I come from a long line of non-handy men. The McLoones don’t fix things. Sure, back in high school I took the obligatory shop classes, but the efforts of instructors were wasted on me. I was a …
I come from a long line of non-handy men.
The McLoones don’t fix things. Sure, back in high school I took the obligatory shop classes, but the efforts of instructors were wasted on me. I was a solid “C” student and that was because if they failed me, they had me around another year.
My most ambitious project in woods class was borrowing pencils from about half the class and giving them back in five pieces as I mastered the table saw. In auto class, I actually excelled at changing oil, and my Ford Pinto got an oil change weekly. It’s all I knew how to do, with the exception of my real-life knowledge of opening up the carburetor to start my less-than trusty ride all winter. Kids certainly don’t know how easy they have it these days.
I’ve muddled through various projects over the years, and then my wife calls a professional to do it the right way. I just call them now, because it’s not worth my aggravation.
Last weekend, I should have taken my own sage advice. It’s down to just my beautiful bride and me at McLoone Manor these days, and I came home for lunch one day, eager for some leftover chicken. On Sundays, I grill enough meat for 10 people or, I guess, five of me. It gives me leftovers for at least part of the week, and the chicken was calling my name. Our trusty Whirlpool refrigerator that made it through four kids, however, decided it was time to die. It served us well. It was nothing fancy. It had an ice maker but that quit sometime in the last decade. We always used ice trays growing up, but have had to buy ice, because only one person in this household actually refills the trays, and when he needs ice, those trays are sitting in the freezer empty. I’m not blaming anyone else in my home, I’m just saying there’s two of us here, and I didn’t do it. Read into that what you may.
Anyway, with this dead beast in our kitchen, it was time to shop for a replacement appliance. We found a suitable replacement that boasted working ice and water, a novelty for us. My wife is always urging me (she doesn’t nag, honest!) to drink more water, so this would be the machine to lead me down that road. We opted to just bring it home ourselves, and we stuffed it in the back of the van. It fit perfectly through the store’s doorway. It didn’t fit so perfectly into our 100-year-old home. With amazing ease, I removed handles and doors. It wasn’t fun by any means, but we got the new fridge angled into place. I had disconnected the water from its deceased predecessor and hooked it into the new one and turned it on in the basement. This project was going way too easy.
It came time for the test. I ran a gallon or two through in a bucket at installation, so I was fairly confident in the quality of the water. I gave it a little time to settle and make some ice and I grabbed a glass of water. It was absolutely perfect; the best city water money can buy! There was just one problem: It wasn’t very cold. I tried a second glass. It was warmer. The third one was hot.
I came to a realization. Whoever put the water line from the basement through the floor probably paid attention in shop class like I did. It’s tied into the hot water line. Anyone who would like a refreshing cup of hot water – or maybe some tea – can stop on over!
by John McLoone