Braking training

Today I fixed my brake pads. Being me, I am, of course, incapable of fixing them without in fact creating more worries about how I fixed them.

In this instance, I have these shims on my brake assemblies. The pads line up on each disk, one to a side. Each shim goes on the assembly mount (one at twelve o'clock, one at 8 o'clock) and the ends of the two brake pads ride on them, sliding into and away from the disk.

So. New pads. New shims? Or no shims? I had no shims on the rear pads and one rusted solid and gouged my disk into Replacementland.

I installed the shims. Tomorrow, I will look at them, and take them out, most likely. Then I will drive around a bit and see if I like them like that.

And the next day, I will probably put them back. I am someone's wife, always rearranging my furniture, only I do it with car parts.

I accepted an invitation to go to Baptist Keith's church. (I should note that he actually goes to an interdenominational church.) Actually, I should go home so we can talk about it. He was thinking about accepting the mailman's invitation to his church. Also, I need to impress upon him that my Church background is pretty much vanilla and non-Evangelical.

I used to think I was Congregationalist; this was based on rather hazy memories of the sign in front of the church my family attended. I was rather embarrassed to discover, from my mom, that I was in fact baptized in a Methodist church.

Me: "I'm an Anglophile."
Todd C.: "Please. You don't even belong to the right church!"

Amusing, that after repairing so many Episcopal church organs with Todd, it turns out I am indeed a member of the Anglican's sister church. (And, of course, the Congregationalist church is so English, though Independent, it bleeds pints of bitter. So, nyeh, Todd, wherever you are.)

Oh, and just in case, on the off chance, you understand, that the church Keith takes me to is actually a cult, and someday you see me handing out religious literature and pounding a tambourine in an airport....

Kill me.