Have you ever bought something that you see on display and found that it is a kit has to be assembled?

 Most of us, at one time or another, have found ourselves the proud owner of a box of parts.

I lack patience at the best of times, and when faced with a box filled with screws, bolts and assorted “things,” I always look for shortcuts. Over the years my late husband, who would have agreed that understanding instructions sent him over the edge, made me official instruction guide reader, until I finally rose to the rank of chief assembler.

My first attempt took place in Toronto, when I purchased a wooden plant stand which looked great in the store with a big Boston fern sitting in it. I decided it would be lovely in the downstairs hallway. Walking home from the plaza, lugging a big cardboard box instead of a graceful planter, I was slightly ticked that I had to build it myself.

I don’t remember much about the planter, only that it wobbled and I had parts left over. That made me wonder if anyone else ended up with extra parts and a headache from reading the book-length guides. Things didn’t improve much over the years, but I have come to accept that not everything comes pre-assembled and screwdriver in hand, I have met the challenge.

Not long ago I bought one of those fake fireplaces and discovered, to my horror, that I had to put it together myself. That was one big box of wood and metal and it had me shaking in my shoes.

The problem is that everything I build quivers and wobbles; metal things don’t fit into the proper holes and brackets shift. The whole process makes me want a glass of wine to calm my nerves or a master carpenter to rescue me from my dilemma. I always start out calm, but within an hour I have to restrain myself from throwing the item out of the window. By this point I am usually so fed up that I just try to put it together so that it resembles the picture. This I can do, but only with the proviso that it can’t moved, lifted or touched.

Building the fireplace was my toughest assembly job ever. I took a board that resembled a mantle and screwed where I should have screwed and bolted where I should have bolted, until I came to the piece that refused to cooperate. Naturally it wasn’t just a decorative part; it was the supporting wood for the metal insert.

Moving it gingerly, I manoeuvered the fake log insert, holding my breath as I slowly removed my hands. To my immense relief it stayed in place. I pushed the button and presto, a very artificial fire filled the room. It was not the only thing that was glowing.

Now a master carpenter has come into my life and besides making me smile again, he assures me he will fix what shakes and mend what is broken. However, a look of disbelief crossed his face the other evening as the fireplace insert started to make its way out of the cavity and the support board suddenly shifted as he made a grab for it.

I have discovered that life is like a box of parts that you have to assemble. Sometimes everything clicks and sometimes you are left with things that make no sense at all. We may be able to make things look as they should, but sometimes they are held together only by sheer luck.

Having learned from my mistakes, I plan to introduce myself to a nice wrench and get to know it intimately. It’s time my days of wobbly planters and fireplaces came to an end.

Categories: Columns, Ramblin' Ruth
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