My house was re-roofed in one day. One short late fall day. I guess that was possible because I had an army of Amish roofers up there . . . and on the ground. And we are not just talking shingles; they built a hip roof to replace the flat roof of the porch and repaired the top of the skylight internal chimney. That would be the ten foot shaft that reaches from the bathroom ceiling to the roof over the attic.
Unfortunately, I had an “in the ring” seat instead of a ringside one and couldn’t watch the process. I did like looking out the window and watching the shingles go up on a conveyor belt. I just realized that I had no urge to jump on the belt and ride up – I am getting old.
What I did think about was roof walking. The men were scampering all over the top of the house. Had I been up there, I would have been attached to it as if I were a flattened squirrel. I am fascinated with having the roof sit right on the ground so I can see if I could walk around on it if it were more a hill that a two-story platform. Of course, even if I got the hang of it, you couldn’t play croquet on it. ACK. That is what comes from having one of those minds that lacks a sensible filter. But, then, it’s not a stupid remark; I mean you really couldn’t play croquet.
Even if you had nets around the perimeter, the balls would always wind up there again after you placed your ball a mallet’s length back up. What about velcro on the roof? This would require the correct amount of force in your strike . . .
I suppose by now alarms are going off in my brain and the little nano maintenance guys are running around yelling, “What has she done now?” and “Shut down that synapse!”
I don’t see them as looking like maintenance men, though. I just assume they are gnomes and elves – with little voltmeters and maybe tool belts. It does seem like sometimes I hear whistling in my head when I suspect they are working.
Sometimes I like to fool around with them – such as just watching some inane TV show and then, suddenly and without warning, start thinking about a difficult math problem. I’ll bet the klaxons go off then. Then they find out it was just a drill . . . maybe that’s when I get headaches.
Uh, maybe I should just close my computer and close my eyes and let them crawl back in their bunks.