I seem to be fixing things a lot these days.
I’ve installed three cable set top boxes. Two were replacements for broken boxes. One was a replacement for the replacement, which had a very strange tendency to flip to “guide” every ten seconds.
I have reprogrammed three remote controls.
My old dvd player broke. I replaced it with a new one that can play dvd’s from all regions of the world. Why? Because I love old British tv shows. And I am a techie geek.
To celebrate I ordered the three season series of “2000 Acres of Sky”, which is set on a remote Scottish island.
I really love remote Scottish islands.
I’ve replaced broken HDMI cables. And bought extras for my cable stash. Yes, I have a cable stash. You can’t have enough.
The bobbin winder on my sewing machine broke. I googled a solution and bypassed a glitch in the computer by reprogramming the innards. It’s not perfect, but it will do until I can take it in to a real repairman.
I broke my office chair. Banjo Man replaced the caster last night. It’s loose, but it works.
My tuner broke. Amazon delivered a new one.
My violin shoulder rest broke. And Amazon delivered a new one.
There’s a loose seal on the freezer door of my refrigerator. I need to google how to fix it.
My toilet broke. I bought new parts and will fix it tomorrow.
I’ve been trying to fix some strange bumps on my face. I finally gave up on the daily Retin A cream and went to the dermatologist. He’s a young fellow, very quiet and shy.
“Can you fix these?” I asked, showing him the growths on my cheek.
“It says here on your chart that you’re a RETIRED WRITER!!!”
“WHAT DID YOU WRITE? HOW DID YOU GET STARTED? DID YOU HAVE AN AGENT? DID YOU TAKE CLASSES? WRITE UNDER YOUR OWN NAME? HOW LONG DID IT TAKE YOU??”
The questions went on and on while he flipped my mostly naked body around and practically strip searched me for various forms of skin cancer.
I answered all his questions, encouraged him on his script-writing endeavors, gave him a couple of suggestions for writing books to read and, after he enthusiastically wrote everything down, reminded him:
“Can you fix these things on my face??”
“Oh, yeah, sure.” He got his freezer spray and zapped them, then thanked me for everything and took off with his notes.
So I did get my non-cancerous bumps fixed eventually.
The UPS driver got stuck on our driveway Monday. He said he’s not coming back until winter is over. He will leave future Amazon deliveries at the other end of the driveway, far, far away, in front of my mother’s garage, where hopefully no one will steal them.
I cannot fix the road. And I cannot fix my wimpy UPS driver, either.
But other than that? I’m on a roll.