March 31, 2019
“Back to the roof”
ROOFTOP – I’m a real fan of begonias.
Cast your gaze downward and you’ll see a pot of red begonias in Kay’s garden.
They’re my favorite. They’re called Go-Go begonias. It says so on the tag. I
was calling ‘em Ruby Begonias after an old girlfriend of mine. Kay corrected
me.
Excuse me a second. – “Jim, don’t
even think about climbing up here with that cup of coffee in your hand. This
roof is higher and steeper than the one at the other house. So, you WILL fall,
and Shari will kill me.” – I’m sure you noticed how I was using my Liam Neeson
voice. – No, it wasn’t Nick Nolte.
Speaking of which, I’ve had only one
other rooftop experience here at our new house. The problem is that this is a
pyramid roof. I tried sitting on a big pillow at the pointed peak, but it
really hurt my rear. I walked in a squat for a week after that article.
Well, yesterday, I was sitting in
the backyard thinking about Ruby’s begonias, when I noticed that the back porch has a two-sided hip roof that juts out from the
main pyramid-roof. It’s a short span, but
could definitely hold lawn chairs. The reason I didn’t notice it before was
that I was distracted by the excruciating pain in my posterior. I thought I
mentioned that.
But, let’s get past all
that. It’s a cool and beautiful evening and our Eighth-of-an Acre Wood blocks
our view of the neighbor’s backyard. That narrow strip of trees and shrubs is the
reason we grabbed this lot. You see, this entire area was forested up until a
couple of years ago when the land was made ready for a subdivision. Our house
is sitting on one of the few lots that hold evidence of what used to be. That
makes Kay and me partly responsible for the clearcut of 100 plus acres of
forest. Progress is one of those transitions that provide both benefit and
despair. That’s true of most things.
Take “age” for example. I
had to go grab a takeout order from Vernon’s last Tuesday. Tuesday is Smoked
Chicken Day. I really like Smoked Chicken Day. Anyway, I was in my
around-the-house attire when I placed the order, so it was imperative that I
change clothes for the pick-up. While standing in the closet trying to choose a
better-looking shirt, my mind landed on something smart. I don’t know how I do
it. – Why the Sam Hill do I care what I look like? Nobody notices an old guy. I
don’t even notice them.
Age changes one’s
attitude about stuff. When I was young, people were always looking for
something about me they could make fun of. I just knew I was the only weird guy on the
planet. I had acne, I sweat a lot, and there wasn’t a piece of clothing in my
drawer that looked good on me. My only hope was to find something that would
not draw attention. Fortunately, I’ve now reached the age where I’m
unnoticeable. I’m just dust in the wind. (I recently saw a documentary on the
rock band “Kansas.” Fascinating.)
That’s one of the good
things about getting old. The bad thing about aging is how it can make you
stupid. When I was looking up the phone number for Vernon’s so I could place my
order, I couldn’t remember the name of the place. All I could think of was
Kuntry Katfish. So, I walked into the living room and asked Kay, “Sweatpea,
what’s the name of Vernon’s?” As she was thinking that over, I left the room.
Fortunately, for a senior
citizen, I’m still agile as all get out. I have the moves of a cat.
Occasionally catch myself licking the back of the hand. And I still play a mean
game of racquetball. During Tuesday’s tournament with Brad, I managed to hit
the guy in each of the four games we played. The first time I hit him on the
side of the head, right where his ear sticks out… used to stick out. Apparently,
the ear is a bad place to get hit, because Bradly really carried on. I hit him
another time in the back of the head, and twice in the small of his back.
Bradly would’ve probably
beat the daylights out of me, had he not realized that each hit was accidental.
There’s no way I’m able to hit the ball where I’m aiming. It’s all I can do to
hit one of the four walls. Perhaps I’m swinging too hard. Regardless, I’ve only
been able to beat the guy twice. Not on the same day, of course. The good thing
about losing a game is that you get to serve first in the next game. Both times
I beat Bradford, he refused the first serve advantage. No matter how many times
I hit him, he still gives me every break. Half the time, he forgets how many
points he has. I worry about the man.
Speaking of which, “Jim,
don’t take another step. We’re coming down. We can sit in the backyard if you
want, but we’re through up here. “ – The thought of coffee sounds good about
now. Not even a guy with enviable agility should bring a mug to this rooftop.
If I try to maintain my balance while balancing a cup of coffee, I’ll be a goner
for sure. My epitaph will read, “He died doing what he loved. Falling off the
roof.”
end
You can
contact Mark at hayter.mark@gmail.com
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