A MECHANICAL IDIOT

All of you realize by now that my ego does not require stroking.  Why else would I think anyone would have an interest in my meanderings. Even the summer Tees my boys bought  me carry the words “BE PATIENT,  HE THINKS HE’S A BIG DEAL’.”      I tolerate all of this amicably because deep down I want to believe in self-deprecating humour. But, trust me, I know what I am not. I do not have a clue about mechanical things, about repairing anything, about putting things together, or about fixing things.  I’m  good at giving orders, but useless at doing anything mechanical. I can turn a key or plug something in, but naught else.   My boys learned very early when they were growing up that it would be better for them to read instructions and put things together, because I would assuredly bugger them up. My natural dumbness led to ever more unnatural disinclination, and now that the boys are long gone, I am left stranded with ‘machina’ as the Italians say, which I do not fathom.  Their two jet skis sit on their pad at our dock, others fill up the pontoon boat and I drive, and yesterday I really buggered up their speed boat.   What a day it was, Canada Day and all.

 

I backed it out of the boathouse without too much damage and headed to Lake Joseph, the second of the three large linked lakes [Muskoka, Rosseau and Joe]  I managed to find the Lake Joe river and navigated the narrow link fairly well.  I then headed down Lake Joe in the direction of Club Link and the Lake Joe Club.   Again, so far so good.  I thought I was having a good time. There’s always construction on the lakes, and given the sawdust in my blood, I love to look at what going up, and let me tell you, there are houses under construction around here that make Elaine Dobbin’s house at home look petit.  Giant houses for merchant bankers and stock brokers with equally large egos, and the fantasies of some Hollywood starts like Goldie Hawn, Martin Short, Harry Hamlin, Lindros and a legion of hockey players.    One particular new megalith caught my eye with a beautiful float plane parked in front.  I was so distracted I did not notice my depth monitor, and then it was jolted to a stop. I had  meandered onto a sand bar and buggered the prop and the engine.   It’s an inboard outboard, so I opened it up and started blindly at the motor, not having a clue. After floating aimlessly for about an hour, I called 911 on my cell. They answered, promised to come to my rescue,  never showed, and I only heard back from them much  later that evening when the OPP called to see if I was alive. After two or more hours a nice young man came along in response to my frantic waving and towed me to shore. We were received warmly  by  a guy who happens to be a lawyer from Aurora, and he drove us home.   Very late in the evening I managed to find the phone number for our  Marina, called, gave them directions, and they laughed a lot.  If  anyone has natural mechanical ability, wants to retire and make   good living, make you ways to Muskoka where all sorts of idiots like me will keep you gainfully employed forever.

 

There were three Parker sisters in the boat as all of this transpired and I am convinced I will get into heaven early now  because of what I had in endure in comments, observations, and voluminous silence.

 

About whispersfrombabylon

A father. A son. A priest. A scholar, a lawyer
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