Just Rambling - Handyman

By Gipp Forster

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I've always been a handyman. I said those six words aloud as I wrote them - sending my wife into gales of hysterical laughter! I am aware that genius is rarely appreciated, so I will ignore her.

As mentioned, I have always been a handyman. If anything in or around the house goes awry, I am there! I am handy. I can't, as a rule, fix it, but even my wife has to admit I'm handy.

Recently, an annoying squeak developed in our front door. And as always, I was on the alert and prepared. My tool belt was laid out in the shed, ready for immediate use. I strapped it on and did my inventory. Screwdriver, check. Hammer, check. Pipe wrench, check. Monkey wrench, check. Pistol, check. (That's for pests like mice or rats or house guests who stay too long!) The flashlight was there, as was the level-pliers and a rolled up copy of *Senior Living*.

I was loaded and ready for bear. What door could stand up against such preparedness? I felt like Wyatt Earp on the way to the O.K. Corral! When I arrived at my destination, however, my show-off wife had gone and put a drop of oil on the hinge, which of course, immediately cancelled my mission of "handiness," and left me with an unfired tool belt.

I left the tool belt on, though, and did a tour outside and around my house so my neighbours would know I was a handyman.

After an hour or so, the tool belt felt heavy. And on close examination, I discovered it was bruising my hips. So, I took it back to the shed and laid it out neatly in preparation for the next emergency.

My wife's reluctance to recognize my "handiness" irritates me at times. Our carpenter-builder, electrician and plumber not only recognize me as a handyman, they admire and praise my work. Every time I build something or join something or tighten something or take something apart, at least one of them, without fail, shows up to inspect my work!

They shake their head in admiration and say: "Oh wow! This is unbelievable." They stare at my work for two or three minutes, then they look at my wife with wide eyes and say: "Can you believe this? This is incredible! How can one man do all this?"

But she won't even take the word of a professional. And yet it's always she who calls one of them and says: "Come and see what he's done now!" (Talk about mixed signals).

At any rate, I blush under their praise and definitely feel like part of their fraternity.

A while ago, our little radio in the kitchen suddenly stopped working. But before I could reach my tool belt, my wife was out the door and half a block away clutching the little radio in her arm like a football. For a lady nearing 70, she sure can run fast!

Out in our other shed - the one we call the cold shed because it's unheated - there are all kinds of things waiting to be fixed: a lawn mower, a waffle iron, a 25-foot heavy-duty extension cord, a toaster, a broken chair and an eight-track player. There are many other things too. Only one problem - the door is padlocked! My wife had the key because she was the one who installed the padlock, but she says she can't remember where she put it. She says not to worry, though, she plans to look for it in a few months when she's not so busy.

She's repeated that phrase for over a year and a half now. Oh well! There's plenty around here that needs fixing in the meantime. My chair has sprung because it lost a spring. The refrigerator makes a funny sound and there's that drip from the kitchen faucet.

There's the kitchen radio too, although my wife says she can't remember where she put it - just like the key!

Oh yeah! Lots to do for a handyman. Even as I write this, the light bulb in the living room lamp burned out. Well, I better put my tool belt on and change it.

I wonder if my wife realizes how lucky she is to have me? Probably not.

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