My MIL said that she noticed the boards of the fence were coming off of the 2x4 and she tried hammering them back in, but something wasn't working and she got frustrated and finally gave up, leaving the boards to lie on the ground next to her unit where they had fallen. I offered to come by later in the week to repair said fence because, well, obviously at the time I felt very handy with a hammer. I might have been drinking. I told her I would wear my black car repair/all around handy dandy repair shirt. We made a date.
The night before the arranged date I happened to catch the weather portion of our local news. I was told that it would be raining and storming in the early afternoon, but I didn't worry about that because my plan was to arrive early after having business at the DMV. Unfortunately, a chatty phone call early in the morning led to a later start of my day. An annoying husband led to a dissatisfied trip to the DMV, which in turn led to my getting to my MIL's just as the storm hit. She graciously listened to me gripe about her son, and because she was a wife and because she knows her son she sided with me and made me feel better. Then she fixed us lunch and we sat and ate and talked and talked and talked. By the time the thunder and lightning had finished I realized it was time for me to head home to pick up my children, but my MIL wasn't letting me off that easily. She led me outdoors where it was still raining and showed me the fence. Two boards were lying on the ground in puddles of water. Four boards were leaning up against the 2x4. Two more boards were hanging precariously by nails that had pulled out of their place. I surveyed the scene in the rain and decided this job was an easy one. I got out the hammer.
While my MIL stayed dry in the garage, peeking at me out the window, I pulled off boards and removed nails. I had been unable to locate my multi purpose black shirt (I'm thinking someone threw it out) and had forgotten the change of clothes I had laid out to bring. Instead I was wearing a blousey shirt that was not suited for rain or the humidity that followed said rain or frankly, hammering. But that didn't stop me and I removed nails and hammered nails. Because my MIL did not have any nails that were the right size to replace the missing and/or bent nails I did my best to salvage the nails as I pulled them out. The boards had this cute cut out at the top of the board and I realized, after hammering in two of the boards, that they would need to be even or it would throw off the whole look. Actually, my thought probably was more along the lines of "oh, boy, I will hear about this if I don't fix it." So I pulled out one of the boards and started over, using the hammer as my level because to get a real level would mean putting down the hammer and searching the garage. And because I've always had an eye about these things.
Which then led to me thinking about my dad. He was a fixer. And while he stepped outside the box on fixing things he taught by the rules. He would wander by my room where I was hanging pictures on my wall, hanging them in a row, eyeing them to get them even. He would tell me that I needed a level and I would argue. He would insist and head out to the garage to get the level, and I would continue hanging them my way. He would return and see that I had ignored his advice, admit they looked even, but insist on grading it with the level. He was always surprised when the level would be level or almost even. I thought of him when I refused the level.
Which then led me to thinking about my FIL. He was a fixer. He did not step outside the box, but did everything with perfection. He labeled his Christmas lights for each bush outside his house and labeled each box in his garage whether it contained empty pill bottles or family belongings. He didn't care for doing things halfway, but he suffered it quietly. He was not one to squelch someone's activities. I thought of him while I measured with the length of the hammer.
And as the rain came down gently, I continued fixing the fence my way. I eyed it and hammered it and when it was done I only had one slat really out of whack. And I think I'll just blame the fathers in my life, but I'll also give them props because without them I might never have been able to fix a fence.
Which then led to me thinking about my dad. He was a fixer. And while he stepped outside the box on fixing things he taught by the rules. He would wander by my room where I was hanging pictures on my wall, hanging them in a row, eyeing them to get them even. He would tell me that I needed a level and I would argue. He would insist and head out to the garage to get the level, and I would continue hanging them my way. He would return and see that I had ignored his advice, admit they looked even, but insist on grading it with the level. He was always surprised when the level would be level or almost even. I thought of him when I refused the level.
Which then led me to thinking about my FIL. He was a fixer. He did not step outside the box, but did everything with perfection. He labeled his Christmas lights for each bush outside his house and labeled each box in his garage whether it contained empty pill bottles or family belongings. He didn't care for doing things halfway, but he suffered it quietly. He was not one to squelch someone's activities. I thought of him while I measured with the length of the hammer.
And as the rain came down gently, I continued fixing the fence my way. I eyed it and hammered it and when it was done I only had one slat really out of whack. And I think I'll just blame the fathers in my life, but I'll also give them props because without them I might never have been able to fix a fence.
No comments:
Post a Comment