(I’m rerunning this 2015 post in honour of my dad—who never met a potential life-threatening home repair situation that he didn’t at least consider doing anyway.)
We I have a saying in our house: “Why wait when you can risk your life now?”
Which is why I found myself up a river without a paddle one day—or, to be more exact—on a roof without a cell phone.
You see—I’m impatient. When the billion maple keys from our many trees fill our eavestroughs each year, I hate waiting for someone to clean them out. Especially once the maple keys begin to grow into a long row of tiny maple trees.
I’m sure the neighbours are judging us. (I know I would.)
So, one sunny Saturday morning, after my husband left for work, I thought: I’ll do it. Did I mention we have a two-storey home?
Do you see where this is going?
I extracted the ladder from the garage and easily cleaned out the keys on the one-storey garage portion of the roof. Next, I made my way over to the front of the second-storey portion, sat down about a foot from the edge, and began to dig out maple keys with a trowel, throwing them many, MANY feet onto the garden below.
“No biggie,” I convinced myself. ” I know the laws of physics, It’s not like some unseen force (like GRAVITY) could suddenly launch me from the roof.
I headed for the back of the roof. The part that looks down over the pool. And the cement patio.
I sat down with my trowel. I dug out a small clump of keys and tossed it onto the cement.
FAR. FAR. BELOW. (See below.)
How far up it was on my roof. Seriously.
And that was when my brain said, “Are you an idiot? Do you know how many people are killed falling off roofs each year? Do you want to be a STATISTIC?”
Suddenly, no physics I knew could convince me that there wasn’t an excellent chance I wouldn’t end up a terrible story in the morning paper.
I backed away VERY carefully from that spot, I headed back to where the ladder was propped up against the garage roof.
But I couldn’t make myself go down. The ladder just seemed awfully low against the roofline. I had too little to grab onto. I tried once, my foot feeling for a rung but only hitting air.
Um, nope. Not happening.
I sat there. I looked about the other backyards, hoping someone might come up and help me down. The birds chirping and the squirrels laughing at me were the only sounds to be heard. (What, you haven’t heard a squirrel laugh. Go get stuck on a roof. You’ll see.)
As I stared at the ladder, I wondered what on God’s green earth possessed me to climb onto a roof AND NOT BRING A CELL PHONE. I couldn’t call my son, sleeping inside. I couldn’t call my husband (not that I would have. No way was I admitting this.)
Inspired by how “I told you so,” my husband would be, I finally found the courage to pull up on the ends of the ladder so it would be high enough for me to have something to grab onto. Once on solid ground again—and after I kissed it—I made a solemn vow: NEVER climb on a roof again…without someone there.
Or, more importantly: HIRE A PROFESSIONAL!
That way, I’ll live to write the blog post.
Where I am writing my blog post. Note: Nowhere near a roof.