Got My Wires Crossed

Wiring is something that should be done, as Gramp used to say, "according to Gunter," so I tend to stay away from these sorts of projects since I'm more likely to learn as I go then really plan it all out ahead. At least I try to. But every once in a while a fly gets in the ointment.

Take for example one indian summer back in the early eighties. I was set to head for the High Peaks and a bit of climbing and quiet. No sooner had I uttered that I aimed to leave by noon on the 18th, did old Margie Ingman appear down my road. Margie was a friend of the family from before I can remember, used to do mending for Gramp's ma back when she was but a little thing. Over the years she just sort of attached herself to Gramp, til she'd just about drawn her own branch on the Kincaid family tree.

I knew the minute I saw her moving my way I was up a gum-tree. Before I knew it the 18th became the 19th and the 19th the 20th as I did favor after favor for Margie, who had found herself in possession of a little camp near Brant Lake.

"A little help with lighting and some light carpentry," she said.
Still remember plain as day how badly I wanted to turn on my heel and leave. But it was Margie, and Margie is family, whether she was born a Kincaid or not. Light carpentry my hat. The place was a rat's nest with bowing walls, buckling ceiling and the worst mess of wiring I've ever seen. Never did make it to the High Peaks, but I did spend a heck of a lot of time climbing as I reroofed the dang thing.

Found this picture as I was cleaning out a trunk in my house. That Margie sure could get it done. "A little help with lighting," she said.