Simple Fixes
Michael with his granddaughter Penelope
Michael is working in my basement, moving the heavy stuff that needs to be moved, fixing an uncooperative washing machine, fussing with a lawn mower—and blaring old rock and roll music.
When I return from taking a load of junk up to his truck, he’s excited to show me that he found a few old CDs of mine and a CD player. We discover we’re about the same age when we start belting out Aretha Franklin's hit: “R-E-S-P-E-C-T!” We bop around the basement dancing, singing, and working in unison, occasionally sharing a belly laugh as we both try to get through the basement door at the same time.
I look forward to the days when Michael comes to help me around my place. We click. I’m always telling him, “I work better when you're here.” And it’s true.
Michael is a world-class handyman. Years ago, when Viroqua’s NCR plant closed and he was laid off, he started his own business called Simple Fixes and began solving all kinds of problems for me, for his family, and for friends. No one remains a stranger to Michael for long. One of his superpowers is being able to connect with everyone, even if they don’t always agree about world events.
In spring, I dig out the flower pots from under the bookshelf where we stored them the previous fall. We set up a potting station, I fill the pots with new soil, plant the geraniums and marigolds, and Michael whisks them up the stairs to the back deck.
In between trips, he tinkers with anything that needs to be fixed and spends time loving up my animals. It isn’t unusual to see him chatting with the goats, petting Louisa, or holding a cat.
“Ruben James!” he bellows after getting out of his truck, and my normally shy, fearful dog runs full speed to Michael. But he couldn’t knock Michael over if he tried. No one could. Michael is sturdily built and, like his personality, steady and sure.
Michael and I have had plenty of lively disagreements about things from my Tibetan prayer flags to food—he’s a strict non-dairy man and I’m a menopausal woman who needs calcium. Eventually we just shrug our shoulders and turn up the music.
I first met Michael years ago at the Landmark Center in Viroqua, where he helped with the maintenance of the building. I know his wife, Margaret, from my fitness classes. Margaret and Michael met when they were in the Navy, then reconnected about a decade ago, and married.
I recommend Michael to everyone. Even my newest neighbor down the road knows him now—he was glad to be able to help her.
I was surprised when I ran into Michael at the Co-op on October 7. I knew he’d recently had hernia surgery and I’d assumed he’d be resting at home. Not a chance. He said he couldn’t do that—rest—and on he went about some project he had planned for the day.
The community learned that he suffered a massive stroke a few days later, accompanied by a pulmonary embolism, and soon developed deep-vein blood clots. For the many who know Michael, the irony is not lost: he’s a 100 percent type of guy—nothing gets done half-assed.
The family was hopeful at first that Michael would recover to some degree, but that wasn’t to be the case. A CT scan showed intense swelling in his brain, and because of complications, he wasn’t a candidate for any type of surgery. Michael's daughters, Maggie and Kaitlyn, along with Margaret, took turns staying with him in the hospital, keeping him comfortable, honoring his wishes to have no extraneous or invasive medical interventions.
Today I was wrestling with the hose that stretches from the basement door to the animal pens. This year it’s been easier to move, thanks to Michael. He came up with the idea of attaching the hose to the underside of the upper deck and then threading it along the bottom of the crib. I smiled, thinking of him and his ingenious plan.
After cleaning out the water bowls and refilling them, I used a short hose attached to the same faucet to water the potted plants next to the basement door. Michael again! He’d installed a double spigot and a separate hose, so I no longer have to drag the long, ungainly hose I use for the critters across the lawn. He went to Nelson’s that same day and came back with two hose racks, and as he attached them he said, “If there’s ever anything that’s making your chores difficult, tell me, and I can fix it.”
He could. And he would. But there was no simple fix for his situation. Michael slipped away peacefully on October 20.
It’s an incredible loss for his family, friends, and community, and a gigantic gain for wherever he’s gone.
Move, laugh, and love in peace, Michael—we know you won’t want to be resting.