath. It was tight and broke. But there are ten others that “have its back.”
It feels very strong now. We’ll see!
While waiting for the repair guy coming to replace the heating element (resistencia) in our water heater, I took a picture of my flip-flops. They’ve lasted at least a year and yes, the grass is showing through the right heal.
I often have to wait outside to wave people down, since my telephone explanations of how to get here are remarkably and consistently misunderstood. Today’s communications snafu also started on the wrong foot, as I didn’t really know how to answer an incoming call on my new smart phone. Seriously.
Here’s the bill: visit, heating element, and cabling – actually for the toll, since he came from Montevideo (it should have been 160 pesos, but then he probably charged it to everybody this side of the peaje).
1,000 pesos is around USD 36.
And if that 1,000 on the bill looks like 7,000 to you, you might share my fascination with Uruguayan handwriting.
The bearings on my 6-year old wheelbarrow broke. You can’t replace them. You can’t buy a replacement wheel with the same size axle.
A South African guy named Geoff told me about buying a replacement wheel, then taking it to this guy who fabricated an axle to make it work on his wheelbarrow. So I went to buy the wheel, then after some discussion with the muchacho at the ferreteria (hardware store), decided it might be prudent to discuss it with Mr. Fixit, Luis, before purchasing it.
Luis said he could make a solution out of plastic that would solve the problem for a long time. Come back at the end of the day. So I did, to find custom-fabricated plastic bearings (they would be a T in cross-section, with perfectly fitting rubber grommets.
“Put a little grease on it when you put it back together,” he said, “and you’ll have no problem.”
And the cost? 200 pesos, around $7 US.
Cleaning gal (once a week, $150/~U$S6 per hour) wasn’t here five minutes before wheeling into the sliding door with her knee. Events not clear, but apparently an attention-hungry Shi-Tzuh played a part in distracting her. No harm beyond the door.
Alas, it’s Carnaval, and anyone who could repair it ain’t gonna — everything closed.
(And duct tape — even real ‘Murkan duct tape — sucks. There was cardboard on this side as well.)
We couldn’t get too upset, having just heard that Patricia, single mother of five teenagers, has been kicked out of her stepmother’s house and all are living in one room.* Talk about stress.
But it reminds me of a previous cleaning lady breaking a [replacement] coffeemaker glass pot days after we bought it. Which is why we now exclusively use the stainless steel French press our neighbors and friends brought us from Canada.
* update: only she and two kids; the other three are staying with their father
Further addendum: what’s wrong with this picture? The sliding door is made with window glass, not tempered glass, which is pretty much in line with Uruguay being behind northern North America by 50 years in some ways. My father walked through a door like this in 1965 in southern California. In northern (I add northern because some ‘Murkans remain unaware that Mexico is part of North America) North America, she would have had to have something like a metal kneepad, and a serious intent to destroy the door.
I sometimes wonder why I don’t do more homeowner projects, and today witnessed with awe the efficiency with which a highly-recommended plumber (not this one) repaired one of the results of my hanging some plastic gutter (a gift) and downspout to restrict growth of wet stuff on a wall near the barbacoa. (Note how well it worked: not.)
In drilling holes for the “Tacos Fischer,” the local name for plastic wall anchors, I managed to discover the hot water pipe for the barbacoa (which was a parillera before we enclosed it). To clarify: 1) a parillera (open) or barbacoa (closed) is where you gather with family on Sundays to eat meat meat meat, slowly slowly cooked over coals. Unless you don’t have family here, in which case you make it into a sort-of workshop; 2) discovering a hot water pipe does not constitute a happy result of trying to anchor screws in walls.
The plumber worked with surprising efficiency. Instead of tink-tink-tink with a hammer and chisel, he brought a mini-jackhammer that pulverized the wall in seconds to expose …
… not just the plastic water pipes (you can see the hole), but — see that orange a few centimeters above? That’s the electrical feed to the barbacoa. 220 volts. Ouch.
OK, I maybe be clumsy. But I’m lucky.
The whole repair — plumber and his son, and equal amount of time spent inside cleaning and rebuilding a valve that fed this line — cost UYP 600, or a bit over USD 25.
And, so typical here, they’re gentle and pleasant people, concluding the transaction with a handshake.