The Calendar

My favorite Christmas gifts last year were a ladder, a shovel, and a welcome mat that read, “Hope you like dogs.”

For my birthday, I was delighted to receive a hundred-foot hose. For Independence Day, I hauled out my air compressor from Christmases past. For Labor Day, I purchased a leaf blower.

My party favors now look like power tools.

This isn’t what I pictured for myself at this age. But here I am, appreciating the tools that make what once seemed impossible feel manageable—and sometimes even enjoyable.

Clearly, starting over changes your wish list.

When you share a life with someone, you develop areas of expertise. Sometimes you discuss the division of labor, and sometimes you simply stay in your lane, doing what you do best—or what you’ve always done.

Then life changes.

A breakup. A divorce. A death. The kids move out, taking their understanding of the television remote with them.

Whatever the circumstances, all the things still need doing. But the person who used to do them isn’t there.

You are.

At first, this does not necessarily feel like an invitation to personal growth. It feels like you’ve become not just the maintenance department but the entire organization: production, finance, human resources, sales and marketing.  There’s no one in accounts payable but you, and the suggestion box that lives in your head is never emptied.

The ongoing to-do list includes a tire that needs air. Or a garage door that needs reprogramming. Or a light bulb you can’t reach. Or snow that needs shoveling. Or a party that needs planning, hosting, and cleanup—all on your own.

At times like these, I have to remind myself that I’m a perfectly capable adult who has handled complicated jobs, big budgets, and major decisions affecting many lives. Surely I can figure out how to fire up the grill.

One of the surprises of being on my own again later in life is discovering how much there is to learn about things I previously had the luxury of ignoring.

You might be having this revelation in front of the washing machine. Or attempting to cook a meal, pay the bills, or book your own airfare.

The particulars vary. But the moment of reckoning is the same.

This is mine to figure out now.

I would love to tell you I greet these discoveries with enthusiasm. Or at the very least, curiosity.

I do not. 

Some of the jobs aren’t new at all. For instance, I’ve always been on garbage detail. But keeping everything clean, working, repaired, and maintained can feel like an epic undertaking when I’m the one responsible for making sure all of it happens.

Which brings me to my so called honey-do list, now that I'm the honey.

I'm making a list. Checking it twice. Finding out what needs fixing before it becomes considerably more expensive.

• Clean the gutters. Check the shingles.
• Change the furnace filter.
• Find and figure out which breaker controls what—and label it.
• Test the smoke and carbon monoxide detectors. Replace batteries and detectors as needed.
• Haul home the water softener salt. Pour it in.
• Deep-clean the carpets, the refrigerator, the freezer—and whatever else I’ve been trying not to look at.
• Move the furniture. Discover what’s been living underneath it.
• Trim the trees. Spread the mulch.
• Mow, rake, weed, repeat.
• Put away the hoses. Get out the snow shovel.
• Check the tires. Add air.
• Learn to fire up the grill.
• Assemble whatever arrived in a box marked “Some assembly required.”

Of course, knowing when to call for help belongs on the list, too. This is harder than it sounds when you have a vivid imagination and a weakness for a man who knows how to use his hands.

Somewhere between memories of Jon Bon Jovi showing up as the plumber on Ally McBeal and the shingle guy arriving at my door with smoldering brown eyes and a full head of hair, I’ve developed certain expectations about what home improvement should look like.

Meanwhile, things continue to arrive in boxes.

When something complicated needed assembling, my dad always supervised. I did the actual assembling. He supplied the moral support.

Without him, putting things together is not nearly as adventurous. It’s not that I can’t do it. I just liked knowing I wasn’t doing it alone. 

Now Ruby and Pearl have been assigned supervisory duties.

There are parts of being on my own that no amount of competence makes easier. I can learn to use a tool and still wish someone were there while I figured it out. I can feel pleased with myself and miss those who shared the burden.

But there is satisfaction in solving the problem, in learning a new skill set. In standing back and realizing that the thing I was certain I couldn’t do is now done.

In channeling my inner Rosie the Riveter —and a little Dolly Parton—and remembering: Honey, You Can Do It! 

Especially with ChatGPT, Claude, and You Tube videos, which have become my most reliable handymen, life coaches, and patient explainers of things I never expected to need explained.

Because I can’t have a personal revelation without turning it into a creative project, I created an I Can Do It! calendar for myself. Each month pairs a tool with a practical reminder and a little encouragement for whatever needs doing next. 

It started as an inventory of newly acquired tools and then became a résumé of skills I never thought I’d possess.

The lawn mower reminds me to tackle the big stuff, one swath at a time. The leaf blower says to clear the way for what’s next. The ladder offers a simple suggestion: reach higher.

The calendar makes me laugh, which helps when the actual job does not. It also reminds me how much I’ve already figured out. 

Yes, I can do it. But I don’t have to do every bit of it myself.

Once I put air in the tire, change the bulb, or tackle a job I’ve been walking past for weeks because I wasn’t quite sure where to begin, I feel different.

The task might be small, but the sense of accomplishment is huge.

I’m in my second year of this changed life, and I’m beginning to notice that alongside the things I miss, there are things I like discovering about myself. 

I may be an old dog, but I can still learn some new tricks. I can ask for help. I can be unsure at the beginning and still get the job done.

Which brings me back to the ladder.

A good gift says something about the life you’re actually living. Last Christmas, a ladder met me right where I was: in a new house, with things I couldn’t reach and dreams I was beginning to reach for again.

There is something lovely about being given a useful thing. Someone has paid attention to what would make your life easier.

There is something equally lovely about knowing what to ask for. 

I’m still interested in beauty, pleasure, travel, and a little holiday magic. My wish list has simply expanded to include equipment.

And a whimsical little penguin hard-boiled egg holder.

So if you’re wondering what to get someone you love—even someone who seems to have everything—ask what would make their life a little easier.

You might find yourself in the hardware store.

As it turns out, I’m registered there now.