Mr. Fix-it
Tonight's soundtrack: The Gadd Gang, 1988
It is snowing.
And cold.
In a winter that has been mostly mild except for some early rain and wind storms, it feels a little surprising and almost novel, the way one used to feel when there was as a snow day... a sudden reprieve from the ordinary days.
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| Reflections of light on the bedroom wall. |
When I was growing up, my father was always trying to design the perfect sled. Constrained only by what he could salvage from the scrap wood pile in the garage and the town dump, he cobbled together some fantastic objects of transportation. Granted, each vehicle was very specialized and conditions had to be just right to perform as intended, and weight was rarely a big consideration, but when the conditions were right, these sleds were frighteningly fast and I am lucky I still have all my teeth and that didn't break any limbs.
While I am sure there are others that precede this one, the first sled I remember was not much more than the lid from an industrial oil drum, probably from something at Symphony Hall that he salvaged. He drilled holes to loop a short length of rope on opposite sides and they were my handles. There was not much concavity to this saucer, so if the snow had any give to it, the sled mostly just sunk and went nowhere. But, when the snow was packed down by several days of kids making runs down the hill and a couple of nights to freeze it over, that was the fastest saucer on the graveyard... because when we lived in Quincy, that's where all the kids went sledding. There was no steering. I think I can still feel the steely resolve of sitting crosslegged, wedging my mittened fingers into the rope handles and just gritting my teeth as the cold air blew tears from my eyes.
Perhaps almost as fantastic as the speed of the saucer was its ability to be used as a shield for snowball fights. We were all little kids so nobody could throw a snowball with too much violence then, but when one hit the saucer it made a wonderfully satisfying thum. Like many boys of that era, we played war with Tommy guns and cap guns in the summer, and in the winter, we battled with snowballs and icicles.
Years later, we moved to Weston and our house was on a marvelous sledding hill where all the neighborhood kids would come and craft jumps and have competitions to see how far into the Afalfasis' yard we could make it. Using salvaged downhill skis, 2x4s and plywood, my father made the equivalent of a snow rocket. Once again, steering was pretty much impossible, but instead of the wild careening directionless spin of the saucer, this sled went in one direction only. If you were errant in setting off at an angle, your only hope was bail out and hope not to get tangled in the tow line because that sled was going wherever it was pointed and it was going there fast. Again, if the snow was too deep for the deck to be elevated above the snow by the 2x4s, the sled would sink to a disappointing stop. But, pointed appropriately on well packed snow, that sled was the long distance winner of the hill. The fact that it weighed as much of most of us was almost forgotten when pulling it all the way back up the hill with the thin nylon rope digging creases through the winter gloves into the palm of your hand.
Somewhere in these times was the transition from one piece snowsuits and moon boots, to suspenders and snow pants. The shift from mittens to gloves, and from playful snowball fights where the violence was more imagined than realized, to high speed ice balls from the kid who would eventually become a high school baseball pitcher, smashing into the side of your face in an explosion of pain and tears.
I think of my father now as I face a home repair. The upstairs toilet is leaking and has wet a hole through the ceiling on the first floor. I cut away all the damp plaster and scraped off all the loose paint.
"You aren't going to hire someone to do this?" My wife asked.
Actually, the thought had never occurred to me. All my life, my father did almost all of the home repairs. I don't recall ever seeing a repairman come into the house. He worked out all the problems in his head and we would go to Grossman's with just his mental checklist and drive home with lumber hanging out the windows of the car. Working with him on a project was infuriating as a kid and later as a teen, because he was never really good at explaining his idea. He knew what needed to happen, but for his helper, the instructions were mostly just one thing at a time. Hold this here. Screw this together. Cut this. There were times that I had no idea what we were building until we were half finished. One time we were making a trellis for grapevines (that never really took), and I didn't know what we were making until we were nearly done because he couldn't remember the word for trellis. And, of course, because I was a grumpy teenager, I probably was obnoxiously obstinate the whole time.
So now, I find myself channelling my father. What am I going to do? Well, I need to think it through, and pretty soon I'll need to go to the hardware store. If I'm honest though, I don't quite have the mechanical aptitude of my father. Plumbing is always my nemesis. One would think, with the logical way pipes fit together and the marvelous array of fixtures and joints available, that it would be the perfect thing for someone to imagine a perfectly engineered solution. But, for me, things never quite work the way I imagine. Fixtures and elbows don't come in the dimensions I need them to, and my solutions end up looking more like saxophones than simple runs of copper pipe. Still, it is what was nurtured in me. It is the same inclination that causes me to break out a screwdriver when the car inspector says my headlights are out of alignment.
Of course, in the modern era, we have the internet, which isn't always as helpful as one might think. With all the resources of the internet, you can look up a hundred and one ways to fix a leaky toilet, and just as many ways to patch a hole in the ceiling. In the end, I'll probably just call my dad and get his advice. I do wonder how he acquired his aptitude. I imagine it was the same way my mother picked up cooking Korean food. He had to figure things out along the way when they didn't have the resources to pay for someone to fix the car, to change out the water heater, to build the trellis. And then later, as part of that immigrant resourcefulness, why would you pay for someone to shingle the roof when you can do it yourself?
I have a little less certainty about things. I am pleased when I fix the freezer, but I also know I broke it a little. I'm pleased that I lay down the flooring all through my house... but I also know that I didn't quite get the moulding to cover some of the gaps by the wall. As I work through the challenges and implications of a leaky toilet, I hope I get this one right. Wish me well!
At least with the snowstorm, maybe I have a little reprieve. Some time for more thinking.
Take care and be well,
Leo
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| An ominous hole in the ceiling of the downstairs bathroom. |
From Our Friends:
From the Boston Public Library:
| Black History Month at the BPL |
The BPL's Black Is... booklist celebrates new and notable titles about the African American experience for 2021. You can view the list online, pick up a copy of our printed list at BPL branches, and enjoy list selections on the BPL's Twitter.
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From IUSE:
In this post, Dr. Estrada explains the need to incorporate kindness into STEM education to affirm inclusion. Dr. Estrada says, "This affirmation is as essential as reducing bias, prejudice and discrimination when building an excellent academic community. In short, getting rid of the negative is not enough; we also must grow the positive." |
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From Campus Compact:
Anti-Racism Community of Practice Racism is deeply embedded in the fabric of this country and of our higher education institutions. This spring, join us in our Anti-Racism Community of Practice (CoP), as a first step toward ongoing work dismantling racism and white supremacy. Over six sessions, we will create an inclusive, co-learning space to explore the ways white supremacy and racism manifest in ourselves and in our practice of community engagement and the avenues, resources, and spaces we have to undo racism in our work and spheres of influence. Facilitated by Sharyn Lowenstein, Aaliyah Baker, John Reiff, and Marisol Morales. |
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Don't wait! Applications are due Wednesday, February 10. |
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From NCORE:
ADOS, Sh**t-Hole Countries, and (Which) Black Lives Matter: Engaging Contemporary Intra-racial and Transnational Dynamics Surrounding Black College Students |
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This session will focus on how the current U.S. sociopolitical climate (related explicitly to anti-Black racism and nativism) is impacting Black students of diverse ethnicities and nativities as well as Black intra-racial dynamics on campuses. We will use current racial movements (e.g., ADOS, Black Lives Matter) and incidents alongside our empirical research to share and co-construct strategies for supporting diverse Black students. |
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Registration: FREE Live captioning and sign language provided.
NOTE: This webinar will be held LIVE Wednesday, February 3, 2021 at 3:00-4:30 CST.
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Registration closes Tuesday, February 2nd, at 4:30 PM Central Time. Space is limited and may fill before this date. |
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From the It Gets Better Project:
This 2016 coming of age film became the first film with an all-Black cast and the first LGBTQ-related film to win the Oscar for Best Picture. EduGuide available in English and Spanish.
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| The snow before the storm. |
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