What Does Daddy Fix?

The center of the universe is Harold's Hardware, on Central Street in Evanston. I just thought you'd like to know.


Harold's is a quintessential old-time hardware store. The shelves go way up high, on both sides of the narrow aisles, and are packed with stuff. I'm not sure they have ten of anything, but they've got one or two of everything. The minimum age for employment seems to be about 70, and those old guys know it all. (John is only about 45, but he's got a connection since his dad works there.)


Besides knowing where stuff is, the Old Guys know how to fix things -- what to do, and what tools/parts you need. I can't count the number of times I've met a neighbor in there on a Saturday morning, with a diagram scribbled on a piece of paper, describing his project: "There's a blue thing that's threaded onto this copper piece, but it's cracked, so it leaks into this part back here, and I can't reach it with my pliers," or something like that. One of the Old Guys will say, "Follow me," and take him to the right part and/or tool, and explain what needs to be done.


Having lived in a couple of old (90-100 year) houses, I've spent my fair share of time at Harold's. The upstairs bathroom sink at our place on Grant Street had "Chicago Faucets" - that's a brand, apparently. The washers used to wear out every few years, so that eventually you couldn't shut them off all the way. I got my repair routine down to under an hour:

• Turn off the water supply to the house, since the sink didn't have shutoff valves.
• Remove the separate hot and cold water faucets. Put the parts into separate plastic baggies.
• Take those to Harold's, and tell them you needed parts for a Chicago Faucet.
• They'd open up a big box with dozens of little tiny boxes inside, find the washers or whatever, and take apart the faucet valves and replace the worn parts right there. Then they'd write an incredibly small cost on a piece of paper ($2.00, max) for you to take to the cashier.
• Pay, go back home, reinstall, turn the house water supply back on.
• Bask in the glow of having completed a successful house project.

Try that at Home Depot.


I'm definitely a semi-handy guy -- a "hammer mechanic"; I'm logical, and know how a lot of things work, and know my limitations pretty well. If there's something I can't fix or do well, I can at least diagnose what needs to be done, and then have confidence when hiring the right guy to do the right job. For a couple of major home renovation projects (most recently my current basement) I've done the demolition work with friends, and then brought in contractors to bid on the renovation with no hidden issues. Somehow that lets me feel at least a little in control of the job.


Things I can fix or do: Most toys. Bikes. Computers. Doors and windows. Light fixtures. Most anything that can be taped, stapled, nailed, screwed or glued back together. Minor hand-sewing jobs. Minor plumbing (toilets, sinks, etc.) and electrical (switches, outlets, phone wires). Light bulbs. Picture hanging. Ikea furniture assembly, or anything that comes with instructions.


Things I can't: Cars. Electronics. Major plumbing or electrical. Anything that needs to be sewn with a machine. Finished carpentry or drywall. Icemakers. Appliances, generally.


An exception to the last one is our washing machine, which I fixed tonight, which made me think of this topic. It's not very old, but it started leaking water onto the basement floor in the last few days when used. Meaghan's husband Joe looked inside, saw a plastic hose thing with a tear in it, and figured that was the problem. I called a couple of appliance places to come fix it, but it's not a mainstream brand (Fisher and Paykel) and they wouldn't touch it. So I found and ordered the part online yesterday, it was delivered today, and it wasn't too hard to install. It works! I'm basking!


(That makes up a little for the time when I installed a new kitchen faucet. I was on my back working under the sink when the wrench slipped out of my hand and hit me right in the middle of my forehead. I bled like crazy, and have a small scar there to this day.)


For years when fixing something for one of the kids I'd extort some appreciation from them: before returning the item I'd ask "What does Daddy fix?", and the correct response was "Everything!" Now instead of that answer I get the big eye-roll, but I try anyway. We all know "everything" isn't strictly true, but I can still fix my fair share -- in large part thanks to Harold's, the center of the universe.


Pat

Happy Campers

From Jim Gaffigan's comedy special "King Baby": "My parents never took me camping -- you know why? Because they loved me!"


I made plans earlier in the summer to do a family camping/biking trip with my brother Ed, and we went this past weekend. Fiona and the boys had been moaning about it for the last two weeks, quoting liberally from Jim Gaffigan, so when she came up with a last-minute alternative for herself (tagging along on a friend's family weekend in Michigan) I let her go. The boys and I packed up on Friday afternoon, met up with Ed, Sharon and their gang, and drove up to Wilton, Wisconsin (a couple hours northwest of Madison).


We left later than planned, since we're late to everything, and arrived at the Tunnel Trail Campground just before 8pm. We (the "we" that is Sharon) chose the site since it's right on the Sparta-Elroy Trail, and prime biking territory. Note that none of us was experienced at this; collectively Ed, Sharon and I had camped about 5 nights in the last 20 years. In the scramble to set up before nightfall this became apparent, when we figured out that Ed had packed his tent but not tent poles.


A good camping motto is "Everything will work out OK": This place had a pop-up camper for rent, which we did, and put five of the kids in there while Ed, Sharon, their little guy Joe and I shared my tent.


Saturday morning we encountered hurdle #2: We couldn't get the camp stove to work. After an hour of fooling around with it and disassembling/ cleaning/inspecting we gave up, and everyone had fruit and granola bars for breakfast. The uncooked bacon taunted us from the cooler: "Nice try, suckers!"


We headed off on our ride around 10am. The trail is a converted railroad bed running 32 miles from Elroy to Sparta, and in great condition. The inclines are gradual but very long, as you'd expect from a train route. The main attractions of this particular trail are the three tunnels along the way, including one two-thirds of a mile long. (It's so dark inside these that you have to use flashlights to see, and walk your bikes through.)


It was a nice day for a ride, and the Wisconsin countryside was beautiful. This is a popular destination -- we saw hundreds of other bikers along the way. A real biking culture has developed in the 30+ years the trail has been open: bike gear is available in a lot of shops, while restaurants, campgrounds, etc. cater to the biking crowd.


The kids had a blast, especially in the first tunnel, and we stopped after 10 miles in the town of Norwalk for a rest and a picnic lunch. I was impressed with how well they did -- that's a long ride for a bunch of 7 to 11 year olds (Joe was in a bike seat on Sharon's bike). Ed and I wanted to press on another 3 miles to see the big tunnel, but the kids wanted to turn around and go back to the campground to swim in the pool. Our compromise had Sharon leading the kids back while Ed and I went the additional distance before turning around.


The replacement stove Ed bought worked fine for cooking dinner, and in fact we figured out how to get the original one working, too. After Saturday evening Mass in the town of Kendall we came back for a campfire and Smores, and then to bed, tired and happy.


We woke up Sunday to a steady rain. The local weather report (on the car radio) indicated it would be raining all day, so it was an easy decision to just head straight home. I was disappointed not to get a second ride in, but what can you do? The bacon got a reprieve for yet another day, while we got absolutely soaked in breaking down the camp and packing everything up.


Sunday morning's funny quote is courtesy of one of the kids, who was accused by his camper-mates of farting and snoring all night. His defense: "I didn't snore!"


Camping observations:

• Tents need tent poles to stand up -- otherwise they're just tarps.
• With the poles, modern tents are way better than ones 30 years ago.
• Setting up camp at dusk is stressful, and should be avoided.
• Setting up in the dark is probably worse.
• I have yet to use an air mattress that really works.
• Camp food tastes really good, because you're hungry, and your expectations are low. It's not good food.
• Using an RV instead of a tent seems like cheating.
• Some people would say the same thing about having access to toilets and running water, like we did, but they'd be wrong. Because I said so.
• Campground etiquette seems to include leaving your neighbors alone, even if they're only 20 feet away from you for two days.
• Kids love the adventure of camping, even with a setback or two along the way.
• Everything will work out OK.

Pat

Stop Making Sense

I think brothers and sisters relate to each other in three different ways:

1. Fighting or being mean to each other
2. Getting along as peers
3. That special "big brother/sister with little brother/sister" thing

As a parent you work to reduce the first among your kids, you settle for the second, and try to encourage the third one, but that bonding thing only happens when they want it to. Ahh, but when it does it warms your heart, and makes you think you might be doing something right. I've noticed it a lot this past year, especially from Fiona, in ways big and small.

A necessary ingredient seems to be a difference in age. My brother Rob is only a year older than I -- we did a lot of stuff together, and almost always got along, but I don't have any strong "big brother/little brother" memories. (Maybe he does, and now thinks I'm an ingrate, but I'll plead forgetfulness.) We were peers, as we all are as adults now. I have a little more separation in age from Ed (2 years) and Maura (7 years), though, which made a difference growing up.

When I came home from college my senior year for Christmas break there was a cool new movie I wanted to see: Stop Making Sense, the Talking Heads live concert film, directed by Jonathan Demme to great reviews. It was only showing in a few theaters around Chicago.

What prompted me to track it down and bring my high school sophomore little sister along? Just being a good big brother, I suppose, sharing some of my college coolness and knowing it would be an adventure for her. Throughout college I was either away at school or away working, and I'd be heading off to Africa in a matter of months, so it seemed like the right thing.

The movie met all of my expectations, lead singer David Byrne has a truly weird and truly compelling stage presence, and the soundtrack was fantastic. It's the only movie I've ever seen that had people dancing in the aisles: a couple of punk rock girls a few feet away from us, and Maura looked shocked and excited at the same time. That describes the whole event, really-- she didn't rave about the music afterwards, but I'm sure it opened her eyes to something new.

I'm done patting myself on the back, so I'll open the floor to anyone else who wants to share a nice big brother/sister moment. And I think I'll rent Stop Making Sense and watch it with the kids, for similar reasons as before plus a little nostalgia...

Pat