From: Dad
Sent: Tuesday, September 16, 2014 11:15 AM
To: Emily
Subject: RE: I made butter...
Don’t cry over churned milk. Back in the day, every small town and neighborhood had a small appliance repair guy. These were frequently wounded vets or odd little guys who didn’t really fit in to the larger society but had an affinity for tinkering, boundless patience, and nothing better to do. Their lairs were often dark basements or tattered store fronts but were always cluttered by partially deconstructed appliances, magnifying lenses, assorted screws, and electronics. The places were scary and intriguing at the same time. Though these people could not have made much money, they were valued and respected within the community for their apparent wizardry.
Perhaps there is a message here. These days, when things (or people) break they are cast aside partly because there is no on there to fix them but partly because we quickly give up, and partly because it is simply easier to throw it away and get something new.
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From: Emily
Sent: Wednesday, September 17, 2014 5:42 AM
To: Dad
Subject: RE: I made butter...
Thanks, Dad, for this really thoughtful response. I read it to my officemate and she said that you are a “true poet.”
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From: Dad
Sent: Tuesday, September 16, 2014 11:15 AM
To: Emily
Subject: RE: I made butter...
I should have probably made this a comment on the blog, but that would require logging in and I still find that clunky.
Do you have your KitchenAid fixed? You know me, I would probably just keep it unplugged and work with it that way for years. I guess that is why I can’t have a sailboat.
Two years ago, my snowblower (which we bought 2nd hand when we got here) broke. I tinkered with it and tried to fix it myself, but, worried that I would only break it more. I tried looking up small engine repair places and found that the only ones that were around were only open during very restrictive parts of the week. So, through the winter of the most snow on record, I shoveled that crap, while the snowblower sat in the warm garage. Finally, at the end of the winter I discovered a little place that was open and, at least said, that they could fix it. The first thing I had to do was work out a way to get the thing to their shop. I tried to fit it into the back of the big Volvo. That was me trying to lift this huge awkward thing and fit it into our new car without scratching anything, all the while mom standing by making unwelcome comments.
A near hernia later I decided to go rent a pickup from U-Haul. You know how I hate borrowing things from other people and I refused to borrow someone’s truck and U-Haul advertises trucks for $19 a day. Of course taxes and charges etc. added up to about $30 but, at least, I wasn’t borrowing something.
When I arrived at the repair shop, it was as I had expected. The outside front and back was littered with row upon row of pieces and parts of lawnmowers, snow blowers, and other unidentifiable small engine devices. I tentatively stepped through the door into a dark and cluttered Quonset hut and was confronted by a group of about six guys with a mixture of what do you want and who the heck are you expressions on their face. I felt a bit like I had interrupted something important. After a couple of beats, one of the more amiable guys stepped to the counter and asked, “what can we do for you.” The room seemed to relax and what ensued was a hilarious group dialogue of the “your momma” variety with all of these guys cutting on one another and even, gratefully, including me in their joshing.
Eventually, the form got filled out in spite of the laughing. A guy was dispatched to go into the parking lot to help me unload the snowblower, which he did by basically reaching into the truck and lifting this 175 lb. piece of equipment out with one hand. As I drove away I wondered if I would ever see my snowblower again.
In just two weeks I got a call that it was fixed. I asked if they could deliver it, to save me the trouble of renting another pickup. They said that they would have someone deliver it for an extra $25, which was a bit of a gouge, but well worth it. Of course last year was one of the lowest snow years on record, but the snowblower worked better than ever. The one thing I missed by having them deliver it was that opportunity to step into that other world where men are happy to hang out in one another’s company, where skills with things mechanical are held in high regard, where appearances are less importance than reality, where a well told joke or well played prank is valued, and where camaraderie is easy and natural.
