The last of the floors done--whew!

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“Do you have a socket set?” he asked

                 Robert and Clayton had spent one day last week prepping the kitchen and back room floors to receive the vinyl tile I’d selected.  The next day, they laid it. The former activity took much longer than the latter. Now it was time to move in (from the back porch--cleaned to a fare-thee-well to hold the six large appliances) and hook up the range. Done.

               Next, they moved the fairly-new refrigerator inside, hooked up the ice-maker pipe, and then plugged it into the wall recess. I say recess, because the wall was originally thick plaster. Over time, it had crumbled and was lying between the outlet and the paneling. A piece of the wood had been cut out to access the electricity.

 

               Then they moved the washer and dryer in, but left them freestanding on carpet squares. Something wasn’t right. With their sharp carpenters’ eyes, they noticed the fridge was leaning forward. 

 

               “Do you have a socket set?” Robert asked. I didn’t. So while he lifted the front of it with a carpet-square-cushioned crow bar, Clayton unscrewed the front feet of the appliance until it was squared up. Voila! Their job was done, so we hugged goodbye and wished each other happiness.            

 

            Eddie came the next morning to lay the new base shoe (what I called quarter round). He used a coping saw to cut the wood at-an-angle for door frames, corners and thresholds. Then he, too, took his leave after a conversation about deer hunting and his son’s house that he would help build off Brazil Road near here.

 

            All that remained now was Steve-the-plumber. He replaced a piece of paneling behind the washer that had stained and softened. He soldered fittings for new flex metal hoses, put in a new “box” to house the washer hoses and tightened the drain hose —after it pulled off in his hand. He attached the lint hose to the dryer and tested the two machines.

 

            He’d bought a metal pan for the water heater (requiring a hole drilled through the floor to the dirt of the basement) in case it ever leaked.

 

                That left the dishwasher. Here, Steve found something else: a frayed wire at the back of the space. “Looks like a mouse gnawed on it,” he said.

 

               Uh-oh. Aren’t there enough cats on this hill to keep the mice away?

 

               He called an electrician; we made an early-the-next-morning appointment. When that was repaired, Steve would come back and hook up the dishwasher.
 

               He took his boots off at the door, Richie did--this young electrician whose grandparents I taught school with. “No rat chewed this,” he said. “It looks frayed, that’s all.” He did his thing and attached a metal box that jutted into the empty space at the back.

              That afternoon, Steve saw the box and said, “Aw, that won’t hurt anything. It’ll fit right under the body of the dishwasher. But he didn’t test the machine, and he, too, bid me goodbye with a ‘Call-if-you-need-me’ message and a wave.

 

              Would I need him?

~~

 

c 2014 Pat Laster dba Lovepat Press