Problem-solving

My front door has a Schlage handleset.  Yep, handleset.  That's what you call them.  (We used to call them doorknobs.)  In an attempt to avoid having to buy a new door, I have refinished the oak door that my beloved Golden scratched at for a dozen years.  It doesn't look bad.  I also need to have it rehung, and I hope that eliminates the air spaces that let Winter in uninvited.  But there was also a problem with the aforementioned handleset.  The bottom screw kept popping out.  I guess it was stripped?  I tried a different screw, but it, too, popped out.  So off to Home Depot I went.

I looked for someone older, more seasoned, and I found him in the lighting section.  I showed him my sorry screw (wow, that sounds weird), and asked if he could help me find a thicker one (still sounding weird.  Sorry.) Instead, he said this:  Do you have some wood glue?  Yes, I do.  Do you have a couple of round toothpicks?  Yes, I do!  And then he proceeded to tell me what to do.

So today, I cut those toothpicks down to size, dipped them in the wood glue, and stuck them in the screw-hole.  I went about my errands, and a couple of hours later, I screwed that sorry screw into the newly-wooded hole.

Problem solved!

And that's what I'm in love with:  problem-solving.  Hanging a new door would cost me about $2000.  Instead, I refinished it and I will pay a guy about $100 to rehang it.  A new handleset would have cost me over $100.  The glue and the toothpicks?  Significantly less than $100.

Finding solutions doesn't just save money.  It saves stuff from ending up in the landfill prematurely.  And there's a great feeling of satisfaction, knowing that creativity rose to the occasion and trumped consumerism.

I love solving problems.  And I love my refinished door, too.