I’m not really a ‘new’ widow. It’s been nearly 3 years now; I should be getting used to it. But when my husband died so suddenly I lost not only the love of my life but my ready access to a whole lot of other support options I’d thoughtlessly taken for granted for decades. He wasn’t what anyone would call an enthusiastic home-maker – happier with a guitar or an Apple Mac than a paint brush or an electric drill - but as a fixer & rescuer he was tops. Whatever went wrong in my life he seemed to be able to fix. He knew how things worked and if he didn’t he’d nut it out. As my chief tech support he was unfailingly helpful and pretty darn brilliant as well. No computer problem, no sound system glitch, no electric appliance was beyond him and he tackled these with serene confidence.
For any and all purchases he would scrupulously file the warrantee and – get this – read the instructions!!
I’ve never done this in my life. I’d just wait for him to do it and then tell me how it worked. Or, as my mother had advised, 'just chuck it in, Dear, and see if it floats'.
So, alone, I noticed the things I couldn’t do start to multiply, rearing their little heads and waking me up at 2 am to ponder my incompetence and wonder what the heck I was going to do about it.
The get-a-man-in approach I’ve resorted to willingly and often but it's not always easy.
A recent dilemma emerged when, on a frosty 4 degree morning, my ducted gas heating failed to ignite. Not keen to start fiddling with gas pipes, I called the professionals. His first question? “How long since you cleaned the filter?” What? And yes, there was judgement in his eyes. The ‘filter’ (ha!) so clogged with dust and dog hair that no self-respecting air could’ve got through to be cleansed, heated and recycled back to keep the house warm. I sheepishly thanked him, paid up and promised to clean it regularly for the rest of my days.
I’ve since found someone to clean the windows, a task Philip did willingly. With his 6’ 3” frame, a formidable wingspan and no fear of heights he quite liked the satisfaction this job presented.
When he'd been gone for a year and I could hardly see through the front windows I knew I had to act.
For all of these jobs I have had to, with great tenacity, do them myself or find someone to help.
But with other things there’s that little spectre that keeps muttering out the side of its mouth, “C’mon, how hard can it be?”
In the heat of last summer a back external security door dropped and would no longer lock. Call a locksmith? None available. Buy a new lock and find someone to fit it? “Maybe late next week, Madam”. Buy a new door! (I was getting desperate.) Or, put on my glasses and examine the problem. (How hard can it be?) Chisel, hammer and a few screws later I’d reset the hole the little locky bit goes into and all was well. (Terminology is not my strong suit.) God knows how secure it actually is now but it's fixed to my standards anyway.
YouTube, of course, is the single person’s saviour. Everything is there.
Recently there loomed a big one. After a week of visitors for various celebratory birthday lunches the dishwasher - top brand, not that old - got a bit of a workout and as I unpacked the latest load I noticed that it hadn’t done a very good job. Memories of the gas heating surfaced. There’s sure to be a filter and I’m not going to be shamed in front of another tradesmen as he realises I probably haven’t cleaned it since my husband died. YouTube to the rescue and even that didn’t quite appease my fear that, even if I got it apart and cleaned all the bits, what if I couldn’t get it back together again?
It took me till lunchtime to pluck up the courage to get down on my hands and knees and Just Do It! I invoked that old maxim of Lefty Loosy, Righty Tighty, got it all dismantled, cleaned it thoroughly and put it back together again. Okay, the first attempt was upside down but in the end I triumphed. I set off in the rain to walk my dog, feeling as if I’d just won the Pulitzer Prize.
My baby chainsaw, my pride and joy, recently lost its chain as I, down on my hand and knees in the dirt, face-shield in place, attacked a suckering out-of-control lilac tree. No panicking this time, I dismantled it, smugly put it all back together again and – it wouldn’t work. Left Loosy Righty Tighty didn’t take care of the back-to-front, upside down option but I do have good friends I can occasionally call on. Which was clearly necessary.
Scoff if you will, all you natural-born handy-persons out there, but for us novices, while there is certainly a time to call in help, there’s also a time to put our hands on our hips, look the problem in the eye and ask, “How hard can it be?”
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