My Handyman on the Other Side

(who you gonna call?)

Every morning I call on teams of the dead to see to various projects and concerns—about my health, my children’s well-being, familial relationships, work and writing, all of it. I have experience real miracles working with those who have passed on and written about them (Take Back the Magic) and I have seen, again and again, the dead show up in wonderous ways for the living—helping them buy homes, heal their bodies, reconnect with estranged loved ones, conceive, find meaningful work, and so much more. But sometimes even I forget how practical, and available, the dead really are.

After my ancient Kenmore bit the dust I bought, on my brother’s well-researched advice, a fancy new vacuum cleaner which he insisted to me was better than any other brand, even Miele. I plugged my Sebo in when it arrived and Clark said I sounded like a fifties houseswife. “It’s so light! The suction is amazing! It gets into corners. This is the best vacuum I have ever used.” It arrived with two vacuum cleaner bags, one already in place, and another as a replacement. I noted that the vacuum cleaner bags were not standard variety canister bags but oddly shaped, with intricate doo-dads, and that I would have to make sure I ordered more asap as they clearly wouldn’t be available at the local hardware store. When, last week, it came time to change the bag for the first time, however, I discovered that there were all kinds of idiosyncracies with my new vacuum.

I mean, how hard is it to change a vacuum cleaner bag? I should note that I am very handy (lifetimes as a peasant, this I know) and that I am the family plumber, I fix broken appliances, and I even like the challenge. This vacuum cleaner bag utterly flummoxed me. It would not fit it. Then when I got it to fit in, it would not suck. (okay, I was beginning to think this vacuum sucked…) I put the vacuum in front of me, I got out the instruction manual. It would not work. I went online and discovered that I have an odd vacuum, an odder model of this European vacuum, and began to worry that’s why it was so cheap. I left it in the middle of the living room and went to bed. The next day I still could not get it to work. I looked up the vacuum repair shop and felt furious that I would have to bring them a new vacuum.

That’s when I thought, finally, “I need help from the other side.”

I went through my litany of the dead. So many poets, so many ne’er-do-wells. I went to my ancestor altar. I don’t think many of these folks even owned vacuum cleaners. “Get a broom,” I heard my grandmother say.

That’s when I remembered a man that had been a kind of surrogate grandfather to my husband growing up in rural Arkansas. A shell-shocked handyman who refused to observe time changes and so would show up at unexpected hours. He would take Clark out fishing and say nothing for hours and hours and hours. Once Clark cast his line and hooked Mr. Kelso’s ear and he barely reacted. “Easy son,” he said. “Unhooking it.” He was who Clark’s grandmother called when she needed help.

Mr. Kelso fix my vacuum cleaner!

But then, of course, I had to reenter the fray. I went downstairs. I re-opened the damn vacuum cleaner. I looked at the hose. And then, for the first time, I looked at the BAG. It had a thin sheet of green plastic (lot of green plastic with this vacuum cleaner…) over the opening that I had not seen. I just had not seen it. I got a knife. I popped it off. Everything finally fit into place and my Sebo (which has these crappy bags—don’t buy one!) and will be with me for the rest of my days now works.

Thank you, Mr. Kelso. I’ve asked Clark to try and find me a photo of him.

You see, we often say to people that the “dead live in our memories.” Memories being what they are that is a pretty flimsy immortality. No. The dead are alive, and they continue to live when we collaborate with them. Mr. Kelso is no longer a character in the Mark Twain stories of my husband’s childhood…he’s MY handman. He showed me how to fix the Sebo and now I am eager to work with him on other knotty projects. In fact, such projects suddenly feel possible with this laconic, resourceful helper. And I will tell my children about him, and my grandchildren…and seven generations from now descendants I cannot even imagine will be calling out to St. Kelso for practical help around their homes that I can’t even imagine.

I love the dead so much. And they always surprise me. Some of you will dismiss this. Perdita just figured this out. This is no proof the dead are real. Perhaps not for you. But it is for me…and it has given me a renewed experience of confidence and faith.

A broken vacuum cleaner one day. A broken world the next.

We can call on the dead for help with everything. When we call on them for help with everything, the whole world comes alive again.

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In January I will be offering my introductory course Ancestral Collaborations on how to work with the dead to make magic happen in your life. I am also offering a variety of weekend workshops and year-long intensives as part of Take Back the Magic. Please reach out if you have any questions! I would love to help you bring your dead to life.

This is the free version of my Substack. My paid Substack includes a monthly conversation about our adventures with the other side. The next one is Sunday, December 17 at 3 pm edt. The Zoom Link is sent to paid subscribers that morning.