Last night, without warning, without any time for my psyche to be prepared for change, my retractable screen door became hard to open.
Up until then, the sweet little piece of engineering was a breeze to open and was a massive part of my life. It helped bridge the space inside The Tiny and inside the attached awning room. With just the screen door between the two spaces, rather than the solid door, it always feels like I live in a very large place.
So when I slid the door open—as I do many, many times a day—it stuck. I honestly have no idea how this thing works. I’ve never really noticed. There seems to be a series of strings interwoven with the screen material. I finally got the screen door open and noticed a string on the very bottom that was broken and flapping in the air. It seems to be tied into the whole function of the door, because now the door does not function. I can get it open and closed very carefully but using two hands and carefully moving it open. And then, it collapses into the frame. Hard to explain, and hard to handle.
I noticed a depression start to descend over me. Not being naturally proficient in the workings of the physical world, that feeling of hopelessness and despair rose up. How could I live without the screen door? What would my life be like? And the life of the dog? How could we have the two connected spaces without the screen door to keep out insects? What will we do? What will become of us? I tossed and turned all night worrying about it.
I realize that most people do not descend into a pit of emotional hell when something breaks. Such an incident doesn’t reach into their very souls and grab their hearts and twist their emotions. Being proficient in the workings of the physical world, they probably (I’m wildly speculating here) simply think: “Oh, a string broke. I’ll figure it out and fix it.” That is not what happened here.
In the early morning I gave up on sleep and began to feel the weight of so many things going wrong. I haven’t been stretching my hamstrings, so my lower back pain came back. My glasses are scratched and muddled from so much time on the road and I need to get a new prescription so I can get new lenses. The dog needs some knotted mats cut out of her fur. I have two big projects due. It’s time to get my teeth cleaned.
All of these normal life challenges feel heavy and impossible to solve when I haven’t had my morning coffee. I stop drinking coffee at noon each day to make my sleep better, so at about 5 in the morning, I’m well into caffeine withdrawal.
I tried to keep in mind the time last year when I found evidence of mice in my mighty Dodge Durango. I saw their droppings and went through the stages of denial and grief and finally acceptance. They had built a nest in the spare tire compartment and created a pantry of dog kibble that had fallen on the floor and tore apart the fringe on a rug. Again I had that heavy, hopeless feeling. I hired a trapper to come out trap a few critters. I hired a mechanic to clean out the ducts and install a small screen on AC air intake. I thought I had it solved until one day on a long drive after my dog’s medical emergency and I was tired and spent and I glanced down to the vents and saw mice nesting material spilling out. The depression and despair was overwhelming. At my next campground, I headed to Home Depot to get some live traps. The mechanic told me there was no way more rodents and gotten in the car, so it must have been a residual rodent. I found the live traps and some delicious paste that would lure it in. On the way to the cashier, I passed by the houseplant section, and I wondered if I was ready for a houseplant in The Tiny. I stopped and suddenly realized: Wow! I have a rodent in my vehicle, and yet I’m thinking of a separate topic. That was monumental. That I could have a physical challenge that needed to be solved, and I could also find room in my mind for something positive was a marvelous turning point.
I remembered that incident this morning as I got my coffee going and started to research this screen disaster. I first went onto the T@B website to see if any information was available. As much as I adore nuCamp, the manufacturers of T@Bs, they are not good with instructions for the accessories they sell. The website had a gorgeous photo (which I used for my illustration above) but nothing more.
Last year, prior to taking off for my adventure, I had ordered the door to add to my trailer. It cost $169, including shipping. It was a major hassle to install and thank goodness I had expert help. Some of the cabinet doors, which were too close to the door opening, had to be trimmed. That’s major stuff.
Unfortunately, the door didn’t come with any installation instructions. Zero. Zilch. I got help from other T@B owners on the very, very helpful T@B Forum. It’s nice to own a trailer that has a large fan base and community.
This morning, with coffee brightening my mood to just about a normal state, I sent an email to the parts lady at nuCamp. Elsie is legendary for her efficiency and knowledge about both old and new T@Bs. I explained what happened and asked for possible remedies. Does it have to be replaced? Can it be fixed by someone with my lack of skills?
Then I logged onto the T@B forum and searched for all the posts about the retractable screen door. Some other folks had trouble with the groove at the very bottom getting filled with sand or dirt. My door not only came with no instructions, but also no info on maintenance. For an entire year of using this door in the high desert, the low desert, the beach, the redwoods, and parts in between, it never occurred to me to clean out the bottom channel or lubricate it, or anything else. I’ve been busy, ya know? So the broken string was probably being worn away by friction, unbeknownst to me.
As soon as I moved from the problem and my panic and into the solution and my research, the dark cloud above me started to lift. How often does knowledge—or at least the quest for knowledge—alleviate fear and despair? Often, I would guess.
As the morning progresses, I haven’t yet heard back from Elsie. But I am starting to get responses from the T@B Forum. The first responder suspects I may have to remove the door if the string is to be fixed. I told him that would be a bear to accomplish, but that might be the case.
I don’t know how this will all resolve. The dog is outside now, having enjoyed her breakfast and watching for squirrels in advance of our morning hike. I have the screen door propped open now, with some silky fabric covering part of the opening. The flying insects are not bad on this part of the planet at this time of day and in this season. So there is nothing to worry about right now. And the right now is where I want to be.
No matter how this turns out, it will be resolved. The door will be fixed or replaced. I will have a retractable screen door that works. There is no other option. The details are almost inconsequential at this point. What matters is that I found myself in despair and depression, that I recalled a past incident where I came out of my despondency, and that I somewhat quickly started to research the solution.
The only thing I would change is to start my research last night, rather than this morning, to head off the tossing and turning. And next time something breaks or goes wrong, that’s just what I’ll do.