We had an interesting experience early Sunday morning. All of the fire alarms in the house went off around 5:00 AM. Immediately, we popped out of bed and gathered the children. I then decided to be the Stupid Brave Man who walks about the house looking for the fire. I don't know what I would have done had I actually found the fire, but it was the Stupid Manly thing to do. Oh, the things we men will do to show everybody around us that we are special!
Coralee called the fire department and had them come out to the house to check the place out. Fortunately, there was no fire, but nobody can explain what was setting off all of the fire alarms. Perhaps the "ghost of fire starters' past" decided to pay us a visit.
The firemen, in their gear, went through the house. The explanation we received from them was, "perhaps a spider is nesting in the fire alarms, and he passed over the sensor." At 5:00 AM, the explanation seemed reasonable, but when I was truly conscious hours later and reflected back on that, I am convinced he made it up and it is quite possible the firemen came out to the house only half-conscious themselves. In fact, one of the firemen walked about the house aimlessly, always asking where the other two firemen went.
Add to the list of things to be fixed in the house: Fire Alarms.
As a kid, I always took for granted that my dad knew how to fix anything and everything. He was always the Guy. My dad was cooler than MacGyver. If Mom needed the garbage disposal fixed, and all he had to work with was the toothpick in his mouth, he would have it up and running later that afternoon.
Now that I'm a father, husband and homeowner, I am the Guy. There is nobody to call to come out to the house and fix things, unless I want to pay boatloads of money for the service.
We have a Genie garage door opener that is causing us all kinds of grief. I spent an afternoon trying to figure the thing out. I read the owner's manual. I reset the system. I re-programmed all of the remote openers, and I thought I had the thing working perfectly. I was a success as the Guy! Two days later, the garage door went back to its old, evil ways. It laughs at me as I pull up to the house. I cry myself to sleep at night because I'm a failure as the Guy.
Coralee is a sweetheart. She doesn't ridicule me for being a failure as the Guy. I'm sure she hopes and expects so much more from me, but she is patient with me and constantly gives me the smile of encouragement and assurance.
This brings me to my thoughts of the delicate balance between men and women that allows us to be together. In fact, I think the whole reason men and women get together in the first place is because we can each do certain things, and if you get together, everything gets done. Whatever comes up, somebody's good at that.
Ever catch a sweater on a hook and get that thred that sticks out? Women have learned that's not a big deal. They know you can turn the sweater inside out, pull it through, tie a knot, and in twelve seconds you've got a new sweater. They must have all been given brochures as youngsters that explained this.
Men did not get this pamphlet. Men will stare at the rip for half an hour and whine. "Oh, look at that! Do you belive that? Brand-new sweater too! Now I gotta throw it out. There's no way this can be saved."
On the other hand, women rarely get involved with connecting stereos, which is the one thing most men can do. At least I can, anyway. This all works out well. I'll be putting up a set of speakers, and suddenly go, "Oh no! Look what I just did to this sweater---caught it on the speaker!"
Instantly, we both have something to do.
Coralee called the fire department and had them come out to the house to check the place out. Fortunately, there was no fire, but nobody can explain what was setting off all of the fire alarms. Perhaps the "ghost of fire starters' past" decided to pay us a visit.
The firemen, in their gear, went through the house. The explanation we received from them was, "perhaps a spider is nesting in the fire alarms, and he passed over the sensor." At 5:00 AM, the explanation seemed reasonable, but when I was truly conscious hours later and reflected back on that, I am convinced he made it up and it is quite possible the firemen came out to the house only half-conscious themselves. In fact, one of the firemen walked about the house aimlessly, always asking where the other two firemen went.
Add to the list of things to be fixed in the house: Fire Alarms.
As a kid, I always took for granted that my dad knew how to fix anything and everything. He was always the Guy. My dad was cooler than MacGyver. If Mom needed the garbage disposal fixed, and all he had to work with was the toothpick in his mouth, he would have it up and running later that afternoon.
Now that I'm a father, husband and homeowner, I am the Guy. There is nobody to call to come out to the house and fix things, unless I want to pay boatloads of money for the service.
We have a Genie garage door opener that is causing us all kinds of grief. I spent an afternoon trying to figure the thing out. I read the owner's manual. I reset the system. I re-programmed all of the remote openers, and I thought I had the thing working perfectly. I was a success as the Guy! Two days later, the garage door went back to its old, evil ways. It laughs at me as I pull up to the house. I cry myself to sleep at night because I'm a failure as the Guy.
Coralee is a sweetheart. She doesn't ridicule me for being a failure as the Guy. I'm sure she hopes and expects so much more from me, but she is patient with me and constantly gives me the smile of encouragement and assurance.
This brings me to my thoughts of the delicate balance between men and women that allows us to be together. In fact, I think the whole reason men and women get together in the first place is because we can each do certain things, and if you get together, everything gets done. Whatever comes up, somebody's good at that.
Ever catch a sweater on a hook and get that thred that sticks out? Women have learned that's not a big deal. They know you can turn the sweater inside out, pull it through, tie a knot, and in twelve seconds you've got a new sweater. They must have all been given brochures as youngsters that explained this.
Men did not get this pamphlet. Men will stare at the rip for half an hour and whine. "Oh, look at that! Do you belive that? Brand-new sweater too! Now I gotta throw it out. There's no way this can be saved."
On the other hand, women rarely get involved with connecting stereos, which is the one thing most men can do. At least I can, anyway. This all works out well. I'll be putting up a set of speakers, and suddenly go, "Oh no! Look what I just did to this sweater---caught it on the speaker!"
Instantly, we both have something to do.
We finally took all of our fire alarm batteries out because they would only go off when we were sleeping. Now if the house burns to the ground, at least it won't disturb our sleep.
ReplyDeleteThat fire alarm thingy is so scary. At the hotel i work at, the fire alarm for the ENTIRE HOTEL goes off randomly. It's quite interesting at 3 am to have 50+ people yelling WHERE'S THE FIIIIREEEE?! Thanks for visiting my site! I love your site as well!
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