The Man's Job

Late yesterday I glanced out the window and saw the family of four who live behind us--mom, dad, and two kids--out in front of their house.  The dad was grappling to work a pole into place that would attach their van to a trailer, one of those aluminum boxes on wheels that magically pops up and becomes a tent.  The rest of the family stood with arms folded over their chests,  looking dubious. It was the prototypical "man's job."

The man's jobs around here include the basic taking-out-the-garbage, but also getting the grate off the refrigerator and cleaning it,  laying and supervising fires, changing ceiling light bulbs, and dealing with anything icky, such as raccoon barf in the water  feature. Also, overseeing car repairs, packing the car for trips, and gathering up recycling for curb pick-up.  Plus anything to do with insects.

Most of the time, the man's job scenario works out fine. With some prodding, Jerry steps up to it.  There are times, though, when it all falls apart.  When we first moved into our house, I wanted some track lighting installed, clearly the man's job.  He got as far as unpacking the components, taking down the old light, and setting up a ladder.  He tried and tried to get the ceiling wires attached to the track.  No go.  Finally, he poured himself a scotch and sat ON the ladder. 

"It can't be done," he said with authority.

I called an electrician the next day.  The track was installed within minutes. Still, Jerry insisted he could handle the next electrical project, attaching a longer stem to our dining room chandelier.  He spent hours in the basement with the chandelier, disassembling it.  Finally, he emerged carrying the chandelier, all in one piece, and installed it over the dining table.  It listed.  It lists to this day.  The reason?  There were some parts he didn't know what to do with so he left them out.  Voila!

The guy with the tent-on-wheels?  We looked out late last night, and there was the trailer, fully extended to be quite a large tent, attached to the van.  This morning the tent was knocked down to aluminum box, ready to be driven away.  He'd done it.  Now he was pushing the garbage cans out of  the street and lining them up neatly next to the garage.