Imbolc Valentine Moon
Looks like we’ve found a good handyman. Dave Scott’s going to do several things: fix a cabinet door busted out by fighting dogs, rejigger the doors on two others, fix a lock on our sliding doors to the back, remount some curtains with a new oak fixture and, most germane for me, install my Studbar pullup bar. I know, Studbar.
While researching this piece of equipment, I found a review of it on the Walmart website. The reviewer, a guy, referred readers of his review to the company’s website: www.studbar.com. Imagine my surprise, and probably everyone else’s who used the link, in finding this leads to The Studbar, a Montreal bar for men who love men. The correct link is www.studbarpullup.com.
As long we’re on the subject of masculinity, we may as well talk about my initial uneasiness with hiring a handyman. A totally irrational uneasiness. That being, gee, I should be able to do these things and if I can’t I’m not a man. Irrational, maybe, but there nonetheless. It’s irrational because if I followed out this logic nothing would ever get fixed since, as I’ve often said, I learned all my father knew about fix-it matters. Nothing.
(see, I found this image of the four primal male archetypes. the handyman is not on there. So, I’m a lumberjack and I’m ok.)
This sort of failure cum shame hit me pretty hard the first time Dave came over to fix a door Kate and I could not get back on its hinges. I didn’t expect it, like many unpleasant things it just showed up and took over. So, yesterday when he came, I made sure I met him and walked through the tasks with Kate and him.
A nice guy. A dog lover. A mechanical engineer and a contractor in addition to handyman work. He’s here working today and I feel fine. Progress.
I know. Studbar. Geez.
