Tom Palen,a broadcaster, pilot, writer, and our Guest Columnist! Archives
October 2024
Categories |
Back to Blog
Duct Tape and Snickers9/25/2024 I've heard it, and I'm sure you have, too. If you and I have both heard it, then most likely everyone knows it, and if everyone knows it, it must be true: You can fix almost anything with duct tape.
Duct tape has saved many situations. I've repaired broken boxes and broken windows. I have wrapped duct tape around a blown-out shoe. I attempted to seal the breach in my britches until I could get to Toni's Alterations on Market Street for an emergency repair. I've even known people to hem their pants with duct tape. Although I have not done it, I've seen people attempt to stop a plumbing leak with duct tape. (Everyone knows that black electrical tape works better on water leaks.) I've used duct tape to fix my glasses when I didn't have white medical tape. Some paper towels and duct tape are just what the doctor ordered, or a sliced finger on a worksite. (Again, black electrical tape works better; it's more flexible on the finger, but I didn't have any.) Duct tape has been the primary fabric in many Halloween costumes. Although it doesn't bend well at the elbow, wrist, knee, or waist, duct tape has wrapped many mummies. (I wonder how they go to the bathroom.) Communities have held races where boats had to be made of cardboard, or milk jugs that had to be fastened with duct tape. Its list of uses goes on and on. I wonder how many pieces of furniture, in offices and at home, were held together with duct tape when the fabric gave out? Duct tape has been a big part of the upholstery industry since its invention. And how many boat, motorcycle, or snowmobile seats are duct taped at the seams? I've seen people who wouldn't have windows in their car or even a front seat to sit on if it wasn't for duct tape. Duct tape can fix anything. A guy often parked his car on Main Street in Ottumwa. If I remember correctly, the car always looked good to me; it was a blue Chevelle about a '67 model. The car had very distinct stripes on the side, like a rainbow of different colors in the shape of a Z from the back to the front of the vehicle. It always reminded me of the band ZZ Top's car. I wondered if the guy who drove the Chevelle was a 'Sharp Dressed Man?' I digress. One day, I got close to the car. It appeared to have rust holes that were covered with duct tape. Then, the whole car looked painted in blue latex house paint, probably with a roller! The stripes were made with colored duct tape! The guys did a great job; from across the street, it looked great. Another significant achievement for duct tape. Duct tape is quite possibly the greatest invention since aspirin and sliced bread, so of course, it was invented by a woman, Vesta Stoudt. Vesta was from Illinois, but I've seen a museum when passing through Avon, Ohio – the duct tape capital of the world. For all its attributes, duct tape cannot fix everything. For everything else, there are Snickers bars. "Packed with roasted peanuts, nougat, caramel, and milk chocolate, Snickers Candy handles your hunger so you can handle things that don't relate to hunger at all." In fairness, I did not write that line; I found it on a Snickers website, but I could have easily written it. I love Snickers. I figure a SNICKERS bar is like duct tape for the soul. Let me give you an example: I was shopping at the Aldi grocery store in Duluth. The young lady running the register looked like she was having a rough day. So, I picked up a SNICKERS bar at the checkout lane. After she rang up my groceries, I handed her the candy bar and said, "This is for you." She looked at me, somewhat puzzled, then asked me why? "You've been working hard, and I figured you deserve a treat on your break." "Are you for real," she asked. I assured her I was. "Here," I said, handing her my receipt. "You can have this to show your boss the Snickers was paid for." Then I smiled, "I just want you to know that your good work is both noticed and appreciated. Thank you." That's when the girl came flying around from the back side of the register. "I just gotta give you a hug, mister," she said, embracing me. "No one ever came through my line and thanked me for doing my job – let alone bought me a Snickers! I love Snickers!" The younger cashier, who was a few inches taller than me, continued to squeeze the stuffin' outta me. Now, you can put the stuffing back in and patch the hole with duct tape, but to get the stuffing out – you're going to need a Snickers bar. A similar situation happened just the other day at Target in Hermantown. Given the choice, I will take a live cashier over a self-check-out lane every time. That's what I did at Target. I was the fourth person in line, but the cashier, Isabelle, was moving along, getting people checked out and on their way. The customer Isabelle was helping was meticulous in loading and rearranging her bags into her cart and then moving toward the front door. As she finished with one customer, Isabelle greeted the next, "Did you find everything okay? Will you need any plastic bags today?" Isabelle rang up a couple of items and went to put them in a bag when she noticed the previous customer had set one of her bags back on the counter and left without it. The cashier called out, "Ma'am, you forgot one of your bags." The previous customer was a little older gal, but she moved as swiftly as I did and was near the door. Isabelle held up the bag, calling again, "Ma'am…" but the woman did not hear her. Isabelle grabbed the merchandise bag with cat-like reflexes and sprinted to the front doors. The automatic doors were already open for the lady when Isabelle caught up to her. The older lady looked puzzled and checked her cart. Then she smiled, accepted the bag, and went on her way. Isabelle rushed back to her register. I'm sure she felt good about what she'd just done – I would have. "I'm sorry about that," the cashier said to the waiting customer. But the customer seemed perturbed as if inconvenienced that she had to wait a moment. The expression one has after doing a good deed immediately left Isabelle's face. The next customer said nothing about the situation, so I picked up a Snickers bar. Isabelle greeted me, "Did you find everything okay? Will you need any plastic bags today?" She rang up each of my items and then reached for the Snickers bar. I held the candy bar, "Can you ring this up separately, please?" After I paid my bill, Isabelle rang up the Snickers bar and handed it to me with the receipt. I handed the Snickers bar back to Isabelle. She took the candy bar, asking, "Did you want that in a bag, sir?" "No," I said. "The Snickers bar is for you for doing such an outstanding job." Isabelle looked confused. Maybe she thought I was poking fun at her, but I was not. "It didn't bother me in the least bit to wait for sixty seconds while you ran that bag to the front door for that other customer." My comment caught her off guard. "Are you serious," she asked, looking at the Snickers. "Absolutely. I'm glad you did," I said. "A lot of people would have just tucked the bag under the counter 'in case' the lady came back, but not Isabelle." I smiled, "You went the extra distance, running the bag to the front door. The way that lady's face lit up, I could tell you made her day, and that made my day, too. So the Snickers is for you." Isabelle gasped, holding the Snickers bar in her hands over her mouth. She tried to say something, but nothing came out. I think she was getting teary-eyed, and I was too. Here, this kid was just doing her job; when something happened, she made a difference, making her feel good. Then her spirits got knocked down, and then no one noticed. With a simple Snickers bar, Isabelle's emotions shot right back to the top – where she deserves to be. Needless to say, I left Target feeling pretty swell. I do the Snickers bar thing at checkout counters quite frequently, and this was a good experience, but I have an even better story. You've heard stories where someone went to a garage sale, bought a picture frame for a couple bucks, then went home and found a million-dollar painting behind the ugly picture in the front of the frame. That kind of happened to me but in a different way. I almost tossed something that turned out to be very valuable. When we don't have immediate use for something, we tend to quickly deem it to be worthless and throw it in the trash. At least I do; it avoids clutter by doing so. Still, I hate throwing something away that might be used later. Especially something brand new. That was the dilemma I faced one day. Bear with me as I explain how this happened. When we remodeled our home several years ago, we put tile on the kitchen walls behind the counter. The additional ¼ inch thickness of the tile meant the ¾ inch bolts that come with an outlet would not be long enough. I would have to buy new one-inch bolts, and so I did. When installing the outlets, I couldn't bring myself to throw away the original bolts. Gosh, they're brand new, I thought to myself. So, I put them all in a small True Value paper bag...another item I kept since I was sure I would have use for it later. That particular day, I was cooking for the assisted living home in Silver Bay. On my break, I went home to look at the work I had completed in our kitchen. There sat that bag of bolts on the counter. I began debating with myself, and I was answering! "Just throw them away; you're never going to use them," I said. "I might someday," I replied. "They are worthless." I reasoned. "But what if I need one down the road?" I questioned. "You'll lose them before you use them; throw them away," I said, "Besides, they're eight cents. You can afford to buy one if you ever have a need. Avoid the clutter and toss them." I justified. "Okay, I will." I decided and walked the little bag to the trash can. As I lifted the lid, a light bulb appeared over my head. I had a brilliant idea. I slammed the plastic lid, took the bag, ran to my car, then drove into town. I went into Julie's Hardware with the small bag of bolts. Making my way to the back of the store, I figured I would find Julie working in her office. I picked up a specific item along the way. Standing in her doorway, I asked, "Are you in charge of negotiating deals today?" She answered with a curious and understandably skeptical look, "I don't know. What did you need? That's exactly what I wanted her to ask. I had rehearsed my sales pitch while driving to the store. I planned to move fast, making her an offer she couldn't refuse. "I have this bag of 6/32 bolts – ¾ inch long. They came with the outlets I bought for my kitchen, but since I installed ceramic tile, I needed longer bolts. I already bought the new bolts from you, but I don't want these bolts to go to waste." I took a big breath, then rushed back into my spiel. "There are thirty-five bolts in this bag. You sell this identical bolt for eight cents a piece, making this bag of bolts worth two dollars and eighty cents retail." I was talking fast, so she couldn't say no...yet. I held up the item I picked up along the way. "On your shelf, you have these snack bags of bite-size Snicker's bars, regularly priced at $1.79, currently on sale for just 79 cents. I am prepared to trade you this bag of bolts for one bag of Snicker's Bite-size candy bars." I finally stopped talking, awaiting her response. Still puzzled, Julie looked at me, then reached into the bag, pulling out a bolt to inspect it. "They're all brand new, ma'am; never had a screwdriver on them," I assured her, then went for the textbook style close. "I'm sure you can see this is a very attractive offer financially. What do you say? Do we have a deal?" After briefly examining the bolts, Julie looked at me and said, "Why not? Let's call it a deal." I thanked her, left her with the bag of bolts, took my bag of Snickers, and headed toward the front of the store. Passing the sale shelf, I picked up two more bags of bite-size Snickers. For just 79 cents each, I couldn't resist. At the front counter, I told the cashier I needed to pay her for two bags of candy. "What about the third bag?" Jesse asked. "Oh, I traded Julie a bag of bolts for that bag of Snickers. It was a good deal for both of us." I explained, adding, "You can call and ask her if you want." "That's okay, I believe you," Jesse replied. I paid her for my candy and left. On the way to my car, I was snickering to myself. (pun intended) I was going to throw those bolts away. Instead, I used them to net a bag of delicious bite-size candy bars - not just candy bars - Snickers bars! I patted myself on the back for a job well done. I drove back to the assisted living home. Two residents were sitting with guests, enjoying the nice weather. I approached them, opened the package, and extended it toward them, asking, "Snicker's bar?" "Oh wow, Snickers!" Said the first, reaching into the bag. "I'll have one." Said another. "Yes, please." Said the third. "No, thank you." Said the fourth, explaining, "I can't have peanuts." BAM! Three big smiles, just that easy. Inside, I offered a Snickers to the boss, co-workers, and residents. Most of them gladly accepted - resulting in lots of smiles. When just one tasty morsel was left in the bag, I asked the staff nurse if a particular resident could have one. "Sure." She said, "If she wants one, there isn't any reason she can't have one." I offered the last piece of candy to the lady. "What is it?" She wanted to know. "A little Snicker's bar," I answered. "A Snicker's bar? For me," She asked in a chipper voice. "Yep. It's for you," I said. She smiled as she took the last piece from the bag. "Thank you!" She said, "I like Snickers." Her beautiful smile blossomed from ear to ear when she put the candy in her mouth. It was very touching. I don't know if you've ever had the pleasure of seeing a 101-year-old woman smile that big, especially over something so simple, but let me tell you...it was a million-dollar smile if I've ever seen one. Come to think of it, everyone who took a piece of that candy returned a million-dollar smile. About sixteen pieces of candy were in my bag of bite-sized Snicker bars. That means my little bag of bolts was not worthless...in fact, it was worth about $16 million. I certainly got the better end of that deal, and you won't get that kind of smilage from a roll of duct tape. By the way, Vesta Stoudt, a woman, invented duct tape. Although I don't know who created the Snickers Bar, it must have been a man. There's a book called Women Are from Venus and Men Are from Mars; Snickers Bars come from Mars, and I think Snickers has done more for humanity than duct tape.
0 Comments
Read More
Back to Blog
Grand Slam9/18/2024 Living in a small town sometimes necessitates going to a larger city for products and services needed. In my case, the larger town is Duluth, Minnesota, about 60 miles south of Silver Bay; usually 140 miles round trip. With high fuel prices and the cost of operating a car these days, it's important to make trips to the city count.
On many of my recent trips to Duluth, I have failed to accomplish all the tasks I had planned. A few trips have been futile; some were my fault, and others were for reasons beyond my control. I was ready and due for a Duluth trip to go as planned and accomplish every task on my list for the day. In baseball terms, I was due for a grand slam! Just the other day, I had to travel to Iowa. My daughter Sydney called to ask if I could pick up Evelyn after school and stay with her until she got home from work. "Sure," I said. "I can do that." Getting Evelyn from school would mean leaving my house a little early and on time! Early is not my specialty, and I still had to pack for my trip to Iowa. For once in my life, I did not procrastinate; I loaded the van with a couple of hours to spare. "If I leave now, maybe I could donate blood today," I said. I also needed a haircut and an oil change, but there wouldn't be enough time for all of that. I pulled out of the driveway and called Memorial Blood Center – unfortunately, they had no open appointments. I was still very early and decided I could get a haircut and an oil change for the van; both were desperately needed. The Valvoline oil change shop is usually fast, but still, a bit pricey. I had a $25 off coupon, making them about the same price as the regular tire shop where I usually go. Pulling into the Valvoline Center, I saw only one car ahead of me. Awesome! I was in and out with plenty of time to get Ev from school. After getting Ev, we had over two hours to spend before Sydney got home from work. "Instead of going straight home, I'm going to drive by the blood center to see if I can get a walk-in appointment," I told my granddaughter. "What does that mean," Evelyn asked. "What do they do?" I thought momentarily, how do I explain this to a seven-year-old without being too graphic and scaring her. "Well, they poke my finger to get just a drop of blood to test and make sure I'm healthy." I explained. "And then, as long as I am healthy enough, they take one unit, just a small plastic bag of blood." "Why do they want your blood," Ev quizzed. "If someone is sick or has an accident and needs blood, a doctor will give them my blood so they can heal and get better. It's a really good way for me to help other people, and it's easy." Evelyn was very curious about this, "But how do they get your blood, Papa?" I simplified my answer, "They put a small needle into my arm. It has a tube that goes into the bag. When the little bag is full, they take the needle out, and give me a pretty bandage on my arm, and I'm done. It’s that easy." "Does it hurt," Ev wanted to know. "Not at all," I said. "You can come in and watch if you want." Evelyn wrinkled her nose, "No thanks, Papa. I'll just wait in the car." I replied. "It takes too long to wait in the car, but they have a nice lobby with chairs and couches. They have tables, too, if you have homework." While we drove to the blood center, Evelyn shouted, "Banana, banana!" Then she explained, "Whenever you see a yellow car, you're supposed to say 'banana, banana,' Papa." We shared a good laugh about that; I learn new things from this kid whenever I see her. (I honestly did not see a yellow car, but it wouldn't be the first time Evelyn spoofed me!) Ev waited in the car while I ran into the building to see if they could take a walk-in donor. "Absolutely," the lady said. I brought Evelyn inside to the waiting area. "Do you want to bring your backpack," I asked. "I'll be about forty-five minutes to an hour," Ev assured me she would be fine without it. I showed her the refreshment table. "You can grab a snack and something to drink while you're waiting." Ev was excited about that. After my short interview, I went to the lobby to check on Ev; she was fine but hadn't gathered any snacks yet. "I'm okay," she said. While in the chair donating, I checked to see how long the wait was for a haircut at Great Clips. "Ninety-five minutes?" By then, I would be done donating blood and be at my daughter's house, and Sydney would be home from work. So, I signed in online for a haircut after donating blood. I'm sure donating blood goes much faster for the donor than one waiting in the lobby. When the blood draw was complete, the phlebotomist asked, "What color bandage would you like today, Mr. Palen?" "It doesn't matter," I replied. "Whatever you have is fine." Usually, I chose a bright, loud color so people would know I gave blood, hopefully encouraging them to do the same. The phlebotomist wrapped my arm with bright yellow tape, and I smiled. I walked out to the lobby where Evelyn was waiting. Pointing to my yellow bandage, I said, "Banana, banana!" Evelyn and I shared a good laugh about that. I turned to the receptionist, "Did she clean you out of snacks," I jested. "Nope, she just had a bag of chips and a Gatorade," the lady said. I told Ev she could have another snack if she wanted one. She opted for a small package with two Oreo cookies. I suggested that Evelyn grab one more package of Oreos for Addison, who would also be home from school soon. In the car, Evelyn ate her Oreos. "Did you save the other package for Addie," I asked. Ev blushed. "I saved one Oreo for Addie." I laughed and told Ev to go ahead and eat the last Oreo; we'd get Addie a different snack after school. (Carb queen!) Back at the house, Addie got home, and soon after, Sydney arrived; she was earlier than anticipated, so I headed out for my haircut. Just as I got into the van, I received a text from Great Clips: "Come on in; we're almost ready for you." Perfect, they were also ahead of schedule. With a fresh haircut and clean oil, I headed south on I-35 for Iowa. I wasn't in any hurry, so I set the cruise at 70 mph and reflected on the day. Everything went smoothly, and I felt really good about donating blood – I always do. I did an inventory of what I set out to do in Duluth and compared it to what was accomplished: "Get Evelyn from school; check. Donate blood; check. Get the van's oil changed; check. Get a desperately needed haircut; check." I was pleased, "Hey, I got everything on the list done! Four items on the list – four tasks accomplished. I haven't been able to get everything on the Duluth list done lately. Then I smiled even bigger. "One trip to Duluth, with one job, to get Ev from school. But the bases were loaded with three more things to do. I swung hard and put it right out of the park; four points were scored. BAM! That's the grand slam I've been waiting for in Duluth!" It was a great drive to Iowa and I had a tailwind all the way.
Back to Blog
The ThermoMaven F-1 Turbo9/4/2024 Over the years, I have owned several different canoes. I bought my first when I was in my early twenties. It was a used, red Coleman-brand canoe with two paddles, I got it for a mere $40. Used Coleman canoes usually sold for over $100. I was so excited when I bought my canoe on that beautiful spring day that I failed to notice the red duct tape on the lower right side near the floor. As a matter of fact, I didn't notice the duct tape until my feet were getting wet on our maiden voyage. What a bummer!
I took the canoe home, removed the red duct tape, and revealed a two-inch gaping hole. I guess that didn't bother me so much, as I did not notice the same hole inside the canoe. (Red tape on a tan interior.) I cleaned the side of the canoe with lacquer thinner and covered it again with regular grey duct tape. (I was clean out of red.) But I was smarter than the snake oil salesman who sold me the watercraft; he applied his duct tape vertically. First, I applied duct tape vertically over the hole. Then, a second layer horizontally to streamline as the boat passed through the water. Pretty clever. The tape worked well for about thirty minutes in the water, and then my first mate (my dog Harry) said, "Dad, I'm getting wet." Time for a new plan, and I had an idea. I loaded the canoe into the back of my car: A 1970 Chevy Impala Kingswood Estate station wagon with real (fake) wood siding. With the seats down, the canoe would go in the back with only about six or seven feet hanging over the tailgate. I secured the canoe by tying it to the luggage rack on the car and fastened a red flag to the bow. I drove the canoe to Wapello County Tire to see my friend Gary Coberly. I told Gary about the duct tape repair and that it didn't work. "Duct tape will never hold water," Gary said. "Yes, I know that now," I replied. "So, what if your tire guy put a rubber tire patch over the whole?" "I don't think it will hold," Gary answered. "I considered that," I continued. "But what if we put a patch on the inside first and then another on the outside?" Gary was understandably skeptical. "I guess you can try it, but I don't think it will work." The tire guy agreed with Gary. "I don't think it will work," Todd said, "but it's worth a try." Todd didn't have a patch large enough to cover the hole, so he made two round patches from an old innertube. Each patch was large enough to overlap the hole by two inches. When Todd finished the repair, it sure seemed like the patch would hold. I went into the office to ask Gary how much I owed him for the repair. "Take it out and try it," Gary said. "And if you don't drown when the canoe sinks, come back and pay me nine dollars." We shared a good laugh about that. Harry and I launched the canoe in the largest lagoon in Ottumwa Park. We went fishing for two or three hours, and the patch was as water-tight as a frog's ears. (That's not exactly how the old saying goes, but you get the point.) The following day, I went to see Gary for two reasons: 1) to prove I was still alive and 2) to pay him the nine bucks I owed. Todd had successfully repaired the hole; the only problem was that it looked hideous, with a big black rubber patch on the red paint. Now that I knew the patch would hold, I began addressing the appearance. I went to O'Hara Hardware and bought two small cans of spray paint: red for the outside and tan for the inside. In my blissfully naive youth, I didn't realize there were so many different shades of red and tan, but it still looked better than the black circles. Harry and I enjoyed fishing in the canoe through the summer months. By fall, the patch was coming loose at the edges, allowing water to seep into the boat again. I placed an ad in the Wapello County Shopper, "Coleman canoe in excellent condition other than the big hole in the side. $25." A man showed up at my house and examined the canoe's hole. "Will you take $15," he asked. I quickly added the numbers: $40 for the canoe, $2 for duct tape, $9 for the patch, and $3 for paint. $51 total. "How about $20," I countered. The man handed me a twenty, and I helped him load the canoe into the back of his pickup. Over the next few years, I saw the man on occasion. He still had the canoe; he repaired the side properly with fiberglass and painted the whole canoe green; it looked very sharp! I only lost $31 on the old canoe, which was a good deal considering I used the canoe all summer long. I kept the paddles worth at least another $20; I would use them for my next canoe. But the next canoe was a long time in coming. I bought a new Kawasaki Jet Ski and several different fishing boats with motors and oars. The paddles sat in the garage – until I met my wife, Melissa. Melissa appreciated nature and the outdoors as much as I did. We were dating only briefly before I bought an orange Coleman canoe. My old paddles were in the water once again. On one of my most memorable dates with Melissa, we went to Lake Wapello. We paddled the canoe around the lake, enjoyed the scenery, and cast a few lines into the water. After fishing for a while, we enjoyed a nice picnic I had packed, then paddled to watch the sunset. It was a lot of fun. We enjoyed canoeing and soon upgraded to a brand-new 16' green Wenonah canoe. We looked at it together, and I bought it for Melissa's 30th birthday. She named the canoe The Green Pearl – a take-off from Captain Jack Sparrow's pirate ship, the Black Pearl. (Pirates of the Caribbean.) I sold the orange Coleman to my brother Dan, who still has the canoe at their lake house. Melissa and I moved to Minnesota and began paddling lakes and rivers with my Uncle John and Aunt Di. We were planning our first canoe trip into the boundary waters; the only problem with the Green Pearl was its weight; she weighed in at a hefty ninety-two pounds, which was very heavy for portaging the canoe (Carrying the boat over my head while transitioning through the woods from one lake to the next.) Uncle John found a good deal on a used Wenonah Kevlar canoe, an eighteen-footer weighing less than 50 pounds. The Kevlar canoe was also two feet longer than the Green Pearl, making it faster in the water. We bought the canoe and have been to the boundary water a few times; each time was a thrill. We kept the Green Pearl to let people use it when they would come to visit. In addition to the enjoyment of paddling canoes into the boundary water, the fantastic scenery, fishing, and wildlife, I also enjoyed cooking over a small, Coleman LP gas camp stove. We had some delicious meals. Melissa and I also enjoy grilling food at home and have owned a couple of gas grills. But they were cheaper grills and only lasted a few seasons – maybe four if we were lucky. We threw away our grill when we moved to Minnesota, unsure if it would survive the move. We would buy another grill once I built a deck at our new home. Melissa wanted a good grill this time, one that would last, but they were so expensive. My wife knew what she wanted. "A Weber Grill," I stammered. "Are you serious? Do you know how much those cost?" Melissa justified that a Weber would be cheaper in the long run because Weber grills are very well built, they last forever, and parts are still available for grills that are 30 years old. But still, the initial cost. "We should be able to sell the Green Pearl for about the same price as a new Weber Grill," Melissa suggested. I wouldn't say I liked the idea of selling the Green Pearl. It was our first brand-new canoe, and we purchased it together as a couple. But the Green Pearl wasn't being used enough to justify keeping it either, so I agreed. We ran an ad and sold the Green Pearl (in excellent condition, with no holes) to Owen, for almost enough to buy a new Weber Grill. Melissa wanted a green grill, but they were hard to find. Shortly after we started looking, Faron from Julie's True Value Hardware called me. "They just got three green Weber's in the warehouse in the model you want," Faron reported, "But they won't last long. Do you want me to order one for you?" "Yes, please," I said. "But mums the words – I'm going to surprise Melissa with the new grill for her birthday." Melissa and I were leaving town for her 36th birthday weekend of camping and canoeing. I arranged to have Faron deliver the grill to our house and put it on the new deck. "There are no steps yet," I told Faron. He assured me he could get the new Weber Grill on the deck. When we returned home from our trip, Melissa was ecstatic to find a brand-new, shiny green Weber grill on our deck, for her birthday. Now, all I had to do was work on my grilling skills! Over the years, I have learned the art of searing meat on the grill. I've also learned the purpose of those little round knobs on the front panel and the consequence of trying to cook meat on high from start to finish. I was getting better, but there was still much room for improvement. Finally, I bought a meat thermometer. The meat thermometer was a great help, but difficult to use. I would probe a chicken thigh or steak, but by the time the thermometer gave me a reading, it was uncomfortably hot holding it over the grill. There had to be a better way. I looked at thermometers that probe the meat being cooked and give a constant remote digital readout. I didn't care how many chickens got blackened or steaks charred; I was not going to lay out the kind of cash they wanted for a remote gadget. I had seen ads for instant readout meat thermometers. I was skeptical and, again, not willing to part with a C note and a half for a meat thermometer. One day, I saw an online advertisement for an instant thermometer priced at just $59. That got my attention. I searched for the same brand name and looked for customer reviews, which were mostly good. Of course, once you've searched for an item, you will be bombarded with advertisements for similar products. One day, an ad appeared: a digital meat thermometer for only 39 dollars. "It must be junk," I said, but I still researched the brand for reviews. They seemed to be all good. A few days later, I saw an advertisement for the same brand: a Thermomaven F-1 Turbo for just $9.99 with free shipping! Wow! "Even if it is junk, I've wasted more money on dumber things," I said as I entered my card information. When the thermometer arrived, I couldn't wait to try it; I went to Zup’s Foods and bought ribeye steaks. I showed the new gadget to my wife. "It's a Thermomaven F-1 Turbo," I boasted. "It will read a temperature in a half second. Melissa rolled her eyes. Hmfph. "We'll see if she's still rolling her eyes when I grill some perfect steaks!" I checked the temperature of the cold steaks: 45°. I seasoned the meat and let it warm to room temperature, 65°. I seared the steaks and then reduced the temperature, turning them every few minutes. I checked the temperature several times while grilling the steaks, and finally removed them at 150°. I covered the steaks with tin foil, allowing them to rest. The final meat temperature was 162° - I was impressed by how the device gave me a temperature within a split second. "This thing is pretty cool," I said. The steaks were excellent! I put chicken on the grill the next night to ensure it wasn't just a fluke. Perfect chicken, too! I wanted to test the Thermomaven F-1 Turbo even more – for accuracy. I let the cold water run for a few moments, 52°. I poured a refreshing cup of cold water; no ice was needed. Next, I heard the buzzer sound off on the dryer. I ran to the basement and probed the clothes. 177° on low heat, but the readout was slower. I adjusted the heat setting to high and rechecked the clothes after 20 minutes. The F-1 Turbo was again reading more slowly but eventually, after poking the laundry several times, it climbed to 198°. “That’s not much difference,” I concluded something must be wrong with the dryer. Later that day, I noticed the sleeves on my flannel shirt felt a little shorter, and several pin holes were in one of my good T-shirts. Oops. I should not check the laundry, but I couldn't help myself. The wet clothes coming out of the washing machine were 63°. I was unstoppable! I went out in the yard poking the probe into the ground about one inch; it was 68° in the morning, but by 2 p.m., the sun warmed the surface soil 72°. I checked the soil temperature in one of my potted apple trees; it was 75° and a little dry, so I would give it a drink of cool water. Water from the garden hose sitting in the sun was 138°- too hot for the apple trees, but after running for a bit, the water cooled to 62°. The apple trees appreciated the drink. That night, Melissa was going to make a cup of tea. Once the tea kettle began whistling, I checked the steam; it was 240°, but the water poured into a cup only showed 228°. I wonder why that is? I made a cup of tea for myself using the microwave for 1:40 seconds, my water was only 167°. Did you know popcorn can exceed 300° when cooked in a silicone popcorn maker? Man, I was on a roll! I placed the probe under my arm; I was only 92 °, but I registered 96° under my tongue, which is about one degree lower than usual. Who's to say that the other thermometer is accurate? Frozen fruit in the freezer was 1°, but the Bridgeman's Salter Carmel Espresso ice cream was only 14°. I wonder if that's like flooring? A ceramic tile floor will always feel colder barefoot than a wood or carpeted floor in the same house. Our Weber grill is already ten years old, and works perfectly! Impressive. I’ve also been thoroughly impressed with my Thermomaven F-1 Turbo; I would recommend a Weber Grill, and a Thermomave F-1 Turbo one to anybody. “What are you doing,” Melissa asked. “I’m trying to check the inside temperature of the Weber grill when it’s in the sun, but not running.” "Will you put that thing away?" Melissa quickly tired of me checking the temperature of everything in sight. Nova Mae and Edgar Allan have been staying closer to my wife lately. Again, I wonder why. |