In the old days (a few years ago), he would’ve moved heaven and earth (cabinets, table, rugs) to fix the downstairs bathroom’s door that pops open if it’s not closed to click. All it would require, as always is the case with the pop-opens, is a longer screw — and now, two, on the hinge. However, it’s down near the floor, and indeed, there are cabinets to move. Little ones. Plastic. They hold two school-goers’ ready-to-grab clothes. Easily moved.
They haven’t moved. Even she can finesse the art of replacing hinge screws. If only those two little plastic cabinets weren’t directly in the way. Or if only it was the higher hinge, but in that event, it wouldn’t pop open.
While he was in rehab with the broken bones, a sizable decorative pillar fell off the house out front. In the old days… Well. Somebody (him? daughter?) remade the pillar’s base, but the pillar, awaiting gluing, clamping, and painting, rests on sawhorses out in what was once the prettiest yard. No one will be surprised if it sits the winter and grows a chipmunk nest/larder. Again, a simple fix, but… a simple fix for *someday* when there’s no paid work to be doing.
She’d briefly stored the boxy, shelved but lightweight stand lamp in the dining room as she’d run out of time before work to haul it down to the basement or up to teen grandson’s room. That was all it took for someone to bump into it enough to knock to the floor the 7th grade daughter’s handmade clock that’s been on that same wall, lo, these 20+ years. The clock is fine, but its top and middle hosted some amazing knick-knacks. A wooden Celtic cross from son. A photo of the twin towers he took, once, perhaps from the ferry. An Irish girl doll. The Irish nameplate. An olive wood rosary from Jerusalem.
They’re all safe…somewhere. Very safe. An easy fix, yes.. sometime.
The window shade, the paper one looped over a rod to mute the afternoon sun in the living room, finally fell off. It’s on the piano, not even pleated, now. It might want an apology, if not restoral, and now the piano is pissed off, too.
No one knows, though, because the large black leather sofa that was covering one of two wall heaters has been reluctantly moved (as if hot air can’t find its way through/around things) to the non-working piano front — a dinosaur of a piano that would fit through the front door that is never used, because the key was lost 34 years ago. Much would have to be moved so as to push the beast on its casters out onto a ramp leading into a large pickup truck. It would free up an entire wall in the tiny room.
Not an easy fix. It’s become a holder of carved birds, feathers, gifted and found pine cones, seashells, candles, rocks with family names carefully markered on, that were transferred out of their Easter nest (which disintegrated) to a large seashell and a small Canada dish. It has hosted framed photos, back when she hadn’t put them all on in collages on the walls for his big 60th party (which almost wasn’t).
It has held Easter vases of fresh blooms, and very often a Creche and adorable(ish) happy, round snowfolks. Cut-out snowflakes remain, as do flattened coins, a railroad spike, and swimmers ear plugs (in the event any of these need to be found quickly).
The teen managed to break the refrigerator door. Often has it been said, “What’s THIS?? On a $1300 Samsung??” They have the tiny part to replace, since it was utterly snapped. It is kept safely in his desk drawer in a baggie. Someday… someday, an easy fix.
There is a carpet of orange and gold in all the yards, on the driveway, and even on the deck. If only it hadn’t rained and rained…
And every time she drops something, she looks beyond to see if it can be nudged under furniture — much like the 6- and 7-year old do. Everything of energy is conserved, she tells herself (too) for the paid work…
And.. more orange (and gold) —