My father is a wonderful man and Dad. He was always supportive, made living as a physics teacher, and pastored home missions churches on the side. In most aspects the perfect father. My Dad is a shorter man of German decent. He was always the kinda do it right or don't bother kind of guy, with a hint of if you can pinch another penny outta that nickel, there may be another reward in heaven for you.
My mother used to laugh and tell us the story of my parents first house. My Dad purchased about 20 acres of land in the late 70s and began to build a house. When they moved in there wasn't much dry wall, you could see in and outta the rooms easily. But the windows in the winter without curtains were quite drafty. In order to save a few bucks on the utility bill, my Dad rolled and taped brown paper grocery bags to the sills. All the while assuring my mother that it was just temporary. Until 10 years later when they sold the house and the paper bags finally came down.
My husband and I live in a very beautiful loft in the city. It was once a synagogue in the early 1900s, and later renovated into apartments in the 1980s. I am sure that our thermostat was as old as the synagogue because it could never seem to keep an even temperature in the space. Fed up with freezing or burning up, and astronomical gas bills, I told my husband I wanted to buy a new one. One of those digital ones with programmable features. He is so sweet, and any excuse to make a purchase at home depot and he's off the races.
One day as I clean the apartment, I discover the new digital thermostat still in the bag. Tucked away in his little mans rats nest, in the corner of the living room. A place designated to keep the drills and bits and other tools, you know until we get settled in. Or in other words "just temporary". We have lived here now over three years. Now the next part of the story is told completely from my point of view. My husband swears that he told me he had bought it, and that he was waiting to install it because he was unhappy with the configuration of the switches on the wall. I remember part of that. So when he comes home I encourage him to start the project in an effort to get my thermostat put in.
It appears that on the wall there are a series of 4 necessary switches. One light switch for the living room, one for the upstairs, one for the fan, and of course the thermostat. His idea was to make all these separate switches go on one 3 way switch and move the thermostat so they are all in a nice row. Panic set in as I am cooking and hear a hand saw going back and forth into the drywall. The dust is going everywhere and there is little light. I'm laughing several hours later when I walk to the bathroom, and am warned not to go near the wall because the wires all hanging out are live. And he's packing his stuff up as though he's done for the night.
A small argument takes place surrounding the details of this project when I ask for a date of completion. He says most likely not this week. He won't have a day off from work, and there's too much going on. He tells me he will at least install the switches by Sunday, so when my girls come over for hair day, there will be heat and lights. I am happy with this compromise.
I am told that while I was at work the following week, his Dad and brother came over and helped install all three switches and the new thermostat. I am happy with this, but still looking at a big hole in my wall. Every time I walk past it it laughs at me and says, "temporary". Also I am only able to locate directions for the thermostat in the 3 languages that I don't understand. So this year my letter to Santa will read the following.
Dear Santa,
If you have time to fill my stocking I would like a piece of charcoal painted drywall, the cabinet doors to my credenza finished, a recycling bin, and the ability to read Spanish instructions. Also, if you have the time to bring me patience, I would really appreciate it. And most of all, a blindness to any other Dad related behavior.
