Fix or Repair Daily

In many ways, it's a blessing that my father was a mechanic. He always had a keen ear for maintenance, and would hear when something was wrong. Subtle changes that went unnoticed by me never escaped him. We'd go for a drive and he'd tell me something needed to be repaired, and expressed surprise that I didn't hear anything and bring it to his attention sooner. When he had his own garage, he was popular with his customers because, while most mechanics would simply replace parts with even minor damage, he would repair those parts instead, and save them money. At some point it proved impossible for an honest mechanic to stay in business, and he traded his shop for a nice union job fixing police vehicles for the county.

In many ways, it's a blessing that my mother is so frugal. When I was a kid, I'd often be embarrassed when she'd stock up on ketchup packets at fast food places, or accept furniture from friends who were moving and planning to throw it away otherwise. Yet her methods made it possible for a mechanic's salary to support a family of three. My parents had money when they wanted to send me to a private high school, and while scholarships covered a little over half my college tuition, they covered the difference for me. I didn't understand until I was older that sacrifices for your family outweigh modesty, that there's no shame in using a coupon.

At some point, things can't be fixed. At some point, you have no other choice than to dig in to your pockets, spend the money, and replace something. My mom's VCR has eaten cassettes on her more times than I can count, and she insists that it will be fine once the heads are clean. The VCR has to be at least fifteen years old and better technology exists now. When my own VCR inevitably dies, I'm certainly going to be looking toward a digital solution. Every time I've had to disassemble hers to disentangle the tape, I tell her to get a new one. She expects things to last a long time, but they sincerely DON'T make things like they used to. My mom forms strange sentimental attachments to things too, and the beat-up car that's been in our driveway for over a year now, since a van hit my dad and I, is a testament to that. My dad hates that it's taking up space and wants to junk it or give it to charity. She wants to fix it or give it to someone who will fix and use it. For some reason it's hard for her to accept that the car was totaled, that it's “gone”. Her cousin's widower was visiting us yesterday, and backed my dad and I up in saying we'd best donate it to charity before it rots and rusts away to something worthless. I found myself having the same conversation with her about the VCR as I took it apart this morning, and later when she taped a show and found the picture quality was terrible. I'm going to start researching VCRs and rewritable disc recorders on my own, and maybe just get one for my parents for their anniversary in a month or so. She'll never break down and get rid of it on her own. Also to my dad's chagrin, we still own every television set we've ever bought, and there's at least five barely functioning models secreted away in the basement, that she can't bring herself to part with.

Last night my little oscillating fan simply died. It hasn't sounded right for days, and it's newer than the ones my parents have, yet it simply sputtered and stopped. I checked the casing and found it was extremely hot, and the smell of burnt plastic assailed my nostrils. I unplugged it and prayed nothing caught fire during the night. I had some trouble disassembling the motor this morning, making the mistake of asking my dad for advice. I only wanted to take it apart and clean out any dust, but he began telling me how to fix it. He got out his Ohmmeter to check continuity, and see if I had a broken wire somewhere. Between my mom's VCR and my fan, I was already seeing my day off consumed by annoying repairs. It didn't help when my dad asked if I was going to mow the lawn today. Ultimately, I became frustrated and said it would be easier to just get another fan. For twelve bucks or so, it would be worth it to save the aggravation of splicing wires with duct tape as he was planning to do. Unlike my mom, my dad will break down and buy something when he sees that we need it. My dad is stubborn when it comes to fixing things though, sees it as a challenge and can't understand why I'd rather buy a new one than repair the wiring on this one.

Curt linked to a post in which a man ponders what life would have been like if he'd stayed single, and not had children. Among his observations, the one about putting in more hours at work struck especially close to home. Work is important, not just to earn money, but to be productive and gain an appreciation for those times when we're not at work. Vacations just wouldn't be vacations if we never worked in between. Life is all about finding the balance. Not knowing what to do with oneself apart from work and family can be problematic, and underscores the importance of hobbies. I'm happy to report that my day off was not entirely spent doing yardwork and fixing small appliances, and that I managed to steal away to a local park near the beach and find a shady bench on which to read the latest Harry Potter. At one point, I think I even saw an evil wizard, as a balding man in a stained t-shirt and torn jeans walked up and down the path reading from some ancient tome and waving his free arm as he mumbled something in a vaguely European or Middle Eastern tongue that I didn't recognize. I decided to go for a walk through the park and get some pictures, and get away from this unusual character. As I walked, I wondered if he was thinking I was the strange one, sitting there with my book and not even reading aloud.

Machines are objects that can be fixed to a certain point. Eventually, they need to be replaced with newer, better models. People cannot be replaced, but things wear us out all the same. Just as wires need to be spliced and parts need to be cleaned, we all require maintenance to ensure a longer life, every day if possible. A day in the park with a good book, away from computers and deadlines and bands, was exactly what I needed to keep my motor running. As I was heading back to the car, a mother was pushing a baby carriage and accompanied by her little girl who couldn't have been more than 5 or 6 years old. With a precocious adult tone delivered in a child's voice, the girl hopped up on a nearby park bench and observed, “This is SUCH a nice day to just sit and re-lax!”

It certainly was.