Not so handy

I have many skills, but I am not a handyman. Never have been and never will be. It's not my fault. Really! It is genetic -- just ask my mom.

So, I cannot be blamed if I give my wife a blank stare when she tells me her brothers are installing wood floors in their homes and maybe we should do the same. Or they are building shelves in their closets and installing ceiling fans. My blank stare usually intensifies into a defiant/defensive look when I point out: "We don't need wood floors, shelves in our closets or ceiling fans. Furthermore, we should be grateful for what we have and not always be comparing ourselves to others." This, of course, always gets my point across and a free night's sleep on the couch.

Once I gave in to the pressures of the world and installed a ceiling fan in our office. It works fine. With the taste of success on my tongue, I decided to put a ceiling fan in the boys' room. This time I was not as lucky. The light works fine, but the fan is having a rotation problem (or, as my wife puts it, "the fan does not work"). I think it is a motor problem. Jill thinks it is a problem with the installer and keeps telling me to call one of her brothers to come fix it. I refuse, which, by the way, is also genetic.

Our backyard is my worst enemy. It haunts me. It stalks me. And it scares me. Every time I look out of one of our windows into the backyard, there it is -- just staring back at me and waiting. Waiting for me to try and tame it. Taunt. Taunt.

The other day I invited my neighbor to walk through my backyard. He is a professional landscaper. As he stepped through the fence, he stopped in his tracks and winced like a mechanic who opens up a hood for the first time and inspects a neglected engine. ("When is the last time you changed your oil," the mechanic grunts. "My what?" I respond. Tears begin to fill his hardened, grease-stained eyes.)

My landscaper friend shook his head in dismay as he surveyed the lawn, rocks (somehow grass grows better in my rocks), trees and miscellaneous bushes and almost inaudibly muttered: "Scott."

Feelings of defiance welled up again.

"I just put in new grass and it's growing," I almost shouted. "It's growing, I tell you. Jill calls it the 'Miracle on Joseph Way'."

My friend grimaced at these words. "Growing?" he asked more to himself. "What kind of grass did you plant?"

Was he talking to me? Did he want a response? What kind of question was that?

"The kind I found on the shelf at Home Depot," I said flatly.

He shook his head again. He then proceeded to give me a lecture about landscaping, most of which I have totally forgotten as I sit here today. I did learn that when I installed 10 new sprinkler heads to help water my new grass, I should have installed a new device called a "valve." Don't ask me what a valve is, because I don't have a clue. I do know, however, it is pretty important because there is NO pressure in my sprinkler pipes. Without any pressure, little or no water is coming out of the sprinkler heads and my newly planted grass is only growing because I water it by hand. Can you hear the backyard laughing at me?

Now my landscaper friend wants to draw us a "plan" for our backyard. You know, just like HGTV and DIY. The only problem is the people on those channels have $40,000 budgets for their backyards, and ours is somewhere south of $40. So, we fired my friend and I am back in control of the destiny of the backyard. Haunt. Taunt. Stalk.

Now that is scary.

Scott practices bankruptcy law by day with Lewis and Roca LLP in Phoenix, Arizona and moonlights as a humor columnist by night.

Author: Scott Brown