On Thursday I jumped in the car inside the garage, pressed the garage door opener button and buckled my seat belt, ready to pull the car into the driveway and off to Half Moon Bay to see my Chiropractor. As the garage door began to rise I heard the sound of something crashing apart: a combination of plastic/metal and wood splitting and wrenching itself into a mechanical mash of parts. The garage door froze four feet off the ground, and I looked up to see the door in pieces dangling in front of me. Oh, no . . . I won't be able to get the car out of the garage, it became clear. Oh dear.
RON NNNNNN! Oh ROOOOOONNNNNNNNN! I yelled. From his study I heard his soothing reply: "Coming, dear . . . " HHmmmmm, he replied looking at the mess. And immediately he began assessing the damage and prying things apart. Within fifteen minutes he had the door released such that I could slide the Subaru out onto the driveway and wave myself off to the town, leaving him to carry on.
When I arrived home after about two hours Ron's silhouette was seen inside the garage with the door down, but in pieces. Ron was repairing the plastic sheathing that comprises the panels. "I've used some epoxy to glue these puppies back together. We just need to let them dry overnight and then I'll proceed to the next part of the fix," he said. "Do you know how to fix it?" quoth I. "I have no idea," he smiled, "but then, that never stops me."
"Well, maybe we just need to buy a new garage door," I suggested. "No way are we going to spend all that money, if I can fix this," he said firmly. "Lets just see how it goes tomorrow when the epoxy dries completely."
So, today after his coffee and IPad morning email Ron was down in the garage with all the tools he owns spread out. When I came down to see how things were going he was up on a ladder with his head above the metal tracks which hold the lifting mechanism. Three hours later I heard the encouraging sound of the garage door rising. Amazing!
I never cease to be astonished at Ron's creativity, innovation and skill at doing difficult stuff. He just attacks the problem, jerryrigging whatever is needed to make the pieces fit or to hand make some new piece. He jumps right into the difficult. The impossible just takes a little longer.
All hail the fixer of things. This seems to be a dying breed of man (and woman). When something breaks in our modern world the normal response is to send it to the landfill. Get a new one. Blessings on those who fix things, for they shall be the conservators of our world. Thank you Ron. I love ya, guy.