A Handyman is Handy to Have Around

 Scott's strong and soft at the same time.  He lifted the king mattress and carried it into the house all by himself this morning, right after his eyes belied the strength of his voice as he talked about the heart monitor the VA prescribed.

It's diagnostic after he felt faint and had pain in his left scapula.  He'll wear it for a month and then go back to the VA for further evaluation. Somewhere in the middle of that conversation, he began talking about how the current administration had restored some of the benefits he'd lost during the previous 4 years.  His disability benefits resumed, and he got a raise.  He's thrilled that he can now go to any care provider he chooses in an emergency, rather than having to rely on getting to a VA hospital in time.  

For a guy who hoped to make the military his life's work, being mustered out left a big hole.  His dad encouraged him to do what he loved, and what he loved was figuring out why things are broken.  My house has plenty to keep him occupied these days.

Our smoke alarms have decided to beep at us.  Why they don't do that at 3 in the afternoon is beyond me.  Why they need to wait until 3 in the morning is alarming, surprising, annoying, and very funny.  Have any of you ever heard an alarm beep when the sun is out?  We have not.

The chandeliers in the front foyer and over the breakfast and dining room tables had burnt out bulbs and a few decorative flies littering their bowls.  Scott went up the ladder, unscrewed the fixture for me to wash as he switched out the lights.  Three thirds is lots brighter than one third.  I'm just sayin'.

The dryer vent is now cleaned out, and delicate will now run cooler than Hades.  The new king bed is installed, and the frame is turned so that no one will skin a shin walking by.  The full set is in the garage, waiting for the neighborhood yard sale in December.  

He's out now, buying a replacement post for my flower basket, smoke detectors to replace the broken ones, and brand new batteries in case the ones I have (which don't expire til 2029) are somehow to blame.  He'll find bulbs for the fancy torchieres and table lamps that came from California and have never adjusted to being here - none of them work.

He'll clamber up and down the ladder with more alacrity than sense.  He'll tenderly take apart that which needs investigation.  He'll clean up after himself.  He won't ask for the phone or the bathroom or a snack - though we'd offer him any and all of it.  He's self-sufficient and able to admit when he's flummoxed.  He spent a while in his truck tracking down information about the beeping smoke alarms.  

We are always stunned when it comes time to total the bill.  It never seems like enough money to cover all the chores, but he insists that it's fair.

My parents never had an outside worker bee; Daddooooo fixed everything in our house and in the houses of all the neighbors, until G'ma came home one day to find her 75 year old,  hips replaced husband up on the roof, checking the shingles.  

I don't know who they found to replace my dad.  Perhaps Brother filled in the gaps as he did for us when he came after I was shot.  What I do know is that Scott is a lifeline for me, for Scarlet, for Scarlet's sister, and for a host of others who are can't climb and hammer and saw.

Without him and his willingness to do the little things that houses always require, I'm not certain we could stay this far from Brother or SIR, the only two humans in our families who might possibly help.  It's true - a handyman is a handy man to have around.