Collecting, correcting and getting a fix from fixing stuff

The other day I was in the dentist’s office and he was showing me the X-ray confirming how well my implant preparation was healing. The sinus lift he did to grow roots and make room for a stint was clearly a success based on the blurry white line he was trailing with his finger. I found myself thinking, “Gee if only I’d mastered the periodic table in high school or dissected that smelly frog properly, I too could be lifting sinus cavities like this young man. How hard could it be?”

My ridiculously inflated ego was quickly right-sized when a snowstorm left me without hot water. Talk about feeling dumb. Two years ago I had my kitchen remodeled and updated to a tankless water heater, but where was the manual now? Where were the pipes for that matter? Had I even registered the warranty? Should I call the nice man at Lowe’s who sold me the unit? Maybe with the help of YouTube and another cup of coffee I could fix it.

“Alexa…explain electric circuitry.”

I have the attention span of a cat meme. One look at the tiny diagram of intake valves and output vents gave me the willies. Maybe a snack would help. After an hour of reading the manual and feeling hopeless I gave up. Showers are so overrated.

My father liked to fix things but I don’t know that he was very good at it honestly. I heard my mother call him the rigger-upper. A little duct tape goes a long way if you know what I mean. So it is with me. I shop the thrift stores and see things that are cracked, scratched, pilled, pulled, dirty, dingy or in some other way damaged and I fall in love.

Maybe I could…you guessed it.

I find myself in constant turmoil as to which items should be tinkered with and which should be tossed. Ceramics are my hardest to abandon. The rich coloration of glazes and oftentimes original artist’s signature grab me like a lost puppy. Really. I want to take it home and administer TLC, Problem is things pile up and I end up shoving the poor thing in the garage for a year (the plate not the puppy.)

I’m not the only one who finds damaged goods desirable. In the ’90s, my friend James opened an antique shop in Fort Worth and we secretly called it The Chippery because he’d sell a Meissen vase “with this little ding” or a Louis XVI chair missing half a leg. We don’t see the dent, we see the potential.

Somebody told me I deal in the land of Brokens and Missings. That sounded tragically romantic.

Which brings me to my point. What is it about the promise of restoration, on a large scale or in the junk business, that can be so compelling? Even my 10-year old niece understands. We were crushing some turquoise beads and I said, “I just love to repair things.” Shockingly she replied, “Yes I do too. It’s so rewarding!”

But why do it? Especially when you can’t do it right? I’ve gone to bed with E6000 glue in my hair. I’ve ruined a washing machine trying to clean dog hair from a braided rug. And then the rug fell apart. So why do I keep getting involved with these ridiculous redos? To make a few bucks? Maybe. Feel accomplished? Yup. Artistic vision? Order out of chaos? Thank you Dr. Freud (or was it Jung?). Who knows. I just. know I got it and I got it good.

Take These Box Bags…No Really, Take Them!

Remember these from the ’70s, where they should have remained. My collection is enviable. One is missing a handle. One needs a new latch. One is so hideous it just needs to be covered over (notice the new decals.) There are a dozen more in the garage and at my booths in the antique mall. I just keep picking them up whenever I see them.

Project Number Two Thousand and Two

On bulk trash day, I found a pair of modern chairs (actually someone texted and alerted me). Two hundred pounds later they were in my house as I studiously attempted to administer acrylic paint over the peeling surfaces. No can do. I told myself the look was a kinda mid-century shabby chic meets Rick Owens. Someone will love them. Finally I sold both for fifty bucks on Facebook Marketplace. I will admit chrome is my downfall. Chrome is the junker’s homage to Milo Baughman. I never leave chrome.

So what can be learned from all this self disclosure? Wish I could learn from my mistakes. There’s a reason these things were cast off. If something needs repair, leave it to the experts. DIY is not always EZ. I have a niece (not the 10-year old) who is getting her PhD in biophysics, computing the diffusivity of cell walls. As I wrap my frozen pipes in a heating pad I ask myself, “Hey, how hard could that be?”