Thank
Heaven
for
the
Handyman
My
Mother
was
over
the
other
day
when
she
answered
the
phone
for
me.
A
polite
voice
inquired,
“Hello,
is
Roger
handy?”
“Well,”
my
Mom
confided
quickly,
“not
as
a
rule,
but
he
does
the
best
he
can.”
While
my
Mom
may
have
misinterpreted
the
caller's
query
regarding
my
husband's
whereabouts,
she
had
hit
the
nail
on
the
head!
Although
he's
helpful
and
hardworking,
Roger's
just
not
…
well,
handy!
Unfortunately
for
him,
this
is
the
time
of
year
when
the
pressure
to
prove
oneself
proficient
with
power
tools
really
starts
to
build.
Following
weeks
of
feverishly
running
around
town
merrily
giving
and
receiving,
the
cold
air
of
January
brings
us
back
indoors
to
quietly
reflect,
recover—and
redecorate.
It
doesn't
take
long
for
the
tryptophan-induced
tranquility
from
the
holiday
turkey
to
wear
off
and
restlessness
to
set
in.
Only
a
few
lazy
days
of
lounging
and
remotely
clicking
away
the
time
watching
shows
like
Trading
Spaces
and
Mission
Organization,
even
Yankee
Workshop,
and
you
start
to
look
around
and
think,
“This
old
house
could
sure
use
some
work
too!”
Your
thoughts
take
flight
and
then
there's
an
almost
uncontrollable
urge
to
fly
back
out
the
door
and
start
re-feathering
the
'ole
nest.
After
all,
home
improvement
can
be
a
much
quicker
fix
then
self-improvement,
and
you
don't
have
to
give
up
carbs.
This
month,
you'll
find
swarms
of
Bob
Vila
wannabees
buzzing
in
and
out
of
hardware
stores
across
town.
Each
one
lumbering
by,
pushing
carts
packed
with
optimism
and
promise
in
the
shape
of
assorted
hardware.
Their
eyes
glazed
over
in
heads
filled
with
dreams
and
hopes
that
all
will
go
as
planned.
But
for
the
handy-capped,
like
Rog,
there's
plenty
of
room
for
improvement
in
that
department.
Lucky
for
him,
I
come
from
a
long
line
of
handy
folk,
so
help
is
just
a
humbling
call
away.
Someone
is
usually
around
to
talk
him
through
a
tough
spot
via
speakerphone.
The
installation
of
our
new
thermostat
sounded
an
awful
lot
like
a
bomb
squad
defusing
an
explosive.
It's
just
too
bad
that
he
didn't
dial
for
a
lifeline
when
I
was
out
and
he
tried
to
change
a
faucet.
It
ended
up
looking
like
a
monkey
went
ape
in
the
toolbox
and
we
needed
a
canoe
to
paddle
around
our
kitchen
island.
My
grandfather
had
honed
his
mechanical
skills
making
fetching
frames
and
display
cases
for
my
grandmother's
handicraft
masterpieces
in
ceramic
and
puff
paint.
On
weekends,
my
Uncle
John
effortlessly
peels
away
at
Aunt
Jeanne's
ever-growing
“honey
do”
list,
while
Uncle
Irwin
whittles
in
his
own
woodshop—making
crafts
for
Aunt
Ruth
from
his
leftover
Chateau
Lafite
Rothschild
wine
crates.
My
Dad
and
brother
are
also
crack
plumbers.
One
morning
they
decided
to
build
a
new
bathroom
and
by
nightfall
they
were
playing
rock-paper-scissors
to
see
who
got
to
take
the
first
bubble
bath!
Even
my
Mom
can
run
rings
around
Rosie
the
Riveter.
Oh,
and
the
by
the
way—that
Makita
drill
in
the
garage
is
actually
mine.
Yes,
the
rest
of
my
family
could
rebuild
a
fallen
empire
with
some
duct
tape,
epoxy
glue,
and
a
length
of
string.
But
as
I
greet
my
defeated
looking
husband
upon
the
return
of
his
fourth
trip
to
our
local
“do
it
yourself”
store
in
his
attempt
to
install
a
dimmer
switch,
I'm
reminded,
once
again,
that
not
everyone
is
wired
with
the
skills
to
actually
do
it
themselves.
Thank
heaven
for
the
local
Handyman!
|
Audrey
Mark
is
a
free
spirit
and
freelance
writer
without
much
free
time!
Her
column
"Mark
My
Words"
appears
in
the
in
the
News
and
Observer
(Raleigh,
NC).
Her
work
has
also
been
featured
in
the
NC
Journal
for
Women,
Mom-Writers
Literary
Magazine,
MommiesMagazine.com,
HumorIsRelative.com
and
MainStreetMom.com.
