By G.E.
Shuman
I am not a ‘physical’ person. No, I
don’t mean that I am imaginary, or a ghost or something. I’m just not good at
applying a plan to get something physical done, made, or fixed. MAKING a plan
is easy for me; doing the work is not.
I believe that every person is blessed
with certain talents. Some people think I am a writer and of that I am still
uncertain. (The day one of my books hits the New York Times best seller list
some of that uncertainty may disappear for me. But, even of that, I am
uncertain.)
My point here is that not everyone is
a plumber, a builder, or an electrician. My proof is mostly in our basement,
where my attempts at plumbing, building, and electrifying are on sad display.
(We recently had some ‘professional’ plumbing done down there. That day convinced
me that part of a plumber’s training is in learning how to not laugh out loud.) My repair work is proof that necessity really
is the mother of invention, even if that invention includes hundred-year-old drainpipes
patched with duct tape, electrical tape, and gallon sized plastic bottles. (I
know about being up to code, and that ain’t it.) Hence, the recent professional
plumbing job.
My brother Steve is the exact opposite
of me. He can build anything out of nothing, and it will work and look great. If
you tell Steve that your home needs a deck or a ramp, he will ask you a few
questions and finish the job by sundown. Well, at least by the second sundown.
Years ago, I had a habit of writing poetry in my spare time. The next time
Steve and his wife Dot visited us he presented me with a beautiful mantle clock
that he had made for me out of pieces of hardwood from an old building in his
area. That was many years ago and that clock was, and still is, beautiful. When
Steve gave it to me, he simply said: “This is MY poetry.” I could not agree more.
So, getting back to my problem with
applying ideas to achieve physical results, a while ago I decided to pressure
wash the house. We live on a busy Barre street, and road dust just covers our vinyl
siding. I had put the job off for a little while. Actually, Lorna had gotten me
a really nice pressure washer three summers ago and last week it was still in the
box. I guess that’s not a little while unless you’re God or a planet. I am
neither.
Monday was the day I would finally
assault the outside of our house with soapy, powerful jets of water. That was,
at least, if it didn’t look like rain and if my hangnails were not acting up,
or if I couldn’t think of some other reason to leave the machine in the cellar.
After getting the directions out of
the box and realizing that this gift from my wife was more complicated than I
had thought, I forged ahead and eventually figured out what I needed to do. Did
you know that pressure washers, even smaller electric ones like mine, come with
about a dozen parts and pieces, nozzles, and hoses that you have to figure out
before you can even begin? That thing
was like a puzzle to me, and I HATE puzzles and putting things together! (Where’s
Steve when you need him? Oh ya, Florida.) If Lorna had bought me one of those BIG
pressure washers with a large motor, or worse, a gas engine, that would have
spelled disaster for my nerves and probably for my house.
Eventually I was on the side lawn with
my new toy and had the garden hose hooked to it, the electrical cord plugged
into the extension cord, and the wand hose and attachments… attached. I also
actually got the little detergent sucker-upper hose in my detergent jug and was
ready to begin.
So, here we go! (Or, here I went.) I found the on/off switch and turned it to ON.
You guessed it. Nothing happened. I just stood there sweating in a slinky-like tangle
of hoses and electrical cords, and nothing had happened. Freeing myself from
the water-world snare I was in, I searched the attachments out and realized
that the extension cord was not plugged into the outlet behind the house.
Duhhh.
Well, that was last Monday. By Tuesday
afternoon I had succeeded in pressure washing all four sides of the house, the
front porch, the lawn mower, the snow blower, my bucket hat, and several tee
shirts and pairs of socks. The house now looks great, at least until the summer
sun and traffic arrive. The pressure washer is back on a shelf in the cellar. I
will soon forget it is there… if I’m lucky.
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