Slightly Off the Mark

 So, we found out why our snowblower caught fire, and I think you'll find it ironic.

First of all, I was the only one who ever operated the snowblower. It's important to know that Emily shares none of the blame. It's also important to know that I did not attempt to fix it, so the self-repair restraining order was not violated. Emily, on the other hand, downloaded the user manual (thus bypassing my confused filing system), brought out the variable speed drill I bought for her birthday (I still have a scar), and dug right in.

But we immediately saw the problem. Snow had gotten into the belt/pulley area, then melted a little, then froze solid, and the entire space was now packed with ice. We had to dig it out, then let the thing finish melting and dry off for a day.

In case any of you are as slow as I was: Our snowblower was killed BY SNOW.

But the belt was just fine. So after double checking it, we closed the panel back up, I plugged it in (outside), and pushed the button. It ran for three seconds and died, then smoke started coming out.

Two days later I hurt my back while using a snow shovel.

So I wrote this--again, perhaps ironically--with ice on my back, but my neighbor promised he'd take care of the snow removal. He has a normal sized, gas engine powered snowblower, but it still doesn't sit right by me. I want to do stuff myself! But sometimes, I suppose, I have to admit I can't anymore.

Which doesn't mean I'm not in the market for a new snowblower. Also, as of November the lawn mower is working just fine.

At least, it was. 

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Remember: Every book you buy relieves my back pain.

Years ago I DJ’d part time at a local radio station (which figures into my novel Radio Red). I happened to be working when the boss decided it was time to start the Christmas season with the Gift of Music.

 

There are other books, you know.

 As months go by and seasons change

We watch the outside rearrange

Nature knows a change is due,

And it’s not hard to see a clue

Like puppies frozen to a tree

While going out to take a pee;

Digging mammals, shivering bucks,

Will all soon know that winter sucks.

At first we think it’s not too bad.

We’ll tell ourselves we won’t be sad,

As plant life dies and smart birds flee

And utilities charge a higher fee.

So-called dumb beasts burrow down

To spent all winter in the ground

And never see the frigid season –

Who would want to? There’s no reason.

The deer that ran all summer, free

Look to the future, and when they see

The coming winter, run their hide

In front of cars: deer suicide.

The people who have earned their pensions

Have long made known their full intentions

To head down south, and send postcards

From Florida, still in green yards.

They’re wearing sandals with white socks

Or maybe out-there Birkenstocks

While pink flamingos’ flag their grass

They tell the winter, “Kiss my butt!”

But we the workers must stay there

Where all is froze, from toes to hair

With no more comfort than to say

At least we’re not Canuks today.

Because it’s true, or so we hear

Our weather’s not the worst to bear:

The Weather Channel made some calls

And featured International Falls.

Not one bit better do we feel

As we suffer through this bitter pill.

It’s bad enough to feel this pain,

To make it worse, we can’t complain!

And so we skate across the lots

While searching for our parking slots

More fender benders as we slide

From one curb to the other side.

We get the after-crash advice

To let it go, or else the price

Of our insurance hits the roof,

Or just gets canceled, and goes poof.

On that we have to take a pass –

We need our cash to pay the gas.

The meter spins at higher speeds

To meet the frozen public’s needs

For someplace warm to thaw our toes

And that’s not outside, Heaven knows.

Nor can our car’s heat melt the ice --

The price of fuel has risen twice

Just since we got home from our work,

Which took an hour, ‘cause some jerk

In an SUV, (thought he could do his thing)

Crashed in a ditch and caused a scene.

It may be true four wheel drive’s nice,

But doesn’t do a thing on ice

Especially when the guy inside

Has little brains, but lots of pride

And somehow thinks that he’s immune

To weather you don’t see in June.

And driving like a maniac,

He puts his truck up on its back.

Which leads the rest of us, quite snidely

To laugh at his misfortune widely.

Despite the danger that, down the road

It might be us who ends up snowed.

Once Christmas goes, there’s nothing new

For we poor Hoosiers to look forward to

Just slushy ground and blackened trees

And snow that comes up to our knees,

Ah, but then March arrives.

The end’s in sight, so we surmise.

We start to feel, and with good reason,

That we survived another season.

It’s true, the roads are covered now

With melted ice that no snow plow

Can get removed, but it’s just brief.

Besides, the thawing brings relief

From frostbit skin and higher bills,

And moods so dark that only pills

Could bring us through more rounds of snows

Without our family coming to blows.

But wait! Just as we regain our reason

Comes basketball playoff season.

The high school teams roam far and wide

And bring back temps that rip our hides.

How is it that the final games

Can bring us so much weather pain?

With snow and sleet and wind and ice,

And other crap that’s just not nice.

The groundhog may have said we’d get

An early end to this, and yet

As long as we have basketball

There’ll be an ice storm ‘fore the fall.

Spring is never early, though.

It will arrive and then we’ll know

We have some time to smile and thaw

Until the heat waves bakes us raw.

So it goes in the Hoosier state:

There’s always something new to hate.

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Remember: Nobody ever crashed into a ditch while reading a book at home.

It can be nice to sit in our house and let the summer breeze blow past. Or, to get even more breeze, we could open the windows.

My house leaks like a Washington insider. Over the years we’ve stuffed cracks and other openings with anything we could find: towels, sandbags, small cars, door to door salesmen, whatever. A nice breeze isn’t what you want come November.

We don’t know exactly how old the place is, but Fred Markey carved the date 1879 into a garage wall. Is that when he was born? When he built the house? Or when he got cabin fever and went crazy with a knife?

(Note: I've learned he was 16 years old at the time. Who wasn't doing a little mischief at 16?)

The walls once held blown in insulation, but over time it settled, or possibly got carried off by mice. Now we have the annual, depressing, tradition called “winterizing”.

Okay, well, not so bad so far.

Winterizing reminds me that winter’s coming. Winter comes every year, usually in the fall. It’s like it’s seasonal, or something.

Hm … maybe that 1879 carving commemorated the winter they found Fred Markey frozen to the outhouse seat. It would be embarrassing to be frozen to indoor plumbing, so we winterize, starting with storm windows. Traditionally they’re installed just before an unusual warm front comes through, forcing you to decide whether to take them back down to let warm air in, or just curse the fates.

I also put plastic up on the inside of the windows. You put double sided tape around each window, then place the plastic on it, then curse and flounder as the tape falls off. Then you put the plastic on again and use a hair drier, which tightens it up so wrinkles don’t show. NOTE: This does not work on skin.

You can also use spray foam insulation and caulk, to seal cracks. The main purpose of these substances is to form permanent crusts on clothing. They’re also fairly effective at removing skin.

At some point, the furnace has to be started for the season. This is always a time of great interest in my house: I’m interested to know if it will start. I have hot water radiators, and the water is heated by a boiler. Me waving a match over a pilot light to start a boiler is akin to Wiley Coyote opening the latest package from Acme Co. You know something is going to happen; you just don’t know if the result will be ashes and singed hair, or a flattened body against the wall.

But I seriously considered doing none of that this year.

It's because of putting on the air conditioner cover. Not on myself. The polyvinyl cover has a couple of elastic strings attached to it. The instructions say to wrap the strings around the cover, hook them over the air conditioner, and voila—instant winterization.

Until the first time the wind blows.

Then you need duct tape. Rolls and rolls of duct tape.

This year I put the cover over the air conditioner, then waved for a truck to back in. I’d ordered a dump truck load of duct tape. They dumped it right into my driveway, and other than the dozen or so rolls that rolled down the hill out back (should have seen that coming), I was set.

I taped the cover to the conditioner. I taped the cover to the window. I taped the cover to the wall, the conditioner to the window, the wall to the conditioner, and I finished by taping the tape to the tape. There was now no sign of the green plastic cover. I might as well have skipped it and just made a duct-cover.

By then the sun had set on my duct tape paradise, so I did some winterizing inside, such as replacing the door-to-door salesmen in the cracks. The next morning we had some errands to run, so I pulled on my coat, walked out the door, and stepped on the air conditioner cover.

I took this picture while standing on my air conditioner cover. That is not normal.

Some of the tape was still on the cover.

Some of the tape was still on the wall.

But they were no longer connected to each other.

I said something then that I rarely say in public, and would be best off not repeating here. Then I stumbled back inside and collapsed on the couch, where my wife took in my red face and the steam coming from my ears, and tried to decide whether to dial 911.

And that’s why I’m considering giving up on the whole winterizing thing. What, I can’t build a fire in the bathtub and hover over it all winter? It probably worked for Fred Markey.

By the way, I’ve got some used duct tape for sale … cheap.

  I posted this a few years ago, but it's about winter generally, which makes it an evergreen. So to speak. The funny thing is, within days of me deciding to rerun it, the snow started melting away. I should write a song about freezing rain, or fog.

I hate winter. Well, only if I have to go out in it, or pay for heating the house, or if it’s winter. Otherwise I don’t mind. Anyway, parody songs are only good if you’re familiar with the original, which in this case is “Let It Go” from Frozen. If you have kids of a certain age, you’ve not only heard it, you’re sick of it. (I’m not–but my kids are all grown up, and I’ve only seen the movie once.) If you haven’t heard it, here’s the song:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QnN6glKaWdE

Or see the original lyrics here: 

https://genius.com/Idina-menzel-let-it-go-lyrics
 

I know what you’re thinking: “Why, Mark? Why?” Good question—I don’t even find it easy. But I present you with: “Stop the Snow”.

 

But ... I'm so cool!

The snow’s piled high almost to my thigh
It’s so cold I want to scream
No sign of spring salvation
I’m stuck in a snow globe dream

The wind howls through windows, bringing swirling snow inside
Couldn’t keep it out, plastic sheets I tried

Let the dog in, his frozen pee
Is an icicle I never want to see
My hands can’t feel—this weather blows
Thanks to the snow

Stop the snow, stop the snow
Can’t get my car unstuck
If I had enough dough
I’d move away from all this yuck
I know just what the forecasts say
Get your storm rage on
I’m stuck in my drive anyway.

It’s funny how this temperature
makes everything seem blue
And if you don’t see the misery
there’s something wrong with you.

It’s time to go and break the ice
To start the car, oh please play nice
No lights, no juice, not to be rude
I’m screwed

Stop the snow, stop the snow
Just one day when it’s warm and dry
Car won’t go in the snow
Ice falls down from tears I cry
Here I push in four foot drifts
Till my hands freeze on …

A patch of ice takes me to the ground
Underneath the snow it’s all cold, dead and brown
And one thought penetrates my frozen brain
Summer’s not so bad—I don’t mind the rain

Stop the snow, stop the snow
My car’s buried in five foot drifts
I can’t feel, my own toes
I’ll never make it to my shift
My hands are blue and my face is white
I could use a lift
But the snow plow buries and passes by.
 

 As a group, humans have an amazing ability to screw themselves.

Not literally, mind you. I mean, if we could do that, we'd never leave the house.

Whenever bad weather approaches, I take it upon myself to warn people as much as I'm able, for two reasons: First, it's the decent thing to do. This is a foreign concept for some people, but it's not like it takes a lot of resources to type "Funnel cloud sighted! And by the way, buy my books in the Storm Chaser series."

Okay, so I throw in a commercial here and there: So does The Weather Channel.

Meh ... I've seen worse.

The second reason is laziness. I'm a dispatcher, and whenever severe weather hits we're guaranteed to be a lot busier. I don't like being a lot busier. A little busy is just fine, thank you.

So as soon as the experts (I'm not an expert--it turns out the words "meteorology" and "degree" go together) predicted foul weather for the upcoming Christmas weekend, I shouted it from the rooftops.

Okay, well, I shouted it from social media. Nobody really listens on the rooftops, anymore. Besides, it's slippery up there.

Some people appreciate the warning, and I like to think I've saved them some trouble, here and there. But the biggest response weather forecasts get is "Yeah, whatever--they're always wrong".

Which isn't true, but it is true that bad weather is notoriously difficult to predict in detail. Good weather's much easier--go figure.

Which brings us to the second and more common response: "Yeah, it probably won't even flurry." Followed by two parties and twelve beers, because we're talking about people who don't recognize danger signs.

"What's this crap? Why was I not notified?"

As of this moment, late Monday, forecasters are guaranteeing two things in northern Indiana this weekend: It'll be bitterly cold, and it'll be so windy I'll be bitter. It also appears pretty certain that--surprise!--the whole thing will begin with rain on Thursday.

More rain means less snow. I'm all for that, except for the strong cold front and the whole flash freezing thing. Flash Freezing is not a DC comic villain, people.

Everyone is stressing over snow, and as of now the forecast really is between 2 and 18 inches. It depends on the track of the storm and how far the wind drives lake effect snow, but here's the part people ignore: While we may get the low end of that scale, there's no reason why we shouldn't get the high end. To compare, during the Blizzard of '78 Fort Wayne got about 17 inches of snow. Somebody in the Midwest is going to get that much this weekend. Why not us?

Given the choice, I'd prefer my car remain in the driveway. All winter.

Forget snow amounts, and consider this: There is more than one kind of blizzard. One type often happens after snowstorms, when sustained strong winds blow the fallen snow around, causing drifting and extreme driving hazards.

Snow, followed by cold temps and long-term strong winds?

That's the forecast for this weekend.

So I'm just the messenger, with some reminders:

Four wheel drive is useless on ice. The only good your big truck might do is help compensate for something.

Many emergency vehicles and tow trucks do NOT have four wheel drive, and 4WD might not get through severe drifting, anyway. So if you have to go out, stock your vehicle with whatever you might need to survive for awhile.

Most county and municipal snow plows will not be out 24/7. They have only one shift, and the drivers need rest. If you have to go out stick to main roads, but remember: If it gets bad enough long enough, the Indiana Department of Transportation might have to pull their plows off the road, also.

If your employer requires you to come to work no matter what the road conditions, you need a new employer. Or let them come pick you up, if they think it's not bad. With the exception of essential jobs (like mine, but I can slog down the sidewalk), there's no reason to endanger someone for the sake of a paycheck.

Utility companies also can't come out if the roads are blocked. Make preparations for long-term power outages.

Here's the fun part: Almost everything done to prepare for a snowstorm should be done to prepare for any disaster or weather emergency. Food, water, medicine, warmth, books, not necessarily in that order.

You might think I'm kidding about the books, but if you have kids at home you need to look after your own sanity, and locking them in the garage is not socially acceptable. Remember, whatever they do to pass the time, they'll run out of battery power sooner or later.

As for me, don't you worry: I may have to work this weekend, but I'll dress warmly.

My other car is a sleigh!

Don't forget, Coming Attractions remains free on Smashwords for the rest of the year:

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            This being Indiana, there could be a foot of snow on the ground by the time you read this, but at the moment it’s been pretty nice in between the thunderstorms. Wait, let me check …

            Huh. Heat wave. Better than winter, when snow is some kind of permanent nightmarish superglue. Nobody ever froze to death in a thunderstorm, unless they hid in a chest freezer. That would freeze your chest.

            The only bad things about warm weather are pollen and bugs, and pollen can be medicated. I like to think of allergies as a luxury tax for being able to walk outside wearing less than eight layers of clothing.

            One of the first signs of spring – other than any part of my skin being seen outdoors – is the appearance of budding plants and flowers. That burst of color, a visual shock after months of white and various shades of dirty gray, does more to cheer me than all the chocolate in Hershey.

This is nothing to sneeze at. Actually, it is.

            Maybe you could say my love of spring is like a red, red rose. I came up with that all by myself, honest. Well, I stole it all by myself.

            I need to see that color outside, because inside I’m the kiss of death for a plant. There’s a graveyard of flower pots in my garage, sad rows full of bare earth and dead, dry stalks. In the plant community I’m known as the Mark Horseman of the Apocalypse. The last time I walked through a botanical garden, twelve species went extinct.

            I’m the Darth Vader of plants; I just choke them out.

            And yet, just outside the house, plants thrive. Like the spiders who invade my home every year, they live for the thrill of being near danger. Mind you, I had no idea what those plants were, until I found a phone app to identify them.

            According to the internet, the various plants around my house include:

            Lilacs, which produce one of the most wonderful scents since fresh baked chocolate chip cookies. I bought lilac scented laundry detergent over winter, but it just wasn’t the same.

"I wish Mark would get out of the way so I get a picture of the lilacs."

            Narcissus, a variety of daffodil. Narcissus sounds so much more exotic and interesting, though. Narcissus is also a character from Greek myth who fell in love with his own reflection, and thus is a hero to many in Hollywood. Things ended badly for Narcissus; but then, the Greeks wrote tragedies, not comedies.

            Tulips, a flower that first came from Holland, Michigan. Some people from the Netherlands visited Michigan, and so fell in love with the flower that they made it their own and also nicknamed their country Holland, which seems like some kind of intellectual theft, to me. But revenge is sweet: For a time tulips became so valuable in the Netherlands that they replaced the national currency. Their entire economy crashed when some kid took his thumb out of the dike, looked around, and said:

            “Dude. They’re flowers.”

            At the moment my tulips are in hiding, waiting to see if I go crazy with the lawn mower or weed spray. However, a line of eye-poppingly colorful flowers eye-popped up against the neighbor’s house, where presumably they’re safe from me. Silly flowers.

"Just stay closed until he goes away."

            Then there’s forsythia, a bush that sprouted some bright yellow blossoms. Someone told me I shouldn’t trim the forsythia, but it grows so fast that one of its branches once stabbed me in the leg as I innocently walked by with the garden sheers. One year I didn’t trim it at all, and a film crew came by and paid me a hundred bucks to use it in their low-budget monster movie, “Attack of the Sixty Foot Sythia”. I don’t know what they left out the “for” for, except maybe that “S” sound is scarier: Stormtrooper; Scythe; Senator …

             I also have some roses, but as of this writing they haven’t bloomed. Maybe they’re standing by with the tulips. Waiting. Plotting.

            Oh, and dandelions – how could I forget dandelions? Weeds, you say? Nonsense! They’re harmless and colorful, they make necklaces and wine, and what the heck is wrong with that? Those are flowers, believe it; the narcissus lovers are just jealous.

            In any case, any bloom that doesn’t immediately kill you is better than a snowdrift.

It was easy for me, though: I was a kid. I didn't have a paid job, I wasn't a volunteer firefighter yet, and I didn't even have to go to school for a week. Yeah, there was snow shoveling, but we have that now.

We've been spoiled since then, here in northeast Indiana. Sure, there were bad snowstorms, especially in the eighties when it snowed nonstop for eight months of the year. Well, it seemed that way. To compare, the big snowstorm of 2009 dropped 13 inches of snow here. The '78 storm topped out at 30.6 inches, and killed 70 people in Indiana.

So when we tell "Well, in my day" stories about snow--we don't have to exaggerate.

Now we're expecting at least a foot of snow, in two waves over two days, with the Thursday portion accompanied by 30 mph winds. This is bad. And--this is going to sound ironic, coming from me--I don't think people are taking it seriously enough.

Well, some people are.

I went to the store early Monday, and apparently a lot of the panic shopping happened over the weekend. By the time I left an hour later, it looked like the locusts were stripping away all the grain in Oklahoma.

Maybe I'm worrying needlessly. Just the same, I did everything in my power to keep the storm from happening at all. See, I have a reputation for my predictions being wrong. A lot. So when we had good weather all through December (for December), I loudly proclaimed that we would pay for it in January and February.

Okay, so sometimes I'm right. But when forecasts of this particular storm started coming in, I took quick action to stop it:

I loaded up at the store, stuffing our freezer and cupboards with so much food we look like a survivalist compound.

I refilled all my meds, especially the ones that keep me from turning all Jack Torrance every winter.

"Here's J-J-J-J-brrrrrr.......

I topped off the car's gas tank, and made sure it held a snow shovel, blankets, snack bars, abrasives, and a flashlight that actually lights. Also, a little fake hand with the middle finger up, so I won't get frostbite flashing reckless drivers the bird. I did all that despite the fact that I have absolutely no intention of going anywhere for the next week, other than work. Work is three quarters of a mile away--I can, and have, walked there, even in bad weather.

On a related note, I prepared my winter underclothes and my winter over clothes, just in case I do have to walk. People might report a Jupiter-sized suspicious subject in a ski mask, but these days masks are more expected than they used to be.

I made sure the dog has lines going out both the front and back door, so all I have to do is buckle him in. If he wants to go out in that crap--to crap--he's on his own.

"Wait ... what?"

I charged our cell phones, and my Kindle, in case power goes out and we have to burn our books for heat. (Kidding! It would be way too sad reading e-books by the glow of a book fire.)

I studied the weather forecasts. Okay, I studied two dozen forecasts in a three state area. (Hey, I work in the emergency services.) I worried when they all started agreeing with each other. Although bad weather is notoriously difficult to predict, the guys and gals who go to school for that stuff are getting increasingly good at it, even though armchair meteorologists prefer to think otherwise. May the Blue Bird of Unhappiness drop an ice bomb on their foreheads.

After confirming the forecasts, I started shouting the warning out, long and loud, to anyone who passed by the street corner downtown. Okay, on social media. There was no excuse, I declared, for not being prepared, so be aware and take a care--ahem. Sorry.

Why? Because if my predictions are usually wrong, then maybe all that prep would cause mischievous Mother Nature to nudge the storm, one way or another, just enough for us to get six inches and a breeze instead of sixteen inches and a blow. It's the same reason why sports fans hire me to root for the other team. You're welcome, Bengals.

Will it work?

Well ... no. If I thought it would work, it wouldn't. That's how it works. I mean, doesn't work. As I write this it's early Tuesday, and by this time Wednesday it'll be clear we're in for a big time butt-kicking. Remember, the Four Horses of the Snowpocalypse  are Cold, Snow, Wind, and Shattered Hopes.

But that won't stop me from trying.

I can't tell you what I got my wife for our eighth wedding anniversary, because it hasn't arrived yet, and she sometimes reads my blog.

And by "it hasn't arrived yet" I mean as I write this our anniversary's two days from now, and it hasn't frakking arrived yet!.

Luckily, my wife has low expectations of anything that happens during wintertime, including her birthday and Christmas. Here in Indiana, no matter how much The Weather Channel goes on about "meteorological winter", early March is still winter. And how.

Sometimes the best I can do during winter is make the bed, then get back in it again.

She knows I appreciate her, I think. I mean, I drove five hundred miles to propose. I gave in to the idea of getting a dog. I've slept in my car for her. (Long story.) Still, it never hurts to be sure, so Emily, if you're reading this: I appreciate you.

She might not have time to read this, because she's been busy editing one of my novel manuscripts, and in a few weeks I'll be throwing pictures at her. Not literally. (Another long story.)

I should have checked ahead on traditional wedding gifts, because I discovered bronze and pottery are traditional for an eighth anniversary, which I think this is, and I might even be right. Guys, if you want advice, pottery is a no-go. It seems too much like ... dishes. You don't want to go that way.

Bronze isn't easy either--I think she'd have liked bookends, since we have lots of books and it could be a way to say we go together, or at least that we go together with books between us. But what if I somehow get her angry? Have you ever been hit by a bronze bookend? Me neither, but it would probably hurt.

What I'd really have liked to get her, if I'd gotten off my butt and researched in time, is a Bronze Age sword. Yeah. She likes swords, and it would have been really cool, although it does bring back the question of her getting mad at me.

The more modern eighth anniversary gift is linen and lace. So ... lace lingerie? That's really more a gift for the guys, guys ... think carefully. As for linen, there's clothing, sheets, and paper. Linen shirts. Linen sheets. No.

Well, if she doesn't like what I did get her, I could always have myself bronzed, then have the statue draped with lace. I'll let you know.

I wrote this a few days ago, about how this is the time of year when people with Seasonal Affected Disorder start having trouble with the shorter, colder days ... people like me. I usually shorten the whole description down to "winter sucks" even though it's not even meteorological winter for another month.

Then I was going to add that a sure way to cheer me up was to get new sales of our books. Like many authors, I get so relatively few sales of my older books that just one jump in my Amazon rankings can cheer me up all day.

In other words, I'm not above taking advantage of my own medical problems to sell books. You regular readers, you already knew that. And heck, I could use the emotional boost, considering next week's upcoming colonoscopy. (I'm stocking the bathroom with extra reading material.)

But never mind that for now. (I'll hit you all up again later.) On to a much more important medical issue that happened after I wrote the above:   

Please send your prayers and/or healing thoughts toward my brother Jeff, who suffered a collapsed lung while doctors were doing a biopsy on him yesterday. He's been fighting cancer for years now, and so far winning, but this is the second time he's had this problem during a biopsy, and it's really wearing on him.

It wasn't as bad as last time, thank goodness, but it's still bad. They think he may be able to go home today, and fingers crossed.

That's Jeff on the left, and his wife Cathy on the right.

I wouldn't take advantage of someone else's misfortune to sell books, although come to think of it, maybe I should ask him. But me? Yeah, I'll take advantage of myself all day long.

Find all of our books at:

http://markrhunter.com/

https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO