It always seems
impossible until it’s done – Nelson Mandela
Life does not come with instructions.
I am often amazed how, at my age, I am still confused by
situations that arise from out of the blue. It would seem that, by now, one
would intuitively know how to handle situations that used to baffle them, but
I’m still waiting for that gene or knack to kick in.
Over the years I have put many things together, and over
those same years I have seen instructions actually improve, and the mechanisms
for connecting pieces of a construction puzzle have likewise gotten better.
I bought a pantry from a local big box store a few months
back and all the parts were well packaged and labeled so that I always knew what
was what, what went where, and which side was up, in, out, or optional. With
the help of my son-in-law, we assembled it in about an hour and everything was
square, plumb, and true.
That was a vast improvement over past experiences where
similar units never had doors that hung right, and box corners were
approximately square (give or take five degrees in any direction). I have
learned that if a piece has a finished edge and an unfinished edge I will
always – absolutely without fail – install the unfinished edge so it is what is
seen.
I don’t know if that would be considered a knack (for
reversing things), a gift (not everyone can be wrong 100% of the time), or a
curse (I am leaning toward the latter).
In any case, things have improved remarkably well in the
world of knock-yourself-out-while-you-do-it-all projects and I, for one, am
elated. I love how screws, bolts, and washers come packaged and labeled on a
bubble board rather than loose in a plastic bag. I love how various pieces have
stickers clearly identifying them (A, B, C, or 1, 2, 3, etc.) so they are easy
to match with the step-by-step instructions. It’s almost like my prayers over
the years have been answered. It has also resulted in less procrastination on
my part – a miracle, indeed, if there ever was one.
Well, I see ol’ Murphy of Murphy’s Law fame has been at it
again, though.
My wife and I are expecting a grandchild in a few months,
and so we bought our daughter and her family a new crib (with drawers and
changing table). Andrew (my aforementioned son-in-law) and I opened the package
and removed the contents and discovered to our horror and chagrin that
virtually none of the parts were labeled, the instructions were in ancient
Sanskrit, and the instructions had been drawn by a drunken otter during a long
weekend bender.
I presume this was payback in the war on tariffs, but let’s
not go there and stick to the story.
Andrew and I slowly, but surely, began to identify the
myriad pieces to the puzzle and hardware and, piece-by-piece, began to assemble
the Crib-Mahol (as I deem it). Little by little it came together and began to
resemble the picture on the box. After only an hour or so, the major portion of
the project was finished and it was exactly what we had hoped for – sturdy,
square, straight, functional, and beautiful – with one exception. Two pieces
had been reversed (by yours, truly). It doesn’t affect the functionality of the
crib in any way, and only those knowing what to look for would see the error.
The baby isn’t due for several more months, so there is
plenty of time to disassemble a few parts and fix the error; I may yet do that.
It could also be evidence that I had helped put it together
– the backwards pieces being my signature – so archaeologists in the future may
identify the crib as an Axberg-original. It also serves as a reminder that only
God is perfect. There are some crafts-folks who intentionally add a blemish to
their work to keep their humility in check. Alas, I need no such reminders, for
I am all too human.
Life comes with no instructions, but that’s OK. Even with
instructions, I manage to goof things up, but nothing catastrophic (that I know
of). My dream is to assemble an ultralight airplane, but with my track record,
that may not be wise.
At least I’ve learned that much in this, our valley.
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