Why would this be an improvement?

Sun, 10 Dec 2006 04:50:56 GMT

I don't feel well - literally. If I lose my voice tomorrow, I will declare this strep, just like last year at the conference, and drag myself off to the doctor for a quick-test on Monday. Meanwhile... it's Saturday, so there's nothing I can do, except to take the cold-shorten stuff I bought last year.

But it's gone. Apparently, it got used up by someone who failed to tell or put it on a list. List, what list? You mean the random comments to mom that she's supposed to make note of, and take care of instantly? But I digress... So while he was out, I asked him to pick me up some more, at the drug store en route. Of course, we all know what happened. But he promised to get it the next time, this afternoon. And we all know what happened. He finally went out a fourth time just to pick it up...

...but of course, came back with the stuff you take BEFORE you get exposed, not after you start to feel sick. I took one, then went out later to get the after-you-feel-sick stuff, but I suspect I'm much sicker than that.

So while I go out, he's home. NOT watching TV. It's a miracle! However, he has totally disappeared for 2+ hours - into the den, to play on his computer. I ask you, does this sound like an improvement? Now, not only is he not communicating, or helping me wrap the presents, collect the homework AND baking supplies, pack the car, put the kids to bed (one is self-sufficient, one is akin to the child who is taken over by the devil), and running the extra trip to the grocery store, but also, now, doing all the work at home in Silence. No him, NO TV.

I guess this is supposed to be an improvement.

Variation on "Procedure for Getting Something Fixed"

Thu, 07 Dec 2006 06:29:01 GMT

Well, since Cathy invited me here, it seems only appropriate that my first post should be a variation on her algorithm... If you haven't already read it, you really should read it first. http://whatbox.livejournal.com/2006/12/05/

Our algorithm is different, and may be more destructive. It begins the same way... something needs fixing, and I inquire, politely, once, twice, a dozen times, over weeks and months. Each time it is, of course, a total surprise to my engineer. Sometimes, he has no idea it needed attention at all; other times, he didn't know it was important to me, or needed his attention. Again. But I persist, quietly; nagging will not help.

But he has no time. He's busy, busy, every hour, of every day. And if he's not, he's watching TV. Which is also called busy. He must watch every day, before bed. Luckily, he goes to bed every day, and before bed is any time after waking up.

Eventually I tire of the game. Perhaps the water is now *streaming* in through the wall over the front door, instead of just dripping. Perhaps the transmission is now slipping at every intersection, no longer just my suspicion, a feeling, a recollection of long past events, as he assumes, but now a serious road hazard. I take your foot off the brakes after stopping, with no traffic to be seen anywhere in front of me, and the guy behind me honestly expects my car to GO! (And I won't even mention the last time we had this problem, when he was driving, and the transmission slipped SO badly that the van left us in the middle of traffic, on the way to vacation!! But I promised I wouldn't mention it. And besides, this is the car, not the van, so past experience doesn't count.)

If I can, I do it myself. The nice guy at the service station even came out with a funnel, to help the poor disabled woman put transmission fluid into her engine. Imagine his surprise when I knew exactly where to do that, and explained that in better days (and on simpler engines) I did all my own maintenance, timing, etc. Yes, he'll be mad at me, for doing it myself 3 months and several hundred miles later, but at least I might be able to sneak it past him - if he doesn't notice the extra bottle of transmission fluid I now have hidden in the cupboard in the garage, and the fact that the car no longer hesitates (or ignores you!) at stop signs.

But some things are just over my head. Sometimes literally. Can you imagine me on an extension ladder? The crutch is a bit of a detriment up there. So eventually, I call my fix-it-man, father-in-law-who-fixes-all, who comes and fixes the problem. If we could afford it, I'd call a stranger I could actually pay, but right now, my father-in-law-who-fixes-all is all we can afford. And he's good - he's done professional contract work. However, father-in-law-who-fixes-all, subscribes to the "measure once, cut twice" philosophy. This does NOT sit well with his-son-my-engineer, who subscribes instead to the "analyze-it-to-death-before-you-begin" philosophy. Mostly completed in front of the TV.

I'll be in trouble, BIG trouble, for calling him, with my Engineer who, of course, "could have done it myself." Yes, it's true. And often, it's a job better done. Or at least with less mistakes.

So back to my revised algorithm:
1) Something needs fixing,
2) I ask, gently, repeatedly, over days, weeks, and months,
3) he acts surprised that something needs fixing, and too busy just now, repeatedly,
4) after repeated iterations, I give up and do it myself, trying not to
a) get caught, or
b) get hurt, or
c) get angry about having to finally do it myself, or...
5) I call father-in-law-who-fixes-all.

Now's the really big problem: 6) father-in-law-who-fixes-all comes to fix it.

This can have no good results.

Yes, the problem gets fixed, mostly. Please don't ask about the deadbolt on our front door - the one that LOOKS like a deadbolt, and has a knob that TURNS like a deadbolt - but... does not, in fact, contain the thingy inside to actually BE a deadbolt, because my father-in-law-who-fixes-all lined up the very nice little cutting pattern on the door, aligned with the CENTER of the edge of the door, instead of the EDGE of the edge of the door, and drilled the nice, neat, big round hole from inside to outside of my front door, connecting the great outdoors in this 4-distinct-seasons part of the world, to my home, sans any wood, metal, or glass. The (fake) deadbolt hardware covers the very large, empty hole, and keeps the wind and rain from blowing in.

However, even if the problem gets fixed, which it mostly does, and the water is no longer pouring in above the doorjamb, I'm damned. I am guaranteed to get either 1) anger, or 2) silence, from my engineer, because I gave up and called father-in-law-who-fixes-all. Usually I get silence.

Which brings me to "issue" two (adopting Cathy's great definition of "issue" as a synonym for "qualities that, if I have to pretend they are okay for one more minute I'm going to shoot at least one of us,")... I need attention sometimes, not just silence. But that's a subject for another day.

And to be honest with you, gentle reader, I haven't yet called father-in-law-who-fixes-all back about the water pouring in through the front wall over the door. It was just a heavy drip when he left for vacation this fall, leaving my engineer instructions on what to do next, and now that he's home for the holidays it's cold, and I cannot imagine having the front wall of my 2-story foyer torn out for the holidays. So I plant the bucket carefully against the front door when it rains. Last week, I only got 4 or 5 inches of water in the 2 gallon bucket. Do you know how big a puddle that water would have made on my hardwood floor?? But who am I to complain? At least I *have* hardwood floor, and a foyer, and a bucket.

And I have my engineer, and my father-in-law-who-fixes-all.

Life is good.

cj_too

Why would this be an improvement?

Variation on "Procedure for Getting Something Fixed"