Lesson in DIY, Saving $580.80 in Car Repair

After driving all of this way to Portland I needed and oil change. Check! They also noted that my headlight was out. I often changed the headlights on my Geo Metro, but have never had to do that on my Chevy Prism, so I put them to it. Why not, it's better than having to dig under the hood, find my toolbox, buy the right lamp. It turns out that it was a good headlight but it had "melted wires" that were connecting it to the lamp. Great. I saw the bucks adding up. They told me they did not have such a part and maybe I should go to the dealer. Great. I went to the dealer that day. Did they have the part I needed? Nope. But they could order it and fix my car for $600. Whoa!! What??!! I left my number with the dealership so he could call me back if they located the part. I spent all week wondering how I was going to afford a $600 headlamp. Damn. It's not like my Chevy Prism is some fancy car! On Friday I decided to take a look on my own. Out came the toolbox, the flashlight, the manual, and the tumbleweed that had crept into most crevasses of my car bits. I took out the headlamp unit. I inspected the bits. The wires were not melted. Hey. Instead, it was the wire housing, a plastic part that looks like the female end of an extension cord. Ok. $600 for a plastic part the size of that thing? Hell no! At that moment I became determined to do it myself. I went to a car parts store. I described the part. Not carried. I went to the Chevy dealership I described the part with my own terminology and the language the car parts store used. The man there knew what I was talking about. He had no part in store. He called around, no Chevy dealership had the part. I asked him--because why would he offer this information--if it would be wise of me to go to a Toyota dealership (everything is Toyota under my hood). Maybe he said. Or, is there a salvage yard around here? Yes, in Beaverton. Ok. I thanked him and went down the road to Toyota. At Toyota I described the part with the terminology, that of the car parts store, and that of the Chevy dealership. I sounded like a freaking man with a plan. The man who helped me was nice. I got him to come outside and look at my car. I made well with some witty reparté involving some other customers and how I was trying to work myself into a discount. I guess that worked enough because that man came up with a plan to find a socket that had wires connected. Sadly, Toyota did not have that part. So, this man called around to several local car parts stores and found one who carried the part, wrote down the part number and gave me some directions. By this hour, I had other obligations and plan at the college, so I called it a day. Car was parked. Wine was had. Night fell. This morning I had two goals. One, go to the gym. Two, fix my car. I went to the gym, burned some calories, strengthened some muscles, and sweat like a pig. After a shower, some lunch and some reading I set out on my mission. I found the car parts place in a town called Aloha. From what I could tell it was full of Spanish speakers--taller mecanico, mercado de flores, carniceria, fruteria, etc. Doubly good find! I went in and spoke with a woman who got the part. I asked her if she thought I could fix it. Was I good a fixing stuff. I guess. She told me what I had to do exactly, got me the other parts I needed for rewiring, handed me a tool and sent me to the register. Ladies and gentleman, the $600 fix cost me a grand total of $19.20! I went home, popped the hood, pulled the light, cut the wires, prepped the parts and attached the bits as needed. Crimp here. Test there. Reassemble. Bingo! The light works. I went out and bought a bottle of Williams Pear Brandy to celebrate tonight. I wonder if Mr. Chevy dealership will ever call me back.

Chile's Sexual Revolution

Fernando passed this New York Times article to me. I am not surprised since this was a topic of conversation among the women and mothers I spoke with (but oddly not the men). The news often mentioned the Pokemones (nick-name for the teenagers, similar to goth kids, punk rockers, or here, like Japanese anime characters). No one was teaching sex-education in the school where I was, and I can only imagine in Santiago everything gets magnified.

Photos of the House

(Kitchen)


(Living room)


(Bedroom)


(Bathroom)


(Studio room/exercise room/my guest room/room with a crazy floor)

Local Smoothie

I made a peach and blackberry smoothie this morning. The peach came from the Farmer's market, the berries from the backyard (it's too bad the soy milk didn't come from a nearby soy goat). Please note the higher-content-of-soy-milk-dots on top. I'm good!

This Morning's Farmer's Market

Purchases: Gala apples, yellow peaches, brussel sprouts, fava beans.
Things I've never seen or tasted in real life: Lemon cucumbers, black currants, pineapple tomatillos.
Of note: the miriamberry resembles the blackberry, perhaps adding to the confusion.
Also of note: I ran into some folks I knew in Madison that now live here in Portland.

Thinking About Chile

I have been thinking about Chile because that move was arguably grand as my more recent move to Portland. True of both, it was a big move. I will continue to think and write of Portland—it is after all the here and now, but I have thoughts about Chile. It still has a draw. Those mountains still pull on me, that sea, that vibration of energy.

This is the second year anniversary of my departure to Chile. Their Independence Day is coming up quickly. In 2006, that was the first time I knew I had arrived and would partake in that community and culture, for better or worse, in comfort and in all of its awkwardness. This immersion was much different from my Italian (Firenze, study abroad) immersion in September 2001 (more academic and fashionable). My castellano arrived in primitive bursts, but I’d like to think that I quickly caught on to the language, becoming sufficient and far less than fluent.

In Chile, Independence Day is the 18th of September. I even know how to dance Chile’s national dance, la cueca (handkerchief and all). I was invited to come by Rosa and her daughter Marcia and was reminded that I will ALWAYS have a home with them in Chile. If it were practical to go I would be on the first plane. I DO have a home with them in Chile. I truly feel that way. This is a small (and mad) world. South America is still America after all.

The magnetism of South America cannot/will not/does not leave my gut. The Chilean landscape was something I repeatedly dreamed, before I even set foot into the Miami airport. It is remarkable when beautifully and intoxicatingly strange night dreams appear in real time; it is hard to deny their significance. My gut does not lie.

Likewise, I have been thinking about all of these mountains. I crossed a few on my way to Portland. I live on one. They are the physical barrier (along with mileage) between here and Madison. What are all of these great pieces of landscape? Are these the same mountains that run into South America, only shifting in color? I am working up a book about all of these mountains.

I’ve been thinking about Chile because, both good and bad, it and the Chileans have played/play a large role in my life experiences. I learned and I felt many things. Life in a small town is just exactly that. The lone [independent] gringa is a curiosity. There is embrace of the exotic. There is fear of the unknown. There is impartiality. People are people everywhere. Love is love. Lies are lies. Children are magical.

From my new city of Portland, I will continue to think of the mountains, of Chile, of my dreams. Surely I will find myself returning, giving way to that pull, in the not-so-distant future.

Science, Art & Seeds

This was today's informative dose of science, art and seeds.

Labor Day

You know when the day starts with a brownie it can't be all that bad.
I am locked out of school because I don't have the right keys.