The honey do list is long, but there is no honey to do it, so I have to wait until the impatient, good with tools and problem solving part of my personality decides to manifest. Generally after a period of sloth and ennui.
There is a list for every part and system of this old shack I live in; it was built by an itinerant drunk by the name of Luther in 1926. He built a good fieldstone foundation, incorporating a few of the glacial erratics on the property, and a fireplace in the center. After that, I believe he lost interest in the rules of engineering concerning load bearing and other structural integrity niceties. This is all part of a much longer story being worked on off the DB blog, but I offer it as an introduction to why there is a constant need for shit to get done on the place.
If I believed in eternity as a true concept concerning physical reality, or the relative world as some Eastern lines of thought like to call it, I would say that this is an eternal project, but I know better. Someday, it will be just a pile that someone is going through looking for clues as to how this life form existed on this planet. They will find some plastic figurines, bits of metal, plenty of nails, screws, tacks, springs and staples. There will be the remains of a primitive septic system, a failed garden and maybe I should leave them a note to watch out for the raccoons. I'm pretty sure they will still be living under whatever is left.
So, today I decided to knock a few plumbing tasks off the list. Everything is made out of plastic now, and so it lasts for about 2 1/2 years. The kitchen sprayer was the first thing. I spent a bit of time under the sink with a head lamp trying to decipher a clip that I remember attaching, but could not figure out how to detach it. [Note to self: before attaching things, always experiment with detaching them first.] I called a plumbing supply house in Keene and just to be sexist about it, as soon as I heard a woman's voice, I assumed it was a secretary [correct] who knew jack about plumbing [also correct]. She put me through to some guy, who as soon as he heard a woman's voice, might have thought "This bitch is an idiot, why doesn't she just cough up for a plumber? Do I look like a plumber?". He did not. His helpfulness extended to giving me an 800 number, which I called, but my heart wasn't in it. I got a woman who said she could only help me if she had a serial number, which, of course, my fixtures did not have. " Thank you so much," I said. "Have a nice day," she said as I was hanging up.
My mother used to insist that the world of things, appliances and whatnot were problems only because men designed them. Those pretty faucet handles that are too slippery to turn off once your hands are wet and/or soapy. Clips that pop on like magic, but are hell to remove.
All the same, I can't believe that things are designed without some kind of plan in mind, and what's the worst that could happen? I break it and have to call a plumber.
Well, that issue was successfully taken care of and it only took twice as long as it ought, but I didn't have to pay someone $100. to make me feel like an idiot. I can do that just fine. No charge.
