Learning from your children, part two, plus...

by Pat Laster

When the bottom end of a flag pole met two blades of a whirling ceiling fan around July 4, the thin tin of the pole wrenched off the thick metal of two fan blades. They clattered to the floor and at the same time, the one-sided fan whomped drunkenly from its position on the ceiling until I could get to the off switch. Did not mar the pole or break the light globes!
Oh, dear! In the heat of the summer, no fan to assist the old window air conditioner in the living room.
That made two fans that needed "fixing" or replacing. I called an electrician, left a message, never heard a word. If they were on vacation at the time; if their message machine malfunctioned, if they saw my name on Caller ID--for whatever reason, they haven't called back.
When Kid Billy's mother, my baby child aged 41, came over, she looked at the fan and listened to my tale. Bending over the detatched fan blades, she proclaimed, "You can replace these blades, Mom. I'll bet Habitat Restore has some." When she left, the had one blade under her arm.
A few days later, she returned with four new blades the same size but with a different rattan pattern. Using a screwdriver, she removed the other two blades and the broken parts of the others, and with the aid of a flashlight that I held, soon had the new blades on, tightened, and the fan humming smoother than it did before.
And all for $4. I would never have considered replacing the blades because I didn't know it was possible. What the younger folks have learned! And thank goodness.
My other daughter, Jennifer, taught me how to text on my phone. While standing on a step stool painting the upper reaches of the kitchen cabinets, I heard the phone in my pocket jangle. I put down the paint tray and brush and pulled out the phone. It was my Florida son, Gordon, answering my text sent last night. We "talked" (texted) back and forth a time or two, and then I finished painting.
Oh, I know an old person should not be on a step stool alone, but Kid Billy had taken his little sister Emma swimming. And the second coat HAD to go on today. After I pronounced the painting job thus far as good, I cleaned off an upper shelf, taking a coal oil lamp, a copper-looking spittoon, vases and other odd-a-ments, down. I washed years of accumulated dust from the bare board, and painted it, too. The other five boards already have one coat of white paint, so it won't be hard to slap on another coat of beige to match the kitchen.
Perhaps soon, I'll be invigorated enough to tackle the dark brown cabinets.
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c 2011 by lovepat press
Also check out my novel, A Journey of Choice, on Amazon/B&N.