fixes

If I had a slide show, I would provide this running commentary: Well now, here we are, sawing off the bottom part of the legs of a new “end table.” Here’s Ed, trying to talk me out of keeping the end table. Here, this is me, trying to convince him that, after looking at 1241 entries on the Walmart site, we can do no better than this non-Walmart, but still, a good deal table. The name is “Basque,” it’s made God knows where, but hey, it is infused with credibility with these words: "sustainable, kiln-dried solid mango wood." Crate and Barrel knows how to lure customers.

We’re fixing things that did not come out as planned.

The refrigerator was nicked by the delivery people from Sears. Sears wants to send us a new one. But we just can’t stomach the idea of sending back something so useable, even if it now does harbor a little ding. So we deliberate.

In the living room, the wood trim doesn’t quite come down on the floor. Do we fix it? I say no. Leave it alone. It’s fine, it’s fine. But Andy’s not happy. His grandson fills the gap with putty. “The builder’s best friend,” Ed comments.

The shower – now there’s a stumper! I did not want to spend money on a shower door. But the curtain that I use in its stead is leaking water. We have tossed around ideas, but none seem perfect.

My little 19 inch TV – it uses so many cables you could build a nest for elephants out of it. I wanted to invest in a bigger, simpler model. Ed tells me we can work with what we have. A little TV without cable, and a computer.  He bunches cords and hides computers to create a media center, with only the little TV showing.

The driveway is muddy, he throws woodchips down. My phone line is not working, he patiently talks the problem through with the company reps. We have no dinner foods, I throw together salads and bagels. These are our days now: one small step to repair one small issue, then another, and another.

My list of things to repair is long, but we have time.

But it would be wrong to count our days as repair driven. For instance, I wake up and I look outside – it’s raining. You would think -- damn. Rain, cooler temps – all that. Bleh.

But at the farmhouse, I take out the oatmeal, I cut up the fruit and we sit down for a late morning meal. I look up and see the wet branches, the slow drip on the lilac bushes, the gentle drops coming down in a steady rhythm... So pretty!





Yes, true, it is now evening and I am defrosting bagels and Ed is sawing off those inches from the feet of the end table. The rain has receded.