I don't usually like to generalize, but I'm going to do just that as I talk about house maintenance, workmen, and delegation of responsibilities in a marriage. As I was visiting friends over the holidays, I noticed how the wives took for granted their husbands' responsibility for fixing things or, if the fix was beyond the husbands' capabilities, then their responsibility for finding, negotiating with, and hiring someone who could fix it (or claimed he could), and then overseeing the upkeep in their house.
I know that last sentence is a jumble. That's because my mind gets jumbled when I contemplate my own record of keeping up my house since Al died. He didn't consider himself "handy," and grew up in a series of rented apartment buildings in New York where supers oversaw the maintenance, but when we bought our house twelve years ago, he learned what needed to be done and how to do it. While I was busy feathering our nest with furnishings, pots and pans, serving pieces, and linens, he was making new meaning of being the man of the house.
I didn't understand all the layers of thought and energy that went into doing his new maintenance job well. Maybe he got tips and referrals from our male neighbors at parties. I remember hearing him raise the topic when we went out with other couples, but it certainly wasn't discussed at length. Or maybe it was, and I tuned it out as I did when he told me about the details of a project in progress. I noticed the same eyes-glazed-over look on the faces of my women friends during my holiday visits this year. Even my most authoritative friend, who I assumed took an equal role in keeping up the house, told me recently that her husband took care of those things. She wasn't being evasive; she was contemplating what life might be without her spouse since several of her friends were widowed this past year. I guess I'm no longer the aberration I was when I was widowed in my 50s.
I've noticed over the past few widowed years how evasive many of my male neighbors become when I ask for advice. They give referrals, which is a godsend since our handyman retired. But what I need beyond that is information on how to price a job and how to direct and supervise the work. I'm not a businesswoman; I'm a teacher. Furthermore, when I buy I'm used to comparing price tags in a retail setting; I'm a mess in a foreign bazaar on vacation. Bargaining? I'd rather not purchase the thing. Al was a great bargainer. He'd radiate with the fun and challenge of it. When I saw him start to glow with negotiation impulses, I'd leave the area so as not to cramp his style with my tenseness and cringing.
I think that Al and I were exceptions when it came to negotiating a price. We were at opposite ends of the spectrum, but we knew where we stood with each other. If he got a bargain, he'd brag about it in detail, which also made me cringe! With my neighbors, pricing could be more of a gray area, and maybe that's why they grow vague and mumble when I ask for some guidance on negotiating services. Maybe they don't even know how they do it and feel their way through it each new time. Or maybe they don't always do it consistently and don't want to examine their methods and results too closely for their own peace of mind. Or they might not be sure they do it well. Or if they do manage to get great deals, they don't want to broadcast it and ruin it for themselves the next time they need something done.
Somehow, I am learning how to be both the woman and the man of the house, but my self-awareness hasn't caught up with my new skills yet. Which is why I spent a sleepless night last night in fearful anticipation of a job I contracted with a new workman. My house has water stains in the wood skylight casings that have always bothered me but not Al, so we never did anything about it while he was alive. Fair enough. Since the leaky skylights had been replaced, I decided to address the stains.
The only time I worked with this man, he did a decent job but squeezed me in among bigger jobs. What should have been a couple of days' work turned into more than a month. But this time he assured me that mine would be his major project and that he would see to it that he finished within the week. I tossed and turned all night, berating myself both for trusting him and for not trusting him. He had been referred to me by my retired handyman. I tried to talk myself down by remembering the chances Al took when he hired new people when we first moved here. But, I argued, Al had a forceful personality, and anyway men respect other men more than they do women.
But that's an oversimplification, I argued back at myself. I've observed the calm resolve of confident women. That's it--make a show of confidence. Act as if. The first thing I decided was to stay focused on my timeline concerns and make that the first thing I say to him in the morning and don't be afraid to say it again. Repeat yourself! I admonished, reminding myself of how Al tended to do that in order to be in command of situations. It's not a thing I do easily, having been raised to listen nicely and not take up too much psychic space in social situations. That's the second thing I told myself. This is not a social situation. Don't rush in to make small talk! I knew that I'd distract myself from my goal of effectively managing my project. Let the silences alone, I added. It isn't your job to fill them.
This morning when I greeted the man, I used my exhaustion and irritation to lend myself more of an air of gravitas. I probably sounded gruff, but I resisted the urge to moderate my mood to one that was more likable. I noticed that my voice had landed on a lower register, an unexpected outcome of my graver state of mind. When he made his suggestions for how he would carry out the job, I nixed something impulsively and in the next moment found myself moving towards my old familiar acquiescence. After all, what difference will it make? And isn't he the expert? But I nipped that impulse in the bud. I had drawn a line in the sand, and the important thing was to stick to it.
This project is in progress, and I might slip up with a thing or two before it's complete. I'll need to go easy on myself and try to keep the larger picture in view. What I'm writing now is true for the moment and for this new persona I'm creating. I imagine some people who read this might think I'm a fool for not already knowing how to negotiate shrewdly in the world and further for cultivating the bubble with which my protector husband surrounded me. Maybe not appearing like a fool was a deep motive for my neighbors' reticence and omissions. I certainly empathize with them, but I'm not following their lead on this one.
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