Error F3

Wow, that was a hot one yesterday. It actually hit 36.6C (97.9F). For Manitoba, late August, that's pretty warm.

But, in spite of the heat, I managed to get two more jars of dill pickles made . . . before the stove officially cacked, died, bit the big one. And it really is my fault.

See, a few days ago, when we turned on the stove, it started heating up, and then it started beeping. And beeping. The little digital window showed an F3 error. Well, I, in my arrogant brilliance, knew what to do. I googled it. And, according to some anonymous dude on an anonymous site, F3 meant my sensor was toast. All I had to do was replace it. 

And, being a fairly handy guy, I knew I could do it myself. So, I took the back off the stove, unplugged and removed the sensor and headed to the local parts shop. Got myself a new $70 sensor, headed home, installed it, done! Zippadeedoodaday!

Now, I should point out that I installed it correctly. That was not my error. My error was not a technical one, but a spiritual one. Quite biblical in nature actually. It was pride. And, as we all know, Proverbs 16:18 warns that "Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall."

But I was feelin' pretty good about myself and my handyman skills. I bragged to Neomom about how much money we'd just saved as a result of my brilliance. I praised the Internet and suggested the computer had paid for itself through this and several other home repairs I've been able to pull off without having to call in an expensive expert. I may even have suggested putting an ad in the yellow pages and making a fortune. Yep, my handyman skills and Google. Match made in heaven. 

My spirit may have been a tad on the haughty side.

So, the destruction, the fall. Yesterday, I turn on the stove to sterilize my pickling jars. BEEP . . . BEEP . . . BEEP. Error - F3.

So, back to Google. And, sure enough, there were other possibilities for the F3 error. And, having now replaced the $70 sensor, I was left to conclude that it was more likely the $300 to $500 control panel. And I confirmed that with a qualified professional, live, in person, not on the internet.

Anyhoo, today I'm oven shopping.

Have a great Thursday.

P.S. That biblical quote did not come from memory. I googled it. So if it's wrong, don't blame me.

Size Matters

At the request of my beloved spouse, I have toned down today's post.

I'm six kinds of pissed off today. There are a few things that will really get my goat. The look on my wife's face this morning is one of those things.

As most of you know, Neomom is a police officer. She's been with the RCMP now for more than 8 years and is currently working through Forensic Identification apprenticeship. It's what she's always wanted to do.

And part of that experience is a new uniform. Cargo pants instead of the traditional yellow stripe; navy blue shirt instead of the general duty light blue. And navy coveralls for crime scenes. It is a really nice, smart-looking uniform - one to be proud to have earned the right to wear.

She was looking forward to earning and wearing these items. As with most paramilitary style training, these things are not given for free. From the time she entered the training academy in Regina eight years ago, she's had to earn every item, from the street cop uniform to the red serge, stetson and boots that are recognized around the world.

And the forensic ident uniform is no different. She's been through a two-week assessment in Winnipeg and an intense two-month course, away from family and friends, in Ottawa. She's passed every test and is working hard, very hard, to complete her apprenticeship. She's sacrificing valuable time with family, just like every other officer in the program.

To get here, she spent seven years on the streets. She's fought with men, come home with a black eye, been involved in high-speed chases, saved at least one life and done it without complaint or commendation.

So yesterday morning, when she tried on her forensic ident uniform, the look on her face hurt me. It hurt me because she was swimming in the material— and that's after it was tailored.

She's not a big girl and the uniform that you sent her (the smallest available) was even big for me. The pants, the shirts, the coveralls - all about eight sizes too big. Clearly made for a man, and not a small man at that. The uniform she worked so hard to earn, the one she wanted to wear with pride, looks like a clown costume. And it hurts her and, by extension, it hurts me and pisses me off.

She's jumped through the same hoops as every other RCMP member, and maybe a few more due to her size. But she'll never complain about it.

But bless it, I will. The RCMP is employing qualified women as well as men. It's time the uniforms caught up with this enlightened policy. You want pride in the uniform? Then supply one that fits, dammit. You've done it with the serge, I suspect, because the public will see that one in Canada Day parades, at Remembrance Day gatherings, at the Olympics, on parade in Ottawa. Time to pony up and do the same for the ident section. What you apparently fail to realize is that she has as much pride in the ident uniform as she does in the serge. She's earned them both, you taught her to respect them and to be proud wearing them.

We're not talking about a size or two off. We're talking about equipment that, even when extensively tailored, still makes her look like a little girl playing dress-up in daddy's clothes. That's just blessing insulting to the work, the effort, the study and the sacrifice that's been put forth by my wife.

Get your blessing poopy together and respect your members. No matter what size they are. It's the right thing to do. She's put up with enough poopy just being female and just being the size she is. But she's not one to play the sex card and she's passed all of your blessing tests with flying colours. She's done the job. She's no better than any other RCMP member, but she's no worse and she deserves the same consideration as her larger counterparts. Show some motherblessing respect and find a supplier who can do the job, for all of the members. Not just the big ones.

You took what was supposed to be a proud moment and turned it into humiliation. Bless you. Bless you. Bless you. I can't properly express my anger, disgust and indignation beyond that. There are not many rewards in this first year of the ident program. It's described by those who have been through it as "the year from hell." You managed to thoroughly bless up the one small light in the long dark tunnel. If she was the litigious, complaining sort, you blessers would have a real problem on your hands. But she's not. Count your blessing blessings (the second one is actually "blessings"), get your poopy together and do what's right.

Okay, back to Peace on Earth, Good Will

and all that good stuff.