I Need a Fix

No, I haven’t become a drug user, and it’s actually not me exactly who needs the fix. Furthermore, it’s not just one but a couple of fixes that have happened in my life recently. So now you probably think that I’ve walked back (news people use that expression to describe what politicians say and then later, try to retract) the title. No– just taking a little leeway here.

The whole reason of bringing up fixes in the first place, though, is to shine a light on the sharp difference between items that are amenable to repair and other things — often not so tangible — that resist being fully put back into working order. They break, often leaving us needing to adjust to the brokenness. One of the most intriguing traits of my husband, in my view, is that he fully embraces each of these. We’ll come back to him later.

Help Needed

Recently my MacBook Pro — this very computer that I am typing on now — started misbehaving. Already aware that it was way overdue for a general de-cluttering, I made things worse by spilling a few drops of water on the keyboard one evening and then, the next day, everything started going kerflooey. The screen was jumping around left and right; in the middle of composing something I’d see a pop-up window demanding attention or my text would just disappear. I tried to persevere, occasionally getting through the thicket of problems, but as my frustration level crept up I realized I needed professional help.

Fortunately, the right guy for the job was able to work me in. He had been through a hellish year (the details of which I won’t go into), encountering a number of situations that were not fix-able. But he had a business to maintain. When he learned that my laptop was a decade old, he said that he’d do his best to get it back in operation at least temporarily, but, looking right at me, he added, “That machine doesn’t owe you anything.”

Summoning compassion for the thing and how valiantly it had served me for so long, I had to agree that it most certainly did not.

Whatever Bob did with the insides of the computer after I left it off, the tinkering must have looked something like this, with the slight difference that the photo shows a cell phone, and I don’t think he was wearing gloves. Either kind of innards would be completely baffling to me. That there are individuals who actually understand what each of the tiny parts do and can tell which part may need to be replaced; and that there are other individuals who know exactly how to make these parts in the first place (I’m learning about this from a Zoom series on Careers in Manufacturing happening at my job) — both of these realities amaze me. Such bounteous variety exists in the human race!

In any case, Bob called me up after a couple of hours of computer surgery with the welcome news that he’d put in something that would enable me to keep going a little while longer.

Taking his advice to go forth using a mouse, but procrastinating the inevitable trip to go buy a new computer, I found another guy who could fix another thing. An early spring bike outing had reminded me that my blue and white Fuji needed a tune-up; those gears were not shifting the way they were supposed to, and my ride felt something like the record was stuck on the same song, over and over. My husband was very pleased with the service he’d gotten from Brian who runs his repair business from his garage. Even though I was warned, when I got his cheerful voice on the phone, that it could be a while before he could get to it, get to it eventually he did– and with an excellent result. Those tired cables were replaced by more capable ones that knew how to do their job, transmitting the shift signal. Watching me ride the bike on his driveway, Brian also diagnosed a problem with a too-high seat and fixed that too. I was good to go.

Surely, I will spend the rest of the spring whizzing along smoothly, undaunted by hills. Don’t you think my husband will even be eager for joint rides? OK, that’s going a bit far. However, he is agreeing that we might try a Tandem sometime. This will be a new mini-chapter in the adventure of marriage.

Sometimes You Can, and Sometimes You Can’t

I began by mentioning how Rob understands what is fix-able and what may not be. Through a few decades of marriage, I become more and more fascinated by this fact. His theological training has reinforced in him a deep respect for issues that are not easily resolved, a willingness to stay in dark places and make the best of tough situations. He knows full well that many problems that individuals encounter cannot just be patched up and overcome. And when we have regular old conversations, he often reminds me, “I don’t need you to try to fix this, Polly; just listening is enough.” As the years go by, I can see plenty of examples of hurts that aren’t wished away, of illnesses that don’t get cured, of times when people stay stuck.

Wise about this side of life, Rob also has a high degree of handiness when it comes to basic household repairs and even larger construction projects. When something around here breaks — a coffee mug or a chair or a bathtub drain — he will generally sigh and say something like, “I’ll fix that tomorrow.” This response has engendered great appreciation and sometimes even a degree of awe from me, especially when I get reminders from friends or relatives that not all partners jump on the opportunity to return something to full functionality.

The other day, for instance, he set himself the task of sharpening the blades of the mower, this large orange thing that attaches to his tractor. He knew this needed to be done for the new season, and he wasn’t going to ask for any help, so he figured it out. A YouTube video or two might have been involved, and then also a tool he uses to make sure the chainsaw stays dangerous. Once when I back to the shed while he was working during the early stage, I saw that he was deeply involved with a wrench in trying to loosen some tough bolts. What I took in was a man who was confident in his own power to bring about a certain kind of transformation. I would have married him all over again, at that moment.

Today, a Sunday, marks a turning point of a certain kind: he’s actually spending the day at two different churches— in person. He will come home perhaps ebullient from the experience, and most likely a tad tired.

I hope, perhaps a tad selfishly, that he won’t have encountered any thorny new problems. Apparently, when we were both away, the outer glass door that goes in front of the heavy wooden one, at our main front stoop, was banging in the wind a lot this morning and did some damage to one of the two outside light fixtures. We’ll go out and look at it together, after he’s had some rest, of course.

Where do you come out on the issue of when-to-fix, when-to-withstand? Can you usually tell the difference in what’s needed? I’d love to hear in a comment.