Ode to a Hammer

Or, how my bed fell apart and I fixed it.

I bought my bed two years ago with the limited funds I had upon my return to Prague. It was the least expensive bed I could find. I knew when I bought it that nothing lasts forever and, in this instance, forever would never come.

A year ago two of the slats under the mattress broke, and I fixed them with tape. They've held up because I moved those slats to the foot of the bed. For the last month I've heard the wood groan each time I turned over in bed and I knew it was only a matter of time before it would all fall apart. This morning it did. I ended up half on the floor and, because I got into bed at around 4 a.m. having been out with Max and others 'til the wee small hours, I knew I could not deal with it. I picked myself up and went to sleep on the couch. I had about 5 hours sleep and started to think about how to fix my problem. I called Max.

When I told Max about my problem, being the great friend she is - she laughed herself silly. She said she'd call Monkey, who said he'd come over tomorrow to help with fixing it. I want to thank you, Monkey, for the offer.

Being a girl with an independent streak, I decided to try on my own. Went through the tool kit and found two old hammers (and wondered where my new one went to but figured out that my fire wielding daughter had probably taken it when she left Prague), a gaggle of very long nails (which I always keep on hand for emergencies, girl/guy that I am), a couple of pieces of wood to reinforce the structure with, started singing "If I Had a Hammer" and went to work.

It took me a total of three hours, ascertaining the basic problems, unscrewing the slats so that I'd be able to work inside the frame, hammering away at the headboard to reinforce the part of the bed that broke, and then screwing in the slats once I had nailed in the slats to the center wood frame. It's done and I'm quite tired. Scraped one finger and hit another one twice, but I accomplished what I set out to do.

I well understand why men appreciate physical labor. You can close your mind to every thought but the problem at hand. You situate your legs in such a way that you won't fall over while standing in an awkward position, your left hand holds the nail and the right hand strikes the hammer to the nail. If you are not a trained carpenter, and you're not a total klutz and break your toe by dropping the hammer on your foot, consider yourself lucky to be satisfied with a job well done.

I always liked doing the guy jobs as opposed to the girl jobs. There's nothing really exciting about dusting or washing windows, you know. I used to watch my stepfather as he did chores around the house and always offered help. I learned the difference between a regular screwdriver and a Philips. After he died I stayed with my mother for a month and she was surprised that I knew how to fix things. My years of experience being single, and using logic, helped me to repair mechanical problems with the old plumbing in her house and fixing the clothes dryer when the professional tried to talk my mother into merely buying a new one.

All the years that I was single, in between marriages, I kept a tool kit. I liked having my own tool kit because it meant that I didn't have to call a guy friend to come over to get me out of a fix. Frank was very impressed, when we first got together, that I had so many tools. It has delighted me no end to know that my elder daughter, the Last Muse, has acquired her very own tool kit earlier this year. And younger daughter, the Escape Artist, is the creative welder. I think that cross gender knowledge is great. Men are often more creative with cooking then women (many great chefs are men) and it's a great help if you're a working mom to have a hubby who knows how to wash clothes and get the dinner started. I'm happy to have been born into an enlightened age, and that our daughters will continue the tradition. I only wish I’d had a son to influence as well.

I'm going to bed now. I'm looking forward to it for the first time in a month.