More Tales of the Hopeless Handyman

Now that spring is finally with us, and we've got this home thing, this was the first week-end we really had to start all those outside things that responsible home-loving homeowners do every waking minute of their livings during the week-end. And p.s.: in case I haven't mentioned this before, I am completely inept when it comes to outdoor household duties.

It's definitely something I didn't miss when I left Josie with the homestead. Now, don't get me wrong: I can get the job done. But there is pain involved, and some things I really hated doing. I didn't miss not mowing a lawn for ten years, for example, after I moved out. 

When Corb and I agreed to buy the house, we bought it with him clearly knowing this was a weakness on my part. There was no buyer beware, here. He knew that he liked to landscape and that I liked watching him landscape. Oh, yes, we agreed that I would help out. But there were limitations.

Anyway, we decided to start on the gutters this week-end. The gutters at Green Victoria are in dire need of doing. The previous owners had moved to Maine during the spring, and cleaning out leaves and other debris from the downspouts of their previous monstrosity had not been a priority. So, yesterday, we went to Loewe's, bought ourselves a nice long hose and a big huge ladder, and there I was, climbing up ladders, dredging out crap with my garden gloves, and then, watering the downspouts to make sure they were clear and free of the muddy sludge that had formed at the bottom.

And I was pretty good at it, too, until we reached the back gutters. The ladder had to go up a lot higher to reach them, and I suddenly realized I wasn't the biggest fan of heights. Corb was at the bottom, though, holding the ladder and coaxing me through it.

"I can't stand this...this is too high up..." Some people whistle while they work, I keep up a steady monologue of insecurity and paranoia.

"You can do it. You're doing great!" shouted Corb encouragingly.

"There! I'm done!" And then, with the hose still running, I nervously threw it down and proceeded to step downward, when---

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

Um? What?

I looked down, and there was Corb, gripping his right eye and screaming in pain. "I hate you! I hate you! I f***ing hate you!"

Oh no...had I...oh, dear. I had. As quick as I could, I climbed down the ladder to see if I could help. Corb was now kneeling on the ground, writhing in pain. "I'm blind...I'm blind...I can't see..."

"Oh my God, you're blind! You can't see!" I screamed out, bordering on the hysterical. "Waitaminute..." I looked over. "You don't have your glasses on..."

"Where are my glasses?" He looked at his hands. "Oh my God, I'm covered in blood!"

"Can I help you?" I looked over. Like an angel of mercy, an elderly gentleman had suddenly appeared near Corb. Oh great, of all times to meet the neighbors. He extended his hand. "My name is Dick Whitehead." 

Dick Whitehead? Let's pause for a minute to reflect on how awesome that name is. Suddenly my life was bordering on the surreal. "I'm a retired police officer. Is everything okay?"

"Oh. Hi!" I looked around nervously and shook his hand. "Yeah, we had a little accident with the--"

"Oh God, oh God! Ted, I f***ing hate you. I F***CKING hate you! Oh my God, it hurts so much!!!!"

The elderly gentleman turned a white shade of pale. "He doesn't usually swear like that, I swear."

###

For some reason, Dick Whitehead left quite quickly. And an hour later, we were driving to pick Theo up from work, without the need for an emergency room, but with the need of a bandage, which was now covered in blood. Corb had a terrible bruise under his eye...and a presentation to deliver in the morning.

"Oh God," I moaned as I was driving, reliving the incident in my head. "It was awful. I was so stupid and careless. How could I have thrown that hose down without looking? Without turning off the water? It was just stupid stupid stupid..." Then, another thought struck me. "Gah, I am so irresponsible! What would have happened if I had been up there with a CHAINSAW and done that? Your poor head would have been sliced off!"

Well, that got his attention. Corb stopped his groaning and looked over at me, eyes full of amazement (well, one eye, at least). "Ted, why in the hell would you be cleaning the gutters with a chainsaw?"

"That's not the point!" I said, wallowing in sadness. And then, another thought. "Oh my God! What if Kaeden had been down below?"

"Ted, why in the hell would your two year old grandson be holding the ladder while you cleaned the gutters with a chainsaw?" Then he held his eye and shook his head. "Please don't make me laugh. When I smile, my eye hurts..."

Earl's Gotta Die

"Actually, this isn't half as bad as I thought it would be," I said, staring out of the window at the empty road the stretched out before us. Then, I shivered.

Corb smiled, behind the wheel. "You'll have to excuse Ted, Linda. He's a bit of a nervous passenger."

"Especially during blizzards," I added.

"I can understand that," replied Linda, in the back seat, as the cat in her arms and wrapped up in blankets meowed every five seconds. "I'm a bit of a nervous passenger, too."

Linda is our next door neighbor. Her cat, Earl, is an 18-year-old tabby. It was Saturday at noontime, the day after the blizzard in New England that stole our lives this week-end. Three feet of snow, the fifth worst in Massachusetts history. And after a morning at the apartment complex pitching together to undig our cars out from underneath, as we were all walking up the stairs to our apartment and I was looking forward to doing nothing for the next three hours, we learned Linda had a bit of a dilemma.

"Last week I learned from the doctor that Earl has a problem with his kidneys. He says they're functioning at fifty percent. He put him on some special medicine and told me to keep an eye on him. But Earl's been getting worse, not better. He's not eating at all and hasn't moved in a day. I need to take him to the animal hospital."

"But there's a driving ban in effect," said Corb, concerned.

"I called the police," said Linda. "You can drive for emergency sitiations. Earl's dying, The animal hospital said to bring him in."

"So you're driving alone?" I asked. "Without a cat carrier?" Corb and I looked at each other, concerned. "You can't do that, Linda. You'll end up killing yourself."  Corb and I looked at each other again. I knew she wasn't going to ask, but... "Why don't you let us go with you?" I suggested.

Which is why, one hour later, we were headed out of the apartment, onto the roads, and in defiance of the driving ban in effect until four in the afternoon. The fine for disobeying: One year in prison and $500. I doubt they'd enforce such a thing, but I did hope that what Linda had said about calling the police was actually true.

We were taking her car, a small, older vehicles with brakes that sqeaked. We didn't know about the squeaking brakes things until we had traveled down the road a bit. Linda is in her fifties, with owl-like glasses and a round face. Kind eyes. I could tell from her vehicle that she was an anxious driver...her casette tape recorder (yes, tape recorder) had in it a tape on overcoming stress . And there she was in the back, rocking Earl back and forth, as he cried and looked up at her, terrified.

Luckily, the highway was surprisingly clear. And even better, we ended up behind a vehicle spreading salt onto the highway. We thanked our lucky stars and followed the truck for five exits, until we had to get off.

"Now I think this is the right one," said Linda, after we had gotten off the highway and drove for about two more miles, ending up on a windy backstreet road. "At least, these are the directions they gave me..."

"Maybe we can ask that person shoveling?" I suggested, pointing out a woman down the road.

"Sure Ted," said Corb, cheerily. "Sure you can!"

He pulled over. I got her attention. She stopped shoveling and walked over. She was a heavyset lady, with a huge mat of graying hair. And it wasn't until she walked over that I realized she had a huge long snot dangling out from one side of her nose.

"Can I help you?" she asked, as the snot dangling back and forth in the breeze.

I ignored the obvious distraction. "Are we on the right road for Tuft's Animal Hospital?"

She nodded, and her swaying snot nodded with her. "Sure are." Then she made a snorting noise, and like a puppet on a string, sucked most of the snot back in. "About a mile down the road. That way." She pointed. The snot started making its way back out.

We drove off before it could start waving around again. For a minute, all three of us were quiet.

And then... "Was that--?"

Corb grinned. "Did she just have...?"

Linda was more direct. "Was that a mile long snot hanging out of her nose?"

The three of us burst in hysterical, gut-hurting laughter.

###

Fast forward, it's Sunday. About two hours ago, we hear a knock on our apartment door. Corb goes to answer it.

It was Linda. "I just wanted to let you know. Earl died this morning."

"Ohhhhhh...Linda..." Corb said. "I'm so sorry."

"I am, too," It was obvious she had been crying.

"Are you okay?"

"I am. But I just wanted to thank both of you for going along with me yesterday. It made a hard thing a lot easier, and I really appreciate it. I was really touched that you helped me out like that, and I just wanted to say thank you."

After the door was closed, Corb walked back into the living room. "Did you hug her?" I asked.

"No, I wasn't sure what to do." A pause. "Should I have?"

I can't believe I have to say this. "YES. Of course you should have."

"Well, go knock on her door right now, Ted. You can hug her!" He started to run toward me.

I escaped his clutches. But I will hug her, next time I see her. Honestly.

I guess it was Earl's time to go, and I hope that his death wasn't too painful. From what Linda told us, he had cancer. The look on his eyes as we sat in the waiting room was wide-eyed and terrified. He never did stop meowing the entire three hours that we were with him. It must have been a frightening ride, even if he spent the time wrapped in Linda's arms.

Even so, I'm glad we defied the elements and got him to where he needed to be. Even if Earl had to die, it makes me feel good to know that Linda got him there safely, and it did feel kind of badass to be defying the ban on driving for a good reason.

I kind of think we earned a few gold stars yesterday afternoon. Well, at least, that's my take on things.

Killer queso.

"That was some killer queso dip you made tonight."

"How so?" Corb looks over my way, his beady little blues eyes shining. He's in the driver's seat, we're making our way home from Josie's house. It's Sunday night, around nine. We've just dropped the kids off.

"Well, let me think about this. First of all, the second we're done with supper, Ashes runs into the bathroom. Remember that? I told you it smelled like bad gas, after she got out, and you said it smelled more like bad ass? You remember that, right?"

"Oh, yes." Corb smiles, entertained with himself. "I did say something like that."

"Then we get to Josie's house, and the first thing I do is run upstairs to the kids' bathroom. I tell you Corb, I thought I was going to crap my pants!" I pause, turn away from him, stare outside at the pretty Christmas lights, examining the darkness in my soul. "In fact..."

"Ted, you didn't!"

"No. I didn't!" Beat beat beat.

"But I have to tell you, it was the worst feeling in the world. There I am, running up the stairs with this awful squishing feeling hovering around the edges of my ass, and then I get to the top, and I realize that the kids have closed the doggy fence. The doggy fence was closed, Corb! And I can't figure out how the hell to open the goddamn thing. And so I'm standing there, fumbling around, trying desperately to figure out how to unlock the thing. Hoping, praying. Meanwhile, things are pushing out and pushing out and I'm squeezing my butt cheeks tighter and tighter, and I'm wondering whether I can just climb over the damn thing but then I think that lifting my leg up might not be a good idea...

"And finally, I get it undone! I run into the bathroom, pull down my pants, and sploosh! It all comes out. All of it, like a flood. And I'm amazed I made it, because honestly, my ass cheeks couldn't have brushed onto that toilet bowl for more than a second before--"

"All right!" Corb screams out. "Ted, stop it! That's enough, really!"

I try not to smile. "But I checked my pants, just to make sure."

"Ted! Really, that's enough!"

"And they're clean. And I'm amazed! But then I go to wash my hands, and after that, I'm leaving the room and wave number two suddenly comes on. You ever have a wave number two?"

Corb shakes his head. "Yes, Ted. I've had a wave number two."

"And suddenly, I look down, and I notice there's...ploppage on the floor."

"TED!!!!"

"I know! How could I not have noticed before?" I squirm in my seat. "I just don't get how it could have missed me. I mean, it seems like a mathematical impossibility, really. But I pulled my pants off, turned them inside out, checked my shorts, and still--"

"TED!!!"

"Well, there was nothing there. Can you believe it? Nothing there. Then you start knocking on the bathroom, and I yell at you to get away and use the downstairs. Josie must have loved the fact that we both went over there to use her bathrooms, huh?"

Corb grits his teeth. "Hey, Ted?"

"Yes, Corb?"

"You did...um, I mean, about the...um, ploppage. You cleaned up. Right?"

I roll my eyes. "Of course I did. She's not THAT bad an ex-wife. Anyway, that was some killer queso dip, Corb." I yawn, go back to looking out the window at the pretty lights. "Some killer queso dip."

That's when I felt another rumble in my tummy. Quickly, I roll the window down. "Better drive faster, Corb. Looks like wave three is on its way..."

A special place to hangar out.

Corb's grandmother is celebrating her 90th birthday this year, and owing to his fantastic organizing powers...and the fact that he is, after all, his mother's golden child, he's been charged (along with his older brother) with overseeing the celebration. Personally, I think it's an excuse for him to go out with his mother more.

In any event, Corb had a meeting yesterday to visit an airline hangar for the party. I personally think it's an inspired idea: Corb's grandmother was a Navy WAVE in her youth, and her husband was in the Air Force. It's a perfect way to honor her life and her service to her country, even if that was so many years ago.

By the way, that's how she ended up meeting Ernest Hemingway. Her husband was stationed in Key West, and she was living on the base. They had an argument, and she stormed off with a friend to cool down. Ended up at a bar. Hemingway was sitting there, smoking a cigar. He found her attractive. Sidled over to where she was, offered to buy her a drink.

Being a proper lady, she turned him down. It wasn't until she left the bar that her friend said, "Do you know who that was?"

So, I think an airline hangar is a superb idea. Corb's brother even has a friend who can fly in some vintage airplanes. Talk about a night to remember.

Corb's mom wasn't that keen on the idea, however. She felt it might evoke too many painful memories. You see, Corb's grandfather, in addition to being in the Air Force, also flew planes commercially, back in the early days of flight and died in a plane crash. Wasn't even scheduled to work that night, but filled in at the last minute for a friend.

Funny story about that: the night he died, Corb's mom swears she woke up (she was seven), and saw her father standing at the foot of the bed. He smiled at her, told her he loves her, and asked her to take good care of her mother.

The next day, she learned her father had passed on. Also, that her mother and sister had a similar visitation. And, she's spent the rest of her life taking care of her mother.

"So, how did it work out?" I asked Corb, when he returned home from the hangar last night.

"It's not going to work," he replied, kind of dejected, "The place is too small, and it hasn't been kept in good condition. And, there's no heat in the hangar and only one really tiny bathroom. It's half the size of our bathroom! That's a huge issue, I think. All of her friends are ninety, too. Old people need good bathrooms."

Back to the drawing board. The birthday bash isn't until October. Hopefully, these cats can come up with a first-rate place before then.

Nicked!

"Oh, ouch. Ouch ouch ouch!"

I stood there, staring into the fogged-up vanity mirror. A razor in one hand, holding up a bath towel with the other, trying to peer through the fog and assess the extent of the damage.

It was impossible, though. Irritably, I threw down the razor and snatched off a piece of toilet paper from the roll. Folded it in half. Applied it to the head. Wait for the the fog to clear.

It was evident in a matter of seconds: a bloody red stain forming in the center of the white tissue, quickly growing in size.

Dammit! "Corb, come here!"

A call from the other room: "What?" In my mind, I could see him, sitting in his favorite chair in the living room, talking to his friends on his favorite online chat site.

"Get over here this instant!" And then, putting on my best Camille. "I'm dying..."

"What, again?" Deep sigh. A groan from the chair as he rises from him it. Then Corb, at the bathroom door. "How are you dying this time?"

"Look." I point to the top of my head, covered in shaving cream, toilet paper, and blood. "I cut myself because I couldn't see a thing in the mirror. Cut myself pretty badly, too. Can you check it out for me?"

Corb sighed. "Bend down." I moved toward him, my head bowed. "Ohhhh...I think I see brain..."

"Corbett!" I snatch my head away from him, back away. "Don't joke like that. How about if my beautiful head is permanently disfigured?"

"I don't know..." Suddenly, a thought. A smile lights up his face. "We'll get you a pretty pink ski cap!"

I frown. "Just get me a band-aid, would you? Ohhhh, this is going to be bleeding for a while...and I have that lunch with Sweet Loretta today at four...how am I going to go there, horribly disfigured like this?"

"Well, we could bandage you up like the Invisible Man..." Corb opened up the medicine cabinet and took out a box of bandaids. "But I don't think we'll need to do that...let me just squeeze some antibiotic onto the gaping wound..."

"I don't need that!"

"Relax, it'll help prevent rabies. Now, one band-aid here...and another band-aid here...and now one more band-aid..."

"Three band-aids?" I frowned and stared at myself in the mirror. "I really am going to look like the invisible man."

"Relax," said Corb, admiring his handiwork in the mirror. "You can take it off in a few hours, and no one will even know anything happened."

###

It wasn't until about five minutes before my visit that I remembered the band-aids. "Oh no," I said, turning to Ashes, who sat next to me in the Stang, secretly fuming about why she wasn't being allowed to drive. "I forgot all about my band-aid!" I glanced into the rea-view mirror. "Is it really noticeable?"

Ashes looked at the band-aid and wrinkled her nose. "Well..."

"Corb said I could take it off in a few hours..." Cautiously, I lift up the edge of the band-aid and start to pull. I take my eyes away from the road to glance into the rear-view mirror again. "Oh, ick."

It was only a glance, but I looked hideous! All I could see were pieces of skin resting underneath the band-aid. "Ashes, do you see..."

Ashes made a face. "Keep the band-aid on, Dad."

Well, it wasn't my first choice, but given what lay beneath, there was no way I was going to expose my pate to Sweet Loretta and the Lady Writers. How anyone could eat Thai food and stare across the table at my gaping wound was beyond me.

All of a sudden, a pretty pink ski cap seemed like a damn good option.

###

"Corb," I said, as soon I returned home, approaching him at his favorite chair, where he was still busy, typing away on his friends. "It's worse than we thought."

Corb looked up and wiggled his toes. His big feet were resting up against the coffee table. "What do you mean?"

"My cut," I said, barely able to hide my anguish. "I lifted up the band-aid before we went into the Thai restaurant, and it looks awful. It's all surrounded by this flaky white skin...I think I'm going to have to keep the band-aid on for a while. And I have a feeling it's going to scar."

"Really?" Corb frowned. "That's weird. Take off the band-aid for moment."

Dramatically, I heaved a sigh and lifted my arm up to pull back the band-aid and reveal my horrible disfigurement. I lowered my head, so that Corb could take a look at the extent of my injury and closed my eyes.

Suddenly, I heard a familiar snort of laughter. I opened my eyes, looked at Corb in surprise. "Why are you laughing?"

"When did you look at your injury?" he asked, still laughing.

"In the car, as I was driving...from the rear-view mirror. Why?"

"That's not scraped-off skin, you moron. It's just the antiobiotic. You needed to wipe it off! Your head is fine."

It was? Quickly, I ran into the bathroom and stared into the mirror. Grabbed a napkin and wiped away. Sure enough, my beautiful baldness was back.

Corb's laugher echoed through the apartment. "What did you think? You really were seeing brain?"

Oh, dammit. Ouch, ouch, ouch. That's the pain ouching from my wounded pride, in case you didn't recognize it.

For the record, the razor burn still kind of hurts, even now...

The price one pays for beauty.

In which Corb reveals seriously mad super powers.

A glimpse into our medicine cabinet. Can you tell which row is mine?

 "Ted, did you use my deodorant?"

Dammit! Each and every time...it never fails...

I call out from the bedroom, trying to sound as innocent as possible. "Why no, Corb, I didn't. How could you possibly think something like that?"

Footsteps, moving closer to where I lay. A more suspicious tone. "You did, didn't you?" 

I can feel him hovering in the doorway, but decide to play it cool and keep my attention focused on Mark Twain. "I told you, I didn't do it. But why on earth would you think I did?"

"I keep all my stuff in the bathroom cabinet lined up in a certain way. Right now, the deodorant's facing in the wrong direction."

I look up from my book. Even tone, Teddy, even tone. Sound surprised...surprised, yeah, that's the ticket. "Well, that's kind of strange."

"What?" asked Corb. "That the deodorant's been moved or that I keep all the stuff in the cabinet all lined up in a certain order?"

I smile and move back to reading in bed. "Both."

###

Three days later. Same bed, same book, same us.

His voice, from the doorway again. "Ted, are you trying to drive me crazy?"

I'm a little confused. "What?"

"Are you REALLY not using my deodorant? Because either you are, or there's a ghost in our apartment that's playing with my head."

I can't help but smile. "So you think there's a ghost in the apartment that likes using your deodorant?"
 
"Ted."

"Wow, that one mighty nice smelling ghost."
 
"Ted."

"Hey, maybe it gets sweaty there, hovering around in the afterlife..."

"Ted!" He pauses and stands there, watching me smirk. He smirks back, now convinced. "So you have been using it, haven't you?"

I slam the book down. "Oh my God! I don't believe you!"

"I don't believe you!"

I rise from the bed, move right over to him, get in his face. "So the other day, I ran out of deodorant, see, and okay, maybe I did use your stinking deodorant, just one time--"

"Aha! I knew it!"

"--but ever since then, because you're such a freak about order, and you had to say something threeeee minutes after I did it, and who the fuck else knows exactly which way their deodorant is facing on this whole entire planet--"

"It's just my thing! I place everything all in the same direction, so if something's moved--"

"It's freakish! It's like that psycopath in that horrible Julia Roberts movie, Sleeping with the Enemy. You know, the guy who sneaks in and organizes her canned goods from A to Z? I suppose you alphabetize your toiletries, too?"

"No, of course not." Beat beat beat. "That would be strange."

I poke the big guy in the chest, amused beyond belief. "Strange? And you don't think that keeping your toilet stuff lined up in the same direction and then asking around the minute something's moved ISN'T strange? Do you know, I've spent the past three days using Theo's Red Bull deodorant, because I was afraid of using yours? Because I knew that with your toiletry super powers you'd be able to know within five minutes that I was scraping your stuff under my pits? Do you know that I've been forced to smell like a teen-age boy for the past three days, just because of you? HUH?"

"I don't have toiletry super powers." His voice, kind of sulky. "I like to keep things neat, that's all."

"Neat. Freakishly OCD, more like it."

"It's not OCD!" Then he grins, and turns away from me. "That much."
 
"You should have a big old T on your chest. Toiletetry man. Faster than a speeding plunger! More powerful than a misplaced bottle of cologne. "

" Heh. Hey, you're not going to write about this tomorrow, are you?"

Write about it. As if!

Cracked.

"Our living room window is cracked from the cold.....when should we notify the drill sergeant?"

This was the message I received from Corb at around eleven. The drill sergeant, in case you were wondering, is our affectionate little nickname for the second in command at our apartment complex. Most efficient woman, she is.

I guess I'm not surprised. It's been so cold here in New England these past few days. This morning I think it was about one degree outside. One measly degree. If I were a window, I think I'd crack, too, under the pressure.

About a half an hour later, Corb emailed me a photo of the crack, along with a sweet note, composed from his desk, located at the Eldredge satellite office for Binkley International. The note went as follows:

"I sent you a photo...I love you, and it was nice knowing you. When you come home, I will be a frozen ice cube. I have the oven on and candles lit for heat."

Hey, how can a guy resist something like that? I just had to call him right away. At the very least, I needed to find out whether I'd actually come home to a huge six foot five ice cube that night. A cube that size could come in real handy. At the very least, it would keep my martinis chilled for quite some time.

"That crack looks nasty," I said. "Don't worry, I called the drill sergeant. But are you sure the crack came from the cold? There might be other reasons. Maybe a bird flew into the window."

"How could a bird flying into a window make such a huge crack?" asked Corb, skeptically.

"Well, it's so cold out. The poor bird probably felt like a frozen turkey. Imagine a frozen turkey hitting our window!"

"But the crack's on the inside," said Corb. "How in the world would a frozen turkey get inside our apartment and fly around?"

"Hmmmmm." I thought about it for a moment. "We do keep our front door open an awful lot. Maybe it snuck in while we had our door open one day? You know...waited until no one was looking...crept in on little frozen turkey legs..."

Corb laughed. "Okay, so apparently we have frozen butterball turkeys trying to sneak their way into our apartment. We should be so lucky! And why would this frozen turkey then decide to break our window?"

"He got bored. Listening to you take calls for Binkley International isn't always the most exciting thing in the world, you know. The butterball got bored and lunged at the window. It was a death wish!"

"To try and get out?"

"Yep!" I could tell from Corb's silence that he wasn't buying any of this. "Look around, behind the curtains. Don't be surprised if you find a frozen giblet or two lying around."

Well, he didn't, but I tell you, it really is cold enough around here for a wild turkey to freeze.

I'd hate to be homeless in weather like this. For some reason, that's been on my mind a bit lately. I've heard several times that homeless shelters are currently at total capacity, and I believe it. It's not a pleasant thought, being outside on the streets in weather like this.

Cracked windows or not, at least we have a roof over our heads. There but for the grace of God...that's a level of shattered I never want to endure.