— Photo from Frank L. Palmeri

Knots, from top to bottom, are clove hitch, fireman’s rescue knot, figure eight on a bight, and sheet bend.

I learned about Boy Scouts while growing up by seeing them on TV shows or reading about them in books. Yet, as far as I know, no one in my family was involved in scouting, no one in my neighborhood either, and no one in any school I attended.

We lived on the borderline between Brooklyn and Queens in the East New York area. That’s a lot of territory, so I’m sure there had to be some scouting going on there, but I never saw it.

As an adult, I did scouting for a few years with my son. The good thing about scouting is the quality father-son time that you get. There is also camping, making new friends, and the skills the kids learn.

Not so sure about the Pinewood Derby, though. I’ve seen too many fathers go to such extremes to win that I wonder what the kids even get out of it at this point. Still, scouting in principle is no doubt a great thing for boys and young men to do with their fathers.

The reason I’m thinking about scouting today is it would have been so handy for me now if I’d have done it. That’s because, as a volunteer firefighter in training, I’m now learning all about ropes and knots.

It would have been so wonderful if I’d have had at least some of these skills already. That would have been one less thing to worry about among the quite extensive training that I’m doing.

Ropes and knots are very important in firefighting. Having these skills can save lives. No joke.

Firefighters are expected to be able to use these skills to haul tools all over the place, tie things down properly, and most importantly, potentially drag someone out of a bad situation. That’s how critical rope and knot skills are.

A rope is strongest when it’s totally straight. Any curve or bend in a rope reduces its strength. That’s why firefighters are always looking for the simplest knots that will do the job.

The simpler the knot — the fewer turns and bends in it — makes for a stronger overall rope. Plus, a simpler knot is easier to untie. That is really important in the heat of the moment, no pun intended.

How does one go about learning to tie knots? A lot of people are visual learners. They need to watch something done to see how it works.

If you’re like that, you can go on the internet and see how every knot is made by all kinds of folks. Unfortunately for me, I’m not a visual learner. I can watch somebody tie a knot, but often they do it so fast I just can’t follow it.

I need to have the making of the knot explained to me in clearly defined words. In fact, if someone was able to clearly state how to tie a new knot to me, I’m sure I’d be able to tie it without even having seen what it looks like first. That is just how my brain works.

It’s just like when I ask my harmonica-playing buddies how they did some “rad” technique on the “harp.” They always say, “I don’t know how I do it, I just do it.”

Some guys — farmers, boaters, and firemen, of course — have been working with rope and knots for decades, and it’s just embedded in their muscle memory at this point. That’s great for them, but I still have to learn how to tie these knots efficiently and effectively.

So now I practice guitar-playing and knot-making every day. Good thing I’m retired.

Four knots

Let’s look at the four knots I made in the picture. On the top, attached to the piece of pipe, is the classic clove-hitch knot.

This knot is so versatile, strong, and easy to make that it’s a mainstay in the fire services, and often becomes a part of more complex knots. Once you learn it, you’ll be surprised at how often it comes in handy for tying things down. The clove hitch is a truly great knot.

The second knot from the top is the fireman’s rescue knot. This knot looks like handcuffs. The idea is you can wrap it around someone’s wrists and pull them out of a dangerous area.

That works and it’s something every firefighter is trained to do, but it does put a lot of strain on a person's wrists. From working with computers for 40 years I’m probably pre pre-carpal tunnel in my wrists at this point, so I’m not sure I’d want to be dragged around with this knot.

Fortunately, besides rope, firefighters also carry strong nylon webbing, like the kind used in ratchet straps, which can be wrapped around a person’s torso and under his or her arms. That might be a better way to pull someone out in many cases.

The third knot from the top is a figure eight on a bight. When you are talking about knots, a bight is any big loop. This knot is very easy to tie and untie, strong, and versatile. It can be used to tie things down, haul things up, etc. Another all-around great knot.

The bottom knot in the picture is a sheet bend. A bend is any knot that unites two ropes. This knot is used to tie ropes or cords of different diameters, like a clothesline and a shoelace, together to make a longer one. Very handy.

Teach knots to kids

These are only some of the knots I’m expected to know how to make. Note that it’s one thing to make these knots in the comfort of your living room while drinking a cup of coffee.

The real challenge is to do them in the cold and dark, while wearing thick fireproof gloves, in the heat of the moment. That is why fire-service professionals have to get to the point where rope and knot skills are just muscle memory. Knowing these skills down pat is that important when you’re talking about saving people’s lives.

When you finish making any knot, you should “dress” the knot. This involves making sure all the elements of the knot are in their proper place, all the slack is removed, and the knot is positioned properly.

Then you apply a little pressure to the knot to make sure it’s stable before you ask it to take the full load. If you think at this point that there is a lot to learn about working with ropes and knots, you would be correct.

I didn’t have the good fortune of being involved in scouting at an early age, so I’m having to learn rope and knot skills for the first time now.

This got me thinking: Why aren’t these kinds of valuable life skills taught to kids in grade school as a matter of course?

Rope and knot skills are really, really handy to have. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve just made a big, nasty mess of a knot to tie something down that was inherently weak — too many turns — and impossible to untie.

How I wish I’d have learned these skills when I was younger. All kids, not just the ones who have the benefit of being in scouting, should be taught these skills, period. There is no reason “knot” to, haha.

I always say that, when I volunteer for anything, I get more out of it than I put into it. Doing volunteer firefighting has opened up the fascinating world of ropes and knots to me in a big way. Fantastic.

Just about my entire family recently went to Florida to get some fun in the sun and hang out with the grandkids. This means I had to “batch it” for two whole weeks.

I couldn’t join everyone at the big beach rental house because I’m heavily involved in volunteer firefighter training these days. I did go last year, and I’ll probably go next year, but for now, duty calls.

So, bachelor life for me for two whole weeks. What a change after 38 years of marriage.

I actually have a lot of things to keep me busy all year round, but especially in the winter. So with my wife gone I had a lot of time for practicing guitar, ordering motorcycle parts, and fixing things around the house.

I was able to read several books which is always good, and even try out a few recipes. A good bachelor tip: Even when cooking for one, cook the entire recipe. Then you have leftovers for some other nights. Cook, make a mess, clean, and eat. Then for the other nights just eat. Gotta love that.

What about laundry while my better half was gone? Good question.

Rather than try and figure out the whole process, I just stretched out the time I would wear my pants, T-shirts, etc. By changing less often, I was able to go the entire two weeks without doing laundry.

“But Frank,” you ask, “you did at least wash the sheets on the bed, didn’t you?”

No, I did not. Me and the bedbugs got along perfectly fine the entire time, thank you very much.

I did vacuum and mop the floor, so it’s not like I’m a total slouch. I figure, I do the cars and motorcycles, the house repair, and the outside work. She gets the bills and the laundry. We share the cooking. Works for me.

So everything was going fine during my two-week-long bachelor sojourn when, very faintly, I started to hear some crying. I stopped in my tracks to really listen, and sure enough, it was the sound of someone crying.

Right away, I got my phone out to see if somehow I had some kind of inane cat video playing. But that wasn’t it. So then I walked around the house to try and find out where the crying was coming from.

Then I found it: The crying sound was coming from the garage. I went in, and there was my wife’s Honda Insight, having a total meltdown:

“Waagh, waagh, waagh.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I miss Charlotte! Boohoohoo!”

“Hey, I miss her too, but suck it up. She’ll be back soon.”

I really miss her! Sobsobsob.”

“Look, I miss having the three of us in bed at night, but she has to be allowed to vacation with the grandkids.”

“What do you mean, three of you in bed? Is something going on that I don’t know about?”

“No, just that I miss having the three of us in bed at night: Charlotte, me, and my CPAP hose. Now it’s just me and my hose, all alone, and, if that sounds pretty bad, let me assure you it’s even worse.”

“Yeah, that does sound pathetic.”

“Still, you don’t see me crying and coming all undone like you.”

“But I miss how she drives me.”

“Oh yeah? I kind of got the feeling that she spends so much time running all over creation doing errands and whatnot that you were getting sick of her.”

“Not at all. For one thing, she drives very carefully. In fact, did you know she was Driver of the Year in high school?”

“Yes, I’ve been told that numerous times. Mostly after I cut someone off or tailgate, haha.”

“So you already know how she drives. She never speeds, she never tailgates, and she always has either the classical station or the Christian station on the radio. Oh, how I miss her! BooHooHoo, sobsobsob!”

“Look, I feel your pain. How about I take you out for a ride today? There’s supposed to be a new Chick-Fil-A in the area. Let’s go there for lunch and see what all the hype’s about.”

“No.”

“No? What do you mean, no? I’m offering to take you on a nice ride to a nice place for lunch. What’s wrong with that?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes, I really do?”

“Promise you won’t get mad?”

“For Pete’s sake, what could a 2019 Honda Insight possibly say to me to get me mad?”

“OK, then. I don’t want you driving me for three reasons. One, you drive too fast. Two, you play my radio too loud. And three, worst of all, you pass too much gas, and I don’t mean driving by gas stations, either.”

“Ouch. Let’s go through them one by one. Truly, I don’t drive nearly as fast as I used to, but I certainly drive faster than Charlotte, so you’ve got me there. As for the radio, what are you supposed to do when ZZ Top comes on? Rock ’n’ roll, baby! As for the gas thing, all I can say is, when people get older their digestive systems don’t always work the way they used to.”

“You’re telling me! Half the time I’m dying here!”

“Please forgive me. I’m trying a new fiber supplement that I hope will solve this particular problem.”

“Listen, I didn’t mean to upset you. I actually like it when you do my oil changes. Not only do you take the time to warm up my engine so the old oil gets nice and hot and flows out easily, but you always put rubber protection on my CV joint boots so they’ll last longer and keep my delicate joints in great shape. Not even dealerships or quickie lube joints do that during an oil change.”

“Glad you appreciate it. You actually have given Charlotte great service over the years, so it’s an honor to take care of you.”

“I just hope she comes back home soon.”

“You and me both. Now stop crying and let’s go grab some chicken for lunch.”

“You did take that fiber supplement?”

“Yes.”

“OK, let’s go.”

Bachelor life for a couple of weeks during the dead of winter while everyone parties in Florida is all right by me. It’s cold, I’m old, but, for at least a little while, I get to be bold. Rock on! 

Everyone likes wood. It’s beautiful to look at, feels good to the touch, is relatively affordable, and is easy to work with. It even smells good in many cases.

With all that wood has going for it, it’s no wonder woodworking both as a hobby and vocation is so popular. That’s why I find it so odd that there’s never been a woodworking TV show that doesn’t have significant problems.

Let’s start with “New Yankee Workshop.” This one featured Norm Abram, who was originally on “This Old House” with Bob Vila, the very first home renovation show.

Norm is a nice enough guy and no doubt a master carpenter, but his show always disappointed me for two reasons:

— 1. His large, well lit, heated shop was so big and full of every possible hand and power tool that I was always left with a huge feeling of envy every time I saw the show; and

— 2. Norm always seemed to favor power tools whenever he could use them, even when something simpler would have worked just as well.

I guess if you have a lot of land, money, and skill you can be like Norm, but for a regular guy like me, watching it made me feel like I was just too far down the totem pole to get anything from it.

Then there was “The Woodwright’s Shop” with Roy Underhill. This is like the polar opposite of “New Yankee Workshop.” Where Norm was all about big and modern, Roy was totally old school — no power tools whatsoever and just a small, crowded shop that looked like a converted garage.

While it’s great that Roy can do everything with hand tools — if the Zombie Apocalypse ever comes and we lose power completely he won’t miss a beat — how can you not at this point use a simple electric drill to make a hole?

Power drills are ubiquitous and have been around forever; they’re in no way hi-tech. I find it hard to believe that even the most strict woodworking purist would have a problem with using a simple electric drill to make a hole.

“New Yankee Workshop” and “The Woodwright’s Shop” are the two granddaddies of woodworking shows, but there have been more recent ones.

“American Woodshop” features Scott Phillips. He uses even more power tools than Norm did. Also, he has a habit of yelling really loudly once the tools start running, which is comical at best and annoying more often.

Then there is “Woodsmith Shop” by the editors of “Woodsmith” magazine. These guys assume you have many expensive power tools as well, but do pull out hand tools when appropriate. They always show you where to get the free plans for what they are building, which is a nice touch.

Curiously, they frequently use a woodworking tool you don’t normally think of as a woodworking tool — double-sided tape. Based on the amount of it they use, I should add stock in 3M to my investment portfolio.

A newer woodworking show is “The Garage with Steve Butler.” He’s a New England guy who does basic woodworking with standard hand and power tools that anyone might have.

The problem is some of the things he does are downright dangerous. I’ve contacted him on social media. He says he knows he does this, but sometimes just gets in a hurry. They really should put a disclaimer on this show. Never, ever sacrifice safety to save time. Never.

Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to come off like I totally dislike all these shows. I love woodworking and the fact that these shows serve to bring it to a large audience is of course a good thing.

My only complaint is they don’t seem to be intended for so-called “normal” guys or gals. What do I mean by that? Well, a normal woodworker:

— Might have only a crowded garage or basement to work in that he or she has to share with other members of the family;

— Would have some basic tools like drills, hand saws, maybe even a table saw, but certainly not every tool that is available no matter the cost like most of these shows imply;

— Would have some basic skills, maybe learned from a shop class or by reading books, but is never going to build some huge fancy whatever like they often show without doing a lot of smaller projects first over many, many years of trial and error.

You might argue that there are folks who have all the tools and the skills and find these shows too simplistic. I’d counter that, if they have that many tools and have that much skill, they shouldn’t be watching these shows anyway. They should be out in the shop building stuff.

One thing the power-tool oriented shows do that is especially annoying is show the host using a power tool to cut some wood, like that in itself is somehow enlightening. The thing is, once the machine is set up to make the cut, you can use the tool to cut one or a hundred boards and they’ll all come out the same.

So it’s not the actual cutting we need to see; pushing a board through a tool is the easy part. It’s how you set up and adjust the tool to make the cut that we need to have explained. The set-up is where the magic happens, yet they never show it.

Mostly it’s a matter of trying the cut over and over on scrap until you get it just right. They probably figure that would be boring and they’d lose viewers. But for anyone who knows anything at all about woodworking, it’s more boring to watch a guy shove a board through a table saw for the thousandth time. So frustrating. All these shows need to do a lot better in this area.

What we really need is a show that assumes the viewer has just average woodworking skills and only owns common tools that any interested woodworker or homeowner would be sure to have. Once you get into big, heavy, expensive tools like planers, jointers, and bandsaws you just about take the normal guys who are still working full-time and raising a family out of it.

Those are all large, expensive tools that take a real commitment to buy, learn how to use safely, and find room for. Maybe the retired guys with a lot of time and, hopefully, money are happy with the current shows, but I’ll bet if there were a show for less fortunate woodworkers a lot more people would be into woodworking.

Of course, these days you can go on YouTube and find someone building anything you can think of, but they might not be doing it correctly or safely. You pays your money and you takes your chances, as they say.

I’ve watched a bunch of these videos and many of them should have the disclaimer “don’t try this at home” flashing in bright red at the bottom. Again, be careful any time you’re working with tools. It’s supposed to be fun and you most certainly want to avoid getting injured.

When there’s a woodworking TV show about a guy who builds a nice Shaker cabinet in his driveway using only basic tools and a couple of saw horses I’ll be really impressed.

We haven’t checked the “Ask Cranky Frankie” mailbox in a while. Let’s see what the mailman has for us today.

Dear Cranky Frankie:

I keep hearing the word “abomination” lately. It’s all over the place. Everything all of a sudden is an abomination. It’s used so often and in so many different contexts that I’m not even sure what an abomination is anymore. Can you help?

Becoming Utterly Bemused

Dear BUB:

Here are three examples of what an abomination is:

— Pineapple on pizza (this really should be a felony, or at least a misdemeanor);

— Taking a classic jam like “In A Gadda Da Vida” by Iron Butterfly or “Light my Fire” by The Doors and chopping it up into a three-minute mess for pop radio; and

— Having a disturbingly high-pitched woman on a high rotation TV ad speak in “uptalk,” where every sentence is a question, so much that you literally have to mute the commercial every time it comes on? I mean it’s so bad? It’s just too bad I can’t stand it? You know what I mean?

****

Dear Cranky Frankie:

I realize the need for constipation medicines, I really do. But why does every constipation commercial have to end with the person dancing euphorically after the product does its job? Isn’t there anyone writing these commercials who can think of other ways to indicate the thankful sense of relief after a long-awaited successful bowel movement?

Feeling Ultimately Low and Lost

Dear FULL:

I know what you mean. If I were in advertising, I would not pay the person who said, “and then, after she poops, let’s show her dancing!” What a joke. Here are some ways I’d like to see a long-awaited successful trip to the bathroom depicted:

— A full-on, top-of-the-lungs, deep-throated all-out shout, like when your team makes the playoffs (“Oh Yeeaaahhhhh!”);

— A sly wink of the eye while sipping a nice beverage; or

— A cartwheel, followed by a jump, followed by a split (and I’d sure buy the medicine that allowed me to do all that without serious injury, haha).

****

Dear Cranky Frankie:

I love the thought of long car trips with my husband. It seems to me that, because it’s just the two of us, it’s the perfect time to really open up to each other and share our most intimate and personal thoughts. What a great way to get even closer!

Yet my husband insists on listening to the radio when we’re in the car. He can listen to anything: music, news, talk, etc. It never ends. There always has to be something coming out of the speakers! How can I let the most important man in my life know that I relish the thought of deep, meaningful conversations while driving, mile after thoughtful, soul-searching mile?

Wondering, Often Not Knowing

Dear WONK:

Can you repeat that? I was changing the station, sorry.

****

Dear Cranky Frankie:

My husband keeps taking my good towels and using them to soak up spills, clean the floor, etc. I keep telling him we have boxes of rags to use for things like that.

He doesn’t seem to get it, though. He’s always using my good towels to clean really dirty, awful things! How can I get him to stop this annoying and destructive behavior?

Praying for Energetic yet Responsible Husband Control

Dear PERCH:

Let me get this straight: You have a husband who does actual cleaning, and you’re complaining? Give me a break! You don’t know how lucky you have it, girl.

Here’s what to do: Put the rags in the spot where the “good” towels are. Then, when he wants to, unbelievably, clean something on his own, he’ll grab a rag and be good to go. By the way, what are “good” towels, anyway? A towel is a towel, period. You’re welcome.

****

Dear Cranky Frankie:

Does this dress make me look fat?

Not Only Wondering, Also Yearning

Dear NOWAY:

There is no good answer to this question, so let’s just move on.

****

Dear Cranky Frankie:

I’ve got this pain in my neck. It’s killing me. Right here. No, not there. Here. Yes, that’s it.

Like a stabbing, shooting pain when my neck is in this position. No, not like that, like this. Ouch! Holy Mother of God! What a pain in the neck, literally. What can I do?

Hurts, And Hurts Again

Dear HAHA:

Consider this: No number from 1 to 999 inclusive has the letter “a” in its printed word form. Have you ever even considered that? And here you are worried about your neck.

****

Dear Cranky Frankie:

Why are so-called “broadsheet” newspapers like The New York Times so popular? For one thing, they are so physically large that it’s hard to use them, even spread out on a table. Then there’s trying to read them on a train or a bus. You spend more time folding them creatively just to follow a story than actually reading the story.

Finally, stories are never continued on the next page, but often dozens of pages later. By the time you get to the page where the story is continued, you’ve moved on to something else. It’s terrible. Yet broadsheets are pervasive in the newspaper industry. Why does printing newspapers in this ridiculously large format continue?

Bothered Utterly Regarding Printing

Dear BURP:

It takes a real man — or woman — to handle a broadsheet on the bus or subway. Back in the day, it was a rite of passage for commuters everywhere. Now with everyone zoned out on their phones all day I fear broadsheet-reading skills may be lost forever. No worries, though: All that paper still comes in handy for lining the birdcage and lighting the barbecue.

****

Dear Cranky Frankie:

Is Dusty Springfield the greatest female singer of all time?

Perusing Other Performers Sonically

Dear POPS:

None other than Sir Elton John had this to say about the iconic and timeless Dusty Springfield: “I’m biased, but I just think she was the greatest white singer there ever has been.”

Here, here, old man, I’m down with that.

All I know is whenever I hear “I Only Want to Be With You,” “The Look of Love,” “You don’t Have to Say You Love Me,” “Son of a Preacher Man,” and so many more of her hits, I know that there may be other singers as good as Dusty, but there was no one better.

“Anyone Who Had a Heart” would certainly agree with me I’m sure. Long live the great Dusty Springfield!

****

Dear Cranky Frankie:

My son was in his room when it was time for lunch. I wanted to bring him a wrap, but he was blasting rap, which to me sounds like crap, so I gave the door a slap.

I said “come out, Jack.”

He said, “Chill out, Mack!”

I just about snapped, so I left the wrap. That’s life in this flat. Oh drat! One time he even spat. I thought that was that. Oh, snap! It’s not fun, but he’s my son, so what can I do to not be so blue?

Blasting Urban Rock Non-Stop

Dear BURN:

I don’t know about your son, but I think you just wrote a pretty good hip-hop song. If you need an agent, let me know.

****

Dear Cranky Frankie:

I want to learn Mandarin. Can you please help?

Yearning Often, Yearning Openly

Dear YOYO:

I sure can help you learn Mandarin. To begin, go to the produce section of your favorite supermarket. Look for orange mesh bags, or even little wooden boxes, filled with Mandarins. When you get your Mandarin home, you have to peel it.

Usually you can do this with your fingers if you are careful, but keep a knife handy just in case. Once you remove the rind, you should carefully remove as much of the white stringy stuff as you can.

You can then enjoy your Mandarin just as it is, but if you feel a little daring and crazy, here’s a tip: Mandarins make colorful accouterments for those otherwise ordinary weeknight side salads. Learning Mandarin is not only easy, but tasty and fun as well. Bon appetit!

****

That’s all for now, faithful readers. Keep those great questions coming in.

“Say goodnight, Cranky Frankie.”

“Goodnight, Cranky Frankie.”

As one of the newest members of the Guilderland Fire District, I have a lot to learn. Yet even in the short couple of months I’ve been a volunteer firefighter, I’ve experienced so much. Here, in no particular order, are the top 10 things I’ve learned so far.

Serving is a privilege

Even though it’s volunteer, it’s still a privilege to serve as a volunteer firefighter. When you are wearing the turnout gear, riding in the truck, or participating in a drill, you represent the district. It is only fair to the taxpayers to show them you are responsible with how you act, how you take care of the equipment, and how seriously you take the responsibility.

Fortunately, the level of commitment at GFD is through the roof. I’m extremely proud to serve with such dedicated men and women. Still, I don’t take the opportunity I’ve been given lightly, and I hope my upcoming training goes well;

Size matter

Everything in firefighting is big and heavy. The trucks, or “apparatus,” are humongous. The clothes are tough, thick, and heavy. The Jaws of Life (the portable electric one, there is a hydraulic one as well) weighs 55 pounds, making it very hard to wield unless you’ve been eating your Wheaties on a daily basis.

Why is everything so big, strong, and robust? Because fighting fires is serious business, obviously. The only way to be prepared for the worst is to have the best equipment, to maintain that equipment, and to train everyone on how to safely and effectively use that equipment. I for one am very glad I live in an area where fire safety, prevention, and first responding is taken so seriously;

Everything in its place

I like to work on my cars and motorcycles. It’s fun to fix something and get it running again. But I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to look all over the place for a tool I know I have. It’s so frustrating to waste time like that.

Well, that does not happen at the firehouse. Everything has a place, and everything is constantly verified to be in its place. Part of the “equipment check” we do each week is to make sure every sub-system and tool on each apparatus is there and working properly.

How great is that? When you open a compartment or drawer, you can be certain that what is supposed to be there is actually there. If I could get my garage and tool boxes to be like that, it’d be like hitting Lotto. There is a lot that impresses me about GFD, and organization is at the top of the list;

Old guys rule

I wondered how, as a retired guy, I’d be able to keep up with the physical demands of firefighting. Some of it is very hard work as you can imagine. I’m starting formal training soon, and I am encouraged by the number of “old guys” who do this kind of work.

Each one of them is testament to eating healthy (most of the time), staying active, and keeping mentally fit. One of my buddies at the firehouse is 72, and exercises for 90 minutes every morning. This guy is tough, reliable, and a pleasure to work with. To see so many guys in their “golden years” remain so physically active is a revelation to me. Age truly is just a number;

Never go in alone

One night we had a call-out to an adult living community where a carbon-monoxide detector had gone off. This can be deadly. So I stood at the door to the building, and as each of my qualified team members went in, they handed me their badges. This way I knew exactly how many of us were inside a dangerous situation, and how many needed to come back out.

Doing it this way makes sure everyone is accounted for. You never go in alone, anywhere, period. Even so, the SCBA (Self Contained Breathing Apparatus) that class A firefighters wear to provide breathing air contains a feature that, if the firefighter should go down and be still for any length of time, an ear piercing alarm goes off. That way someone else — never go in alone, remember — can attend to him or her. In a way, “never go in alone” is a great metaphor for life;

Pull your own weight

Let’s face it, in any organization some jobs are better than others. It’s no different in firefighting. Recently I spent seven hours on a cold, dreary December day pumping out basements after a two-day deluge of driving rain. Part of that time was spent clearing out muck, stone, and root-filled drainage ditches with a shovel.

Did I think years ago that hard labor in rotten weather conditions would be part of my retirement? Heck no. But one look at the thanks on the faces of those we helped was all it took to make it all worthwhile. I love being able to directly help my neighbors like this. There is so much volunteer firefighters do besides fighting fires that it’s almost unbelievable. Truly, we are here to help;

Do tasks the right way

The secret to success is doing the simple things correctly, over and over, until they just become habits. Take fire hoses. There are all kinds and all sizes for specific purposes, I’m learning. Rolling up a hose is an art form. After it’s cleaned and dried, both inside and out, it is tightly rolled up from the male end to protect the delicate threads on the fitting. Rolling it up very tightly, which is a lot harder than it sounds, assures that when it needs to be deployed quickly, it can be quickly rolled out like throwing a bowling ball. And once it’s deployed, it is imperative to get all the kinks out so that full water pressure is assured.

I never would have thought there was so much thought, art, and practice in just dealing with hoses. It has been a revelation to me. Now I won’t ever be able to have a messy or unevenly wound garden hose again;

Clean your ride

GFD takes pride in maintaining the expensive apparatus that the taxpayers have paid for. Any time there is a dirty truck — even after returning from many hours fighting a fire, pumping out basements, dealing with an auto accident, or whatever — if there is a speck of dirt on that vehicle, we all pitch in and wash it, right in the firehouse.

It’s like a dance with hoses, brushes, squeegees, and chamois. Many hands make short work, and when we’re done we take pride in how clean and sharp everything looks. One of the pickup trucks we have is 11 years old and it looks brand new. It is so gratifying to be part of an organization that takes such pride in maintaining the very expensive equipment that has been provided for us;

Business is business

There is a very social aspect to firefighting. I’ve made some great friends in my short time at GFD, and we’ve had a lot of laughs together. The men are real “guy’s guys,” the kind you can just hang out with and be yourself. We share jokes and stories and laugh so hard sometimes it hurts. Even the few women we have fit right in and get along with the boys real well.

It’s really fun to have such camaraderie with my co-workers. But, once that call comes in, like a light switch, we go from social to professional in the blink of an eye. Truck assignments are made, turnout gear is donned, and we are out the door. The entire time we are out, we are on it, focusing entirely on the job at hand, until the work is done.

The senior members lead the way, the newcomers help the best we can, and we do what we have to do. I had missed very much being on a team getting things done when I retired. Now I have that feeling again;

Firefighting is apolitical

Our country is split down the middle politically. This division causes a lot of stress. I abhor culture wars and all this kind of stuff. Undoubtedly, one of the best things about being a volunteer firefighter is that it is totally apolitical.

When we go out on a call, it doesn’t matter what party anyone belongs to, or what religion they are, or anything else. We go out to help, period. Same for police, EMS, and military. We all serve the public the best we can. Being involved in the trenches now, dealing with the public under often terrible circumstances, has given me new respect for uniformed professionals and first responders. To be a part of this great legacy in some small way really makes me feel proud. To all the men and women in uniform: You rock, and thank you for your service.

Any time in my life that I’ve volunteered to do anything, I’ve gotten more out of it than I’ve put into it. Being a volunteer firefighter takes a lot of hard work, training, and dedication, but the satisfaction of working with such great people and directly helping the folks in my community makes it all worthwhile.

As you can imagine, my first few months with the Guilderland Fire Department have been quite interesting and exciting.

Let’s start with the basics of how it works when you respond to a call as a volunteer firefighter. You wear a pager, it goes off, then you open an app on your phone and let them know how long you think it will take you to get to the firehouse.

When you arrive there, you gear up and await your orders. At least that’s how it’s supposed to work. Now let me tell you what happened on my first two “call-outs.”

When the pager went off, I responded on the app. Then I picked out a shirt, found my wallet and keys, and left the house. That was my first mistake.

Then I sped down to the firehouse. That was my second mistake.

At the firehouse, our boots are stored with the pants rolled down around them, the theory being you can then just hop in the boots and then pull up the pants.

I got into the boots and was attempting to pull my pants up when, both times, our big hook-and-ladder truck T-29 (pronounced “tee” “two” “nine” for the benefit of radio communications) pulled out without me. That sucks!

Here is what I’ve learned since then. First, when the pager goes off, you respond on the app and then you are out the door. Don’t pick out a shirt or try to match clothes or anything like that. There are no style points for fighting fires, haha. Just get out the door as fast as you can.

When you leave your house on the way to the firehouse, do not speed or break any traffic laws. Firefighters have been killed while speeding to the firehouse.

If you drive like a maniac, there is a good chance you’ll wind up in an accident. What good is that? Play it safe and get there in one piece. That is the only way to do it.

When you get to the firehouse, you literally jump into your boots and pull your pants up. Then you grab your jacket and put that on while running to the truck (and don’t forget your helmet). You can tighten and adjust things once in the truck.

Getting your gear on fast comes with experience, but that is the gist of it: getting all your gear on in a minute or less. Now let me tell you about my third call-out.

It was a Sunday. My lovely wife, Charlotte, and I had been out all day, first to church in Princetown, then to a cancer fundraiser in Cohoes, followed by dinner with friends in Troy. We got home at about 8 p.m.

I was so tired I was about to go to bed a little after 9 p.m. when the pager went off. The dispatcher mentioned it was a smoke-alarm call.

Now here’s the thing about smoke alarms: They will “chirp” when their batteries get low. It’s their way of letting you know new batteries are needed. But many people call the fire department when any sound comes out of a smoke detector. I’ve done it myself.

Knowing this, I decided to skip responding to this call. As a volunteer firefighter, you have the right to not respond to a call if you wish (you’re tired, you don’t feel good, etc.). So I just went to bed, but I left the pager on.

At approximately 11:20 p.m., the pager went off again. This time, the call was for structure fire, which is the highest priority.

I made it to the firehouse and again missed the first truck leaving but, because of the severity of this call, a second truck was needed, which I got on. One minute, I’m fast asleep in bed; five minutes later I’m in a humongous fire truck blasting up Carman Road with lights flashing and sirens blaring. Wow.

When we got to the fire scene on Lydius Street, it was unreal. This normally quiet part of town looked like a LaGuardia Airport runway lit up at night. The people had gotten out of the house, fortunately, but you could see at least three separate fires going.

My team got assigned to fight the fire in the back of the house, by the attached garage. I ran out into the street with one end of a hose and met a guy from another fire company; there were at least five fire companies there. We hooked the hoses together.

Then the hose got charged with water and we proceeded to attack the garage fire. My job now was to move the hose around the property to give it a straight shot so my teammates could better direct it.

The problem was getting it around all the landscaping features that were there: big shrubs, large concrete urns, play sets, etc. You don’t usually think about fire prevention when laying out your landscaping, but perhaps you should.

By 3 a.m., we’d finished our job. Then I took one end of the hose, put it over my head, and walked the length of the hose to drain it out. Then another guy used what looked like a hair roller on steroids to flatten the hose and drain every last drop of water out.

After that, I got on my knees and proceeded to tightly, and I mean tightly, roll up the hose. Once that was done, I humped it against my chest — it’s very heavy and quite unwieldy — and got it back to the truck.

When we got back to the firehouse, our lower extremities were covered in white foam from the fire scene, so we took turns using a garden hose to spray each other down in the driveway. Then protocol required us to wait for the main apparatus to return to the station. Once they did and we verified all of us and the equipment were OK, we were dismissed.

I got home at 4 a.m. and had my annual physical exam at 7 a.m. My doctor said my blood pressure was unusually high. I said maybe that’s because I was up all night doing firefighting, haha

It took me two days to get my sleep cycle back to normal, but it sure was fun being part of a team and doing something very important for the community. The only real bummer was learning that there was a dog in the house that didn’t make it out. You never want to see that happen.

Now I have to embarrass two of my Guilderland Fire Department teammates. The first is veteran firefighter Don Gaitor. Don has been a volunteer firefighter for 50 years. Fifty years!

Since the only formal training I have received at this point has been about sexual harassment of all things, I have a lot of questions about how to do all that is required for firefighting, safety, and prevention. Don has been the perfect mentor for me.

I call him sometimes twice a day with questions, and he always takes the time to answer clearly and with great detail. I’m so glad to have him as a go-to resource for such a big responsibility that I take very seriously. Couldn’t ask for a better mentor than Don.

I don’t know about you but I always thought of firefighters as men, yet we actually have a few female volunteer firefighters at GFD. One of them is Elizabeth MacDonald.

I know enough from buying gifts for my wife over the years that Liz would be considered “petite,” but don’t let her small stature throw you. She is as tough as nails.

The other night, all the “Class A” firefighters — the ones who have been trained and certified to run into burning buildings — did a very physical drill. It involved seven difficult tasks, like dragging a simulated unconscious body around with a harness, and lifting heavy bags of tools up and down stairs.

These seven tasks had to be done as sets, five times each, all while wearing SCBA (Self Contained Breathing Apparatus) and trying not to run out of air. When Liz was done, she pulled off her face mask and it looked like she was ready for another round.

Not only is she very tough, but she kids around like one of the guys. The other day, we were talking about the team-like feeling around the firehouse.

“It even smells like a gym locker,” she quipped.

Liz has a great personality, is full of energy, and is beautiful as well. What an honor it is to work with such a strong, capable woman.

All I know is, when we’re driving to a fire scene and Don or Liz are in the truck with me, I know they have my back and everyone else’s as well. I truly hope that someday I can learn to be as proficient, professional, and dependable as they are. It will take a lot of training and experience to get there, but I’m up for it.

You know, superhero movies are all the rage these days. Everyone likes to see powerful heroes take down the bad guys.

But just go into any volunteer firehouse and you’ll find actual living and breathing superheroes: our friends, relatives, and neighbors, just ordinary people, who for no pay do tons of training and get up at all hours of the night to make sure we’re covered in case the worst happens. How awesome is that?

Becoming a volunteer firefighter with the Guilderland Fire Department has been an incredibly immersive and satisfying experience. While I certainly wish I had done it sooner, I know it’s never too late to be great.

— Photo from Frank Palmeri

Frank Palmeri, second from left in the front row, poses with his grade-school classmates.

— Photo from Frank Palmeri

The badge Frank Palmeri wore at his reunion showed his graduation picture.

I can still remember my last day of school in eighth grade at what is now known as Blessed Sacrament Academy, on Euclid Avenue in Cypress Hills, Brooklyn. This would have been in June 1973.

The nuns handed out these small leather-bound books with the school logo and zippers. When you unzipped it, it was full of blank pages. The idea was, since this was our last day together, to get all our friends to sign our books. Even at that age, I knew something was wrong about this.

I had been with my classmates at that point for seven years (I actually attended kindergarten and first grade at another school before my father uplifted us to live near his family). I knew we’d all be going to different high schools, and then on to college.

I remember so clearly thinking: How will we ever keep up with one another? Here we’ve spent all this time together, and now we’re all going our separate ways? It didn’t seem right then and, in retrospect, it really wasn’t.

I then spent four rigorous years at Archbishop Molloy High School in Jamaica, Queens. Then I stumbled around until finally graduating from Pace University, before moving to Albany for my job.

Soon after that, I was married and raising kids. To say I was busy would be putting it mildly. Still, I never forgot my elementary-school friends, and I always wondered what happened to them.

That’s the thing about moving away from where you grew up and went to school. To this day, my wife can go into a store and see someone she went to school with. Many times, she may have not seen them for decades, yet they hit it off in an instant. It’s like they never left.

Because I grew up downstate and moved to the Capital District as an adult, I never have that pleasure. I would so have loved that.

A few years ago, I realized that it would soon be the 50th anniversary of my grade-school class. I got to thinking about some kind of a reunion. So I wrote a letter to the school asking for the 1973 school roster, including current addresses if they had them.

No response. I continued to write letters. Then I started sending in donations.

Finally, the older brother of a girl I went to school with called me (he is a school board member). Tony explained they would be doing either a golf outing or some other kind of school-wide activity, and would be sure to highlight the class of 1973. That was good enough for me so I forgot about all this for a while.

By this time, I’d started to reconnect with my grade-school pals on Facebook. One minute, you haven’t seen or heard from someone for almost 50 years; the next minute, you’re seeing photos of their grandkids graduating from college. Amazing.

I let them know I was working with our old school on a reunion. They were getting excited, which was great. But I had not heard back from the school, and for good reason.

After writing more letters (never underestimate the power of a well-written letter), Tony called me again. He said the school had been dealing with declining enrollment for years, and there was just not the funds or resources to pull off any kind of alumni event. That meant it was time to, as celebrity chef Emeril Lagasse always says, “kick it up a notch!”

I requested help from my classmates on doing our own 50th grade-school reunion. Wouldn’t you know it, the prettiest girl in our class, Francine — the one all the boys, including me, had a huge crush on — wound up being my go-to partner in getting this event going.

Unlike myself who never kept in contact with anyone once eighth grade was over, she had A) stayed living close to “the city,” and B) kept up with many of the girls in our class. Francine was a real help, and to be working so closely with her after all these years was really unbelievable and wonderful.

Here’s the plan we came up with:

— Have a tour of the old school on a Saturday at 3 p.m.;

— Have mass in the church right across the street at 4 p.m.;

— Get together for dinner somewhere at 6 p.m.

Of course, the big problem with this plan was getting into the old school. Fortunately, Tony, the board member who I had been working with, came through for us. He arranged for someone to meet us at “the door” on the date we chose, which turned out to be Saturday, Oct. 21.

I put “the door” in quotes because it wasn’t until I returned there after all these years that I remembered that there are actually separate boys’ and girls’ entrances at Blessed Sacrament School. That’s how long they’ve been around.

On the appointed day, my wife and I drove to Brooklyn. We were greeted at the boys’ entrance by Felix, a church employee, who was very welcoming. Then my classmates started to arrive and, just like that, we were inside halls and classrooms that I hadn’t set foot in for over 50 years.

The little desks, the bathrooms with that industrial-cleaner smell, and the lovely pine-floored gymnasium; it was all there just as I’d remembered it. What a feeling. Plus they now have beautiful outdoor recreation spaces for the kids, with playground equipment and everything. Wish we’d had that!

One of the things I most remember about elementary school was when the school-wide sound system would squeak to life and make the following announcement: “Mr. Peters, please report to Room 201” or some other room.

This meant that someone had either peed their pants or threw up. Our long-suffering janitor, Mr. Peters, was no doubt a saint.

When I mentioned this to my classmates one of them, a lady, said she was the reason for many of those calls. She said at times she got so panicked by something or other that she just couldn’t help it.

If my classmate was that nervous and scared in school 50 years ago, imagine how today’s kids must feel with all the school shootings these days? It hurts to think about it. These poor kids.

After the school tour was over, we went across the street for a Catholic Mass. The kids of the school were all sitting together with their classmates, just like we used to do.

Towards the end of the Mass, the priest asked if anyone from the class of 1973 would like to speak. You could see my classmates’ backs stiffen; public speaking, for many, is that scary. However, I’ve been thriving in Toastmasters for so many years now that I love getting any chance to speak in public, so I got up there, having no idea what I would say.

As I looked out and saw that sea of young faces so full of potential, it was obvious I should talk about the benefits of a Catholic education.

I told the kids that at times they may find wearing uniforms (plaid skirts and white blouses for girls; white shirts, plaid ties, and black pants for boys) to be cumbersome; that they may find constantly being reminded to sit up straight, turn in their assignments, and keep in order to be trying; and that they may find the heavy academic workload to be unbearable at times, just as I and all my classmates did.

But then I told them, if they just kept up with it, I knew that I was looking at the next generation of doctors, engineers, lawyers, and other professionals. I told them to look at my fellow classmates and me as inspiration, because, if we could do it, so could they.

My speech was very well received. When you speak from the heart about truly good things, then truly good things happen.

After the Mass we all went out to dinner at a fine restaurant. Catching up with everyone after so many years was exhilarating. The food and friendship were both terrific.

Everyone said we need to get together again real soon. My plan going forward is to have some kind of a picnic in the summer. Many of my classmates now live on “the island,” so it’ll probably be in Nassau County somewhere.

But no matter where it is, I know we’ll all enjoy each other’s company and just reconnecting after all this time.

Many of my classmates, including my closest friends, could not be located despite scouring social media for hours. Others are no longer with us, which is to be expected of course since we’re all in our sixties now.

I wish I could get a handle on each and every one of us, and I’ll continue to try. But it’s just so great that we have this core group now. Many good times await us, I’m sure.

Putting together a 50th elementary-school reunion was a lot of work, but the results were outstanding. If you still have friends from grade school that you are in contact with, consider yourself lucky. Material things come and go, but long-time friendships are just priceless.

I’ve been doing a lot of things with all the free time I have now that I’m retired. Bought a couple of new guitars. Bought a Harley Davidson motorcycle. Founded the Guilderland Guitar Group. Even successfully pulled off a 50th reunion for my Class of 1973 grade-school classmates.

But I’d always talked about volunteering more when I finally had the time. Well, now I can report I am officially a member of the Guilderland Fire Department. That’s right, I’m the newest firefighter at the Guilderland Fire Department on Western Avenue.

I was driving by one day and the big flashing sign in front of the firehouse said “volunteers needed.” I’d seen that many times before, but that was when I was working full-time and raising a family.

Then, when the kids became adults, my wife’s parents and my parents all began a slow and steady decline. They all needed a lot of our attention. For a long time I was maintaining my in-laws’ house as well as my own. I honestly thought I didn’t have the time for anything extra, but I’ve learned now that wasn’t entirely true.

Tim O’Hara, a longtime member of Guilderland Fire Department, has been very helpful in bringing me on board. He told me that, when it comes to volunteering, most fire companies would gladly accept any amount of time you can give them.

You just do what you can do. Had I known that, I would have joined years ago. Well, better late than never, as the saying goes.

I actually have a history with GFD. They’ve been to my house at least three times. Once for hard-wired smoke detectors that refused to stop beeping (hint: check the backup batteries). Once when our carbon-monoxide detector went off. In case you don’t know, carbon-monoxide poisoning can kill you. That turned out to be a fireplace venting problem. Finally, I had them come when a propane barbecue tank was leaking. Very scary.

GFD comes when you need them; they are 100-percent professional and capable, and they do what needs to be done. To be a part of this organization now is just a dream come true.

Before I could become a member of the GFD, they had to do an arson background check on me. What’s that? Well, it turns out that the adrenaline rush of fighting fires is so addicting for some people that actual trained firefighters sometimes start fires just for the thrill of then putting them out.

This is why, if I had not spent a career in information technology, I would have gone into psychology or psychiatry, because you can never predict what people will do. I’m certain there’s never a dull moment in those fields.

Here is what I would tell a firefighter who craves adrenalin: Take all your gear — jacket, helmet, ax, air tank, etc. — and go talk to middle-school kids about firefighting. If a gymnasium full of sixth-graders hanging on your every word doesn’t get your adrenaline flowing, nothing will, haha.

To become a firefighter, you have to pass a basic physical exam, which I did. But there’s one thing I never knew about firefighting, which is you can’t have a beard or facial hair, other than a mustache.

This is because the gas mask you need to wear that provides breathable air from a backpack mounted tank must have a very tight fit in order to seal out smoke. Not only can’t I have a beard, but I have to shave every day now. I had been slacking off to shaving every three days in my retirement. The things we have to do to serve our community, haha.

Here’s something you may not know about firefighting. I certainly didn’t. Guess how much it costs to outfit a firefighter, including flame-resistant clothing, smoke-resistant mask, gloves (three different kinds), boots, and everything else? About $5,000.

So the next time the fire department sends out a fundraising letter, or when they offer Valentine roses, please do your part. Trust me, these men and women are very, very dedicated and totally deserving of all of our support.

I just went to my first Monday evening drill at GFD. What I saw there just about floored me. It involved Assistant Fire Chief Sean Smith, who had already put in a full day at his full-time job, performing a “bailout” exercise.

He did this two ways, both while wearing all his gear, including an air tank and gas mask. First he exited a second-story window, head first, while connected to a rappelling device. Once outside the window, he turned around and made it down the wall (two other firefighters held him on a “belay” rope for safety during this training, thankfully).

The second time, he came out of the window head first on a ladder. Then, while still on the ladder, he flipped himself upside down, which made him right side up, before descending. These were very athletic feats like you’d see at a ball game. Believe me when I say it. I was simply blown away.

Here’s how serious they are about safety at GFD. The ropes used in the above-mentioned training exercises can only be used so many times before they are discarded. This is to maximize safety above all else.

Talking about safety, the GFD building on Western Avenue is just huge. It is much bigger inside than it looks outside. Yet the whole place is as clean as a whistle, and it is a place where everything is in its place, stowed neatly and safely, ready for use at a moment's notice.

Believe me, as someone who spends wasted time looking for tools that I know I have, the level of organization and neatness at the firehouse is just through the roof.

When you see firefighters in a movie, it’s always a hunky guy taking a beautiful damsel in distress down a ladder. I always thought they did it this way because everyone likes looking at beautiful people.

But now that I’m a firefighter myself, it makes a lot of sense: The firefighter needs to be strong and, if the unlucky lady who needs to be rescued is a size 2, all the better. Just another reason for all of us to get in and stay in shape!

I’m finally a volunteer firefighter, in my retirement years of all things. Wow. Wish me luck.

Though I buy online like everyone else, I try to shop locally whenever I can. I like the idea of supporting my friends and neighbors. When they do good, their business does good.

When a business does good, it pays taxes that benefit us all. Truly, supporting local business is the way to go. Unless you have what happened to me recently, where you are forced to look elsewhere.

I’m lucky to have a carport to park my truck in. My large two-car garage is filled with my wife’s car, our motorcycles, and a lot of other stuff. So the carport works great to keep the truck out of the weather.

The only thing is, it is kind of narrow. And the truck mirrors stick out a lot. Can you guess where this is going?

I banged up my mirrors while backing up a couple of times, such that they needed to be replaced. I back up successfully 999 out of 1,000 times, but it’s that one time that is the problem.

I went to my local Ford dealer to order new parts. Because I do so much car and motorcycle work myself, I’m rarely at the dealership.

As I waited, I looked in the waiting room. It was filled with people sitting, staring at their phones in a daze, while a TV blasted up in the corner. Old crumpled magazines spilled over the low-slung tables.

There were plenty of vending machines, but I didn’t see any free coffee. The mood was, shall we say, pensive? All I know is, I’m glad I can do most of the work on my own vehicles.

My truck is a 2015 F150. Pretty common, as far as trucks go (the F150 has been the number-one selling vehicle in this country for over 40 years). That’s why I was surprised at how long it was taking to get me a price for new mirrors.

Truck mirrors just stick out so far. I know I’m not the only one who has to replace them. You would think they’d just be there in stock, ready to go. No biggie.

When the guy finally came back with the quote, even he was in shock.

“I don’t know what’s going on with these mirrors, but here’s the quote,” he said, as he handed me the computer printout.

Are you sitting down? The left-hand mirror was $400. And the right-hand mirror was $800. And these prices didn’t even include installation!

As I was in shock myself, my jaw literally hanging open, the first thing that came to my mind was not why are these mirrors so damn expensive, but rather, why was the right one twice the cost of the left one?

“Oh, I can explain that,” the counter guy said. “It’s because the right-side mirror has the temperature sender.

 OK, but still, this is for a pickup truck, right? It’s not like this is the temperature sender on the Voyager I and II spacecraft that, as you read this, are heading out into interstellar space at about 38,000 miles per hour. I mean, give me a break, these are only mirrors for a pickup truck.

So I told the parts guy I’d get back to him and went home empty handed. Again, I’m all about supporting local businesses, I really am. But I’m not about getting ripped off, either.

The prices I was quoted were just so egregious I had to figure something else out. Especially since my truck is due for its annual safety inspection soon.

A quick search on eBay found a listing from a company with a 99-percent approval rating. Of course, approval ratings can be faked, but at least it’s something.

This listing showed a pair of mirrors for my exact model and year of F150. The price? It was $112 for the pair, with free shipping. Yes. I put in my order, and a week later the mailman, bless his soul, lugged a large box up to my front porch.

Then I waited for it to finally stop raining. It’s been that kind of year. When it did, it took me all of a half-hour to remove the old mirrors and install the new ones.

These replacement mirrors look and function exactly like the original. So, as long as I pay better attention when I back up into tight spaces, I should be fine.

So consider: $1,200 at the dealer for two truck mirrors, and that price is without the installation labor charge, versus $112 from eBay that only took me a half-hour to install. Mama mia!

Note that I’m so busy in retirement having fun and finally getting to do things I never had time for before, that I even called my insurance agent to see if I could just put in a claim for replacing the mirrors. I mean, I’m paying the premiums; isn’t that what insurance is for?

He said because each mirror had been damaged at different times, it would be considered two separate “collisions,” each with a $500 deductible, and my rates would most likely go up as well. Yikes!

I’m used to working on cars, motorcycles, and just about everything else. I can’t do everything, but I have the tools and, most times, the patience to at least try.

So this fiasco actually worked out quite well for me. I was able to find the mirrors I needed online, and was able to install them myself, saving over $1,000.

But what if this had happened to, say, a single mother, or someone who doesn’t have the tools, the space, or the experience to work on their own vehicle? That is a lot of money they’d be out. That’s not good.

I don’t know what is going on at my local Ford dealer to result in these mirrors getting marked up so, so much. As I said, I do as much as I can myself, so I’m rarely at a car dealership parts counter or service counter.

But, if this is what it’s like having a dealership work on your vehicle, I guess I’ll be holding on to my tools a little while longer.

Supporting local business is great, but your local business has to support you as well.

So much going on in my new-found world of music. Let’s have an update.

About three months ago, I had a crisis of confidence with my guitar playing. I was playing, but I had the feeling I wasn’t playing correctly. As my only in-person music teaching had been group lessons, I felt the need to get some actual time with a good teacher.

My favorite online guitar teacher is Lauren Bateman. She has a school in Medford, Massachusetts, which is close to where my daughter lives, so I conveniently scheduled a private lesson on a weekend when I was visiting the grandkids. Combining things when traveling is always good.

When I got to the school, I was amazed by how clean and bright it is. The wall color is, I kid you not, “Kraft Macaroni and Cheese Orange.” The bright color and the ample lighting really worked well for me. How can you concentrate if you can’t see? I wish my own practice space was this well lit.

The teacher I had for the lesson — Lauren is so busy online that she can’t teach in private anymore — was a guy named Armand, who holds a degree from the Berklee College of Music. Armand was totally calm and professional, which is saying something around me, haha.

In only a half-hour, he showed me little things about my playing that helped so much. If I lived closer, I’d study with him, no doubt.

When I got back to Guilderland, I still wasn’t sure I was doing everything correctly, so I sought out a local teacher to get a second opinion. The thing with music is there are so many people who do it so well that you wonder why, if it looks so easy for them, it’s not so easy for you. At least that’s the way I look at it.

This time, my lesson was in a very cramped room in a local music store. I took out my guitar, tuned it up, and started playing.

After about three minutes, the teacher said, “Stop,” and then said this: “I’ve been teaching guitar for over 30 years. During that time, I’ve had many people walk through that door and, for one reason or another, I had to tell them that guitar was not meant for them. This is not the case with you. You are a guitar player.”

Wow, so great to hear that!

This gentleman showed me some very subtle alterations in technique that made a big difference in my playing but, more importantly, in my attitude and confidence. I should probably continue lessons with him, but I have so many great books and online resources to study from that, if I continue to practice, I think I’ll be fine on my own for now.

Speaking of practice, now that I am retired from work after 50 years, I have more free time, which is of course great. What is working for me now, and I would recommend this for anyone studying music, is to split the daily practice into two parts.

So what I do is a 15-minute morning session featuring warm-up, scales, strumming, and other purely technical exercises. Then I do another 15 minutes in the evening where I try to learn and play actual songs. Splitting the daily practice like this, if you have the time, helps make it seem less like a chore and more like fun.

Road-trip music

We just came back from a long road trip to visit my brother in Wisconsin. Thanks to my lovely wife’s extraordinary attention to detail and route-planning skills, I was able to squeeze in two really great music-related destinations that you should know about if you have any interest whatsoever in music.

The first place is the House of Guitars in Rochester, New York. It started out as a guy selling music equipment out of a dorm room in the seventies and is now a full-blown guitar lover’s destination.

There are two large buildings connected by a narrow stairway. The main building houses all kinds of musical instruments, mostly guitars, naturally. In fact, the walls are covered with the signatures of all the famous guitarists who have visited there.

They also have the world’s largest guitar amplifier, a Marshall, that has to be twice as tall as I am. As if all that weren’t enough, the other building has the largest collection of vinyl records and music CDs I’ve ever seen in one place.

It is just unreal and if you like to find old records or other recorded gems, this is, trust me, the place to go. I could have spent an entire day there, and I plan to return real soon.

The second place is Sweetwater in Fort Wayne, Indiana. This is the largest music retailer in the United States, and the sprawling campus is a must-see for musicians. It is so large it has separate rooms for every type of instrument, plus professional recording and production equipment, plus a music school and a full-service restaurant. The sheer amount of music-related activity that goes on there is astounding.

I had been traveling with a small acoustic “travel guitar,” which is essentially a three-quarters scale version of a normal guitar. It’s just easier to get in and out of hotels and restaurants with a smaller instrument (you never leave guitars in cars because the heat inside a sitting parked car can warp them).

As I was walking around Sweetwater, I couldn’t help but notice that they stocked Martin travel guitars. In the world of acoustic guitars, Martin stands alone for its quality and rich history.

Well, one thing led to another and I wound up trading and upgrading to a brand new Martin. It’s small but it sounds great. Having a quality instrument like this to travel with means I can keep up my practice when we go on the road. Hooray.

I have enough guitars, but I still lust after the Martin “Johnny Cash DX,” which is a reasonably priced replica of the original all-black guitar Martin employees made in secret for the Man in Black back in the day (Martin management until then had never made a black guitar).

I picked it up, asked for a pick, sat down on a stool, and, just like that, I was strumming and changing chords with ease. It was like magic, how good that guitar sounded in my hands. I probably should have bought it, but it’s always good to have something to wish for.

Guilderland group

If you’ve read this far, you just might have some interest in playing guitar. If so, then please join me on Thursday, Sept. 10, at 7 p.m. at the Guilderland Public Library for the inaugural meeting of the Guilderland Guitar Group.

This group is for local guitarists of all levels who want to learn and share tips and experiences about all aspects of playing guitar. Bring your guitar and be prepared to have a lot of fun!

Playing music after being a non-musician my entire life is awesome. I’m so glad I finally get to do it.

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