It is all about fixin'

I often wonder what makes a person want to 'fix' something that can be more easily replaced.  I'm not that handy, but I can fix things.  My husband is the "fixer upper" extrodinar or some such thing.
He will fix anything.
Even those things that should be just replaced.
He bought a new handle for the old rusted falling apart storm door and then found out it wouldn't fit.

  

By golly he was 'gunna' make it fit.  I wondered aloud why he was picking a day that it was only 8 degrees outside to hold open the door and work on it.
I wondered silently why he bought a NEW handle for a door that was in shambles anyway.  Couldn't a nice cheapo storm door worked nicely?

Ahhh.  Out came power tools.  The scream of metal being drilled through assaulted my ears.

There were multiple curse words.  More metal screaming.  
More drill sounds and more curses because now the handle was in but wouldn't latch to the latchy thing because the door frame was ... I dunno, NOT right somehow.  So now he makes a shim to put the other latchy thing on and viola, it latches.

Then the screws weren't proper for the door.  Nope, they didn't look right or some such technical type thing.
Whew.

More drilling, hammering, cursing, slamming and opening ...and shutting the door while the cold air drilled through the house.

Finally, with a huge big smile Hubby turned to me to show me how great of a job he had done.
He showed me that I could push the little thingy and the latch would unlatch.

I admired his wonderous handywork.  The poor door looks more sad now that it did before the fixin'.
It has holes in it from drilling.  And works no better than the pre-fix.

But I was amazed and in awe of course. 

Then I went for a walk to the creek.

The Skid Steer Story

I walked outside after finishing up chores. There he was in his skid steer digging away.

I walked down to where he was working.

Me: Whatchya doing?
Him: Well I thought I’d get rid of this old oak tree stump.

I made a face and looked around the yard slowly with my hands upturned, as if to ask.
*Why, when there is so many other things to get done?*

He knows me that well, he really and truly does.
Him: Well I was just cooling off after taking the Dexter Cattle their water and thought I’d just dig at this old stump a bit.

He’d read my mind.

I tipped my head and looked at the stump, it was from an ancient old oak that had blown down in the August 2007 storms. The stump wasn’t bothering anything.
But have a Skid Steer with turbo power and a few extra minutes, my honey would see it as some sort of ‘Man Challenge’.

I shrugged. Nothing I’d say would change his attitude anyway.
Me: I’m going to town.

I returned after noon and noticed that his truck was no longer parked in its spot.

I went in the house where I found him.
Him: Blew a tire in the skid steer.
Me: Oh yeah, how?
Him: Oh, I’m not sure but I was working around that stump. Now I have to figure out how to get that Skid Steer out of there.

I stuck my hands in my pockets and rocked back on my heels.
Me: So…
Him: So, … I’ll need your help, I’m going to go get the Allis Chamlers D17 and with that and the truck we ought to be able to get it right out.

Later.
I climbed down into the hole to look at the skid steer. Both tires were ripped off their rims. The tracks were kitty-whumpus. A large nub of an oak root was jammed between the front and back tire.
Another root was jammed in between the front tire and metal tracks.

*I told you so* never need to be said and was probably better off not being said.

The Skid Steer is out of the hole. The tires are fixed.
The stump still stands boldly, daring him.

He murmured something about wishing he had some dynamite.