Always Harder Than It Looks

That project has been sitting there for a while. I knew I should taken it to the shop weeks ago. But just never got around to it. So today I give it another look and decide it is broken already so how much additional harm could I do? A loosen bolt here and a little tug there and the broken part is now detached. With a bit of inspection I determine the damage, make a decision to get a pro to fix the broken part and all will be well by lunchtime. So far so good. Returned from the shop and ready to reassemble. Now that the broken piece is fixed it is bigger and in a different shape then when removed just minutes ago. A little push there and a couple more loosen bolts and it still not going to return to its designed location. It is about now one needs to seriously consider quitting while ahead, declaring victory and take it all to the shop with people who have the tools and knowledge to fix it. But there is another small voice saying, "this can't be that tough.". Now where in the experience base of recent history does one come up with that type of stupidity? Now it is a challenge - me versus the machine. Person kind in battle with the forces of modern machinery. Mind over matter. This bucket of metal is not going to outwit me. The fact that I was even having this conversation with an inanimate object did not bring into my consciousness that I was a liitle over the top on this one. First battle, what is the correct tool. Usually my choices involve big and bigger. Having tried that unsuccessfully I went to the tool box for reinforcements. Having no idea what was correct I grabbed a handful. Once again common sense stepped aside and I used one tool after another to no avail. I pulled and twisted and tightened and turned. Sure enough, the thing finally was tired of my silliness and took a lunge at me. Using the same brain that got me into this, I reach out my arm to stop it like I had seen Supeman do so many times before. No project is worth doing that doesn't spill a little blood. New project, keep the blood off of stuff and get it to stop. Water is good, paper towels are disposable and there has to be some kind of spray thing here somewhere. One hand applying pressure to the wound, the other is trying to deal with the top of the spray bottle that claims pain relief in great big letters assuming you do no future damage while using it. One guess. One giant turn and the top comes off, the spring flies out and I am holding three pieces of what I had hoped was the cure. So taking a chance I dropped the paper towel from the arm and now with both free hands wanted to throw this pile of useless pain relief stuff back to the manufacturer. Finally reaching a base level - survival, I decided that fixing the spray dispenser and getting in on the wound made more sense. Now we are on two hours after getting the once broken piece back from a competent repair person. Probably from loss of blood and desperation I looked at the stubborn part and saw it could moved by one of those little pieces of mental with shapes that act like screwdrivers but aren't. Sure enough, now I had the correct tool it moved easily and I could actually begin to see some hope the damage was going to be repaired. With tremendous pride and self satisfaction I stood back and examined my completed work. Almost three hours of experience, a fair bruise and some broken skin but no more bleeding, and no visible damage to the machine I had fixed it! The free world is safe. Once again it was the will and determination of the human spirit that suvived the onslaught of mechanized trouble. Now if I could only remember to let the pros handle it.