Month: July 2017

Make it work

Such wisdom from a teenager: “Dad, don’t tell Mom ‘I told you so,’ ok?”

I took a deep breath. “I can’t promise you that.”

My daughter and I were trying to replace a gazebo canopy on our back deck, and this was moments after we realized we had gotten the wrong size.

The canopy had torn last year courtesy of Hurricane Matthew. I had tried to patch it together with some heavy duty tape, which looked just as classy as you would expect.

My wife and I had been in a home improvement store recently and saw an entire gazebo for sale for the, it seemed to me, quite reasonably price of $200. I said, “Let’s buy it.” My wife, being the sensible one, said, “Yeah, let’s not right this second, ok?”

When we got home, she began searching online, where she found a canopy for sale for $25. I am not a mathematician, but I think that’s less than the $200 for the entire thing.

The seller sent my wife some pictures and the specs. We went to the back deck and checked the measurements and tried our best to make sure the pictures matched our model. It looked FAIRLY close. “I’m not sure it’s the same model,” I told my wife.

She reminded me that $25 is waaaaay less than $200, and that it would (a) fit or (b) not fit, and we can chalk it up in the “C’est la vie” category.

I went and picked up the canopy and brought it home. My wife and son were gone, so I decided it would be a fun surprise if I got it up before they got home. It was definitely a two-person job, so I enlisted the support of my daughter.

The first thing we did was savagely rip the old canopy off, celebrating the removal of our torn and worn covering. Once done, we unfurled the new canopy. Seemed to be the right size, just as the measurements had promised us.

Then I looked at the corners, where it attached to the frame of the gazebo. Not at all the same. And not at all going to work. I climbed on a ladder for closer inspection, as if being six inches from the obvious mismatch would somehow make it fit.

I mumbled something about how I knew it wasn’t go to be the right one. OK, mumbled probably isn’t the right word. Grumbled loudly, probably.

I dropped the canopy and let it fall to the deck flooring. I stared at my daughter, who decided to offer up the choice words of household harmony.

My daughter, being the perpetual optimist, said we could probably find a way to make it work. I told her that the connection points were for a different model, and that it would not ever work and that it was probably the worst thing that had happened to anyone in the last decade or so.

“What if we used zip ties to connect it?”

Oh. Right. Sure, let’s try that.

After about ten minutes, we had the canopy secured, with the zip ties firmly in place and tucked away out of sight. My daughter asked if she could tighten the zip ties, which I realized after the fact was so that she could remind me that it was not only her idea but her sweat equity that got the job done. No credit for Mr. Pessimist. Rightfully so.

When my wife came home, she was pleased to see the new canopy up. Our daughter was quick to tell her that she was the brains and brawn behind the assembly, which she was. And I gave her full credit for that. I was proud she came up with a solution and executed it. I told my wife that our daughter had done a great job, and I thought the canopy looked great. Even if it was a different model. Just as I had told her.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Mt. Pleasant. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

Home improvement

Washed up

My wife and I have been together for more than 20 years. So suffice to say, I can determine with fairly good accuracy what situation awaits when I hear my name called from another room at a louder than usual level.

For example, there is, “MICHAEL!” in a high, fast, curt tone. That means there is a roach crawling across the floor.

Or, “MI-CHAELLLL…” in a sing-songy sweet delivery, which means she has found the missing wallet I have been trying to find for our hours, having located it exactly where she had suggested I look hours earlier.

And then there is, “MICHAEL!!!!” in a quick, urgent yelp, which clearly says, “Pause ‘Dr. Strange’ and get in here right now because the laundry room is flooded.”

Yep, heard that last one the other night.

As I leapt from the chair, I told our daughter to pause the movie. Even the teenager who was really into the movie knew that pausing the movie was the a-plus move based on mom’s tone.

Sure enough, I entered the laundry room and water was everywhere.

“That’s not good,” I said, making the single boldest statement ever.

Safe bet it was the washing machine, as it’s the only thing in that room that routinely hangs around with gallons of water. We began putting towels all over the floor, and pulled the washing machine out to clean up as much as we could. Fun fact: Do you know what is behind and under your washing machine? A nightmarish collection of yuck that probably makes beneath your fridge look like an operating room. Also, several pairs of underwear.

Once we cleaned the entire area we decided to start the washing machine and see if we could pinpoint the problem.

We started the wash and the water started flowing into the unit. “We may have to wait for the whole cycle to run,” I told my wife, “so we can determine where along the cycle…”

And then water came pouring out from underneath the washing machine.

Never mind. It’s this part of the cycle. I turned the washer off and we cleaned up our newest flood. Wondering if perhaps I could fix this problem myself, I watched three YouTube videos on how to remove the cover from a washing machine. After realizing I was unable to even figure out how to get the cover off and look at where the problem may be, I confidently said, “Yep, time to buy a new one.”

OK, I am sure I could have called a repairman or someone with a hint of mechanical skills. But the bottom line is this washing machine is older than my oldest child, and has slowly been breaking down over the years. Even if I could fix this problem, I would just be delaying the inevitable.

So we set out washer shopping. I say “we” because that makes me feel like I played a part in this. I did not, as I would have walked into the store, seen a washer, and said, “I’ll take it.” My wife, however, actually does research on these things and finds out which units are, you know, good.

Eventually we (she) found some potential models. She humored me by taking me to the store and showing me the two finalists. She asked which I preferred. I said, “That one. It’s cheaper.” She informed me there was more to it than that. I told her that’s why she is in charge of important things in our house, and I am in charge of killing roaches. Skill sets.

So our new unit should be delivered in a few days, and hopefully this one will serve us for many faithful years. And if it does have some issues, especially after its warranty has expired, I will just YouTube some ways to fix it. And then buy a new one.

Uncategorized

It’s a gas gas gas

Folks, here is one truth I know: There is only one correct response if your significant other says, “You go on. I’ll call the fire department.”

That’s right – hit the road! You’ve been given the green light, and your best guy/gal is shouldering the worries of whatever the fire department may be coming out to tend to so go take on the world!

Oh, wait. I mean, exactly the opposite of that.

The other day my wife and I were planning on heading out for the day, and my wife told me she smelled something. “Don’t you smell that?” she said. My wife walked around the house like a bloodhound, nose in the air, sniff-sniffing wherever she went. “There. There. Not there. There.” Eventually, I decided to uproot myself from my chair and walk the house with her. After a few sniff-sniffs, I caught a whiff, too. And it was strong.

We found the smell concentrated in an upstairs bathroom and our downstairs laundry closet. As we wondered aloud if it was a gas leak, it was at that moment that my wife and I both had the frank discussion where we admitted to ourselves that we did not know if, in fact, we had gas coming into our house. I am sure some of you mock us for that. Just a hunch an even higher percentage of you are saying, “Wait, do we have gas?”

After a thorough search, we found no culprits. I told my wife that we should cut the air up a little higher, head out of the day, and come back when it had all sorted itself out. This is the same approach I take to car repair and personal health.

My wife said she was not going to leave the house like this. At that point, she decided we should call the fire department and that I could just go on, if that was my prerogative.

I am sure you are not surprised to learn that I did not, in fact, head on out. Even I am not that dumb. I called dispatch and explained to the operator what was going on. She instructed me to get everyone out of the house and that the fire department would be there soon. My wife, son and dogs were already out back. I called up for my daughter and told her that we had to evacuate the house. She said, “I need to find my hairbrush!!!!” I told her to Get. Out. Now. “I’M LOOKING FOR MY HAIRBRUSH!!!” I ruin everything, with silly little evacuations and such.

The fire department showed up in a few minutes, and they searched the house and found nothing. Their meters weren’t showing anything harmful. They checked every room, every appliance, every nook and cranny. They told us we could come back in, and my wife, poking around in the laundry room, found the culprit – a gasoline-soaked blouse that was wrapped in a towel and tucked up snug against the washing machine.

We sorted it out in short order. A cousin who is staying with us had headed out early in the morning. She stopped to get gas, and the gas splashed back on her. She came back to our house, showered upstairs, and rinsed off the blouse. There were items in the wash, so she put the blouse in a towel by the wash and sent us a text letting us know what the deal was, as she didn’t want to wake us at 5 in the morning.

Turns out, said text never left the starting blocks. She was very apologetic about it, and we told her not to worry about it because, hey, if nothing else, column material.

I told the firemen that I really appreciated them coming out, and I was sorry if I had sent them on a wild goose chase. They assured me that they would much rather residents give them a call when in doubt, rather than, say, crank up the air and just hope it all blows over.

Hopefully we won’t be calling them anytime again soon, but I am relieved to know that they are quick on the draw when responding. Should we have a similar event in the future, I won’t hesitate to call them. But I will make sure I keep an emergency hairbrush outside of the house, just in case.