NFrameFred
Member
I'm a 'do-it-your-self-er' traditionally, mostly because growing up without much you learn to do for yourself when you can't afford to buy it new or pay someone to do work for you. As such, I guess I could be said to be at least "adequate" in many different practical skills that one might have occasion to hire out if they can afford it, like construction, roofing, painting, wiring and electrical, carpentry and design, gun smithing, reloading . . . you get the idea, a lot of things I was never really paid to do as a vocation, just side skills – not bragging, just stating what my experiences have been. A kind of Jack-of-all-trades-master-of-none as it were. I enjoy most of it . . . except plumbing. I hate plumbing. I'll do it, but only when necessary.
More on that, later.
The wife is few years younger and is finishing up her working life while I am now retired. She increasingly tends to long for her retirement date as she knows I'm here at home and she wants to be with and spend time with me. I'm luckier than many in that regard.
Well . . . as our situation goes our home was due for some remodeling and upgrades so we decided to, among other things, rip out the forty five year old kitchen and completely redo it. She still goes off to work each day at the medical office and helps pay for it while I remain here playing at many of the things listed above in that endeavor.
First off, my hat is off to many of you guys and gals that mirror my situation and have the gumption to roll up your sleeves, jump in and do that work. I've found that those who are professional carpenters, electricians and plumbers are smarter, more resourceful and more talented many times than those who earn a lot more and have an alphabet soup of initials after their names by virtue of a college degree. However, in this story I don't count their vocation as pertinent here as they get paid for and make a living doing it. They're supposed to be better at it. This is for all the poor schmucks like me that can relate.
So I'm attempting to uninstall/re-install kitchen plumbing, sinks and disposal in the cabinet space allotted for such and doing my best to fit into the space as it is to accomplish said work. Think of a typical such space where a two year old playing hide and seek might cram himself into for a hiding place during the game – except, as you may infer, I'm quite a bit larger than any two year old I'm currently acquainted with. I'm on my back in the most uncomfortable position I can presently imagine with my head and shoulders wedged in the cabinet under all of this detritus attempting to contort my limbs into a position not only to reach, but then manipulate forty five year old screws, clamps, and fixtures, and, at the moment my focus is on one particularly ill placed screw in a seemingly unreachable location that MUST be removed for further work to proceed.
The best way I can describe it is for you to imagine being assigned to thread a needle. You have a cast on your right wrist and both hands are cuffed behind your back. And you feel like you're lying on the floor of a convenience store restroom. In the dark.
And, total truth here, I'm lying so the muscle in my back that I strained several weeks ago is acutely reminding me that this is not a good position and something is going to have to give. Occasionally I am compelled to channel the spirit of a long deceased Scottish ancestor to invoke curses (in his accent) on the one (and his progeny) that designed this like this and installed it in the first place (one of things that has always impressed me about the Scots is their ability to drink and to curse so colorfully).
It is at this moment that my strategically out of place cell phone on the counter goes off. Too bad. They'll just have to call back.
It stops ringing and in five seconds the land line on the wall starts to ring. Now I must point out at this juncture that the wife knows I'm up to my hips in alligators with the kitchen at the moment and if someone is trying to reach me this urgently, due to reasons I can't disclose I figure I need to answer the phone. (well, I could tell you the reasons, but then they'd have to dispatch a 'wet' team to your house to ensure your silence, so . . . ) Ignoring the pain in my back and the hide I scrape off extricating myself from the compressed torture chamber under the sink, I stagger upright and instruct my reluctant arthritic knees to fight our way to the phone. The caller I.D. indicates it is the wife calling.
"Hello?"
"Hey ! Just had to share this with you ! One of our patients just said the funniest thing . . . "
>sigh<
I do my best to appreciate that we're apart and she just wants to share her day with me as I go in search of the Tylenol . . . .
Did I mention how much I hate plumbing ?
More on that, later.
The wife is few years younger and is finishing up her working life while I am now retired. She increasingly tends to long for her retirement date as she knows I'm here at home and she wants to be with and spend time with me. I'm luckier than many in that regard.
Well . . . as our situation goes our home was due for some remodeling and upgrades so we decided to, among other things, rip out the forty five year old kitchen and completely redo it. She still goes off to work each day at the medical office and helps pay for it while I remain here playing at many of the things listed above in that endeavor.
First off, my hat is off to many of you guys and gals that mirror my situation and have the gumption to roll up your sleeves, jump in and do that work. I've found that those who are professional carpenters, electricians and plumbers are smarter, more resourceful and more talented many times than those who earn a lot more and have an alphabet soup of initials after their names by virtue of a college degree. However, in this story I don't count their vocation as pertinent here as they get paid for and make a living doing it. They're supposed to be better at it. This is for all the poor schmucks like me that can relate.
So I'm attempting to uninstall/re-install kitchen plumbing, sinks and disposal in the cabinet space allotted for such and doing my best to fit into the space as it is to accomplish said work. Think of a typical such space where a two year old playing hide and seek might cram himself into for a hiding place during the game – except, as you may infer, I'm quite a bit larger than any two year old I'm currently acquainted with. I'm on my back in the most uncomfortable position I can presently imagine with my head and shoulders wedged in the cabinet under all of this detritus attempting to contort my limbs into a position not only to reach, but then manipulate forty five year old screws, clamps, and fixtures, and, at the moment my focus is on one particularly ill placed screw in a seemingly unreachable location that MUST be removed for further work to proceed.
The best way I can describe it is for you to imagine being assigned to thread a needle. You have a cast on your right wrist and both hands are cuffed behind your back. And you feel like you're lying on the floor of a convenience store restroom. In the dark.
And, total truth here, I'm lying so the muscle in my back that I strained several weeks ago is acutely reminding me that this is not a good position and something is going to have to give. Occasionally I am compelled to channel the spirit of a long deceased Scottish ancestor to invoke curses (in his accent) on the one (and his progeny) that designed this like this and installed it in the first place (one of things that has always impressed me about the Scots is their ability to drink and to curse so colorfully).
It is at this moment that my strategically out of place cell phone on the counter goes off. Too bad. They'll just have to call back.
It stops ringing and in five seconds the land line on the wall starts to ring. Now I must point out at this juncture that the wife knows I'm up to my hips in alligators with the kitchen at the moment and if someone is trying to reach me this urgently, due to reasons I can't disclose I figure I need to answer the phone. (well, I could tell you the reasons, but then they'd have to dispatch a 'wet' team to your house to ensure your silence, so . . . ) Ignoring the pain in my back and the hide I scrape off extricating myself from the compressed torture chamber under the sink, I stagger upright and instruct my reluctant arthritic knees to fight our way to the phone. The caller I.D. indicates it is the wife calling.
"Hello?"
"Hey ! Just had to share this with you ! One of our patients just said the funniest thing . . . "
>sigh<
I do my best to appreciate that we're apart and she just wants to share her day with me as I go in search of the Tylenol . . . .
Did I mention how much I hate plumbing ?
