There are many less than subtle reminders in my life that I’m on the wrong side of engineering ability. The world is seemingly composed of two types of people: Those who can build useful, well crafted devices to help with everyday living and those who hire someone else to do the work. I’m neither, but rather one of the mysterious flannel robed cult who haunt the dreams of can-do, industrious people. Call me a half-fixer.
Today’s project was moving our old butcher block kitchen table to the basement to make way for a new one. Now, I could have made a new table. My dad made my mom a laundry table that only leaned half-way over, so how hard could it be? To take the old table downstairs, I had to figure out how many legs to remove. I thought two was safe. To get it into the stairwell meant opening the back door and shoving the table out. It got pretty stuck, but by kicking the daylights out of the table it got moving. A little. So, after taking off a third leg, the table budged. I wrestled the beast part way to the top of the stairs and gravity did the rest. I’d have let go and let the table fly down the stairs like hippo luge, but I was in front and the last leg would have gotten me between mid torso and Hello! I’d let go. A short bumpy ride to the landing. Still, I didn’t have to take that last leg off the table. I was able to walk away, just like countless other times in ten years of home ownership. Someday, I’ll be a rough, tough home project guy. Or the next husband will be. He can finish all these projects I started.