Small Repairs

I fixed the drawer that’s been sticking since we moved in. It took ten minutes and a bar of soap rubbed along the runners.

Two years of yanking it open. Two years of saying I’d look at it this weekend.

I don’t know why small things are so easy to put off. A big problem demands attention. A small one just sits there quietly, costing you a few seconds a day, and somehow that’s never enough to make you act.

When the drawer slid open smoothly I actually laughed. I opened and closed it about ten times. My partner came in to see what was going on and I made them try it too.

So I’m making a list of the other small things now. The squeaky hinge on the bathroom door. The lamp in the bedroom that flickers when you walk past it. The button on my favorite shirt, which has been in a dish on the dresser since spring.

Not to do them all at once. Just to stop pretending they aren’t there.

I fixed the hinge this morning with a drop of oil. The lamp turned out to be a loose bulb, which is a little embarrassing. The button took longer, because I had to find a needle and then remember how to thread it.

My grandmother used to darn socks. She had a wooden egg she’d slide inside them to keep the shape while she worked. I used to think it was a strange thing to bother with when you could just buy new socks. I think I understand it better now.

There’s a kind of care in mending things. You’re saying this is worth keeping. You’re choosing to stay with what you have.

The shirt is back in the closet. The drawer is quiet. The list is shorter than it was.