“Do you screw to the left or to the right?”
I read the above sentence with some trepidation. Especially since all I wanted to find out was how to replace my showerhead.
I’ve been moving in to a new house for the past few weeks, and it’s kind of a do-it-your-selfer. (I’d like to take a moment to thank The Cooters. Without their existence in this house, it might still have the burden of intact crown molding and light fixtures. Thanks guys!)
I’ve learned how to power wash. Well, I should say how to power wash efficiently… I’ve power washed before, but mostly just to write my name on things. I’ve plunged toilets, cleaned wood floors, replaced doorknobs, and painted walls. It’s been an adventure.
I’ve never been all that handy. I’ve lost thumbnails from just trying to hang up framed pictures. I kicked a soccer ball through a wall at my dad’s house a few years back, and when I was done “fixing” it, he had to replace the whole wall. So, I figured I could use some help.
I grabbed a book called “Chix Can Fix” by Norma Vally, the Discovery Channel’s “Toolbelt Diva,” and perused the pages in search of quick tips. I was initially turned off by the title. Because it’s a book geared towards women, it has to be misspelled? Like girls who pick up this book aren’t having enough problems already? But, I was desperate, and I did find some helpful information, along with some suggestions I felt were sort of silly. I mean, I don’t like plunging a toilet, but I certainly don’t need to paste potpourri under my nose, or light incense to get that particular job done. She does suggest a shot of tequila though, and I think that’s great.
There were a few problems with cross-referencing as well. I don’t know how to bake either, so the suggestion that I spread adhesive like I’m “icing a cupcake” did nothing for me.
Moving in general makes me pretty crazy. I know that’s like saying, “I’ve never really enjoyed open heart surgery,” because I don’t know anyone who gets a kick out of lugging all of their earthly possessions out into the daylight.
I’m sort of a pack rat, which I’ve found is a huge pain in the ass when you are also a nomad. I’ve moved five times in a little over two years. At this point I should be down to a water bottle, some hiking boots, and a change of underwear if I had any common sense. But somehow I keep acquiring.
I found a box in a closet today filled with scratched CD’s and bingo markers shaped like Santa Claus. Another box had someone else’s high school yearbook, a Beastie Boys promotional poster, and some Cross Colours overalls I haven’t worn since the ninth grade. They weren’t even flattering then, and I’ve managed to hang on to them for ten years. It boggles the mind.
I went to the new house today and wandered through the clutter, picking things up, and then setting them back down because I couldn’t decide where to start. The bingo markers laughed at me from their box, and a doorknob I had recently “fixed” fell off in my hand.
The stereo is the only thing in place, and Jen Foster was playing. I heard her lyrics as I was starting to feel allergic and overwhelmed, “I am only now accepting I am human, I cannot be Superwoman…”
So, I’m not that handy, and I can’t bake, but I’m learning. Slowly. Guess I’ll unpack and have that yard sale I’ve always dreamed of.
Sarah Reddick is a local writer originally from St. Louis, Missouri. The house Sarah moved into is the original “Cooter Family Estate” where The Cooters got their start and hosted a slew of house parties in 1993, featuring such bands as Big Ass Truck, DDT (now North MS All-Stars), The Neckbones, Before I Hang, John Stirratt, Destroy!, and a many others.
