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 Mrs. Morris, he thought, checking on the calendar. Yes, Mrs.
Morris’s poor ol’ shed that’s leaning dangerously to one side.
“I can just whup over there today and see that gets fixated,” Windy
said, smiling. “By dark, she’ll have a perp-up-and-dicular shed she
can be proud of.”
Windy talks like that. A lot.
Armed with enough tools to recreate the city of Troy, Windy arrived
at Mrs. Morris’s house and set to work. He rigged a come-along to a
tree and used it to straighten the shed. Then, while he had it
straight up, he attacked it with bracing.
Mrs. Morris brought him coffee a couple of times, and later had him
in for lunch. Mr. Morris had passed away several years ago, and some
of these bigger chores were beyond her abilities.
Windy hadn’t asked Mrs. Morris about fixing the shed, because that’s
part of the fun for him.
You just show up and do it. Do it until it’s done. Do it right.
Fortunately, Windy has always been pretty handy with tools.
By three o’clock, that shed was up and braced, and several loose
boards had been nailed back in their homes again. He brought the can
of paint out of his truck and started painting it the same light
green it had always been.
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column] |
Inside the house, Mrs. Morris looked out upon the wonder of a
reconditioned shed in her back yard. She picked up the phone.
“Mr. Johnson? This is Mrs. Morris. That’s right. Look, I know I’d
asked you to take down my old shed, but I’ve changed my mind. No, I
don’t think the old shed will fall on anyone. Thanks so much
anyway.”
Nothing like a good helping day, Windy thought, rinsing out his
paint brush and dancing a little jig carrying the tools back to his
pickup. Nothing like it.
[Text from file received from
Slim Randles]
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