What they may or may not realize is how well I know each of them. I hear a fragment of what's going on in their lives, and I have a pretty good idea of the fuller picture. I know which one cried when the ladybug died or grew tack-spitting mad at a racial comment or burst into tears during college finals before a trip to France because of a facial break-out brought on by stress or wore flip-flops under her wedding gown because of a sprained ankle.
I don't need to hear much to know the pulse of their lives, even if I seem to live in 'my own world' - which is currently in chaos. I'm working on that.
While I'm working, I'm using my favorite ladder. Most folks would have tossed it years ago. I inherited it, as such, when my stepmother deemed it was unsafe for my father 12-odd years ago. It has a weight limit around 120 pounds, and I don't recommend heavier folks use it. It looks like junk.
But when I'm on it, I sense the number of times my dad went up and down it; there's a fair array of old paint and unidentifiable substances on it, contributed both by my dad and myself. It's been repaired by both of us - Dad screwed on some wood supports at the top, I bandaged the leg when a friend tried to 'bounce' it in position and the leg folded. It's well-used and slightly abused, and I don't think I'll ever get rid of it.
It looks like junk. Unless one knows its history.
He passed in February, 1998, but I don't let many folks rest in peace. When I'm struggling with something on the ladder, I ask him to hold it steady. When the well-guys said it'd be $300 to dig a hole, I felt him standing nearby with his pipe, giving his opinion. "My arm's not broke and I have a shovel." So - I started shoveling. He was hard-headed and hard-working, and it's filtered down through the generations. He was a character.
Since this is Christine's month, born on George Washington's birthday, I'll share a Grandpa story for her involving a ladder. My stepmother insisted they needed an outside light on the garage, and eventually wore down his resistance. When she threatened to hire someone to install it, he got on with putting it up himself.
Except he wanted it "just there". Not two inches to the left nor two inches to the right. Except "just there" happened to be through a thick support stud. And he didn't have a long enough drill bit. And he didn't want to buy one just to use for this occasion. So he thought a bit, then climbed up on the ladder inside the large garage / workshop / equipment building he'd constructed. With his rifle. And tried to shoot a hole through it.
It kicked him off the ladder and set his ears to ringing for days. Concrete floor in an aluminum building, and we see this wasn't the wisest course for a 68-year old man to choose.
Then he bought a drill bit.
I don't know if this is the same ladder, but it could be.
Only people that know its history would find any value in it, but it fits me pretty good. Light-weight, easy to move, and I don't have to worry about spilling paint on it.Like father, like daughter - I saw him get the ashes knocked out of his pipe when he hit a live wire, and I got a minor zap here the other day. Rather flummoxed by it, because is there any reason a wall outlet would be juiced with two hot lines feeding into it? One came in from the left and was 'working up the line' and one came in from the right - also working.
I had the left one disconnected, which is a live wire, and was a bit surprised to find out it still had juice. I didn't understand the reason behind this, but I put it back the same way after adding a switch for an outside light to be added.
Oh. Hi, Dad!
PS - Grandpa says "Happy Birthday, Christine" :)
Please, please get a cheap circuit tester (the kind that's just a light with two leads) and a beginner's home electrical how to book. We want you around for awhile.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Jim. I'm done with electrical for now, but the logic behind the wiring on the addition mystifies me. It was a handy-man special, and much of it was minimal.
ReplyDeleteReason there's no outlets on the inside wall - ran paneling over concrete foundation, strung wires only along the added, outer walls. One line leads off the left wall to two outlets and one line on the right goes to ceiling light, switch, and two outlets.
Why the furthermost outlet is hotwired from both directions mystifies me. From my experience, it shouldn't be necessary. Since this is the way they installed it, I put it back the same way. It was the crackly outlet I replaced, because it's been sizzling over time.
I did cut breaker before removing wires. I'd turned the power back on to run saw and drill after taking the 'hot wire' off the bad outlet, which I put a junction box on since I cut into that line. Usually I check juice the ladies' way - with a hairblower. And I do cut the breaker before directly working on anything. The odd double-juice into this outlet is what surprised me with a small "zzzzt". Is there any reason why someone would run two hot lines to one outlet? I know outlets are strung together, but that's a current passing down the line.
Why would anyone run two hot lines into one outlet? - any ideas? - grounding?
Earliest memory of electrical jolt - about 4 years old, on the counter, for some reason with a butterknife in the toaster. "Someone" slapped me on my shoulder, I knew I was busted for being on the counter, and I jerked off the counter and across the room. But no one was there. Lessons from my dad even then, I put two and two together. The knife in the toaster was still evidence, so I unplugged the toaster, removed the knife, plugged it back in, and told no body.
Now I'd love to know why an outlet would be double-juiced off one breaker...
To each outlet you should have a 'hot' line, a 'neutral' line and a 'ground' line, which is electricaly the same as the neutral but really isn't. With two hots going into one outlet you'll get one of two bad results: if they're in phase, then you're using the ground for neutral. If they're not, then you'll have 220 volts. Either way, you'll eventually get a visit from your friendly neighborhood fire department. Or worse.
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