Lederhosen braces

Since taking up leather tooling, my husband, Hank, has come up with more crazy unique ideas than I thought possible.  It all started quite innocently with belts and can coozies that were handed out by the thousands this past Christmas.  Simple keychains led to talk about cuffs, collars, corsets and wouldn't the guinea pig love some Viking-styled armor?  Maybe just a helmet and a saddle...?  I knew I had to redirect this creative energy to a more useful end (only, if for no other reason than, to spare the poor guinea pig), hence, the suggestion of traditional Lederhosen braces.  If Hank would supply the braces, I would supply the Hosen.

Leather tooling :: the possibilities!

Small, unassuming metal stamps have been taking over my house for the past two months.  And there seems to be a direct correlation to the number of hours that Mr. Schimstock has spent sitting at the dining room table.  Yes, Folks, you've guessed it.  Hank has a new hobby.

DIY: Steampunk keychain

This past Christmas one of my friends on facebook posed a question regarding homemade gifts.  She wondered if they were still appreciated in this day of "money can buy anything."  What if they weren't exactly your style?  Or if they were done a bit shabbily or resembled a doorstopper (like the fruitcake I've been gifting for the past couple of years)?  The resounding answer was YES!  It seems that home-sewn or -crafted or -baked goods are always appreciated for the time and effort the Giver puts in.  And as a Giver of so many homemade things over the years (dishtowels seem to be my favorite here and here),  I'd have to agree.  The gift doesn't need to be extravagant, just sincere.  Homemade gifts require a bit more forethought, more understanding of the Recipient.   To that point, I thought I'd share a small gift that my daughter made for my husband.

Bonneville or Bust

"It's official!  Hank and I are headed off on a second honeymoon.  Next month we'll be married for 15 years.  Our first honeymoon was out to South Dakota.  We did all the required stops; the Corn Palace, Wall Drug..."

 And so began the post that I drafted over a month ago!  

Well, today I'm on the other side of that trip, and I can tell you, it was not a bust!  Back in mid-August, we waved goodbye to the children, pointed the Chevy west, and drove a total of 4200 miles to a height of 11,353 feet.  We walked the hallowed salt of Bonneville Speedway, and Hank got the bug.

I, on the other hand, basked in the sun with my new Salt Flat Dress.

This was one of those last minute sewing projects that was finished en route.  Literally, I was sewing on the buttons while we drove through Wyoming (I-80 is very dull; I do recommend some handwork).  I wanted something in cool cotton and easy to wear.   

Jetpack Test Flight #1 : Success!

You read that right.  I said jetpack.

A couple of summers ago, Mr. Hank Schimstock (shown above) stumbled across a three-fer deal of Electrolux vacuum cleaners at a rummage sale.  One he generously polished up, and I use it for my housework.  The other two went in the barn and proceeded to get lost in amongst the thrifted furniture and swapmeet car parts.  He joked that they would be perfect for a jetpack.  I rolled my eyes and forgot about the whole thing.

Fast forward to last month when the Oshkosh Public Museum put out a facebook call for any and all ray guns in the Greater Wisconsin area.  Ray guns?  This warranted more investigation.  Come to find out that they are busily working away on a Steampunk Exhibit scheduled to open this summer.  They were asking for masterfully crafted guns to be submitted for consideration.  I forwarded it on to Hank as a 'here might be fun project' idea.  Well, let me tell you, the whole thing has exploded.

Engine Specs and Emotional Strings Included

Because my husband, Hank, is too modest to toot his own horn, I shall toot it for him.  Or rather...I will toss aside the cheap, little, tooty horn that says, "Hey, look what I can do," and grab my 1937 sax which in my mind embodies the sultry, sexy years of smoky, nightclub, jazz band playing that regrettably eluded my youth and honk out some ear-splitting, God-awful noises like you've never heard before.  It's been many years since I've played, but I'll embarrass myself in front of the world just because it needs to be done.  I love my husband.  I love his car.  And here's her story.

Chapter One:

Original 216 Straight Six with 3-Speed Transmission on the Column

Hank bought the 1950 Chevy in our second year of dating during college.  It was the classic story of Boy seeing Car lost among the hedgerows of the farmer's field.  By combining his tax return that year with a little savings from his Ramen and hotdog grocery budget, Hank was able to save up the $500.  The farmer towed the car out of the mire.  Hank put on *new* tires, freed up the brakes, and we drove it 100 miles across the state, literally.  It made the trip without incident.

Chapter Two:

305 V8 Small Block Chevy with Turbo 350 Automatic Transmission

In those first few months of ownership, Hank yanked the engine and upgraded to a small block Chevy.  Because of this habit of his, I automatically assume most Greasemonkeys replace the original engines of their hot rods as a matter of course, but I've learned over the years that this is not necessarily the case.  Nevertheless, Hank and I were happy to tool around our college campus in the Chevy, mostly still stock except for the engine. At times this was the only car that Hank had running, driving it well into December one year until funds were available to patch together his '86 Blazer.  But we were proud to use the Chevy when we married just after graduation.

Chapter Three:

350 V8 Small Block Chevy with Turbo 350 Automatic Transmission

During those early years of marriage, we lived in an apartment near my parents' home.  Hank stored the Chevy in my dad's barn and there swapped in yet another engine.  This time a slightly larger small block.  It was also in that 100 year old dairy barn which had been converted into a auto garage that Hank finally turned his attention to the rest of the car, most notably the exterior.  Or rather I should say it was outside of that barn where the exterior saw its first paint job.  Dad didn't want paint on his new concrete floor so Hank stripped the chrome, masked and papered and learned to use a spray gun outside, picking a day when the breeze was at its lightest and the bugs at their least energetic.  At last the Chevy was sloughing off those years of cornfield dirt and really feeling like a kid again.

Chapter Four:

350 V8 Small Block Chevy with Turbo 350 Automatic Transmission

and Twin Turbochargers

Twin turbochargers?  I understand very little of this new upgrade, but know only than it had never been done before in Pasturelands.   It was a brilliant manipulation of pvc and shoehorning; a sheer wonderment to anyone who dared opened the hood out of disbelief.  The Chevy was stretching her legs, breathing fire through those turbos, and she was much faster.

Chapter Five:

350 V8 Small Block Chevy with Twin Turbochargers

 and 700R4 Overdrive Transmission
with Multi-point Fuel Injection

In amongst those years we spent becoming adults, finding real jobs and carving out our roles in society, Hank continued to upgrade, to tweak, to dare.  I think the official reason for the overdrive trans was to improve the fuel economy.  But more likely someone told Hank he couldn't do it.  With that upgrade, the Chevy was now even faster, and we could admit with a smile that our unassuming, Grandpa car was a 'sleeper.'

Chapter Six:

Gen III 5.3 liter Chevy with Twin Turbochargers

 and 700R4 Overdrive Transmission
 with Multi-point Fuel Injection

And this next progression is evidence that when a young couple does not have children, money flows into all sorts of ridiculous avenues.  What are we up to here?  The fourth engine and the sixth configuration?  The Chevy was scarey fast now, and Hank spent a lot of time in the garage tuning it all in.  But as for me, I was disillusioned with my 9-to-5 and decided that it was time to (A) buy a house and (B) start a family. 

Chapter Seven:

350 Small Block Chevy with 5 speed Manual Transmission

 At last the Chevy settled down out of its own riotous youth and became the car that our children have lovingly referred to these past years as "the Big Red Car."  Today, with her small block and 5-speed, she's finally come into her own and embodies that quiet confidence that only comes after years of self-exploration.  But do not make the mistake of thinking that she allows those barn cats to walk over her hood from lack of pride.  It is now, more than ever, that she has secured her place in the garage.  

 

 After years of concentrating on only the mechanics of the Chevy, it was finally time to spruce up the exterior again.  So this time, in his own barn, spraying paint on his own floor, Hank masked and papered and laid out black scallops across the front clip, on the rear fenders and roof line.

 The Chevy continues to make the rounds to all the Midwest car shows and provides a snazzy backdrop whenever I decide to play the pin-up.  Indeed, the Chevy is recognized more quickly than Hank himself, as happens when you frequent the show circuit.  At these events, drivers remain anonymous while their hot rods are fondly remembered for their sleek lines, sumptuous interiors or, in our case, the fact that many spectators saw this very same Chevy on a grocery run at Piggly Wiggly just last week.

And even with that mild 350 small block, she held her own, pulling a 15.042 second quarter-mile at 92 mph down at Union Grove last summer. You should have seen her driving back home from the track, prouder than all getout. 

In fact she's so secure in herself that she occasionally brings home our new projects.  No rivalry.  No jealousy when our heads are turned by new hot rod prospects.  Here she's towing home our 1930 Model A sedan from Illinois.  And Hank would like me to point out the fact that, yet again, a Chevy is pulling a Ford.  Loyalties run deep around here.

 On other weekends the Chevy's content to pull our '68 Scotty for family camping trips.  We haven't ventured much outside of Wisconsin, but the Grand Canyon is calling. 

In fact we've put car seats in her since the kids were tiny.  They love riding in the back because basically it's like sitting on the couch, and the view out all that expansive glass is much better than in our other cars.  Only on the rare occasion when Hank decides to leave a little rubber on the road, and the cabin fills with smoke to the point that you can't see who's sitting next to you, do the children complain a bit.  But then on the other hand, I've been asked more than once why my car can't go as fast as Dad's.

 Really we treat her like a workhorse on some days, whether it's hauling the canoe to the beach...

 ...hauling the grill to the picnic...

 ...hauling the Christmas tree home...

 ...or hauling nearly 3000 pounds of unprepped, heavy metal in a 1000 pound trailer to the scrapyard.  Only once, in all the sixteen years that we've owned her, has she broken down and had to be towed.  I didn't take a picture that day.  It almost made me cry.  

Our other hot rods have come and gone.  We traded that Model A for my Ford Shoebox, and I have to admit that I'm more attached to the Chevy simply because of the emotional investment over all these years.  Once in a while, Hank reminds me that when the Chevy was pulled from that farmer's field, he wasn't looking for long-term commitment.  The Chevy wasn't his idea of the perfect hot rod; it was just an opportunity.  But even so, we've never considered trading her.  She's stood the test of time; she's become a member of the family.  I told Hank years ago that selling her is simply not an option anymore.  I'd rather park her in the barnyard and let the kids play in her. 

But knowing Hank, as only a lucky few do, the Chevy will be reincarnated, engine after engine, paint job after paint job, new frame, new interior, whatever it takes.  Hank has been the only one to work on her all these years, proudly doing every inch of the mechanics, electrical and bodywork.  Sometimes he was learning as he went, but being the protective parent, he never passed her off to someone else's care.  After all, she has yet to drive Route 66.  She's yet to run at Bonneville.  Yet to put all those pompous limos to shame at our son's prom.  Yet to park outside the church at our daughter's wedding.  So watch for her at the car shows or heading West across the Plains because the Chevy ain't done yet.

The Infamous Leg Lamp

Yes, it's true.  The infamous Leg Lamp from A Christmas Story has come to reside in our living room.  Of course, we all laugh at the movie, but when Hank and I stopped laughing and he looked at me with a glimmer in his eye, I knew what was coming.

Let's examine the facts:  (1) Our farmhouse is decorated with mostly 1940s furniture.  (2) The picture window faces the road.  And to top it all off (3) I have this perfect Eastlake table from Grandma...there was really no question as to what to do. 

Now if you know anything about us, you know that we rarely go buy exactly what we want; we have to make it ourselves.  So Hank bought a leg off ebay, shopped for heels at Goodwill, made the wooden base, wired the electrics, and glued fringe on the shade.  My contribution was the stocking which leaves me with one orphan in my drawer, but then I never wore fishnets very often. 

And with a little bit of embroidery floss, Hank added the extra touch of a back seam.  I don't think this is per the official movie version, but then that 's the fun of making it yourself!

If this lamp was in any other house, it would look like a gag, a bad joke, I would even venture to say trashy.  But somehow, perhaps because of the wooden base, the fringed shade, it works all too well in our living room.  And I'd be lying if I said I didn't like it.  So we'll leave the lamp for the duration of Winter, and probably put it away when I freshen up the house in Spring.  That is if the neighbors don't complain sooner.

Gyros off the Grill

My husband, Hank, is one of those type of guys who can fix a 1939 Electrolux and re-upholster a Mission Oak armchair in the morning, shear a few sheep after lunch, and still have enough energy left to whip up supper on the grill.  Honestly, he makes me look bad.  But that relentless work ethic keeps the Homestead humming right along, and I wouldn't trade him for anything.

This weekend Hank put together homemade gyros using our lamb and veggies from the garden.  Eating as much lamb as we do, I'm starting to think that we should trade in a few of our ewes for dairy sheep so we can make our own feta.  But don't say anything to the Girls.  Not just yet!

He started in the kitchen, making light rye pita bread from scratch. The dough raised while he wrenched on the '51 Oshkosh truck in the barn, hence the dirty work clothes.

Then it was out to the grill.  Seasoning the ground lamb with oregano, rosemary, basil and salt, he grilled the patties and "baked" the bread.

Sadly, only a couple of the pitas puffed up into pockets so we let the kids have them.  But nothing can beat warm bread, no matter how you fold it.  This was a perfect meal, fresh off the farm!

Classic Hollywood

Last month Hank and I decided to clean the dirt out from under our fingernails and don our Sunday best for a Classic Hollywood photo shoot at Darkbloom Imagery.  The studio is owned by Lolita Haze.   Having years of burlesque and pin-up experience in front of the camera, Lolita realized that she had a lot to offer by being behind the camera as well.  She has a great eye for detail and is able to capture an authentic Hollywood look.  Think back on Cary Grant and all his leading ladies.  Remember the intensity and romantic nature of their glossy, publicity shots?  Almost like you were peeking in on a private moment caught between too lovers?  That was the look and feel that Hank and I were after.  There are many photographers who can take pretty pictures, but we wanted a timeless photo, taken from the pages of Look magazine, circa 1948.  Well, okay, we were a little flexible on the exact year, but you know what I mean.

And we did a few solo shots as well.

It was a very fun afternoon.  Hank even admitted that he had a good time, trying not to snicker while gazing adoringly into my eyes and commenting between shots on how we needed to buy more grain for the sheep.  You can take the farmer off the homestead, but you can't...you know!  So now we have some beautiful photos to look back on in our Golden Years, proof that we were young once.  Proof that our farming days weren't completely spent covered in hay chaff and hauling wood.  It was fun to feel glamorous for a little while!

Hunnert Car Pile-Up

2011 marked the Tenth Anniversary of the Hunnert Car Pile-Up.  Sadly it also marked the end.  After ten years of cars, music and slicked back hair, the Chrome Czars are packing up their toolboxes.  This show helped define "traditional hot rod shows" across the Midwest.  These guys knew what they liked and weren't afraid to put it out there.

Photo taken by Jay Crasper

Photo taken by Chuck the Barber

The hot rods that came to this show were unique in that they (1) driven there by (2) the guys that built them.  A fair number of the cars (3) were in primer, and (4) we liked them that way.  The guys (5) respected the work that went into each car even if it wasn't their personal taste.  And each year, you could (6) count on making new friends.

This show isn't about trophys and who has the best car.  It's about the lifestyle.  It's homage to a generation that took what was cheap, modified it to go faster and hit the streets with their best girl.  Traditional rodders learn from each other, make their own parts and make it their own.

Ms Metal's custom '53 chevy

Even the ladies are into the scene.  Several girls wrench on their own cars, and those who don't are rediscovering an era of pearls and curls that make a girl feel like a girl.

 

Photo taken by Wrenchin' Wendy

If a traditional hot rod show comes to a town near you, don't be scared off the by amount of tattoos and black tee-shirts.  These folks are great people.  And I guarantee that when you walk on the grounds, you'll feel a vibe like you've never felt at other car shows.  There's a rockabilly energy in the air that'll get into your blood.

Hank and I have been going to Hunnert for many years and other shows like it.  It's just too much fun to pass up.  And like I said, it's a lifestyle.  It starts with taking your classic car out for more than just a Sunday drive.  Next thing you know, none of your kitchen appliances date later than 1960.  Happy Motoring!