Tool Time

What is it about house projects that’s so empowering?
And, when they don’t work out so well, so emasculating?
It’s just a dripping faucet, right?
Well, not exactly.
For me, fixing a dripping faucet (which I did, successfully, all by myself, for the first time, two weeks ago, not that I’m bragging but that is one tight fixture) is victory and independence and proving myself to – who? It’s not like anyone is watching, arms crossed, daring me to try, taunting me with the phone – “here, if you can’t manage this yourself, just call a handyman!”

It is notable, and perhaps relevant here, that I think of my dad every time I pick up a tool – partly because whatever tools I have are likely from his old workshop, where they were neatly lined up along a peg board, partly because if I’m proving anything to anyone it would be to him, and partly because I miss him and wish he were still around to teach me about tinkering around the house.

Or maybe not that last bit. Because there was always a lot of cursing and sweating involved in dad’s house projects. He was a perfectionist and, well, house projects and perfectionists make uncomfortable partners. It was hard to help him much, because everything had to be just so. But I did stand by and hand him tools, waiting for what seemed like hours until I could do something useful. Get me that Philips head, he’d say, and I’d pray I’d pick the right screwdriver to hand to him.

So I know the difference between a Phillips head and that other kind of screwdriver. I know that you have to press, hard, as you turn it so you don’t strip the screw. I know how to paint with a roller (make a “W” and then fill it in). I know “righty tighty, lefty loosey.” I own a drill (I love using the drill, RRRRRRRRNnnnnnnnnnnnRRrrrrrrr). But I’m still lacking a lot of the vocabulary of the do-it-yourself tribe.

That didn’t stop me from tackling a hole in basement ceiling this weekend. I’d been delaying this project, alternately telling myself it would be no big deal – it’s a small hole – and dreading the inevitable impasse I would encounter. Would it be not knowing how to cut drywall? Measuring inaccurately? Using the wrong adhesive to fix the stuff to the ceiling? If it’s not perfect the first time, there will be much gnashing of teeth and who needs that? But wait! I don’t have to gnash my teeth. I am not my father. In fact, my own handy-woman mantra is, go ahead, the worst that can happen is it won’t work, and then you’ll just try again, another way. Or get someone to help. And if that happens, I comfort myself by remembering all the things I can do. I may not be an expert at drywall, but I make a hell of an apple pie. For example.

So I started in on the drywall project, reading up on drywall patches (love the internet), gathering all the tools I’d need, removing the cabinet that partially blocked the hole, and evening up the gap so I could cut an tidy rectangle of drywall rather than a more difficult, dog-legged piece (good advice from an online instructional). Then I asked a more experienced friend to take a look to be sure I was on the right track, before figuring out how best to attach the drywall to the ceiling beams.

As it turns out, my friend wound up doing most of the work for me, wielding a tape measure like it was an extension of his hands. He’s a professional carpenter, and while I envy his innate ability to Fix Things, I am mostly just grateful that he stepped in and fit what would have been a day-long project into the space of an hour or less. All that remains is nailing up some trim and painting – both tasks I can easily handle.

I learned: spackle and joint compound are two different things. You need a special spreader thing for joint compound – not a putty knife. You can skip the whole joint compound thing if you use trim instead. And you can use the pruning saw to cut trim, in a pinch. Which I did. This morning.

At one point I brought my 16-year-old daughter down to see the project in progress. This is drywall, I told her. This is a utility knife. Do you know the difference between a Philips head and that other kind of screwdriver?

We'll have to work on this some more, but hopefully she’ll have a bigger vocabulary to use when she begins to tackle her own house projects. She already knows how to bake an apple pie.