Saturday Thoughts

When Barbara and I were having lunch on Thursday, we somehow started talking about being a physically abused wife/girlfriend, which neither of us has been. When I got up on Friday morning and took off my nightgown, I saw this bad bruise on my forearm that looks like someone's fingertrips caused the bruise.

You know that feeling when you see a bruise but you don't remember getting it? Well, I had taken a cab over to lunch, and the cab was tiny -- I joked to myself at the time that I felt like I was riding in a circus clown car -- my head literally rubbed against the ceiling of the car.

When I got out (or tried to), the driver had pulled up against a bank of ice/snow/snirt so I was starting out low and having to get up higher. He couldn't back up as there were cars behind him and he couldn't move forward. So I was stuck and really heaved myself out of this cab. I believe the strap of my purse caused the bruise.

My handyman was back today and I felt as if I had to explain the bruise, but I didn't. I thought about how it must be to have to hide bruises from your family and colleagues. This sounds crazy, but I forget I have the bruise and it catches my eye and I have to remind myself it was the clown car that did it, not some angry jerk.

So my handyman was here, my angel of a blessing of a handyman. He had been very sick, a bad outcome from an operation where his wound wouldn't heal. He's had a tough road. He does a beautiful job, and charges such low prices that I find myself trying to pay him more. The person who recommended him said he just enjoys doing the work and said that he told her that I was too busy to spend much time with him while he worked. That surprised me, so today I talked to him for about two hours while he worked.

This is gross, but he got a ladder to change a hallway light that's about 12 feet up and somehow over the years one of those big water bugs/beatles had crawled in the glass sphere and I was the only one who knew about it or would even notice it. When he changed the bulb, he really cleaned the globe and I am thrilled that I will no longer have to look up and see that bug.

Then he fixed a kitchen cabinet, fixed the drawer pull of this antique sideboard I have. This is how smart he is: he saved the old screw. He taped it to a paper and put a note in it. He used a new screw, but said that it's important to keep all the original pieces.

Then he was supposed to just change the washer in a bathtub faucet, but, of course, nothing is that easy. Whoever did work there last (before I moved in) used cement as a last resort to fix something and so he had to remove all the cement first inside the wall. He also regrouted my kitchen floor.

Because of his illness, he lost his job and is involved now in a number of programs to get a job. He interviewed this past week for a job as a maintenance man for Norwegian cruises which I thought sounded like fun, but he didn't. I realized, and he confirmed it, that all he wants is to have a normal life back -- a place of his own (he's been living with various friends), a paycheck and a normal day. I get that. He has such a tremendously positive attitude -- he is going to take this course where you get some sort of certification on furnaces and he said cheerfully, "It's just 28 Saturdays" and I thought that sounded like a lot, but he didn't.

Back to the cab -- of course, I think I'm the only one who would have trouble getting in and out of that tiny cab, but coming home, I got the cab style that's bigger, with more leg room, and I said so to the driver and he said he used to drive a smaller car, but he couldn't take all the complaints of people -- constant complaining about how tiny and uncomfortable the cab is -- Hmmm... guess I'm not that unusual after all.