Precipitation
I watched Monsieur as he almost slid off of the roof. He was up there, cleaning the gutters, and saw this large hunk of rotting wood at the top of the roof. He tied himself off to something and was inching along when his foot went right through an invisibly rotten part, and it broke and he started sliding right down the roof. I watched, thinking, there he goes. I think he’s going to land on that concrete, head first. He surely won’t survive that. What is this sensation? Oh, it’s my heart beating in my throat, I’ve heard of that.
He caught himself by his emergency harness and hung there upside-down against the roof. My hand was on my mouth both to keep from screaming, but also to prevent my shouting out stupid suggestions like “Be careful!” or “Don’t fall!”
He was, and he didn’t. He pulled on the rope and then swung around until he was hanging off the side of the roof. I brought the huge aluminum ladder around to that side of the house and leaned it up against the eaves. He lowered himself to the ladder and climbed down.
“You OK?” I asked.
“Yes, fine,” was all he said, then he went in, got some wood scraps and went back out again, climbed back up and replaced the wood trim that was rotten.
Oh, and he made it rain yesterday; it’s a ritual.
First, he waters the lawn at noon, which is ridiculous out here because it evaporates so fast.
Then he washes his car, and then he gets out the wax and sets it out on the driveway, open so it will get soft.
Then he goes inside. When he comes out, it’s usually raining and the wax is ruined.
So, we got about 45 minutes of rain yesterday. I laughed till I heard the thunder and then I said, “Wait, did you see that coming in on your Doppler radar you got on your laptop?”
“Do not mock the car wax gods,” he said, “as they will turn on you.”
Good idea, I thought. Watch out for those roofing gods, too.
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