There was no reason to go to campus today. Anything I might need to do befitting my title could have been accomplished from home. There's a manuscript I should read, there's a book review I can finish, and there is a proposal I should write for a conference next spring. Instead, I took advantage of the weekday and was handy.
First, I took the old vehicle to our friendly mechanic. When I go too fast while taking the hard right by the pizza joint on the corner, I hear something rubbing/scraping. It's been doing that for awhile. I few weeks ago, I actually looked at the right rear tire and it had a major bump on it. I was scared because I thought it was a weak spot in the sidewall. Or some Vulcanized cyst that might cause havoc. But as usually works with bodily health concerns (incl. a root canal I delayed for months) it all seemed to go away.
So the reason I was going to the mechanic is because the vehicle started hopping on a certain stretch of road. At first, I thought the asphalt had a washboarded surface. But then it happened on the highway. It's hard to replicate the behavior and that also makes me reluctant to take it in to be looked at. If I expressed concern to the tire store, they're going to sell me a new set of tires. For some reason, I fall for the line about buying them in pairs. And then there's the extra charge for "balancing" which we all know just means they hammer some old lead fishing weights to the rim. And if I thought the rear suspension was going, then if I took it to that shop, I'd find myself using a couple of credit cards to buy new shocks or struts or springs. Was the car lurching a little because of the transmission? All I knew was that Jim charges an honest yet hefty fee but usually fills the stinky, aquamarine banter that can be repeated at home all the way from dinner to bedtime. But his shop's gate was chained shut and I was refilling my coffee cup at home in ten minutes.
There on the wooden kitchen island was the half-pint of vinyl spackle I picked up a couple days ago at the True-Value hardware store. It might have been enough to retrieve the window that was having a pane being replaced. But the garage walls could use some touching up. I thought spackle might be near the paint drop cloths, but it wasn't. Nor was it on the same aisle as other putties that help plumbers and woodworkers. I did find it on my own, bought it, and set it on the roof of the vehicle so I could gently load the window pane. But I didn't forget it there so when I got home, I first took in the window and made a second trip to retrieve the lidded cup. I wonder if "vinyl spackling" has the necessary subject and predicate to qualify as a complete sentence.
After a day and half in the kitchen, I took the spackle out to the garage. I set it on the circular saw case that is heavily covered in dust. This was the same saw that charred its way through some walnut boards of the detached garage roof in Cleveland. Now the saw is a shelf for the spackle. I turned it so the label shows what it contains, just like if it was on display at a meticulously organized hardware store. Now I have the raw materials such that when I finish watching the Louis C.K. episodes I just discovered on Netflix, I can move forward with my handyman ways and perhaps paint the garage this summer.
