She’s No Tim Allen, but She Has a Handle on Vise Grips

It looked to me like a simple repair.

Unhook the hose that connects the pipe to the washing machine, then remove the faucet with the leaky handle. Screw on a new faucet and voila. I’d be washing clothes again without pools of water at my feet.

But, in keeping with Sandy’s Axiom of Home Repair, nothing is ever as simple as it looks. And if there’s a right way and a wrong way to approach a project, I will always pick the wrong way first.

It was more than a matter of money--though I did flinch at the thought of paying a plumber $60 to fix a problem that could be remedied with a $6.99 part from the hardware store, a little common sense and some elbow grease.

Besides, I’ve got a bit of an aversion to plumbers these days, ever since the guy I hired to replace my toilet with the low-flow variety (“it empties the bowl on every flush, guaranteed”) left me with a toilet that not only doesn’t empty the bowl on every flush, but sends the water that ought to be emptied shooting out the bowl and onto the floor--or the legs of anyone standing nearby--with every flush.

It was a given when I was growing up that if something broke in our house, Daddy would fix it.

A barber by vocation, he was the quintessential jack-of-all-trades, with a garage full of tools and a working knowledge of everything from welding to water pipes, engines to electrical systems.

When the heater gave out in a subzero winter, he hauled his tools to the basement and soon had us feeling toasty again. Never mind that the thermostat remained off-kilter.

“Just crack the window if it gets too hot,” he’d say.

When the toilet wouldn’t flush or the tub wouldn’t empty, he’d drag his plumber’s snake upstairs, and the water would soon be flowing freely again. And never mind that murky stuff seeping up through the drain. . . .

Give him a roll of duct tape and a pair of vise grips and he could put anything in working order, we used to say. It might not work as the manufacturer intended, but hey . . . at least his repairs were free.

My kids might say the same about me one day.

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I’ve learned, by doing, some of the basics of home repair. I’ve patched a roof, laid a floor, hung doors, assembled furniture, installed ceiling fans.

I’ve made lots of mistakes along the way, but nothing that couldn’t ultimately be fixed by a real plumber / electrician / carpenter . . . or disguised by strategically placed furniture or art.

So I didn’t let it frustrate me when I hit the first snag in my washing machine repair. No matter how hard I pulled, I couldn’t wrench the faucet loose from the pipe in the wall.

“Righty-tighty, lefty-loosey,” my daughter murmured, a worried look on her face. I’d been turning the faucet right instead of left, making it tighter with every turn.

So I gave the pipe a few twists to the left, and suddenly it slid free . . . and torrents of water began gushing from the wall.

I’d neglected to shut off the main water valve.

While I frantically tried to shut down the flow, my daughter did what she always does when my projects go awry: She ran to fetch Bill, our neighbor and de facto handyman.

The water had slowed to a trickle by the time he arrived. But I was stuck in my tracks again. I couldn’t get the new faucet screwed on.

It wasn’t a question of lefty-loosey this time. Bill took my new faucet and compared it with the old one. I’d bought the wrong type.

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My faucet still leaks, and the laundry room floor is a sopping wet mess. But I’m determined to finish this job on my own.

And I’ve noticed a couple more things that need repair. The shelf’s coming loose on my freezer door and the bathroom window keeps slipping off track.

I’ll have to remember when I’m exchanging that faucet at the hardware store to pick up a roll of duct tape and a pair of vise grips.

And to send the kids down to Bill’s before I get started next time.

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Sandy Banks’ column is published Mondays and Fridays. Her e-mail address is [email protected].