This year will mark more than
three decades of not digging a shallow grave for my sainted wife.
You see, she has so, so many assets to include cooking, shopping, cleaning, helping with Smokey the Cat, and removing stubborn stains from my clothes. On the other hand, I have many assets as well. Not cooking, not shopping, not cleaning, not helping with Smokey, and finding those challenging stains for my clothes.
As is evident, we make a near-perfect couple. Until assisting with home projects, that is.
Somehow, we moved from a house the size of a matchbox to a comfortable home with numerous bedrooms, several bathrooms, living room, dining room, and sunroom, and garage. And while this sizeable space would seem to be perfect on the surface, it is deceiving.
As I just pointed out, it is sizeable, but whenever we are attempting to tackle home projects, we seem to run out of two critical things: light and patience.
Although lousy with windows, it often appears as though we are living inside a cave. Never enough light to see anything, especially the project-at-hand.
The first steps to any project are acquiring necessary parts, important tools, and enough adult beverages to last throughout the project. But also necessary is an auxiliary light source.
Because I realize I’m always short on light I have drop lights, flashlights, and even those headlights with elastic bands that fit around your skull to make you appear as though you’re heading into a coal mine.
Several years ago, I purchased a set of three under-the-counter LED low-voltage lights. It’s a pretty nifty set in that they seem to disappear when installed yet produce enough useable light to perform your kitchen duties.
They “disappeared” because I ran the wires through the cupboards and down the wall with clips and strategically place holes. It is a sweet setup that has been helping us see since their installation. I opted for LED lights because they are supposed to last 10,000 hours.
To preclude you from breaking out the old Bowmar calculator, leaving those LED lights on 24-hours a day, 365 days a year would only be 8,700 hours. But I digress.
A few days ago, these neato lights began flickering – disco-like. Since I installed them, I knew the problem. It seems as though Smokey did something to them; if not him, it was my sainted wife. Case closed.
Detective work akin to Lt. Joe Kenda was performed at which time I discovered it was the on/off switch that was the culprit.
Because this light set was likely
made in the country that brought you COVID-19 –
These switches were sold in pairs, and cost $1.65 for the pair; shipping on the other hand was $3.64.
The package arrived quickly enough, and the swapping procedure began. Out came the necessary parts, important tools, and enough adult beverages to finish the simple exchange of the faulty switch.
I dutifully cut the zip ties that held the wires in place and began to systematically unplug the components to make them easier to reach rather than attempting to work at shoulder level.
Without this handy light set available for illumination, I spent some time figuring out who could help me.
All those accolades about my sainted wife are true, unfortunately she has trouble holding a flashlight, and I’m not sure why.
During previous episodes when I was under the sink repairing the garbage disposal, and running antenna cable for our TV, I fully expected her to hold onto the flashlight which she would IDEALLY point toward the job-at-hand. Of course, I was wrong.
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| My sainted wife pointing the flashlight under the kitchen sink |
That powerful flashlight beam was pointed in every imaginable direction including at the neighbor’s house, the bedroom ceiling, beneath a flowerpot, and even her hand which led to a monologue about her upcoming nail appointment.
This is where I had to unplug a table lamp from the spare bedroom to continue with this operation.
It took longer to replace the tools and lamp after this modest task was completed than it did to actually replace the switch. But there is a moral to this story:
If it doesn’t involve cooking, shopping, cleaning, helping with Smokey the Cat, and removing stubborn stains from clothes, do the job yourself unless you enjoy sleeping on the sofa with the cat.
