A Butter Knife, a Wrench, and Bandages --- (Truly Grateful Series)
Last weekend, the menfolk in my family went to the big auto show in Detroit leaving me at home and up to my own devices. I had work that I wanted to get done at my mom's house, so I stayed behind. I am still sorting through the things left in her house. My brother and I each have only so much room for the items we want to keep. Once the snow gets completely melted and the temperatures get high enough that we can stand outside without our faces freezing off, we will be having an auction to sell off what remains. Personal things, like her clothes, won't be sold, of course.
There is limited storage at the nursing home where my mother lives. She shares one tiny closet with her roommate, and there is very little space for her clothes in it. As a result, she still has quite a few clothes at her house that are in good condition and fit her but that there is simply no room for at the nursing home. So I wanted to figure out a place to store her extra clothes at my house in case she needs or wants them sometime.
Our own closets are already full with no extra room to hang things in them. I decided I would need to purchase a free-standing clothing rack to put in the basement so that I would have a place to store my mother's clothes. I bought a garment rack that the box said was easy to assemble with no tools required. That sounded like it was right up my alley. It looked very similar to this picture.
Well, they lied to me right from the start because although it said "no tools required" on the outside of the box, I had to get a tool just to get the box open! The ends were glued and then stapled shut with heavy duty staples. Prying with just my fingers was getting me nowhere. I went and got a butter knife out of the drawer in the kitchen to tackle the problem. (What? Don't look at me like that. A butter knife is a perfectly fine tool.) After several minutes I finally got the flap on the end of the box , which was now quite raggedy-looking from my repeated jabs at it with the butter knife, pried loose so I could take out the contents.
Inside the box I found numerous parts of various sizes and shapes and a single sheet of paper with a diagram of all the pieces on it. The instructions on the paper said, "Assemble according to diagram." Hmm...I raised one eyebrow at the oversimplified directions. I was beginning to wonder if perhaps I had bitten off more than I could chew (or at least more than I wanted to chew) with this project, especially since I was facing it all alone.
I dumped the parts out of the box and onto the living room floor. I sat down next to the pile of parts to unwrap them from the plastic bags they were all encased in and try to sort them according to the diagram. Max, my toy poodle dog, assumes that anyone who sits on the floor is there in order to play with him. So when I sat down on the floor, he immediately pranced over to his toy basket to root around for the perfect toy. He brought back a green stuffed bear, gave it a good hard shake, and then plopped it down on top of the pile of parts I had dumped out on the floor.
"Oh good," I thought, "just what I need is for the dog to help me with this project." I gave the bear a toss across the room to get it out of my way, and Max, of course, immediately trotted off to fetch it back and plunk it right back down again on top of the pile of parts.
So we continued this little game. I'd unwrap a couple more parts while the dog fetched the bear. He'd bring it back, and then I'd throw it down the hall and out of my way again. Finally, he got tired of fetching, and I got finished unwrapping the parts. Max lay down on the floor next to me, and I arranged the parts on the floor in the order I would need them according to the diagram.
There were different sizes of pipes that were supposed to slide down into the pre-made holes of the plastic fixtures. The pipes fit snugly out of necessity so that the rack would be sturdy. Of course, since they fit snugly, they were also difficult to get pushed down into the holes. I was having trouble getting them wedged down in where they belonged. One particular pipe was giving me fits and just wouldn't go where it belonged. I pushed on it as hard as I could. The pipe slid sideways from my efforts, snapping off a small piece of the edge of the plastic fixture. The broken piece of plastic flew out across the room and made a pinging noise as it hit against the wall. Startled by the flying piece of plastic, Max let out a short yelp of disapproval and then gave me a sideways glance as if to ask, "What do you think you are doing?"
I began muttering under my breath, "Sassin, frassin, rassin, son-of-a-monkey," and got up to find the broken piece and throw it away. With the missing piece of plastic removed from the fixture, the pipe now slid easily into the designated hole. I was worried that it wouldn't be snug enough now to hold the pipe in position, but, miracles of miracles, it held. All right. Good. Back to work. Next step.
I picked up the next black pipe and noticed it had red on the end of it. I looked at the diagram, but didn't see any black pipes with red on them. There were just black pipes and white pipes, none with red. I looked again at the pipe in my hand. It definitely had something red on it. Then I noticed my hand also had red on it.
"Whatever that red stuff is, it is rubbing off on my hand," I said to Max who looked at me with a bit of disdain. He had moved from his position next to me to lay by the heat register under the table. He probably thought it would be safer there after I shot the piece of plastic across the room.
Then I thought, "That's funny. That red stuff looks like blood."
I looked again at my hand. I turned my hand over to look at the other side.
"YIKES!! I'M BLEEDING!"
I suddenly realized what had happened. When the pipe slid sideways, not only did one end break the plastic fixture, the other end also clipped my finger and removed a piece of it. A chunk of flesh roughly the size of the eraser on the end of a pencil had been neatly gouged and removed from the knuckle of one of my fingers and my finger was bleeding profusely. It wasn't hurting. It had smarted a little when the pipe slid sideways, but I was distracted with the piece of flying plastic. I didn't look down at my hand and didn't even realize I had been cut until I saw the blood.
I temporarily abandoned my partially constructed garment rack to head off to wash the blood from my hand and bandage my wound. However, as soon as I returned, I noticed that my finger was still bleeding heavily, so heavily, in fact, that it had already bled through the bandage I had just applied. I grumbled and muttered some more. I headed to the kitchen to get some ice to apply to the finger to try and get the bleeding to stop. I applied gauze and more bandages and pressure to the finger trying to get the bleeding to stop. The bleeding wouldn't stop. Just as I was beginning to think I was going to have to go to the emergency room, the bleeding finally slowed down. I put a couple more bandages on top of what was already on my finger just for good measure.
I returned to the project at hand having lost all of whatever little bit of enthusiasm I had begun with for getting it done. With the thick gauze and numerous bandages on my finger, I gingerly tried to push the next pipe into the designated hole. To my surprise, it slid in easily. The one after that, however, did not.
I tried to force it in, but I was afraid to put much muscle behind it. I decided that no matter what the directions said, I needed some kind of tool to bang that pipe into the hole. I went to the garage looking for a rubber mallet, but didn't find one. I'm not sure if we even own a rubber mallet. I didn't find a hammer either. (Note to self--somebody needs to clean out the garage. Of course, by somebody, I mean anyone else but me.) I did finally find a big metal wrench that I thought might get the job done.
So I came back in from the garage armed with the big metal wrench. I was tired of the whole mess at this point, but I really wanted to get it finished. I put the next pipe in where it belonged and banged away on it with the wrench. Max barked at me, apparently not pleased with the clanging noise that I was making. I guess he was tired of the whole mess, as well. I ignored him and kept it up. To my relief, it worked. I clanged away and clanged away until I finally finished getting the rest of the pieces together. I had the garment rack assembled in front of me at last.
Now, all I had to do was carry the rack down to the basement, drive to mom's house and load her clothes up in my car, bring them back, take them downstairs, and hang them on the garment rack. I wheeled the rack over to the stairs, picked it up (it was fairly light, so that wasn't a problem) and started to take it down the stairs. I got about three steps down when I realized that the rack was caught. Because of the slope of the ceiling above me, the rack wouldn't fit if carried down upright (more muttering and grumbling...sassin, frassin, rassin, son-of-a-monkey!!). I brought the rack back to the top of the steps.
At first, I thought I was going to have to take the blasted thing back apart and reassemble it in the basement, but I studied the situation for a moment and finally realized that if I turned the rack on its side and carried it down top first, it just might fit. I tried it, and thank goodness, that worked. I got the clothes from my mom's house, carried them all down the stairs too, and got them hung up on the rack. A project I thought I could finish in an hour ended up taking me most of the afternoon. I couldn't have done it without the butter knife and the wrench, of course, but I did accomplish what I set out to do.
Lord, for supplying what I needed: a butter knife, a wrench, and bandages, please let me be truly grateful.
There is limited storage at the nursing home where my mother lives. She shares one tiny closet with her roommate, and there is very little space for her clothes in it. As a result, she still has quite a few clothes at her house that are in good condition and fit her but that there is simply no room for at the nursing home. So I wanted to figure out a place to store her extra clothes at my house in case she needs or wants them sometime.
Our own closets are already full with no extra room to hang things in them. I decided I would need to purchase a free-standing clothing rack to put in the basement so that I would have a place to store my mother's clothes. I bought a garment rack that the box said was easy to assemble with no tools required. That sounded like it was right up my alley. It looked very similar to this picture.
Inside the box I found numerous parts of various sizes and shapes and a single sheet of paper with a diagram of all the pieces on it. The instructions on the paper said, "Assemble according to diagram." Hmm...I raised one eyebrow at the oversimplified directions. I was beginning to wonder if perhaps I had bitten off more than I could chew (or at least more than I wanted to chew) with this project, especially since I was facing it all alone.
I dumped the parts out of the box and onto the living room floor. I sat down next to the pile of parts to unwrap them from the plastic bags they were all encased in and try to sort them according to the diagram. Max, my toy poodle dog, assumes that anyone who sits on the floor is there in order to play with him. So when I sat down on the floor, he immediately pranced over to his toy basket to root around for the perfect toy. He brought back a green stuffed bear, gave it a good hard shake, and then plopped it down on top of the pile of parts I had dumped out on the floor.
"Oh good," I thought, "just what I need is for the dog to help me with this project." I gave the bear a toss across the room to get it out of my way, and Max, of course, immediately trotted off to fetch it back and plunk it right back down again on top of the pile of parts.
So we continued this little game. I'd unwrap a couple more parts while the dog fetched the bear. He'd bring it back, and then I'd throw it down the hall and out of my way again. Finally, he got tired of fetching, and I got finished unwrapping the parts. Max lay down on the floor next to me, and I arranged the parts on the floor in the order I would need them according to the diagram.
There were different sizes of pipes that were supposed to slide down into the pre-made holes of the plastic fixtures. The pipes fit snugly out of necessity so that the rack would be sturdy. Of course, since they fit snugly, they were also difficult to get pushed down into the holes. I was having trouble getting them wedged down in where they belonged. One particular pipe was giving me fits and just wouldn't go where it belonged. I pushed on it as hard as I could. The pipe slid sideways from my efforts, snapping off a small piece of the edge of the plastic fixture. The broken piece of plastic flew out across the room and made a pinging noise as it hit against the wall. Startled by the flying piece of plastic, Max let out a short yelp of disapproval and then gave me a sideways glance as if to ask, "What do you think you are doing?"
I began muttering under my breath, "Sassin, frassin, rassin, son-of-a-monkey," and got up to find the broken piece and throw it away. With the missing piece of plastic removed from the fixture, the pipe now slid easily into the designated hole. I was worried that it wouldn't be snug enough now to hold the pipe in position, but, miracles of miracles, it held. All right. Good. Back to work. Next step.
I picked up the next black pipe and noticed it had red on the end of it. I looked at the diagram, but didn't see any black pipes with red on them. There were just black pipes and white pipes, none with red. I looked again at the pipe in my hand. It definitely had something red on it. Then I noticed my hand also had red on it.
"Whatever that red stuff is, it is rubbing off on my hand," I said to Max who looked at me with a bit of disdain. He had moved from his position next to me to lay by the heat register under the table. He probably thought it would be safer there after I shot the piece of plastic across the room.
Then I thought, "That's funny. That red stuff looks like blood."
I looked again at my hand. I turned my hand over to look at the other side.
"YIKES!! I'M BLEEDING!"
I suddenly realized what had happened. When the pipe slid sideways, not only did one end break the plastic fixture, the other end also clipped my finger and removed a piece of it. A chunk of flesh roughly the size of the eraser on the end of a pencil had been neatly gouged and removed from the knuckle of one of my fingers and my finger was bleeding profusely. It wasn't hurting. It had smarted a little when the pipe slid sideways, but I was distracted with the piece of flying plastic. I didn't look down at my hand and didn't even realize I had been cut until I saw the blood.
I temporarily abandoned my partially constructed garment rack to head off to wash the blood from my hand and bandage my wound. However, as soon as I returned, I noticed that my finger was still bleeding heavily, so heavily, in fact, that it had already bled through the bandage I had just applied. I grumbled and muttered some more. I headed to the kitchen to get some ice to apply to the finger to try and get the bleeding to stop. I applied gauze and more bandages and pressure to the finger trying to get the bleeding to stop. The bleeding wouldn't stop. Just as I was beginning to think I was going to have to go to the emergency room, the bleeding finally slowed down. I put a couple more bandages on top of what was already on my finger just for good measure.
I returned to the project at hand having lost all of whatever little bit of enthusiasm I had begun with for getting it done. With the thick gauze and numerous bandages on my finger, I gingerly tried to push the next pipe into the designated hole. To my surprise, it slid in easily. The one after that, however, did not.
I tried to force it in, but I was afraid to put much muscle behind it. I decided that no matter what the directions said, I needed some kind of tool to bang that pipe into the hole. I went to the garage looking for a rubber mallet, but didn't find one. I'm not sure if we even own a rubber mallet. I didn't find a hammer either. (Note to self--somebody needs to clean out the garage. Of course, by somebody, I mean anyone else but me.) I did finally find a big metal wrench that I thought might get the job done.
So I came back in from the garage armed with the big metal wrench. I was tired of the whole mess at this point, but I really wanted to get it finished. I put the next pipe in where it belonged and banged away on it with the wrench. Max barked at me, apparently not pleased with the clanging noise that I was making. I guess he was tired of the whole mess, as well. I ignored him and kept it up. To my relief, it worked. I clanged away and clanged away until I finally finished getting the rest of the pieces together. I had the garment rack assembled in front of me at last.
Now, all I had to do was carry the rack down to the basement, drive to mom's house and load her clothes up in my car, bring them back, take them downstairs, and hang them on the garment rack. I wheeled the rack over to the stairs, picked it up (it was fairly light, so that wasn't a problem) and started to take it down the stairs. I got about three steps down when I realized that the rack was caught. Because of the slope of the ceiling above me, the rack wouldn't fit if carried down upright (more muttering and grumbling...sassin, frassin, rassin, son-of-a-monkey!!). I brought the rack back to the top of the steps.
At first, I thought I was going to have to take the blasted thing back apart and reassemble it in the basement, but I studied the situation for a moment and finally realized that if I turned the rack on its side and carried it down top first, it just might fit. I tried it, and thank goodness, that worked. I got the clothes from my mom's house, carried them all down the stairs too, and got them hung up on the rack. A project I thought I could finish in an hour ended up taking me most of the afternoon. I couldn't have done it without the butter knife and the wrench, of course, but I did accomplish what I set out to do.
Lord, for supplying what I needed: a butter knife, a wrench, and bandages, please let me be truly grateful.
