Press-Republican

Grady

September 17, 2008

A man's work is never done ... correctly

In any marriage, spouses are bound to say things from time to time that discourage, sadden or outrage their partner. In my particular case, for instance, there are five words I blurt out every now and then that send my wife into a state of depression that can take days to escape. Those five words are: "Oh, I can fix that."

I've had my successes, over the years, of which I'm justifiably proud.

Every time I pass by the upstairs hall light, I look up admiringly and say to myself, "I changed that bulb."

I've crammed new washers into drippy faucets, delighted the family when there was some assembly required and even made a bookcase or two that didn't tip over, if you didn't set anything heavy on them.

On the other hand, I once gave myself a brush cut when I tried putting a new plug on a lamp. When I plugged it in, my hair stood on end and stayed that way for about a week.

My gloat level has dropped over the years, as my wife has pointed out little defects in my projects. Whereas I used to gloat over a roof I put on by myself or the hot-water pipe I installed, now I'm reduced to gloating when I dig a clump of leaves out of the downspout and restore the flow.

When I undertake a significant repair now, I'm doing what I call the preliminary work. In other words, I merely pave the way for the professional. I'll get the faucet off so he can install the new one without having to get his hands dirty.

But, while my winning percentage is only so-so and getting worse as my career winds down, I'm a Hall of Famer compared with my friend Casey Flynn. After 25 years of marriage, he's still looking for his first victory.

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Grady
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    As the local golf season coasts to a close and golfers throughout the North Country begin to pack their clubs and frustrations away for another merciful respite, I'm compelled to report an incident that recently came to my attention involving my friend Ted and that diabolical sport, columnist Bob Grady writes.

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  • grady70.jpg Having a tiger by the tail

    I haven't slept in about a week, columnist Bob Grady writes. My wife's cat has taken up a new game: He slams the bedroom door into the wall as hard as he can and waits for somebody to get up and chase him downstairs in the dark. Great fun.

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  • grady70.jpg Another nasty chore dispatched

    I retired earlier this year. I had to. I ran out of business cards, retired editor Bob Grady says.

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    Walt Disney World in Orlando is a place where you can pay more than $100 a day for the privilege of sauteing in 90-degree heat while you stand in line 98 percent of the time, waiting for something to happen the other 2 percent, says columnist Bob Grady.

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    I retired from the Press-Republican a month or two ago, and everywhere I go, kindly people ask me if I'm enjoying myself in my leisure, columnist Bob Grady writes.

    May 7, 2011 1 Photo

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    Somewhere this fall, probably in Palm Beach, Fla., the inventor of aluminum bleachers is lounging poolside, a gin and tonic in one hand and a fistful of large bills in the other, getting a hearty laugh over the good one he put over on everybody above the 42nd Parallel.

    October 15, 2008 1 Photo

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