Robin's refrigerator stopped working last year. We resorted to using blocks of ice to keep things cool. The ice melted, filling the bottom of the ice box/refrigerator with often-gross water. There was no drain, and the only way to remove the water was with cups and sponges.
One of this spring's projects has been the replacement of the refrigeration machinery. But while at it, I decided there was no better time to redo the whole thing -- insulation and all. That would give me a chance to build in a drain that we sorely needed.
The liner of the refrigerator was made of fiberglass covering slabs of foam insulation that was layered over the original, factory-built ice box -- another fiberglass liner, coated on the outside with spray foam. This original liner also had a drain that I discovered when I'd torn off the newer insulation.
The first liner -- the non-factory one -- had failed. There was a crack in the bottom, and that meant that beneath it,  all the foam was soaked with melted ice water that had collected there for who-knows-how-long
So with various tools, I scraped out all the old insulation until I was down to the bare wooden cabinet that houses the ice box.
For much of the last week, I've been rebuilding the insulation. Nothing is completely square, so each slab of foam must be cut oversized at first and then trimmed to leave a minimum of gaps. Where there are gaps, I've been injecting spray foam -- not a great solution, but the only one I can think of.
My selection of tools to do the cutting has evolved. I started with a utility knife that uses razor-like blades. I added to that the multi-tool and a pocket knife. Today, I discovered that a cheap, long bread knife works better than those other blades.
I have now cut all the pieces of foam -- making at least two layers with a total R-value of 21.4.
Next step -- creating a fiberglass liner from an 8 x 4 foot panel, the sort used to line showers. The ice box is now about 32 inches deep, so making paper patterns of each side is difficult. I have to literally dive into the ice box head first, feet above me. There right now is a maximum of 9.5 inches of width in which to work.
I'm praying an unemployed contortionist will stroll down the dock and volunteer his services. I'd even pay him to take over.

Two boats splashed on Wednesday. First, it was Robin.

Then it was Bluebird.
Today, Saturday, John Morrison and I raced Bluebird in the first regatta at the Red Dragon Canoe Club in two years. We finished second in one race and third in another, out of six boats. There was no handicapping, just boat against boat. We beat the other Mariner in the first race, they beat us in the second. The wind was full and moderate on the river, and I would say a good sail was had by all.
Robin's mast was stepped without  untoward incident after she was launched, and now she rest in a slip just across the river from the Red Dragon.

Mom, Dad and the kids.

Parenting is being there for them when they need you, even when they don't know they need you.

I had to become a single parent before I realized that I wasn't there for my children when I was drinking. So I stopped, and life has, since that moment on, been so much better.

I'm about to cross the river to visit Robin. She should still be on land, since the boatyard manager promised to call before he launched her. Any day now, I expect to get that call.
But there's work to be done before then. The parts for the refrigeration -- a compressor and an evaporator -- are going to be delivered today, and I have to get the box ready for them.
First, I have to make sure the wooden walls are clean of all old insulation and caulk.
Next, I have to build a new wall on the port side of the box to support the insulation that I will install there.
This is the first work I've ever attempted on refrigeration, so I've done as much research as my attention span will tolerate. One question to resolve was what sort of machinery to get. I decided on an Adler-Barbour Cold Machine air-cooled compressor and a small, verticle evaporator -- which is actually an ice box that should get cold enough to make ice cubes and to refrigerate the rest of the the box.
The more difficult question to answer was how to insulate the box. I looked at high-tech insulation called vacuum insulation panels. From what I could learn, it appeared that it would cost something near $7,000 to insulate with that stuff.
Home Depot sells insulation panels that, in combination, will, for less than $100, give the ice box an R-value of about 19, which is close to the recommended R-20 that I saw mentioned on the Internet.
In truth, I have no idea whether R-20 is enough, but it is probably better than the old insulation that I've already removed. So that's the plan.
I'll buy a 4' x 8' plastic shower liner panel and use that to line the box once the insulation is installed. I'll caulk that panelling in place and caulk around the drain I'll install in the bottom of the box to make it possible to empty any water that collects into the bilge. Then I'll fit the old ice box lids over the newly created box, install the machinery and flip the switch.
Here's hoping something cool happens then.

The blue heron -- well, in truth, he's gray. Like this morning was, with a promise of unending grayness the rest of the week.
I knew Big Blue would be at the river after I dropped Monica off at the bus stop, so I drove down with camera nearby. There he was, posed proudly on the dock, as if fishing were the farthest thing from his mind.

Blue herons lie. He was there at the Red Dragon Canoe Club dock for breakfast. He knew that frisky young fish -- probably striped bass fingerlings -- gathered under the dock. If he was patient, hed soon have a meal.





Time and again, he saw something but hesitated. But then, he noticed that the fish were hiding in the crack between the floating docks. Aha! he seemed to think. If I can just angle my legs right, maybe I won't topple into the drink before I snag one.

Suddenly, he dove.



Gripping the dock tightly with his toes, spreading his wings for balance, he thrust his neck between the docks.
Just as suddenly, the memory card on the camera was full, so I couldn't record the six or seven-inch fish that was wiggling in his beak when he stood up on the dock, turned away from the water and commenced his morning meal.



Age comes to you abruptly. You are young, your skin supple and bronze. And then you look at your hands and they are not yours but the hands of an old man.
The skin is thin, showing more of the underlying architecture, the veins and cappilaries.
You resist. Those can't be mine. I'm still youthful.
You see bronze there, but also blue splotches. When did they arrive?
And the crepe-like wrinkles?
Make a fist, you think, and stretch the skin tight. The wrinkles will disappear. A facelift for the hand.
But then the skin becomes even more transparent and you stare into the depths of your flesh.
No, you say, I'm no longer youthful, not, at least, in body.
The back of my hand, its surface delicately pleated, thin ripples stirred on water by a soft breeze, tells the truth.
Time -- our time here -- is not infinite.
Use it wisely.

Even among the closest of sisters, there must be rules. Which of these two lovelies do you suppose is the Alpha Dog?
She's the one who rules the roost. She's the one who takes the food first. It is she who must be petted first, and if she feels that's not happening, she positions herself firmly between the petter and her sister.
She would be Lexi, she of the white nose.
Samantha, of the black nose, is the submissive one.
I always thought that Lexi was the boss because she was  the one who did the humping while Samantha endured this public humiliation. But then we were not sure due to a recent incident.
Monica believed that the poor girls needed some new toys. Pet Smart has an aisle set aside for Monica. Her name is on it. It is there that she gets the "indestructable" ropes and rubber balls and stuffed animals that Lexi and Samantha proceed to destroy within minutes of the toys' arrival in the house..
I put my foot down. No more unwise spending at Pet Smart. I'll just get some good, strong beef bones from the butcher and give each of the girls their own.
We did that, taking the girls outside and handing over the bones.
Within minutes, Samantha had gone berserk, growling at Lexi with her bared teeth at her sister's throat.
We took away the bones and went to that fount of dog psychology -- the Internet.
What we learned is that when the non-Alpha Dog feels threatened, they will strike out. Also, when the "parents" are trying to dispense things in a democratic fashion -- be they bones or affection or toys -- that's not good dog psychology.
Dogs don't like democracy. They want to know who is boss. It keeps everything simple.
So now we've been letting Lexi out of her crate first, giving her her food first, petting her first, and domestic harmony seems to be prevailing.
We just won't be handing out any more bones, no matter who is the Alpha Dog.

The vote was 22 - 0 in favor of creating the non-profit. The Red Dragon lives on!

Tonight, a critical vote will be cast at the Red Dragon Canoe Club, our little local boat club. The survival of the club at its current location -- a block and a half from our home -- is at stake, if not the survival of the club itself.
I'll take a photo of the club house and attach it later. It is a Second Empire structure built probably in the 1860s. I've mentioned it and its prior owners, the Shipmans, in other blogs.
The problems facing the club are financial and physical. Last year, the club's real estate taxes on the house and its six acres increased by several thousand dollars even as the number of members was in continual decline. There are 35 active memberships now compred with 65 in 1994 when Monica and I joined the club. We simply couldn't afford the higher taxes without raising membership dues prohibitively.
The physical problems are also financial. The building needs a new roof and a thorough painting. At a minimum, those items will cost at least $50,000.
Tonight, the members will be asked to vote to approve the creation of a non-profit corporation to facilitate the repair and restoration of the club house, which is listed on the state and federal Registers of Historic Places.
The non-profit, as a charity, would be able to apply for various grants that are available only to non-profits. While in this economy those grants are ever more difficult to obtain, if you don't have a non-profit corporation on your side, you can't even apply.
But we have some members who think they will lose something -- some as yet undefined thing -- if we were to create and run our own non-profit. They are not interested in facts. Their minds are made up.
We don't know how many share that revulsion to our plans. I hope they are few and their arguments are unpersuasive.
The Red Dragon's property is a wonderful anchor to our very nice neighborhood. It could be a benefit well beyond the borders of that neighborhood. It is the only place along the Delaware River in this town where the public has any chance of coming close to the resource of the river, its ecosystem, its international shipping, its sailing and fishing.
In the right hands, the non-profit could help draw more and more individuals to experience and appreciate the wonder of a big river.