I love to do home-improvement projects. I love the ringing of a circular saw blade after it's chewed through two-by-fours, and the scent of freshly-cut pine. I love the way a room looks, stark and virginal, just after the first coat of primer hits new drywall. Most of all I love the way that investing your own "sweat equity" makes what was just another house into Your Own Home. Maybe I should say, I love to start home-improvement projects. And I love to complete them. Sometimes that middle part gets tedious, but when the furniture's all replaced and the last tool is nestled in its place on the pegboard, I feel very satisfied.

In the twenty-some years that I've been a homeowner, I've learned some important lessons about taking on projects around the house:

1. They're never as simple as you expect them to be, and;

2. Even if Bob Vila completes them in half an hour on TV, you won't.

The house that taught me those lessons over and over again was a two-bedroom cottage on the west side of Grand Rapids. We bought it from my grandpa's estate, and most of its value came from the fact that once upon a time it had been Grandma and Grandpa's. It was small, it had one enormous heat register in the middle of the house, and it had been ravaged by countless generations of termites and carpenter ants. It needed lots of work. To me, the place was a bigger and better toy than the jumbo set of Tinkertoys I got for Christmas when I was five.

Upon moving in, we decided the first thing the house needed was a place to wash clothes. Grandma had a wringer washer that hooked up to the kitchen tap and drained into the sink. My wife, who's an automatic-washer kind of lady, had no interest in wringers. Early on she contented herself with weekly trips to the laundromat, but she informed me well in advance that she wasn't going to schlep a diaper pail that far so I'd better come up with some way for her to do laundry at home. We bought our first brand-new appliance, a genuine Kenmore washing machine, and had it delivered to the back porch. It stayed parked for several weeks while I endured pointed reminders that it wouldn't grow into the house's plumbing system on its own. I dug in to devising a plan, which looked to Carolyn like I was dozing in the recliner with an open how-to book on my chest. But I really was dreaming up a plan.

Finally one Thanksgiving weekend I girded my loins for battle. Donning my tool belt, I drilled holes for water and drain lines in a closet floor. The first step was installing the drain line. I studied up on drains and calculated the correct length for the standpipe into which the washer would pump, but I had a problem. The run to the main line was too steep, which would have allowed the trap to drain and let sewer gas in the house. My uncle suggested that I make a "deep trap." All I needed to do was lengthen the standpipe a bit and stick a hunk of pipe in between the two halves of the "P." The end product looked like a plastic saxophone, but his idea, and the trap, held water. Score one for the good guys.

Next I needed hot- and cold-water supply lines. I made them out of schedule-40 plastic pipe, which is a godsend for beginning home-improvers; if you can use a hacksaw and a glue bottle, you can be your own plumber. My wife patiently endured the lack of running water while I tied the new lines into the house supply. After the requisite drying time I turned the water back on. A quarter-second later the house had a new feature; a basement shower! The hot-water line blew apart, dousing me from top to toe. Dripping and sputtering, I very quickly turned the water back off, dried everything out, and repaired the damage. Before I opened the shutoff the second time I waited until I was sure the glue was dry, and again, BLAM! the line parted. As bewilderment turned to naked desparation, I did the unthinkable and read the instructions on the glue bottle. For hot-water lines, they instructed, wait 24 hours before turning the water on. I placated Carolyn with the facts that at least we could heat water on the stove and flush the john, and encouraged her with the promise that soon she'd never have to leave the house with a roll of quarters ever again. She encouraged me with that "you'd better be right, buddy" look.

The next day I tested the lines and installed a new outlet. Finally, the time arrived to settle the washer into its new home. I walked it through the house, rocking it from side to side with thumps and bangs, and wriggled it into its narrow new digs. Our tiny budget proved to be a big advantage as the little washer juuuuuust fit in the closet. We ran our first load of clothes in it, and to Carolyn's great surprise all the new plumbing and electrical work performed perfectly! My first big project was a success. However, like many big projects this one had unforeseen side effects; the steam from the hot water dissolved the glue on the old wallpaper, and it peeled off the walls in great hunks!

Water also played a part in the teaching of lesson number two. One morning in the shower I noticed a loose plastic tile. Soon it dropped off, and several more followed. Those tiles had been up as long as I could remember, so they were due for replacement, I reasoned. And I had the perfect replacement in mind: A brand-new fiberglass tub surround! I picked one with a smooth white finish and shelves for soap and shampoo bottles molded in the corners. It would give that old bathroom a much-desired facelift, and it had a particularly endearing feature. The box read, "installs in one hour." Great, I thought, I'll whip this up and have a whole day to play. On Saturday morning I shut off the water and disassembled the faucet hardware so I could slip the new panel into place.

The words on the box should have included, "...after about ten hours of demolition and prep work."

I stepped into the tub, pulled out my putty knife, and started removing the tiles. Before long I had a small pile of gray plastic squares at my feet. Work was progressing well, but then tragedy struck: I poked my knife in and pulled off a big hunk of waterlogged plaster! It landed on those tiles with a squishy thwop! Disappointment arose like the mess in the tub as the prospect of a quick fix dissolved in front of me. More plaster came with the remaining tiles. I scooped the gloppy mess up and bagged it just before my second trip to the building-supply store for a slab of greenboard. I learned you can't use plain old gypsum wallboard around water; "the code" called for greenboard, so greenboard it was. I nailed it up over the old plaster lath, and before long I had a nice fresh green surface to which I could glue the tub surround. I even managed to measure correctly for the faucet handles and tub spout. Or at least I got reasonably close. But along the way I jumped ahead to lesson number three: A little caulk covers a multitude of sins.

About midnight, I glued the last panel in place and caulked the final seam. Sleep seemed like the perfect reward for a long day's work as I stepped back to admire my work. Everything was installed right-side-up and the shower looked terrific. All I had to do was replace the faucets and I could try it out. My elation lasted for about a minute, then tragedy made a U-turn and hit me again. Because I'd left the lath boards in place the new wall stuck out about a quarter-inch farther than the old one, and the plumbing inside the wall was now out of reach! Joy mutated to horror at the prospect of Carolyn waking up and finding we were once again without water. I needed a way out of a mess, and I needed it right then.

If cussing would have sped the job up I've have been done in a minute. The exact sequence of events is a little murky all these years later, but I think I pulled hard on one section of the piping with a pair of pliers and threaded the faucet stems back in place with my free hand. Somehow I got it back together, it worked, and I lay down that night knowing everything would be fine as long as the faucet washers never wore out...which they did, of course.

All that said, though, I still take projects on. Even though sometimes it's not cheaper to buy the tool and fix something yourself, at least when you're done you've got a great new tool to arouse envy in your friends. And whether the job involves regrading the back yard to keep the basement from leaking or just adjusting and re-adjusting the well pressure tank, when it's all done you can put your hands on your hips, puff out your chest, raise your face to the heavens and shout...

"I am Dad...The FIXER!!"