- November 17, 2024
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I have a long, sad history of attempting to fix things. One recent episode involved the ice-maker, which, thanks to a few YouTube videos, was successfully removed from the freezer and analyzed closely before being carefully replaced, still unable to produce ice. Add to that list the long hose that is supposed to spray water into the kitchen sink, as well as the garden-hose holster that was supposed to be screwed into the side of the house a few years ago.
It’s not a matter of laziness, but mostly of being a chicken. What if I twist that screw a bit too hard and it all falls apart in my hands, and the house sets on fire? I would rather live with duct tape than have to buy a whole new appliance.
But now we come to the great success of my handyman career: the lamp. It’s an unimpressive, cheap lamp that I bought when I was in college, but the metal brace on which the lampshade rests is missing. And then, forgive me for saying this, but a light bulb went off in my brain. I looked at the lampshade, and I looked at a wire hanger in my closet, and I thought, This is a job for a guy who can’t usually fix things.
I untwisted the hanger and worked on it for several minutes. My wife, Hailey, might claim that I was working on it for more like half an hour while I should have been supervising bath time, but I am a multi-tasker, so time flies, etc.
Long story short, the hanger was transformed into a custom-made wire sculpture, a halo that fits snugly into the lampshade, and the ends of the wire rest in grooves alongside the bulb.
I set up the lamp on the kitchen counter and turned it on. Suddenly it felt even more like home. Hailey hadn’t noticed, so I got her attention and said, “Do you notice anything different?”
She said, “That doesn’t go on the counter.”
To celebrate, I poured myself a bowl of cereal and brought the lamp to the kitchen table. My kids gathered around to hear the story of how I wrangled the hanger. Everyone loves the lamp. It’s a great addition to the family.
And, it’s something I can brag about when Hailey comes in from the garage, black smudges on her forehead, to inform me that she has successfully replaced the door handle to the minivan.
“That’s great,” I tell her, as I flip the switch, and a warm glow fills the room.
