Stairs

Home ownership is a strange thing. When I look around our Adirondack house, I picture all of the individual pieces as things we own. Ten doorknobs – we own them. Fifty-two guard-rail pieces of wood – ours. Light switches, ceiling fans, carpeting, wood support beams, hot water heater – all ours.

I always tell my auto mechanic that I really shouldn’t be allowed to own a car. I just don’t know enough about how they work to be worthy of having my own. The same is true of a house. I do enjoy when there’s a task I can accomplish, however, like assembling furniture from IKEA or wiring a stereo correctly. I’ve gotten as far as putting shelves up, but that’s about it.

"This light doesn’t work."
"Did you try changing the bulb?"

"The heat isn’t working."
"Did you try turning up the thermostat?"

"This door won’t close."
"Is it supposed to close?"

"The water is brown."
"What color should it be?"

I’m Mr. Handy.