The mentor

When mom and I moved into this house a couple of years back, the guy who lived here informed us that we were about to inherit the best neighbors in the whole world.

Now, Bill and Ev will have to forgive my initial skepticism. The previous owner was not noted for his taste. He thought he was Elvis. No, not cute early Elvis who went into the military and wowed all the girls with his lean, swinging pelvis. He was gaudy Elvis of rhinestone jumpsuit, popped pills and Vegas fame.

He painted the living room the color of a Coke can, put leopard spots on bedroom walls, made the basement teal with purple flames. He painted the awnings silver. It looked like a tattoo artist flunkie threw up in here.

But back to Bill and Ev. Turns out ole Elvis wannabe was right on one point. They are fabulous neighbors. We share a fenced yard with them and Bailey goes charging in their house like he lives there. With a little vino flowing, Bill and Ev sound like the Honeymooners, 50 plus years into matrimony. (Ev: Bill, you're a patient man. Bill: I have to be to have stayed married to you this long.) Ev brings over a nice pasta dish now and again. And on top of it all, Bill is Mr. Fix It. He knows pretty much everything about home repair. Which is handy, considering our house needs a lot of repairs.

Bill is forever the mentor, the Bob Vila of Berwyn. Mike is the trusty sidekick Norm, who knows a lot himself but forever will be the apprentice, a shadow of Mr. Vila.

So this past weekend, Mike started to replace a light fixture outside the front door. A 15 minute job. 30 tops.

Right. Why does every quickie job have to turn into a 5-hour ordeal?

I'll spare the details, but the light wouldn't sit flush against the brick because half the hard wiring in this house is goofy.

The apprentice decided to install a rather shady looking box to make the mess fit. That would have been, as Bill so aptly says of a crapola job, generic.

Enter the mentor. A little advice, a little chipped brick and we have ourselves a light that looks like a guy who knows what he was doing installed it.

And Bill, who has a level for eyes, noticed our new mailbox was an eighth of an inch off, so Mike redrilled the holes.

Now, if I can just get Mr. Norm to replace the door.