Got a fish plate cut out (called such because it is supposed to be shaped like a fish with no straight lines that'll promote new frame cracks) and bolted up into place. Welding it in would have been so much easier, but those in the know say not to as it'll crack again. Bolts are the answer. Flanged frame bolts. There were a few pre-drilled holes in the frame, courtesy of Mack Co., but the rest I had to drill. Not a simple task drilling 1/2" holes thru 3/4" steel, but with a cobalt drill bit, slow drill speed and lots of squirts of oil I managed. I was on the home stretch, with the clock calling 5:15 when the barn phone rang. My friend, Gary. I didn't really want to talk, but he needed to. So we did, a discussion about our church's stanch on accepting people to workshop who are gay or lesbian. This conversation ate up my remaining time I had before I needed to go pick up my son, Soren.
As I walked away from my almost-finished frame repair (one bolt left to drill and then put the wheels back on), I felt frustrated. The walk back up to the house fixed that. I reflected on what was interrupting me from "my work:" my friend, Gary, who would help me in any way he could by my just 
asking, a thoughtful conversation about how Jesus' most important message was to love each other (the greatest of these is love) and then, lastly, my five-year-old son, Soren. The truck is a thing, just a thing. Ultimately, all we got on this journey is each other. My job--no, my reward--is that.
asking, a thoughtful conversation about how Jesus' most important message was to love each other (the greatest of these is love) and then, lastly, my five-year-old son, Soren. The truck is a thing, just a thing. Ultimately, all we got on this journey is each other. My job--no, my reward--is that.
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