Let there be light

My grandpa is pretty old-school when it comes to fixing things.

He’d rather spend two days working on a leaky pipe than call a plumber. He’s one of those guys who, when confronted with a fix-it sort of problem, will stand there for a while, just looking and thinking.

Then he grabs a tool and gets to work. In all the years I’ve spent standing next to him during those thinking moments wondering what images he’s flipping through in his head, I have rarely, if ever, seen him refer to any assembly or direction manual. He figures his way, if different than instructed, is better. He’s usually right.

But grandpa’s getting up in years, and while his mind is as sharp as ever, he’s not always able to jump up, grab a toolbox and fix what needs fixing. And that’s what had me on the phone with him in September when our washing machine stopped washing.

Before making the “help me” call, I figured out that the wall outlet was the source of the problem. The washer wasn’t getting power.

While proud of my skills of deduction, I wasn’t particularly thrilled that I had an electrical issue on my hands. I’m not what you’d call comfortable with electricity. I don’t get it.

In his new book, “Truck: A Love Story,” New Auburn writer/volunteer firefighter Michael Perry pretty much nails my thoughts on electricity when he maintains that it’s magic. And the way I see it, magic is unpredictable and therefore deserving of my fear.

Grandpa doesn’t see things that way. He wanted me to take the outlet apart. I hedged and told him I needed to sleep on it. To his credit, he neither laughed nor scolded when I told him the next day that I called an electrician.

It ran me around $80 to get the loose circuit-box switch fixed, but it was worth it. I’m a home owner who hangs around while the electrician does stuff. I’m not checking his work; I’m just fascinated by it. And, in this case, I took a small measure of satisfaction knowing I probably wouldn’t have fixed the problem even if I did have the courage to try.

About two hours after the electrician left, my wife reminded me that I should have asked to get the deck light checked. It had flickered for a while before recently throwing in the towel.

But it was too late. The electrician was gone, and the light issue just fell down the priority list.

And as early fall approached winter, and the days got darker, my family just made do with a dark deck. I knew I wasn’t messing with the light, but I never got around to calling the electrician.

When it comes to electricity, I believe there are two kinds of people in this world: those who see it as a simple thing to manipulate in any number of ways, and those who are so intimidated by the concept that it takes them nearly two months to change a lightbulb on their deck.