Friday morning I came downstairs to an electrical smell in my kitchen. I sniffed around and had pretty much determined it was the refrigerator when a strange ticking -- then a whirring -- then nothingness confirmed it. I did a quick internet search and was relatively certain that it was a bad start relay switch for the compressor, but none of the information I read said anything about fire or the mandatory unplugging of the appliance. I decided to flip the circuit breaker when I left for work. I was "officially" still on vacation, but had worked the day before and needed to go in for at least a couple hours. The whole time I was there, I was anxious about the dumb refrigerator. I was not nervous about an electrical fire, but was hoping that my food wasn't thawing. I had just tossed two freezers' worth following the Derecho back in July!
This stupid Kenmore is only ten years old and I already put $300 into replacing the thermostat just this past March. Of course they encouraged me to purchase the extended warranty, but I declined. I was anticipating an "I told you so." When I got home from work, I contacted a Sears appliance guru via online chat. Sears couldn't send anyone for TWELVE days. How does that help me? I didn't suppose they had a loaner program. I asked the guy if it was safe to run the refrigerator. He replied with some idiotic query, for the second time, about scheduling a service call. Then I asked him if someone would have come right away if I had purchased an extended warranty. Silence. No little red words appeared. Schmuck.
So I got out the good old phone book. I turned to appliance repairs. A promising entry served my area and wasn't far from me. I called -- got an answering machine message stating that there was no way they were taking new customers. Appliance repairperson shortage! I called a third place. Bluto was on that answering machine. I gently hung-up. I called another place! A human being answered. Not only a living, breathing person, but a helpful man. They couldn't get out here for a few days, either. He gave me a lengthy explanation about the newer appliances requiring such specific knowledge and skill sets ... then asked me about my fridge -- confirmed that it was probably a relay switch -- and told me he had the part! That I could drive down there, pick it up (it's expensive, he said) and he'd talk me through replacing the faulty part.
Ok. I went. The part was actually a "combination" part -- made up of numerous bits and pieces that collectively should be a replacement for any number of side-by-side refrigerator models. He tried to show me how two little parts effectively equalled one larger part -- and that if I was lucky, I'd just be able to use the larger part. Uh-huh. My eyes must have kind of glazed over. Then I asked the big question: Where do I find this part? Seriously -- did he think I knew anything about this??
I got home and faced the behemoth. Without my really big and really strong son -- or my really big and really strong husband -- I wasn't sure I was going to be able to pull it out of its niche. I tried reaching around the side that I could and tried to pull it out with one arm. I tried grasping it down near the grill and pulling. No go. Then I did a really stupid thing and a really brilliant thing concomitantly. I opened the doors and pulled. Now my mother always told me to never hang on doors or do anything to put duress on hinges, but there I was, doing just that. Out she rolled. Further ... a little further ... and I could get behind it.
First things first -- the vacuum cleaner. There was only one picture and one postcard back there! I even got out the Murphy's and filled a bucket. The baseboards and the floor needed a good washing -- especially if I was going to be back there on my hands and knees. With the urging of a friend following my ordeal on facebook, I did get a little liquid courage. (Had to push the fridge back in a bit in order to get inside ;-) I gathered a few tools, a couple flashlights, and entered. All of these parts are at the base of the refrigerator behind a durable (not) cardboard cover. Why do they do that?! The screws weren't all the same, so I got a couple colored sharpies and marked the holes and the screws (Virgo). I got the cover off and had to do some more vacuuming. (Do people REALLY go through all of this once a month to lengthen the life of their new-fangled refrigerators?) I located the compressor -- determined its model (key) and found the faulty part. It was burned and melted. Scare me. None of the pictures on the internet showed THAT. The wires were melted into it. I removed one to see how it connected to the part, compared part numbers and then tried to figure out which configuration of components to use. The wiring was what got me. Those wires didn't appear to attach to any of the new parts. I was stymied. After about an hour and a half of youtube searching and coming up empty (not one of those videotaped handymen showed the wires or even mentioned them!) I tapped into my great wisdom. I called my neighbor.
David was no handyman. I think it was more that he didn't want to be than that he was unable, but that was enough. I think he put a tricycle together once. He did something with a lawnmower blade once -- successfully. He and my brother-in-law assembled a video storage cabinet together and the latches wouldn't meet. (My sister and I fixed it.) Once a friend and he replaced our kitchen faucet -- an all-day and three trips to the hardware store -- affair. He liked tools! But I've replaced a couple faucets, flappers, even a water valve for a toilet (never again, though). I was the handyman -- but a reluctant one. I was also the one who remembered oil changes, heat pump maintenance, etc. Yuck. That's husband stuff.
One horizontal day only a few months after he died, I watched a watermark on the ceiling above my bed slowly grow in circumference during a heavy rain. Wretched timing. We had talked about (I had talked about) the need to repair the roof for a few years. We live on a very windy hill and had been picking up blown shingles for quite a while. But then David had a recurrence and our days, months, years became focused on other things. Laying there that day, I was just crestfallen. I didn't even have the wear-with-all to be vertical, let alone face the logistics of roof repairs. The air conditioning broke last summer. The lawnmower died. We had water problems. This is the kind of stuff that can take me over the edge. I can't let that happen anymore. It's too stressful, so I've learned to stop, breathe and pray. After all, nothing of a household nature could be worse than what I've already endured. During these trying times, I need a handyman to fix what's broken -- including my own heart.
I never listened very closely to James Taylor's song when it was popular on the radio -- I just sort of sang along to the parts that were readily understandable. Later, as an adult, I was sort of shocked and amused at the arrogance of his lyrics! but now I could use that kind of handyman.
Hey girls, gather round
Listen to what I'm putting down
Hey baby, I'm your handy man
I'm not the kind to use a pencil or rule
I'm handy with love and I'm no fool
I fix broken hearts, I know that I truly can
If your broken heart should need repair
Then I'm the man to see
I whisper sweet things, you tell all your friends
They'll come runnin' to me
Here is the main thing that I want to say
I'm busy twenty-four hours a day
I fix broken hearts, I know that I truly can
James Taylor in a tool belt. Hmmmmm. If he wants to come and paint those spots on my walls from when we had the pipes replaced and stain the deck, come come come come come come come! Be my handman.
My neighbor, who was thankfully home when I called, was mighty impressed with my progress with the refrigerator. It really wasn't a straightforward repair. The two of us continued to compare part numbers and re-read the pitiful instructions. He more closely examined the wires and removed the melted gunk -- and figured it all out. It really was a victory. Score another one for me (with good help).
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