Thanks to My Dad
If something is broken I always think I can fix it. My dad was that way too.It seemed to me when I was a kid that he could fix anything. I grew up being taught that it was a waste to discard something that could be mended.
I have actually fixed a myriad and odd assortment of things.Antique furniture, bicycles, a Seth Thomas clock, an old farmhouse left in a state of disrepair from many years of neglect, leaky pipes, vintage clothing, a sewing machine, old plaster fr
Sometimes I get paid to fix things. An 1880's papier mache Belsnickle, antique German porcelain dolls, heirloom angels, a collectible Father Christmas that a dog chewed.
If I see someone else trying to fix something, I itch to grab it away from them and do it the right way--my way.
Sometimes I laugh at myself for my audacity to think I can fix anything. But, I continue to attempt to mend the broken, reassemble the fragmented, fix the unfixable.
Almost always, I succeed.
I thank my dad for instilling in me the audacious belief that I can do it, the practical skills needed to make the attempt, knowledge of tools and materials, a common sense approach to step-by-step action, and the freedom to follow intuition as to how it might be done.
His lessons on belief in myself and my abilities, creating an action plan, following intuition, and just plain willingness to give it a try have served me well-- in fixing things and in life in general. I have his tools now, and when I hold his pliers in my hand I feel him with me, saying "You can do it. Just try". It's a wonderful feeling.