I have always been a handy guy. I have fixed any number of things over the years from the weekly honey-do list I got from my wife.

I fixed cabinet hinges, wobbly toilet handles, doors that squeak and even stepped on a spider or two. It was my calling. I suspect it was her job to keep me busy. Otherwise I would have been in my easy chair with a glass of lemonade reading about the trouble in the Middle East.

What I am not good at is assigning my own tasks. Like deciding to clean the gutters. I neglected to wear an old shirt. I came in with wet leaves stuck to my Arrow shirt. Her look alone coulda killed me.

I know I should have put on the old paint shirt but I am basically impulsive and also in a hurry to get to my next project, like tossing out old things that have been in the garage for years.

How was I supposed to know she had her mother's favorite lamp stuck in the back corner? I figured it was burned out and not working. I'm a sensible guy. When she learned it was on the Goodwill truck SHE was burned.

I admit to not checking with her over the years. Heck, sometimes she was shopping and I had little to keep me occupied. Idle hands do the Devil's work, she would remind me.

A few years ago I headed out to the garage to tinker with my old 1929 Model A Ford. It was a rust bucket when I found it in Mt. Vernon. I am not a great mechanic. I don't know the first thing about engines, but I am a good electrician after practicing that craft at Boeing during the war. I was so good in fact they decided they did not need me after I accidentally fried all the wiring down the spine of a B-29.

The entire company must have been sympathetic as they went out on strike the next day. I never went back because I got a job digging ditches and cleaning oil stoves that suited my purpose at the time. I was desperate trying to feed three kids and a wife. It was true motivation.

I was in the garage going over my next phase of restoration on my Ford. It just needed the brakes adjusted to make it drivable. My close friend Wanchee Goodman came over to help me. His wife Evelyn was visiting my wife while we worked on the car.

Not much more than an hour later I had figured out the 29 systems of fittings. Wanchee wasn't so sure and wanted to take another look. I insisted it was fine and that he needed to trust me. So much so I invited Evelyn to go for a short test drive. Wanchee stepped in with a warning. DO NOT ever get in that car Evelyn. I don't think Jerry has the brakes ready. Evelyn must have felt differently. She smiled and hopped in. I went around to the driver's door and slid in beside her. To Wanchee's dismay we ambled out of the garage and down the street.

Around the first turn I slowed to negotiate the curve. Yikes! No brakes. I had brakes in the garage but something was missing. I pumped the brakes to no avail but managed to bring the car to a stop after going through a stop sign and enduring a dirty look from other drivers.

I sheepishly limped the old Ford back to my garage using the hand brake. Wanchee was waiting. With a look of disgust, he threatened to braid my legs for my miscue. Evelyn was stirred but not shaken as I gave my best impression of James Bond evading would-be evildoers.

Wanchee quickly jumped under the chassis and noticed that I had inadvertently hooked up the brake rods backwards or something. What a goof! I tried to apologize but Wanchee was not in the mood. He left in a huff, or maybe it was a Plymouth. He remained a good friend though.

I resolved to let Wanchee do the technical stuff and I would stick to hinges and hooks. That is my calling.