To: DScottD who wrote (11635 ) 7/27/1998 6:28:00 PM From: Gauguin Respond to of 71178
I've done a lot of repairs. :o) Lil story: The house we're living in was built as a shack with a porch, sort of, in 1919 I think, by one "Walking Tick". Anyway, a guy who was an inventor/engineer owned it before WW II, a fascinating guy MJ and I knew in his old age. He and his brother cleaned up with broom handles. Millions of them, and when he died he left our teentsy town library two million dollars. I guess this is part of the bkgrnd of the story, pointing up that he and his wife were cultured, literary types; way. (I just remembered, the attic of his brother's house, a big space, was designed as some kind of pipe organ resonator.) I missed out on his brother, but knew him; and he was always showing me and MJ his newest classy devices. He had smartness to prove. After I'd "give," he'd show us old pictures of this house, and then one time told us about the time he was STUPID. He got in BIG trouble. His wife earned a major living as a pianist, touring and teaching. She had a fancy-pants baby grand piano in the front room; people must have had to crawl under it to get around. He's got us down at his house, eighty years old and ripping thru pitchers of gin, and demonstrating his new and nifty, remote-controlled, snaps-like-a-trap skylight shade. "Have you ever noticed, up at your place, that big bump in the downstairs ceiling?" "Yah!" I say. "But there's never been any plumbing around there, to my knowledge." "Nooooope." The Missus, his Missus, mostly did not approve of his and his brothers' tinkering and dinking and puttering and projects and interests. It came to a head when she and he came home from a weekend motoring out somewhere, and her piano was full of red wine. It had come down through the ceiling, from his upstairs operation. A whole bunch of it. I could tell it was a big, bulbous, "before-that-happened" and "after-that-happened" kind of event. The "once" in a marriage type.