A New Hip and a New Walk

27 February 2014; Up "Nawth" --

As a belated Birthday Present, younger daughter, "Nancy Nurse", underwent her long-awaited surgery to replace the hip joint that was injured about 25 years before. She had been "too young" for the artificial implant previously, but this was probably just as well as the technology has improved over the intervening years such that this implant will last for the rest of her life. The "prothesis", as it is called, is made of sintered metal (Titanium?) so that in the natural bone-healing process, the bone "grows into" the pores in the sintered metal and thus becomes a permanent part of her hip. In the similar surgery a couple decades ago, the prothesis was a solid metal part and was "glued" into place using something like Dental cement. This cement weakened over time and the attachment became loose and required a second surgery to ream out the Fibia and replace the metal part with one slightly larger.

As most readers of this BLOG know, "Nancy" had a decided limp [progressively more pronounced as the years went by], due to the pain [also increasing as the years went by] associated with the deterioration [also increasing as the years went by] of the bones in the two intersecting body parts: the Fibia and the Pelvis. Her Physical Therapist told her that the most important reason for her to faithfully use her walker to move about during her rehabilitation was to help her overcome the "habit" of limping.

As a caring Father, with nothing to do but interfere in the affairs of my Children, Grandchildren and Great-Grandchildren, I went up "Nawth" to spend time with "Nancy" when she came out of ICU. [I would have been there earlier, before she went into surgery but her Surgeon moved her time to earlier in the day before she could let me know.] She countered with an offer to have me stay overnight in a luxurious suite in the hospital, reserved for special donors to the funds to build this new facility.

Her room, on the 10th (top) floor had a view of Mt Baker to the North.

And down the hallway on which she took her first walk later that same morning, she had a view of their Buffalo Farm (Bisondalen) across the Snohomish River and its sloughs, one of which their acreage abuts. See center of the photo on left.

Her first walk was not recorded because the camera's owner forgot to bring it up from the parking garage! But by the time she was doing her third walk (still the day of her surgery!) I had my camera handy for these images. 

Although she was having some pain (from the "carvings" on her skin and muscle to gain access to the hip joint), she declared that there was no longer the deep, grinding ache of the bone-on-bone irritation that she had suffered with so long -- and as recently as earlier this morning when she came into the hospital for the surgery! So she stopped to "ham it up" with this "glamorous" pose (right).

Finally, no adventure involving one of the Zimmerman Clan is complete without at least one photo of the subject in the "Classic Zimmerman Pose" -- one foot up on something: a rock, a log, ... a hospital bed rail?

Christmas Eve 2013 Festivities -- And Regrets!?

24 December; Around the Sound --

Let me begin by explaining the meaning behind the word "Regrets" in the Title of this Post. I had regrets on each of the two-day celebration which begins on Christmas Eve because I ate too much. With that qualification now out of the way, let us venture forth in this dissertation about a most memorable and happy Christmas for this Old Grump.

A few weeks before Christmas I inquired of my younger Daughter, "Nancy Nurse", as to whether she and Husband were planning on having their traditional Christmas Eve meal of Lutefisk and other Norsk delicacies. Nancy responded that, "No", they weren't planning on the traditional feast this year because, since they both worked, they would not be able to make the journey to "Snoose Junction" to pick up the Lutefisk. "Well", I thought to myself and out loud, "Since I go to Church in that neighborhood -- and, being retired, also am free to go and come almost anywhere and everywhere -- I will be glad to pick up the Lutefisk. Where do you get it and how much do you want?"

There was now no excuse for the festival feast not to happen. I had had a helping or two of Lutefisk many years ago when the Grand Mother and I partook of an opportunity to savor (and understatement if there ever was one when it comes to Lutefisk!) at a Norwegian-populated Lutheran church in our neighboring town. Mother, of course, and despite being of Norwegian ancestry, could not stand the look,smell or even thought of any kind of seafood. The mere thought of Lutefisk brought tears of memories of her growing-up years when she ha to endure the "flavor" of Lutefisk preparation in her home. [However, despite this aversion to seafood, she baked the best Salmon that my taste-buds have ever enjoyed! Oh, and let us not forget her Lemon Meringue Pies!!!] Anyway (back on the subject), I found that, being the poor German boy that I am, I actually kind of liked Lutefisk. The other traditional Scandinavian Yuletide foods, mostly-sweet things, are "icing on the cake".

So it was that I diverted on my way to or from Church on 15 December, to find the "Lutefisk Place" and a special Danish Bakery that made Julekake (a rich coffee-cake type of pastry), Boller (cardamom-flavored dinner rolls), and almond rings (which the Danes called "Kringles"). I placed my order for the bakery items and inquired what time they would be open on Christmas Ever. [I wanted the baked goods to be fresh when I brought them to the table!] 

On the following Sunday, 22 December, I picked up the amount of Lutefisk requested by Daughter Nancy and poured cold water all over it, as she had instructed, then placed it overnight in the refrigerator. Of course I took pains to seal the container in which the Lutefisk reclined/slumped/oozed [let the reader imagine the best adverb]. The sealing was to minimize the possibility of some "flavor" escaping and rendering that refrigerator into condemnation from ever again being used for "more delicately flavored foodstuffs".

Early on Christmas Eve I went forth to the Danish Bakery in "Snoose Junction" to claim my previously ordered baked goods. When I arrived, a half-hour before the time they had told me they would be open, there was already a line around the corner and up the street --with the store being completely packed by other early-morning shoppers. Well, I grabbed my spot at the end of the line next to a Genuine Norwegian and his lovely wife. For the next hour we engaged in pleasant conversation about Norwegian ancestry, BMW's, world travels and All Electronic Propulsion Control Systems. He said that there was no such thing as "100% Norwegian"; he explained that the sea-going Vikings (the only true 100-percenters) took care of that. He told about his travels to Iceland where he had found the beautiful Norwegian sweater that he was wearing. When I inquired about the "native" Icelanders, he described them as half-Norwegian. "Oh", I said, "So they found aborigines already living on Iceland?" 

He replied that the Vikings had brought along "bed warmers" as they sailed westward to Iceland. But their female companions were not from Norway;; they were "opportunities" that they had found enroute.

Finally arriving at Nancy's home in time for her to finish preparing and cooking the Lutefisk, the three of us sat drinking strong, black coffee and nibbling on a chunk of that rich delicacy called Kringle. Half thinly-rolled pastry dough and butter! Yummm!!!

Wobble: Awaiting his Christmas Eve feast of some of
the finest Western Montana grass hay.

But before sitting down to dinner later that afternoon, Husband and I drove out to the farm to feed the largest pet in the U.S.A. -- Wobble, the 1500 pound Buffalo. [He thinks he's a "people", so doesn't mind spending his time alone in one of the several lush pastures on this 70-acre grass-farm.] Wobble is now 21 (born prematurely on 31 May 1992); he has been to school (elementary school in his neighborhood; he has visited the Evergreen State Fair in Monroe and he has also "Done the Puyalllup". So he is both educated and well-traveled.

We sat down for Christmas Eve dinner at about 1600. I loaded my plate with a couple boiled potatoes, mixed steamed vegetables and took about a third of a pound of the hot Lutefisk. After pouring some melted butter over it and the boiled potato, I proceeded to enjoy once again this unique Norwegian dish.

After dinner, Nancy presented Husband and I with our choice of pies: Pumpkin, Apple, and Lemon Meringue. Of course I chose the LMP -- after having a small wedge of Pumpkin. Since no one was there who had an appetite for LMP except me, I was permitted to take a LARGE helping (one third!!) of this fine-looking pie.

I arrived back at Grumpy's Castle at about 2130 that evening and, taking a Tum (to tame down a stomach -- my one regret -- that I knew from previous experience would need taming down after over-indulging on that delicious LMP), I went to bed.

I obviously survived, so on to Christmas Day!!

Second Annual Four-Generation Expedition: Lake Swim, Kayak and Canoe Paddle

Sunday, 14 August 2011; King County, of course! --

Today marked my 61-year old son's (BoPop's) third effort (he actually swam this route a year ago, but the "official witnesses" were not there to attest to it!) at achieving an endurance swim feat greater than that he managed as a callow youth some forty years earlier when he swam from an unmarked spot on the Southwestern side of Lake Washington to Kennydale beach on the Southeastern side; the distance, about 1.2 miles. Today's swim would be about 2.1 miles!

As this motley crew (four generations!) prepared to launch near the mouth of the Cedar River, the body count was five, shown here in their full regalia. The two vessels, to act as safety/escort boats, are one(1) 17-foot Ranger canoe and one(1) 21-foot cedar-strip kayak.

Oh, and a bit of nomenclature was agreed upon to prevent possible confusion during this trip: The Bliefer was to be addressed as "Dad"; BoPop was "Grandpa"; Great Grandpa was to be called "Grumpy"; the Mermaids remained "The Mermaids". The Mermaids especially seemed to enjoy using this terminology, particularly when wanting Great Grandpa's ear.

After a short paddle out of the mouth of the Cedar River and eastward to a suitable shoreline from which to begin his swim BoPop, with his own kayak in tow, dove into the lukewarm water of the lake. A modest wind from the South insured that the warm surface water would certainly be mixed to some extent by wave action further out in the lake with the much colder water three or four feet down.




The southerly wind also pushed the canoeing members along at a little less than one knot (6280 feet per hour). BoPop kept up a brisk rhythm as he averaged about 1.7 knot through the wind-chopped waves of the lake. The wind also eased the tug required by the swimmer to keep his kayak nearby. In fact, at one point, he stopped to check to make sure it was still there! The tug was so small, he thought it had come loose.

As this little flotilla neared the distant shore (Clark's Beach on Mercer Island), the combination of the long exercise (about two hours), dehydration and possibly a shortage of electrolytes in his body, resulted in a violent attack of muscle cramps in BoPop's lower legs. Although relieved somewhat by prompt and knowledgeable action by the Bleifer, chills (a form of shock from the trauma of the leg cramps?) caused BoPop to wisely choose to abort the remainder of the swim.


After he made a deep-water entry into the kayak (a major-effort in itself!), he paddled himself to shore at Clark's Beach, and hauled his kayak out of the water. After helping the canoeists debark from their tipsy craft, he helped lift the canoe out of the water and deposit it on the grassy lawn above the concrete bulkhead. It was obvious that, had the leg cramps not disabled him, he definitely had the strength and endurance to have completed the entire 2.1 mile swim.

After a short sojourn on shore on Mercer Island, during which the Mermaids (true to form) changed into their swimsuits [ask the Bliefer about this part!] and ventured out into the waters of the swim beach. Mostly, though, instead of swimming they gathered small shells from a native mollusk that were found in the shallow water. Of course, they got wet and, when we arrived back at our initial departure point, they stood shivering with only their Grandpa's wet towel and someone's "Size Large" T-shirt to keep them from freezing!!

Once safely on shore beside the cold (I mean, really, REALLY  cold) waters of the Cedar River, the survivors lined up once again; all who had embarked were accounted for, and they still looked as cheery as when we had started.


All told, it was good way to spend an early Sunday morning with two lively Great Granddaughters (aka, Mermaids!), a Philosophizing Grandson (the Bleifer), an Athletic Son (BoPop, himself a Grandfather!), and one old Grump (the Great Grandfather in this four generation exploit).


The big question for next year: What will the adventure be for the third annual four-generation expedition? Some more members would be a welcome addition! Only potential members get to vote on what the adventure will be.

Well, maybe Mothers and Grandmothers get a vote, too!!

An Effort to Improve Gas Mileage

Grumpy's Castle; 17 September 2010 --

Grumpy noticed that his prized automobile, Red Rocket, was trending downward in miles per gallon. It was first noticeable last summer when the Grand Mother and he drove to the midwest (at a maximum speed of 65 mph, of course) but averaged just under 31 mpg. In 2008, Grumpy's first "experiment" with slow driving, he had averaged over 34 mpg. What could account for a 10% drop in mileage?

One possibility was that the sparkplugs were in need of replacement*. The owner's manual says that they should be replaced at 105,000 and the 'Rocket' odometer was showing 84,000 of "hard" driving (the Grand Mother's term -- not Grumpy's!).

With this in mind, Grumpy searched the INTERNET for information on the best plugs to buy and any special tools needed. Yep, a special thin-wall deep socket was required. Grumpy chose a set of Bosch platinum plugs with four radial gaps -- similar to the plugs in Uncle Bob's Mooney engine.

The spark plugs on the Honda V-6 engine are not visible -- even when you open the hood. Grumpy removed a "suspicious" looking cover on the front of the engine. The plugs were still not visible, but a set of three small-gauge wires led to three black caps each held on with a single bolt. Removing the bolt and pulling on the black cap uncovered a deep hole about one inch in diameter; at the bottom of this hole -- about six inches down, to be exact, was the top of a spark plug. Would Grumpy's standard six-point deep socket fit down this hole?

The answer was a comforting "YES!" However, the problem arose as to how to lift the plug up out of that hole after it was unscrewed from the engine head. Scrounging in Grumpy's odds-and-ends tool chest, a short grabber was spotted -- something inherited from his Father-in-Law perhaps -- not yet used by Grumpy (he had a longer one that he had bought years ago to retrieve something that had dropped down through an engine block and into the oil pan).

The "Grabber" was useful for extracting each plug after it was unscrewed, but was also used to carefully lower the new plugs into place and finger-tightening them before torquing them with the deep socket to the proper spec.

All went well until the removal of the last plug -- #6. By the time Grumpy had fetched the old plug from its deep hiding place, his hand looked somewhat familiar. Yes, the Zimmerman gene had shown its ugly head again. Now the reader can see why Grumpy can sincerely say that he "FEELS" for his Grandson whose bloody knuckle was the subject of much pondering, guessing and ridicule a few days ago. Up to this point Grumpy was thinking that this job would be an exception to the long tradition that suggested that "A good job isn't done until there is a bloody knuckle or two."

Of course, Grumpy successfully finished installing the new plug in the #6 position -- and the 'Rocket started on the first cylinder!

Then Grumpy went in, washed his hands and took this picture of the "special" tools used on this job:

From left to right, the "special" tools are: six Bosch Platinum-4 plugs (with black marker pen used to identify each used plug so it could be replaced in the same cylinder if necessary); 8mm Allen wrench (to remove cap-retaining bolt); 5/8" deep socket with six-inch extension; 3/8" square-drive ratchet wrench; six-inch "Grabber" (for snagging tops of old spark plugs so they could be pulled up out of the deep hole they were in). Grumpy suspects that the so-called "required" special deep socket was one which included some kind of plug removal device. With the willingness to try something available rather than spend good money on a new tool that may only be used once or twice in his lifetime, Grumpy saved probably twenty bucks -- the new fancy plugs cost almost twice that much! But, as an old friend used to say, "There is more than one way to skin a cat without kissing it to death!"

*For more Automotive technical information, including things that affect gasoline mileage, go HERE.

The Black Forest Cuckoo Clock and other Time-ly Pieces

Pictured below is my latest pride and joy: a genuine, made-in-the-Black-Forest, cuckoo clock! It softly "tick-tocks" (1/4 second period) from its perch high on the wall above the first landing of our open stairway, easily viewed by everyone coming in our house.

This clock was a gift from my eldest son (and fellow-LMP aficionado). He said it was a belated Christmas present to both his Mother and me. However, he managed to let her in on the secret so Grumpy would be totally mystified by the e-mail from said son, who wrote from Germany that there would be "two packages: one big and the other quite small, but very heavy".

Well, Grumpy was mystified alright! When he opened the first package (the big one) he almost broke down crying with joy upon identifying the contents! As most of the immediate relatives of the "Grump" know, he is an absolute "nutcase" over mechanical clocks (and watches). Looking at the details in the photo at right, one can see along the bottom (left to right) an inviting bench, a water wheel that turns on the hour, a man splitting wood, a stack of unsplit logs and around the corner, a pump and trough. At the peak under the overhanging roof is where the Cuckoo comes out on the half hour and the hour, with the dancers immediately below, who dance on the balcony every hour in time with music which alternates between two different German tunes. The Cuckoo, the Dancers and the music politely "rest" between the hours of 8:30 pm until 8:00 am.

Grumpy's first interest in such mechanisms began when he was about 8 years old and rescued an old bedside alarm clock from the garbage, took the case off and figured out how to get it running again. He never bothered to put the works back into the case, and as a matter of fact, didn't even bother to put the hands back on the front! Instead, Grumpy figured out how to get it to awaken him at 5 o'clock each morning so he could fire up the old lignite-burning furnace that heated our house and then go upstairs to start the fire in the wood-burning cookstove so his mother could make pancakes for breakfast.

But I digress! This post is about clocks. So I will show you a photo of each of the major mechanical timepieces gracing (the Grand Mother might add a "dis-" in front of that word) our humble abode.

Next after the Black Forest Cuckoo clock is the "Grandfather's Clock". This clock was given to me by my First Wife on the occasion of ... well, never mind what occasion it was; that will just lead to a major disagreement (like Uncle Bert and Aunt Ruby?). Needless to say, it is very highly prized by Grumpy and is featured among the personal things listed in his will to be bequeathed.

The "Grandmother's Clock" is proudly displayed atop the oak display cabinets in which the Grand Mother keeps her finest glassware, her Shirley Temple doll and her "herd of elephants", among other memorabilia. It is not kept wound and running because its pendulum period is not an integral number relative to the Grandfather clock. This is annoying to Grumpy because of the seemingly random "tick-tocking" which goes on persistently when all the clocks are running. Most of you know that the Grandmother's Clock actually belongs to the Grand Mother; but Grumpy is proud to have it represented with all of the mechanical timepieces he adores.

The "Banker's Clock" sits on the middle landing of the open stairway to the basement. This clock is also not kept wound because of the non-integral nature of its pendulum as mentioned above. The "Bank" clock originally included a series of advertisements mounted on a four-faced box which rotated each five minutes to display all four in turn. Unfortunately, this spring wound mechanism disappeared long before it came under Grumpy's care. This clock is also rightfully-claimed by the Grand Mother.

We have two "Anniversary Clocks". My mechanical favorite is a spring-wound marvel that has a rotary pendulum. The rotary pendulum has a period (from beginning of one clockwise motion to the beginning of the next clockwise motion) of about eight or ten seconds. It's large mass and small radius of rotation is such that there is very little impediment caused by air drag. Therefore very little energy needs to be added each cycle to keep it running, and that is why a single winding every 400 days is sufficient. It would be wound once a year -- on the couple's anniversary. Unfortunately, Grumpy broke the torsion spring on which the pendulum hangs. So this clock is not currently operational. Instead, the Grand Mother and Grumpy have a quartz (electronic) anniversary clock (Grumpy's sentimental favorite), powered by a "C" battery, that plays the tune, "Ave Maria" on the hour. The battery needs changing approximately every 400 days. We change it on June 17th -- our anniversary.

Finally, this "time-ly" posting comes to an end with these photos of the front and back of a pocket watch which my Dad carried during his last years. This one has a Nickel-Silver case on the back of which is engraved, in my Dad's neat printing, "Time is the stuff your life is made of. Don't waste it!". This is a Hamilton pocket watch, with 7 jewels as bearings for the most lightly loaded axes (two on each of the "balance wheel", the ratchet gear and the gear that drives the ratchet wheel, and one on the loaded end of the next gear. Jewels are made of a gem-type material (such as ruby or sapphire) with the hole for the gear axle drilled through the center and finished to a precision of millionths of an inch. Unfortunately, this watch was left out in the weather after my Dad died, resulting in its "hair-spring" corroding away. I hope to have the hair-spring replaced some day, but doubt if it will ever be able to be adjusted to keep the good time that it was capable of originally.

My Dad had a gold-cased Elgin pocket watch that was given him on the occasion of his graduation from high school in 1917. He carried it to France during his service in the Army Air Corps; it has a "ding" along the edge of the case from being dropped from my Dad's upper bunk to the steel floor of the troop ship. I had admired this watch when I was a young boy and my Dad promised me that when he got "too old to read the time", he would give it to me. In fact, he gave it to me upon my graduation from high school in 1945! That's when he started carrying the Hamilton mentioned above. In keeping with the tradition, I passed the Elgin on to my oldest son, Ward Harry, when he graduated from high school in 1967. He has passed it on to his oldest son (Ward Howard) when "Howard" graduated from high school (I believe, in 1997 -- 90 years after the first "WHZ" received it on the same occasion!).