On The Fence
Sometimes, you find yourself doing things you don't want to do. Things you never imagined yourself doing. Now, I'm not talking about bungee jumping here, or cleaning up elephant poop at the zoo. I'm talking about home repair.
Occasionally something goes wrong with your home. It may be a small thing, like a torn window screen or exceptionally long grass that someone “forgot” to mow all summer. It may be a large thing, like a hole in the roof or a car in your living room. And it may be an in-between thing, like a broken garage door or a toilet that makes scary noises at night so the kids keep coming in to your room.
Now, normally, when a small thing goes wrong, I take care of it. I can sew up the hole in the screen, or replace it. I can wield the weed whacker. I can certainly clean spots out of the carpet, even if they're larger than the animal that made the spot. I can even patch a hole in the wall, up to the size of a doorknob, or a fist, not that I would know what size hole a fist would make. I am just guessing.
When the really big things go wrong, I call in a professional. The expense involved makes me wince, so this is definitely the last resort. I save it only for the worst problems, like when my water heater suddenly looks like a can of soup with botulism, or the front steps fall off of the house.
For those in-between things, I call the spouse. I will not be replacing the pump in the Jacuzzi, or installing a new light fixture. That's his job. Maybe you feel the same way - some jobs are better left for your partner. But, some of you will have noticed a certain reluctance on the part of your loved one to do these jobs for which you think he or she is so well suited.
I've noticed that the recipients of the "honeydew" list have three ways of avoiding these important household maintenance tasks. (1) They take a look at the problem in question, and agree to take care of it, but first they're going to have to buy a whole new set of professional-grade tools, including a table saw, a router, a set of socket torque widgets, and a nuclear powered screwdriver. All this, even if they're only fixing the seal around the toilet. You realize it would be cheaper to call in professional help. (2) They agree to fix the wall/door/toilet/sink/dishwasher/cat. Tomorrow. As you know, tomorrow never comes. (3) They look at the kitchen faucet, which is spraying water directly into the skylight every time you turn it on, and say, "I don't see anything wrong."
Having married a man who religiously follows guideline (2), I often find myself waiting extraordinarily long to get things fixed. Some things, however, just can't wait. So when a half section of our fence actually fell into the neighbor's yard, crushing several plants and allowing our dog to poke her head through and frighten the kids next door, I knew I had to act.
I measured the width of the fence section that needed replacing. I measured the width of the boards that made up the fence section. I went to the local hardware store. I called home because I'd forgotten to measure the height of the fence. My children reported that the fence was 52 inches high. Since fence boards come in 60, 72, or 84 inch heights, I went back home and measured the fence height myself.
I drove back to the hardware store and looked for wood. I found the fence boards in the garden shop. Then I looked for a 2x4s to put across the fence boards. Naturally, they're on the other side of the store, in lumber. I found my 2x4s and then went to the fastener section of the store, which is located in a different zip code. I could have just bought a bunch of nails, but I wanted to do the job right. So I asked the nearest person in a red vest, who might have been an employee, but then again might have just been sartorially challenged, whether to use nails or screws, and what size. He sent me home with 2" screws.
I cleared out the garage, laid out my fence pieces, and went to work. I pre-drilled the holes, and screwed on all 15 boards, having spaced them perfectly. (I had to space them out because it turns out that a 6x1 is not really 6 inches wide. That should have been a little red flag to me, but I was not going to let any kind of foresight slow me down.) I stood up the completed fence section only to discover that a 2x4 is actually not 2 inches thick, and that every single one of those $%#& screws was poking through the fence, posing quite a hazard for the neighbor's kids. The presence of my 10-year-old in the garage with me kept me from saying how I really felt at that moment.
I laid the fence piece down, took out all the long screws, and replaced them with shorter screws we had left over from our last home repair venture. I took the new section out to the yard and discovered that in spite of all my careful measurements, my beautiful fence section, which I'd created with my own two hands, all by myself, the source of so much pride, was TOO WIDE.
Sighing, I laid it down on the grass, took off the 3 boards on each end, and moved them closer. Now the section would fit, but the boards were no longer evenly spaced. By this time, I didn't really care. At least we'd have a fence, right? So I began attaching the fence section to the fence posts. I don't know if you've ever tried to do this alone, but it's not easy. I put up the right side, and held it up with a couple of nails. Moved to the left, lifted it up, and put in the nails. While I was putting in the second nail on the left, the right side popped off. I went back and forth, lifting, hammering, adjusting, popping off (the fence, not me. Well, occasionally me too.) Finally the thing stayed on. I quickly added some screws to keep the fence piece in place, and stood back to admire my work. At this point the neighbor came out. He looked at me over the fence. He eyed the new section, with the boards not-quite evenly spaced, hanging not-quite straight on the posts, and asked, "So, are you planning to leave it like this?"
I understand he’s recovering nicely from the fist-sized hole in his stomach.
