I’m not very mechanical. That is actually an understatement. I am not mechanical. That is actually also an understatement. I am like negative-mechanical.
I like numbers and I enjoy people and I can bake a fairly crusty pound cake, but I can’t fix a dag gone thing.
Stuff with nuts and bolts, screws and gas – just not my thing.
I try. When I first purchased a house I painted the entire inside – 2,500 square feet. I intended to coat the walls and ceilings. I did as well as the floors, bathroom fixtures and myself. It’s not for lack of trying. I have every tool you could ever imagine – thanks to my father who desperately wants me to be a fixer. He got that in my brother who can change car oil and install a garbage disposal. Man, I wish I could do that. If I could I’d have one in every sink in the house just because…
The other day I pulled out my lawn mower to cut the grass. It was difficult to crank. It’s only like twelve years old – why would it be so difficult to start? I don’t ask a lot of it, just crank once a week, cut and then it can sit around doing nothing the rest of the time. I even give it like four months OFF every year. How happy I’d be if all I had to do is work a couple of hours a week in the warm months.
Julie, who is .05% more mechanical than I am, suggested I check the oil.
I put gas in it, and now, now after only a decade, I have to ALSO check the oil? I took it to the shop several years ago for a tune up. It just seems like this mower is expecting a lot considering its output.
I screwed off the oil cap, and it did indeed look a bit dry. Sort of like my skin in February.
I had oil, so I filled it, screwed the cap back on and again tried to crank.
It did start, but a huge poof of white smoke billowed from its undercarriage. It looked like a smokestack from a tire manufacturing plant.
I was told by my woman that perhaps I’d overfilled. That seemed unlikely to me – I just put as much in as the container would allow.
A neighbor walking his dog passed by as the plume wafted away from our drive. He had a smile on his face. Julie’s brow was furrowed. Our neighbor said in a supportive way, “Don’t worry. He’ll figure it out.”
And I did. I siphoned ¾ of the liquid out and gave the mower a rest. Thirty minutes later she was cutting like her typical old self.
Julie thinks we need a new mower. I think she will make it another year or two. We have a small yard.
One might think that a guy who couldn’t fix things might be more prone to buying new stuff when in a situation like this. However, more than my disdain for fixing, is my disdain for spending money.
Even I can see the contradiction in my philosophies. And yet, it’s unlikely I’m going to change. Engrained.
The Real Full House 