Granny's gone and done it again
- Thread starter Granny Hatchet
- Start date
82° here this evening, feels like 90°. I had to move the car today and my hands felt like burning up!89° outside and ... the AC is not keeping up with it. The cooler co can't get out here till Monday, so ... it's gonna be a challenging weekend. It's 79 here in the house now.
I have been looking for someone that does that around here.
Oh sorry. I thought you were getting botox
I am willing to try anything! lol My normal masseuse is too far to see regularly since I’m not driving much and hubs travel season is in full swing. I came across this new, more local, therapist while DS and I were walking around waiting for the bus. Worth a shotOhh..I just looked up what that therapy is. I'm pretty sure I couldn't do that.
If you are looking for Botox injections for migraines I’d start with neurology departments and then physical medicine. I’ve had them done by both drs. I have heard some cosmetic surgery departments do them also but I prefer to stick with an MD who specializes in them.
Heck no no Botox for meI am willing to try anything! lol My normal masseuse is too far to see regularly since I’m not driving much and hubs travel season is in full swing. I came across this new, more local, therapist while DS and I were walking around waiting for the bus. Worth a shot
If you are looking for Botox injections for migraines I’d start with neurology departments and then physical medicine. I’ve had them done by both drs. I have heard some cosmetic surgery departments do them also but I prefer to stick with an MD who specializes in them.
"When 79-year-old George retired, he didn’t buy a golf club or a hammock. He hung a handmade sign in his garage window: “Broken things? Bring ’em here. No charge. Just tea and talk.”
His neighbors in the faded mill town of Maple Grove thought he’d lost it. “Who fixes stuff for free?” grumbled the barber. But George had a reason. His wife, Ruth, had spent decades repairing torn coats and cracked picture frames for anyone who knocked. “Waste is a habit,” she’d say. “Kindness is the cure.” She’d died the year before, and George’s hands itched to mend what she’d left behind..
The first visitor was 8-year-old Mia, dragging a plastic toy truck with a missing wheel. “Dad says we can’t afford a new one,” she mumbled. George rummaged through his toolbox, humming. An hour later, the truck rolled again—this time with a bottle cap for a wheel and a stripe of silver duct tape. “Now it’s custom ,” he winked. Mia left smiling, but her mother lingered. “Can you… fix a résumé?” she asked. “I’ve been stuck on the couch since the factory closed.”
By noon, George’s garage buzzed. A widow brought a shattered clock (“My husband wound it every Sunday”). A teen carried a leaky backpack. George fixed them all, but he didn’t work alone. Retired teachers proofread résumés. A former seamstress stitched torn backpacks. Even Mia returned, handing him a jar of jam: “Mom says thanks for the job interview.”
Then came the complaint...
“Unlicensed business,” snapped the city inspector. “You’re violating zoning laws.”
Maple Grove’s mayor, a man with a spreadsheet heart, demanded George shut down. The next morning, 40 townsfolk stood on George’s lawn, holding broken toasters, torn quilts, and protest signs: “Fix the law, not just stuff!” A local reporter filmed a segment: “Is kindness illegal?”
The mayor caved. Sort of...
“If you want to ‘fix’ things, do it downtown,” he said. “Rent the old firehouse. But no guarantees.”
The firehouse became a hive. Volunteers gutted it, painted it sunshine yellow, and dubbed it “Ruth’s Hub.” Plumbers taught plumbing. Teenagers learned to darn socks. A baker swapped muffins for repaired microwaves. The town’s waste dropped by 30%.
But the real magic? Conversations. A lonely widow fixed a lamp while a single dad patched a bike tire. They talked about Ruth. About loss. About hope.
Last week, George found a note in his mailbox. It was from Mia, now 16, interning at a robotics lab. “You taught me to see value in broken things. I’m building a solar-powered prosthetic arm. PS: The truck still runs!”
Today, 12 towns across the state have “Fix-It Hubs.” None charge money. All serve tea.
Funny, isn’t it? How a man with a screwdriver can rebuild a world."
.
Let this story reach more hearts...
.
Credit: SYJ
His neighbors in the faded mill town of Maple Grove thought he’d lost it. “Who fixes stuff for free?” grumbled the barber. But George had a reason. His wife, Ruth, had spent decades repairing torn coats and cracked picture frames for anyone who knocked. “Waste is a habit,” she’d say. “Kindness is the cure.” She’d died the year before, and George’s hands itched to mend what she’d left behind..
The first visitor was 8-year-old Mia, dragging a plastic toy truck with a missing wheel. “Dad says we can’t afford a new one,” she mumbled. George rummaged through his toolbox, humming. An hour later, the truck rolled again—this time with a bottle cap for a wheel and a stripe of silver duct tape. “Now it’s custom ,” he winked. Mia left smiling, but her mother lingered. “Can you… fix a résumé?” she asked. “I’ve been stuck on the couch since the factory closed.”
By noon, George’s garage buzzed. A widow brought a shattered clock (“My husband wound it every Sunday”). A teen carried a leaky backpack. George fixed them all, but he didn’t work alone. Retired teachers proofread résumés. A former seamstress stitched torn backpacks. Even Mia returned, handing him a jar of jam: “Mom says thanks for the job interview.”
Then came the complaint...
“Unlicensed business,” snapped the city inspector. “You’re violating zoning laws.”
Maple Grove’s mayor, a man with a spreadsheet heart, demanded George shut down. The next morning, 40 townsfolk stood on George’s lawn, holding broken toasters, torn quilts, and protest signs: “Fix the law, not just stuff!” A local reporter filmed a segment: “Is kindness illegal?”
The mayor caved. Sort of...
“If you want to ‘fix’ things, do it downtown,” he said. “Rent the old firehouse. But no guarantees.”
The firehouse became a hive. Volunteers gutted it, painted it sunshine yellow, and dubbed it “Ruth’s Hub.” Plumbers taught plumbing. Teenagers learned to darn socks. A baker swapped muffins for repaired microwaves. The town’s waste dropped by 30%.
But the real magic? Conversations. A lonely widow fixed a lamp while a single dad patched a bike tire. They talked about Ruth. About loss. About hope.
Last week, George found a note in his mailbox. It was from Mia, now 16, interning at a robotics lab. “You taught me to see value in broken things. I’m building a solar-powered prosthetic arm. PS: The truck still runs!”
Today, 12 towns across the state have “Fix-It Hubs.” None charge money. All serve tea.
Funny, isn’t it? How a man with a screwdriver can rebuild a world."
.
Let this story reach more hearts...
.
Credit: SYJ
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