Mr. Fix-it

My husband, Ernie, can fix anything – or almost anything. Computers, oddly, are off-limits; he’s chosen to opt out of that minefield leaving me to develop relationships with the Apple “geniuses” and the cute computer jock who owns a shop nearby. Mechanical, electrical, basic plumbing, heating and carpentry problems are all within his bailiwick. His skills have saved us, I would guess, some thousands, maybe even tens of thousands of dollars that most people fork over to handymen and repair crews.

This, in no way, should imply that these jobs get done easily or in the timeliest of manners. Months can drag on without the use of one or another appliance, hinge or fully functional handle. We’ve learned to bypass problems with band-aid fixes until they reach the point of total, tantrum-inducing frustration. My daughters and I have figured out how to jiggle doorknobs and keys, manually stop the dishwasher rinse cycle, ream out clogged drains and match light the stove’s electrical igniter system. We step over unsecured bits of molding, and masssage the spigots of the Jacuzzi to adjust water temperature.

The upside of my hubby’s talents is that we have outstandingly sophisticated sound and lighting systems, a beautiful cork floor in the kitchen and cars that never have to be serviced. We’ve recently acquired Astra, the Cadillac of espresso machines, that he plumbed right into the water source. Upon its arrival, before it took up half the counter space in the kitchen, Ernie brought it to his workbench and took it all apart, “just to see how it works”. Now that he is on intimate terms with its mechanical skeleton, and having tweaked the matching coffee grinder to an acceptable, if not perfect level of performance, he can go toe to toe with any barista in Massachusetts.

I’ve also had to accept that whenever we purchase something – furniture, appliances, even decorative pieces, Ernie is already planning to rebuild, retrofit or improve it. Several chairs have extra lifts put under the front legs, the coffee grinder just yesterday got a new, easier-to-grasp handle, and little plastic bumpers have been affixed to the toilet seats to affect a more quiet closure.

Every once and again, several appliances/systems/parts go on strike - as if they had a union meeting and planned a work slow down. “Ernie needs a project”, they must conspire in the dark of the night. As I write, the stove is wheezing it’s pre-heating song, the toilet is refusing to swallow all the tissue bits and I just tripped over the wooden floor strip (is it a jamb?) between the kitchen and dining room. I hesitate to insist that they be repaired, knowing that I’ll be climbing over, working around or pushing aside various parts and tools for days or weeks to come.

When Ernie and I became engaged, I promised never to turn into a nagging wife, and I think that for the most part, I’ve succeeded. “I can manage with this (broken, bent, squeaking, choose one) (door, handle, switch) for a little longer” has been my smiling response to so many little household indignities.

In my earlier life, I believed that I was a reasonably competent young woman, able to fix simple things and keep my car oil changed twice a year. In allying myself with Mr. Fix-it, my ego has taken a beating; my meager home repair skills pale in the face of his mastery of household mysteries.

For my own mental health, I needed to identify my strengths to reset the scales evenly. As good as Ernie is at fixing things, I realized he’s at a total loss when it comes to organizing his space and putting things in order. “I don’t get that when you fold things, they take up less space. It just doesn’t make sense,” he told me recently. Folding, straightening and compartmentalizing are things I do without even thinking.

When Ernie plies his talent and fixes or rebuilds everything in sight, whether it needs it or not, I know it’s time to call upon my gift. I waltz in, push him aside and clean up the mess. Everything goes back where it belongs, neatly folded, sorted and wiped down. Between the two of us, like Jack Sprat and his wife, the balance is perfect; we can keep the clutter clean and everything working at its optimal best.