Stepping Stools

 

At home, when anything needs fixing or assembling, I just yell "Bill ".  I confess I don't even bother to try. In my French house, yelling for anyone would be futile since the only occupant is me. After Bill and Daniel left in July, I resolved to view my time here alone as a retreat, a chance to work on collaging, knitting, and writing, but also to take time to reflect and work on self development. 

This included  figuring out how to fix and assemble:  I learned how to wind my grandmother clock properly. I sorted out the persistent car issue, repaired the door bell, hung pictures, and changed an abundance of annoying batteries. Then the step stool arrived.

The step stool of course required assembly.  The instructions were in German, not my language.The pictures would help if only I could read pictures. I am all ears. The Amazon reviews claimed it only took ten minutes to assemble the step stool. Eager videos were posted among the reviews. I got out my ladies tool kit. The step stool came with a bunch of screws and an allen wrench, a tool new to me. Okay! How hard could it be? After watching a  few videos, staring helplessly at the pictures on the instructions,  I took the plunge. The included allen wrench seemed sub par so I found an equivalent in my ladies tool box. I ended up using both. Screwing in the screws took forever as my initial clumsiness caused me to drop whatever I held in my hands multiple times. Fortunately, the quality  wood of the step stool stood up valiantly to my abuse.  And every so often, I would scream. "How could this only take ten minutes?' Despite my lack of skills, I kept prodding along and making progress until it came to the last bit. The screws would not line up with the holes. More screaming.  Maybe there is a trick to this assemblage? I decided to text Michael, my renovation wizard.  He advised loosening all the screws to refit the steps.  No! I did not want to do this. Instead I switched the bottom and top steps. Maybe they were  numbered incorrectly.  And by golly, they were!  Success, at last! It only took me five hours, but my step stool felt sturdy and strong.  Now I could wind my clock easily and reach groceries and dishes on the top cupboard shelves. Boy was I proud. I felt such a sense of accomplishment, a sensation that accompanies me throughout my stay here as I reach out to new people, ask merchants if they would sell my book and book marks, give tours of my house to perfect strangers, practice swimming across the pool, interview a new house keeper, and on and on and on. I feel more sturdy and strong  than I did in July. I will pack that feeling in my carry on bag. Maybe just maybe there will be less yelling for Bill at home in Beaverton and more trust in myself.

The Tic Toc Killer and Other Weird Heat Related Phenomena

 About ten days ago, I bought a grandfather clock. See picture above. It just kind of happened. It was the weekend of the  brocante i.e. the antiques fair weekend. I said to Michael and Clare of the Monflanquin shop on the square that I wanted a grandfather clock or  a dog. Well, Michael took me seriously. A few days later, he told me he had found not one but two grandfather clocks which would be delivered to him after restoration that week. 

I did not think that much about it. I did learn that grandfather clock prices decreased significantly over the last few years. Nobody wants that style of furniture. Nobody has room for such a big piece.  In the age of IKEA,  it makes perfect sense. 

When the clocks arrived, Michael showed me the first one prominently displayed in the shop. Meh, I thought. The clock looked absolutely blah. The second clock was locked in his storeroom. As soon as he got a chance, he opened the storeroom for me. It was love at first sight.

Michael and his assistant hand carried the clock from the square. No delivery charge involved. The clock looked lovely in my living room. Sadly, it only chimed for two days before it became audible that something was wrong. In comes the village clock repair expert to disassemble the clock. Boy, was this hard to watch! I told the clock repair expert who shall remain nameless that hopefully, he would repair  her by the end of the week because of my attachment. (This is what happens when you don't have a dog, by the way)  When asked the cause of the repair, he looked at me and said. "She's an old lady." I don't think he was talking about me.

About four hours later, a knock on the door surprised me. It was the clock repair expert who shall remain nameless.  Beaming, he announced the clock repaired. Wow, fastest service ever performed in France! Of course, I thanked him profusely.  She's been chiming like a snazzy old lady ever since.

The next week, the clock expert  reappeared at my door. He wanted to show me something on his phone, a photo of another grandfather clock, almost as pretty as mine with a painting and children.  "Oh, it's the sister of my clock, I exclaimed."  "Yes, wouldn't you like to buy it? Two clocks would look great in your living room.  Michael and I both think so." No way, I thought, but politely, I asked the price and added I would think about it.

When I related this story to Michael and Clare, their first reaction was "cheeky". (They are English)  I agreed. They deemed clock repair expert's behavior highly unusual. Is he that desperate for a sale? Is he interested in you? Is it the heat? I mentioned that each time he comes over, he calls his wife.  "The lady is so happy that I repaired her clock so quickly, I overheard him say."  Hmm, murmured Clare. He talks about a wife, but we never see her. Maybe this wife is fictitious"  "Hmm, murmured Michael. Maybe he is the Tic Toc Killer?" Oh, great. Am I meant to be his next victim as he gains my trust with a fictitious wife and beautiful grandfather clocks? Clearly, the heat was getting to us all, but the imagining was super fun. He has not been back since. It's 106  F.  today. I guess I am safe.