Manning The Home : The Unhandy Man Chronicles

I bet you thought I had some kind of grisly, horrific, life-threatening, bloody hangnail or something.  It has been awhile since I talked at you, but no need to send me a Get Well card.  Yet.  I was asked by Mr. C. to aid him in refurbishing an 1888 Victorian home here in Denver.  My first question was directed towards Mr. C.  "What can Unhandy Man do you for?"  Mr. C. responded with a question.  "What can you do?"  Me: "I dunno" (I've known this man for over 25 years.  He knows all my weaknesses.  All my weaknesses).  Mr. C.: "We're going to lay a hardwood floor down.  Have you ever done that?"  Me: "Nope" (doesn't sound like fun).  Mr. C.: " I haven't either but we can learn together."  Me: "Will it hurt?" (I hurt already)  Mr. C.: "Laying the floor or learning?"  Me: "Both."  (double hurt)  Mr. C.: "Maybe you can paint."  Me: "Will that hurt?"

Thus began a new phase in Unhandy Man's life.  The Unhandy Man Chronicles.  It'll be a lot like one of my favorite books of all time - 'The Martian Chronicles' by Ray Bradbury.  Discovering and settling on a foreign planet will be simple compared to what I'm up against.

It is quite a house, this old behemoth.  Charming in a way that says "Come in, my fine lad.  Have a seat.  Care for some tea, perhaps?"  Ah, no thanks.  "How about a cookie?  Just made them."  Well, I gottta get to work.  "Raisin Oatmeal.  With milk."  Well.  "Oh come on.  Sit down in this ancient, rickety, leather rocker.  Relax."  Well, sounds comfy.  Ok.

"What are you doing down there?"  Mr. C. is standing over me with a bemused and baffled look. 
"Sitting on an old, rickety................ floor."  I had sat down on the dusty, musky, dank and dusky 122 year-old wood floor.  "Yup.  They sure don't make floors like this anymore."

As I was professionally getting up, so as not to hurt my back or any other vital organ, I rolled onto my knees and Yoiks!  A sharp pain struck my right knee.  Something bit me?  Suddenly, the floorboards rumbled.  I paused.  Something whispering.  I can barely hear it.  I forgot about the wet, sticky sensation of my right kneecap that will clearly become infected and fall off like my cousin Vinny (no, really, I do have a cousin Vinny and something of his did fall off).  I got closer to the floor.  With my good ear.  There it is again.  I swear, like 'The Amityville Horror'.  If this house is a-talkin', I'm a-walkin'.  I put an ear as close to the floor as I could.  At this level, you get a peculiar perspective on things like, a black, shiny spider, coming at me full-throttle.  And it looked cool, legs all churning.  And that whispering.  The spider now stopped in front of my nose.  I went a little cross-eyed.  A rumble.  A scrape.  I heard it again.

"Now what are you doing?"  Of course, Mr. C.  Looking down at me again.
I deftly jumped up and slyly limped to the bathroom to pull a small nail from my kneecap.  I turned on the water, flushed the toilet and tried to stifle my little-girl scream.

And that was just the first half-hour of my encounter with my personal 'The House of the Seven Gables'.  I had just read this 1851 "classic" novel by Nathaniel Hawthorne.  A boring, non-horror, supernatural-less book I have ever read.  This house, built in the late 17th century (is that like the 1600's?), with a spooky (yawn) history.  Anywho, it was supposed to be scary but wasn't.  I tried not to limp around as we looked at all the rooms and the impending workload.  My jeans were getting stickier.

"Quite a house.  Beautiful.  So, what do you think?  Do you want to help?"
"Sure.  I'll give it a shot.  Speaking of shots, I forgot.  I have to go get The Wife from the hospital.  Ya, I think she needed her shots.  Ya, that's it.  Pick up The Wife.  At the hospital."

And off I went.  Unhandy Man pulling up his jeans.  Ready for the work ahead.  All the excitement to see a house become beautiful again.  With our own hands.  But first, to the hospital.  For a shot.  Can't renovate with only one knee, now can we?

TO BE CONTINUED ! ! !