Regular Life

As I have stated elsewhere, there are two types of people in this world: stump finders and stump dodgers. This is a sledding analogy. When sledding down a hill in or near the woods, the one who goes first is the stump finder. All who go after are stump dodgers.

While I try to blaze a trail when I can, in do-it-yourself (DIY) home repair or renovation, I’m a stump dodger.

Since we got married in 1992, Shannon and I have lived in 12 places (four of which we bought). One might surmise that with all that experience I surely have amassed a respectable repertoire of DIY skills.

And that would be wrong. Although I install a pretty mean ceiling fan, we have been fortunate enough to avoid fixer-uppers. Of course, officially, Shannon’s licensed electrician uncle has overseen all my wiring.

To compensate for my dearth of skills and our short supply of cash to pay for skilled personnel, I borrow things and ask people to come help me with projects at the house. Sir J and Alvis, who have more home improvement experience and equipment than I do, have enabled me to complete projects for a fraction of what a contractor would have charged me. Before that, back in Arkansas, a neighbor who was good with wood helped us build a small deck. Granted, they’ve been fairly simple projects that, given time to research and to save money for tools, I probably could have completed on my own. The point is that instead of doing that, I called out to friends and said, “Hey, um, can you help me?”

And then comes a stump finder to get me started.

My thinking always has been this: if I’m not confident in my ability to complete a project alone, then why risk screwing something up and hurting my property value or even myself in the process? Instead of going all Tim Allen on it, I can enlist a buddy and learn something besides how to treat major cuts.

Plus, the camaraderie.

At first glance, it doesn’t seem like I’ve been returning the favors to my friends. The last time I helped someone do something, we took apart a swingset that he and his wife were giving to us because they were moving.* That one could go either way. In my defense, disassembling and moving the massive wooden swingset required more than one person merely for the lifting involved.

Once when Alvis requested my assistance, I gladly went over and helped him rip out drywall. That’s unskilled labor, at best, but considering the troubleshooting nature of my regular job, rather satisfying. Another time I helped him spread dirt in his back yard. In both, breaking things apart was the goal, so there’s was pretty much no way I could have screwed up. Despite my willingness to help when called, I generally don’t know about my friends’ projects until they’re complete.

Going back farther than the time I’ve lived on my own, I think I know the root of my skill deficiency in the industrial arts. It stems from the fact that we lived in the same house from the day I was two years old until I moved out for college (save for a couple of brief periods trying out new places with my mother). We were the house’s first residents, it started out a gleaming testament to early ’70’s design and decor — and remained so for what some would argue was way too long, and only twice do I recall working on home projects with Dad.

So, if you need to jack up your 10-feet tall deck, cut off the rotten part of the supports and set them on concrete “feet,” or you need to remove your old toilet and plop a new one — and the all-important grease ring — in its place, then I’m your guy. For anything else, I’m pretty much a babe in the DIY wilderness. (My dad still lives in that house, by the way, and just a few years ago brought my mom back into the fold.)

Computers and photography are the only two things people ask me to help with, and the assistance always has been over the phone or via e-mail. My physical presence was not required.

Maybe I stink.

* We love the swingset and are very grateful to Sir J and Lady J for the parting gift. But you didn’t have to leave just for us to take it off your hands.