A month ago, I decided to make some changes around our house. The living room and front entrance needed painting but I didn’t have a tall enough ladder, so I started with my bedroom. When I sewed the curtains ten years ago, Clarence had scoured our back garage for the right rod. I hate the ones that sag, so he found an incredibly heavy steel bar long enough to reach right across the room. It wasn’t a problem for us to thread the curtains onto the rod and then poke it through the wooden thingamajigs on the wall. (Googled the word. Couldn’t find it.) Taking them off by myself was much trickier.
Yes, I have people I can call for help. But I’m impulsive, and when I decide to do something, nothing can stop me, including my own common sense.
The rod was only about four inches short of the room’s width. I managed to lift it from it’s hardware and then pull the curtain rings off, my shoulders shaking as I held the whole thing up in what felt like a circus routine. Then, moving the ladder over, I removed the other curtain. After, carefully gripping the long steel bar in both hands, I descended the ladder backwards, feeling pretty awesome about the experience so far. This changed when I turned slightly and broke the glass on my favorite bedroom picture. Oh well. I took a deep breath and inched backwards, not noticing the two drinking glasses full of lemon slices and water. I smashed both of them. Made a note to clean up later. Wondered why I had two of them. Then I painted the bedroom.
The next thing I had to deal with were the missing baseboards. My friend Tom helped me pick up the fourteen foot lengths at the hardware store, because he has a truck and is smart about how to load things. My brother had already shown me which saw to use, and said he’d come over and give me a lesson when I was ready. But I have a feeling that my dead father found a way to get in touch with him, because we haven’t talked since. ‘Are you kidding me?’ dad would ask. ‘Clarence is up here having a nervous breakdown!’ “I can’t look,’ I picture my mother saying, covering her eyes with both hands.
And yet I know Clarence would want me to finish the job. I’ve been hiring people for the harder things like re-shingling the garage roof and replacing the siding. Also for plumbing situations. I took our dishwasher apart once and after seeing a thousand pieces lying on the kitchen floor, Clarence decided we should buy a new one. I have since recognized my limitations in certain departments.
Next I took my closet door off and carried it to the basement for painting. It turned out well. I’d really like a new one but then I’d have to get someone to help me because I don’t know how to do the whole door jam thing. I guess I could YouTube it. Anyway, when I was putting it back on its hinges, I accidentally dropped the screwdriver which for some reason I was holding in my hand, and it put a small dent in the hardwood floor. Oh well.
Once I’ve figured out the saw and the air compressor/nail gun thing, I will update you all. But this Riskier Business blog post is not just about carpentry and household repair.
We are learning some very challenging pieces for our choir concert this Christmas. Somehow, Mark and Crystal, our fearless leaders, have mistaken us for other people and not the dunderheads many of us are. Yes, we have talented singers who read music well, but then there’s the rest of us. The musicians who make up the group Pentatonix are probably some of the world’s finest singers. Yet we’re doing one of their Christmas medleys. I find myself looking around at the other altos and thinking, is it just me or are we in an alternate universe where we’re pretending to know what we’re doing? And this other song, Mary Did You Know, where we sing the tenor part, then the alto part, and some of it is so low that only people shaving twice a day can reach the notes.
Then there’s the piece de resistance, the Sugar Plum Fairy. It sounds very light and lilting, as if the Altos are tiptoeing down the staircase on Christmas morning, ready for the best surprise ever. Our voices rise and fall, saying ‘Ta da ta da, Dum, da da da da, but suddenly, taking us and our future audience by surprise, we sing a very high opera note for six beats. Think of the worst part of the Meryl Streep movie, Flora Foster Jenkins, and you’ve got it right. Crystal said people could laugh, so if you’re in the audience, don’t feel bad if you do.
It’s kind of sweet, when you think of the faith our leaders have in us. It’s like they live in a world where if you want something bad enough, it will happen. ‘The Altos were really getting it right today, don’t you think?’ I picture Mark saying to Crystal, who is in the bathroom weeping too hard to hear him.
If you live in Flin Flon and don’t have tickets yet, please get one immediately. This may be the best concert we’ve ever done. We’ve got the lovely Joanna Majoko as our leading lady, and then there’s the rest of us. It’ll be exciting, I promise, and the suspense as to how it will all go is just an added bonus. Perhaps there’ll be some audience participation during that high screeching note. After all, we need all the help we can get. Ta Ta Ta Ta, La La La la, Ahhhhhhhhhh! (No, it’s higher than that.) But good try, and we’ll see you on December 9th.
Judith Pettersen 
Hi Judy,
As a confirmed non-handy-person, I thoroughly enjoyed and related to riskier business. In fact, I must confess I was looking forward to more mail gun stories ….. anticipation is building 😀
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Hopefully it will be me writing it, and not one of my daughters saying, dear reader, it is with great sadness… Well. You know. Nail gun.
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This can’t end with a nail gun……. too much like a “Fargo” script. Do you find inspiration in watching some of the off the wall stuff on the tv series?
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Rod, I actually love Fargo, but like to think I’m a little less kooky than that. Possibly not.
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OMG! How much further havoc can you wreak? And I think Clarence put the second glass of water there. He’s sending a message.
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Not the first water glasses I ever broke. He was definitely used to that.
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I had to laugh as this made me recall my last couple curtain-rod extravaganzas.
In the dining room, I painstakingly screwed off the glass-bulb ends of the rod to remove and replace the curtains. Hubby later pointed out that the rod comes apart in the middle, making it simple to slide the curtains off. D’uh.
Then I have this macrame plant-hanger I made 100 years ago as a gift for my grandparents. It’s been hanging on a nail in the closet door-frame here in my office for 50 years (yeah okay I can’t count either) and I decided why not hang it on the end of the curtain rod in the living room? Why not? Because the weight of it, even without a plant in it, pulled the thingamajiggy (wait I’ll ask Hubby what that’s called; “bracket,” he tells me, looking at me as if I’m mentally challenged) right out of the wall.
Houses and cars. You feel so good about yourself when you handle something to do with them, but what a learning curve. -Kate
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‘Bracket!’ That’s the word I needed. Thanks for reading. 🙂
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