on my r6 my battery wouldnt hold a charge.. so i went out and blew 120 bucks on a new one.. and hooked it up.. but my problem is when i connected the positve terminal it sparked, which isnt really unmormal.. but when i turn on my key all the lights and everything will come on but like the odometer and dash readings dont come on and when i press the starter button it does nothing.. so i figured i blew a fuse.. so i start checkin fuses and i touched one and it blew when i touched it.. and now everytime i try and replace the fuse it blows..even when the key is off. its the fuse that the postive terminal runs through..so now i cant even turn any power on without the fuse... what do you think is the problem?

sound like you have a sort to ground on that curcuit i would trace the wire coming out of that fuse and see if it is pinched or chaffed anywhere.

you definatly have some kind of short in the system somewhere. just trace the wire on that fuse circuit.

thanks guys.. ill deffinatly have to strip it down and check it out

My day began on a decidedly sour note when I saw my six-year-old wrestling with a limb of my azalea bush. By the time I got

outside, he'd broken it. "Can I take this to school today?" he asked. With a wave of my hand, I sent him off. I turned my back so

he wouldn't see the tears gathering in my eyes. I loved that azalea bush. I touched the broken limb as if to say silently, "I'm

sorry."
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I wished I could have said that to my husband earlier, but I'd been angry. The washing machine had leaked on my brand-new

linoleum. If he'd just taken the time to fix it the night before when I asked him instead of playing checkers with Jonathan. What

are his priorities anyway? I wondered. I was still mopping up the mess when Jonathan walked into the kitchen. "What's for

breakfast, Mom?" I opened the empty refrigerator. "Not cereal," I said, watching the sides of his mouth drop. "How about toast and

jelly?" I smeared the toast with jelly and set it in front of him. Why was I so angry? I tossed my husband's dishes into the sudsy

water.
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It was days like this that made me want to quit. I just wanted to drive up to the mountains, hide in a cave, and never come out.

Somehow I managed to lug the wet clothes to the laundromat. I spent most of the day washing and drying clothes and thinking how

love had disappeared from my life. Staring at the graffiti on the walls, I felt as wrung-out as the clothes left in the washers.

As I finished hanging up the last of my husband's shirts, I looked at the clock. 2:30. I was late. Jonathan's class let out at

2:15. I dumped the clothes in the back seat and hurriedly drove to the school.

I was out of breath by the time I knocked on the teacher's door and peered through the glass. With one finger, she motioned for me

to wait. She said something to Jonathan and handed him and two other children crayons and a sheet of paper.

What now? I thought, as she rustled through the door and took me aside. "I want to talk to you about Jonathan," she said.
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I prepared myself for the worst. Nothing would have surprised me. "Did you know Jonathan brought flowers to school today?" she

asked. I nodded, thinking about my favorite bush and trying to hide the hurt in my eyes. I glanced at my son busily coloring a

picture. His wavy hair was too long and flopped just beneath his brow. He brushed it away with the back of his hand. His eyes

burst with blue as he admired his handiwork. "Let me tell you about yesterday," the teacher insisted. "See that little girl?" I

watched the bright-eyed child laugh and point to a colorful picture taped to the wall. I nodded.
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"Well, yesterday she was almost hysterical. Her mother and father are going through a nasty divorce. She told me she didn't want

to live, she wished she could die. I watched that little girl bury her face in her hands and say loud enough for the class to

hear, 'Nobody loves me.' I did all I could to console her, but it only seemed to make matters worse." "I thought you wanted to

talk to me about Jonathan," I said.

"I do," she said, touching the sleeve of my blouse. "Today your son walked straight over to that child. I watched him hand her

some pretty pink flowers and whisper, 'I love you.'"

I felt my heart swell with pride for what my son had done. I smiled at the teacher. "Thank you," I said, reaching for Jonathan's

hand, "you've made my day."
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Later that evening, I began pulling weeds from around my lopsided azalea bush. As my mind wandered back to the love Jonathan

showed the little girl, a biblical verse came to me: "...these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is

love." While my son had put love into practice, I had only felt anger.

I heard the familiar squeak of my husband's brakes as he pulled into the drive. I snapped a small limb bristling with hot pink

azaleas off the bush. I felt the seed of love that God planted in my family beginning to bloom once again in me. My husband's eyes

widened in surprise as I handed him the flowers. "I love you," I said.