One morning while I was at the pool, he accomplished the following:
* Took down and cleaned the porch fixture, figured out how to make it possible to change the bulb, glued back together the few remaining pieces of glass so I can make a template to have new glass cut for it.
* Figured out that the reason my two newish outdoor outlets were not working was due to a fried GFI box. He put in a new one and saved me a visit from the electrician.
* One switchplate apparently offended him in its many layers of paint, so I got a new one of those.
* Broke up some concrete that was preventing my garage doors opening fully, and diagnosed the reason the doors want to pop open in the first place.
He also started to mess with where the phone line comes in (it's kind of a mess) but I threatened his life, as I was not prepared to potentially lose phone and internet. I DO think he could have fixed it just fine, but I was not prepared to weather the resentment it would engender in me should it disconnect. At least not while he was delightfully underfoot, occupying the kitchen when I was trying to get stuff ready (he's got an uncanny knack for being right where you need to be in small awkward spaces. It's a superpower.)
I continue to uncover little things here and there that he fixed. I know he was making a running list of ideas, he certainly was measuring my porch posts (which need work.) It's part of the way he expresses his love for us. Demonstrate it in deeds. Oh, he uses the words too, but he really feels best expressing it in works.
A couple of years ago I had a tooth go painfully bad while they were visiting. I was writhing around in pain, crying, and there was literally nothing my parents could do for me while I waited for my emergency appointment (well, mom offered me her prescription painkillers, but since I've no idea my reaction to them, I didn't want to chance it.) That had to suck for them. I was in an apartment, so there wasn't much he could do, but I did have an old halogen that I couldn't get apart to fix. Dad took it apart and replaced the dimmer switch on it. Lots of swearing and sweating, but he managed it, despite it being welded and me not having the right tools. That was love.
My dad and mom gave me another gift, in a sense, this visit. One of dubious face value, but one that will probably provide me a fair bit of amusement and joy. You could say I've buried the lede, but this really was motivated by my dad's efforts. This is just one not quite about home repair....
First full day they were here, we walked down to the Baltimore Museum of Art. On the way back, passing the shrubbery enclosing the Y field, he and I both heard a feline cry. I turned and saw a cat carrier tossed carelessly over the fence.* Immediately, I began swearing in my head, filled with a sense of certain inevitability. Ohshit!Ohshit!Fuuuuuckmeeeee. I know how this will go. Oh shit. Damnit.
The three of us began talking to the cat in the bushes. She (as it turns out) kept crying at us, wandering back and forth in the bushes on the other side of the fence. Dad went around to the other side, and with mom and I acting as spotters, was able to lure her within reach. And he scooped her up. That's also a talent of his (and theirs.)
Long story short, I was adamant this was just a foster. She was down in the basement until I could take her to my vet. My parents both spent a lot of time with her.
She's a sweet little thing. Very affectionate, very young. And very, very mellow. People oriented, completely.
My mother started calling her Pumpkin. I was still holding out. But I did use that name at the vet, where she got a clean bill of health and we scheduled her spay. Dad wouldn't let me pay the bill...
When we got home, my parents decided we should let her explore, which she did with alacrity. As the other cats stopped freaking out (Loki, 14lb+ Loki, was terrified of her at first. She's all of 7 lbs and under 6 months, I'd guess,) I began to wobble in my hard-heartedness. I was going to get a playmate for Loki once Mister Kitty eventually shuffles off this mortal coil anyway, right? And while she still hisses at each and every one of them, she's not alarmed by them at all and was even calming in that aspect as well. What's more, I was calling her Pumpkin too.
I had known from that moment at the Y we spotted the carrier. I was doomed. My parents knew it too.
(sorry about the quality, it's the best that sums of my fate.)
I pick her up from the vet tomorrow. As you can see, she got pretty comfortable in a mere six days.
Thanks Mom & Dad, for the wonderful visit. And for humoring me.
* Yes, she was clearly dumped. Makes me very angry. But at least she's not with the jackass who would do that anymore. She hit the jackpot with me, clearly.
