home alone

Ryan's on vacation in Hilton Head, so my self-imposed weekend challenge was to be the man of the house. This consisted of:

1. Mowing the yard
2. Fixing the storm door
3. Investigating the ceiling leak in the basement...all without the aid of Boyfriend, Dad or Brothers.

Part 1. After successfully mowing the backyard, I get a little cocky. That was so easy it was actually fun! Then I maneuver to the front, where I proceed to sweat on and swear at that ancient piece of crap for 30 minutes, pulling the cord until I thought my shoulder was dislocated. I cheat and call Dad."Maybe you knocked the blade out of alignment when you hit that dirt mound." Maybe I did. "Try hitting it back in place with a 2x4."

Just my luck that it worked fine in the backyard, where no one could see me. But out here — with everyone in Broad Ripple driving by — I'm a red-faced skinny girl whacking an old mower with spare lumber. Then my neighbor Jerry walks over. The mower was a hand-me-down from him, so he feels responsible when anything goes wrong with it (which happens often). Jerry is about 70; I often hear him yelling at his dogs to shut up. Today he's got duct tape wrapped around one shoe and a huge hole ripped in his shirt.

Jerry: "Did you check the gas?"
Me: Pause. "If it just needs gas, I'm going to feel really stupid."
Jerry: Unscrews gas cap. "Guess you're stupid."
Part 2. "Fixing" the storm door turned out to be damn near impossible, so I settled for removing the problem. Took the door off its hinges and only then did I realize it weighed enough to crush me. But I managed a precarious method of "walking" the door down the driveway, rocking the weight back and forth and using the bottom corners like pivot points.




Part 3. I don't even want to tell you about the basement ceiling. I attempted to poke a "small hole" to help the water drain. I made it worse. Points for trying?