“The
Fine Print”, by M.H. Schrader
One thing I used to take for granted is
that no matter how nasty the weather is outside, I am safe and cozy
inside. But, not any more. I have been afflicted with a leaky roof.
I would have never known that my roof was
leaking if it weren’t for daughter Elizabeth running into the dining room to
tell her mother and I that Ken was wet.
Of course, knowing our daughter, we figured that she had thrown him in
the bathtub and had gotten him wet. I
only wish it had been that. As it turns
out, the roof was leaking, and Ken was in the line of fire. (And, being the conscientious little girl
that she is, Elizabeth laid out Ken’s wet clothes to dry.)
Who, pray tell, is Ken? Why Ken is Barbie’s boyfriend. My girls have three Barbies. They also have three baby Kellys. They pointed out that they had to have Kens,
as a family has to have a Mommy and a Daddy and a baby, not just a Mommy and a
baby. So, now they also have three
Kens.
While Mrs. Schrader enlisted several of
her saucepans on a mission to intercept the invading water, I went up into to
attic to scout around. I consider
myself fortunate to have a 70 year old house, because I have a good old
fashioned attic--you know, one of those attics that you can actually walk
around in. The newfangled houses have
prefabricated truss roofs, which makes the attic all but useless (not to
mention very low).
In addition, a previous owner of my house
was kind enough to install a pull-down ladder into the attic, which makes the
attic very accessible and very useful.
In my previous house, I had a basement.
My attic is my surrogate basement--all the stuff that was in my basement
is now in my attic.
Going into an attic is like going on a
treasure hunt--you never know what you might find. In my attic, I have several boxes that haven’t been opened in the
past ten years. I do not have the
foggiest idea what is in them. But, I
am afraid to open them, for fear of violating their sacred mystique. Kind of like the tombs of the ancient
Egyptian pharaohs. Some things are just
better left undisturbed.
There was an episode of “Seinfeld”
several years ago about George’s father’s TV
Guide collection. Throughout the
episode, several of the characters thought it was rather eccentric to save TV Guides. I must be eccentric, then.
While I may not have every issue, I know that I have seen TV Guides dating back to the Reagan
Administration in various boxes in my attic.
Remember the beginning of the old Sunday Night Mystery Movies? (You know, McCloud, Columbo, and McMillan
& Wife.) Yes, I know, it has been
several decades, but I can still vividly see the image--some guy walking with a
flashlight, the beam of the flashlight constantly in motion as it seeks out something. That’s what I looked like up in my darkened attic trying to find
an itty bitty leak. And, like the
heroes of the Mystery Movies, I found my culprit.
Of course, it’s not enough to find the
leak inside. When dealing with matters
of the roof, one must also find the problem on the roof itself in order to fix
it. And, this requires getting on the
roof. Which is of course a general pain
in the neck.
Walking on one’s roof tends to increase
one’s stress. First, you have to get
out the BIG ladder and set it all up.
Then you got to climb this thing and somehow psyche yourself out so that
you can actually let go of the ladder in order to climb off of it onto the
roof. Finally, you have to walk really
funny as you pray to the Almighty that you don’t stumble.
I used to have vertigo really bad so I
would only stay in the middle of the roof, which of course created a real
problem since the ladder was at the edge.
I will say that I have gotten much better about it, and while I still
don’t like to go too near the edges, at least I’m not kissing composite
shingles and hanging on for dear life when I am by them.
The problem with patching a roof is that
it requires one to have to climb onto the roof not once, but twice--the first
time to assess the situation, the second to fix it. And given the state of my right knee, well, let’s just say, it
has reminded me that it is there.
After assessing the situation, it was
time to head to the home improvement store to buy what I like to call “goo”, a
black tarry substance that is used to create blob-like beings on science
fictions movies. They are no longer
hardware stores, by the way--they are now “home improvement” stores.
What’s the difference? For starters, “home improvement” stores are
about ten times the size of the old-fashioned hardware store. And the employees of a “home improvement”
store generally have absolutely no knowledge about hardware (and, I suspect,
anything else, for that matter). On
several occasions, I have gone into one of these stores looking for simple
electrical parts, like light bulbs, only to be greeted with blank expressions
by the helpful, but absolutely clueless, employees. Finally, these stores are generally laid out with absolutely no
semblance of order. The “black goo” I
was searching for is applied with a caulk gun, and after searching in vain in
the roofing section, I found it with the other caulks next to the plaster. I can understand it being next to the other
caulks, but with plaster? Go figure.
The problem I always have with these stores
is I always end up buying just about everything but what I came there to
get. In addition to my two dollar tube
of black goo, I also purchased seventy dollars worth of rose bushes.
Well, the roof is fixed, and I am still
in one piece. No broken bones. Mrs. Schrader can rest easier. And so can Ken. And, I’ve got some new rose bushes to boot.