By the time I repair one thing, two more break

As I look back over 2002, I realize that it has been the Year of Home Repairs.

Each repair was different, and with each, I began as an ignoramus and ended up only slightly less ignorant.

And poorer, of course. That goes with the territory.

First, both toilets simultaneously demanded new flush mechanisms, flappers and so on. Those repairs were easy; I couldn't believe I had gone for years without having to do them before. Maybe that's why they all expired at once: It was their time.

Then came electrical problems. When it rained, the outside circuits would trip a breaker, which also darkened those bathrooms. Power didn't return until the weather was dry again. It wasn't a critical problem, but my wife hates showering by flashlight.

After reading books and going onto the Internet, I realized I didn't even know what the problem was. I was fully prepared to mess with deadly electricity - if I just knew where to start. In the end, I called in a professional.

Next, the kitchen faucet broke. I bought a replacement for the faucet head from a plumbing supply store, only to find that it didn't work. Even worse, the store wouldn't refund my money because, well, just because they don't do such things. I was stuck with a faulty mechanism, but I also had learned where not to shop.

At a different store I bought a complete faucet and spent the better part of two days installing it. Why so long?

First, there was the matter of reaching the old one, which was so high behind the sink that I had to lie on cushions so my arms could reach the connections. Second, even with every wrench and pliers I owned, I had trouble negotiating the tight spaces. Third, after installing the faucet, I found that it didn't mate with the copper pipes.

After another trip to the store, I had flexible water tubes to replace the pipes. Things were back to normal.

There was no rest for the weary. The wooden gates beside the house were sagging on their hinges, their wooden boards coming loose, their latches arthritic. I had put off the repairs because, just as I am no electrician or plumber, neither am I a carpenter.

I was going to help my neighbor rebuild his gates, then use that knowledge to fix my own. He was at work, though, and I had a day off, so I plowed blindly ahead.

At the home improvement store, I loaded my car with two-by-fours, 6-foot dog-ear fence boards, boxes of screws and assorted hardware. I dug out my screwdriver, level, tape measure, and a circular saw that had lain dormant in its box, unused, for months.

After two cups of coffee that morning, I removed the dilapidated gates and studied them. A long time. I looked a the saw and lumber. I made a few pencil marks, took a breath, and bravely made the first cut.

Adrenaline made up for my lack of knowledge. I might not have known what I was doing, but I was doing it quickly. The sun set, but vision didn't matter. I was on a roll.

The next morning, I was surprised to find that the gates actually worked and looked presentable. I slapped on the handles and latches and a few supporting braces, and they were done.

As Thanksgiving drew near, I was thankful I had survived the year with everything working again. Then my wife accidentally ripped ceramic tiles off the wall in the shower.

Will this year never end?

Reach Glynn Moore at (706) 823-3419 or gmoore@augustachronicle.com.