Please excuse the substitution of this photo for the normal Self Portrait Sunday. It’s rather important.

Folks, there are some things that you’d just as soon not know what they actually look like. For instance, this is a picture of the space under my kitchen floor.

Actually, it’s the space under where a part of my kitchen floor used to be, which was quite obviously MISSING when I took the picture.

On Sunday, I worked on home repairs. I propped up my side steps with bricks because I lacked nails long enough to hold the 2x4s together and I was determined not to part with one red cent. And then I tackled this hole in the floor. It had been there for about a week, covered by the plywood with which I eventually patched it. The spot had been soft for a couple of years, and it got stepped on with just enough pressure to cave it in. Here, I have already enlarged it a bit in order to patch it.

Now, I don’t own a single power tool. The ex asked for his saw back, and I gave it to him without balking. That One took his tools back to his house when he went back OTR, so I did the job with a blunt handsaw and a whole lot of sweat and frustration. But I did it. Myself. The cutting, the measuring, the patch cutting, and the nailing. At the very end, I was swinging the hammer with both hands because my arms were so worn out I didn’t have enough strength left in my right arm alone to do the deed. And I admit that I did call That One to see if he was planning to come up here that evening so he could bring me a real saw, LOL. He wasn’t, so I just pressed on. (No hating, it’s a three hour round trip.) I did it myself. It took me three hours, but I did it.

I did something else, too, perhaps more significant. As I sat there nearly in tears using that hand saw with arms that were already trembling from muscle fatigue, I thought to myself: If my daddy were half the man my Grand-dad was, I would not be sitting here struggling like this. And then I let that dream go, and I got back to work. He hasn’t been here since the ex left, so he has no idea the state my house is in. He coulda had that fixed for me in 30 minutes, including drive time here and back home, and kissing his grandkids. But then, I wouldn’t be nearly as proud of myself as I am, and I wouldn’t have done that emotional work, and I wouldn’t be planning to buy power tools to go with my new testicles. So I guess I got the better end of the deal after all.

P.S. If you use Zemanta to help you with your blog content, be careful typing the word “testicles”. Zemanta WILL try to illustrate that concept for you. Just sayin’