up on the roof
Nov. 28th, 2004 04:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kip_w.
The day of dread. The nastiest job of the year. I cleaned leaves out of the roof gutters. I didn't have to do this last year -- they put new gutters in, and I figured it was a freebie. No such luck this time.
Cathy and Sarah trailed along as I hauled the folding ladder over to the side with the lowest roofline -- a small bay window with a lower rooflet on it -- messed with the ladder a while. I tried to use it folded in half, but it lacked a feeling of security. I mean, even more than with the ladder fully extended. So, carefully defeating the reluctant locking mechanisms, I put it to its full length and set it up at a nice low angle. It rested on our new gutter, but Cathy said that was okay. I clambered up, clutching a watering head that I planned to use as my mucking tool.
So there I was, hating it, as always. It showed plainly on my face to Cathy, but Sarah didn't seem to notice the frown of fear that decorated my visage. She asked a lot of questions, or at least she asked three or four questions a lot of times. She said when she was big enough, she'd get the leaves out of the gutters. I will hold her to that. The leaves on top were dry, the ones under were wet, the lower ones were kind of nasty wet, and below that was the usual black sludge of asphalt from the shingles. My watering head (about 18 inches long and curved at the end) was okay for some parts of the job, but I still had to use my fingers -- my poor, betrayed fingers -- to scoop the nasty brew out of the gutters. Sarah wanted to go ride her new trike in the street, but Cathy kept calling her back and telling her to stay nearby. I mucked the part around the ladder, then worried my way to the far side of the garage, exposing drain holes that had been largely unemployed with the covering of leaves and ex-leaves. Then I did the patio side and worked my way over the peak to the front side.
First I worked my way over to the chimney and looked down it. Seemed nice and clean. It got too dark to see before I could see any obstructions. Then I sat down, thinking how nice it was to be next to the chimney, and not wanting to leave the security of that solid brick wall. A friend (rtred) apparently went up on his second-story roof one time to clean gutters, a thought that makes me shudder. To think I used to shinny up onto the roof of our old house to sit and peer at the distant train tracks and other scenic views. Right now, I'm thinking I'd like my next house to be one of those basements with a roof over it that I used to see. The front side is the longest side. As I worked my way across, I pondered what I'd land on if my weight shifted just one inch too far. I wished I had forearms about six inches longer. By this time, I'd abandoned the sprinkler head and was just doing it all by hand. My right hand did all the mucking, but it was my left shoulder that was starting to ache, from the strain of continually saving my worthless life. Thanks, lefty!
Last and least, I went back to the side with the ladder and finished the short side there. Something like a tomato plant was growing over the drain hole. I tossed it down to Cathy, and we subsequently stuck it in the hole we'd been digging with Sarah this morning (she was in a digging mood) back of the garage. Then I sat and breathed a while before working my shaky way back onto the ladder; always the worst part of the enterprise.
Done for another year. I think I'll go break into the minibar, so to speak.
.
The day of dread. The nastiest job of the year. I cleaned leaves out of the roof gutters. I didn't have to do this last year -- they put new gutters in, and I figured it was a freebie. No such luck this time.
Cathy and Sarah trailed along as I hauled the folding ladder over to the side with the lowest roofline -- a small bay window with a lower rooflet on it -- messed with the ladder a while. I tried to use it folded in half, but it lacked a feeling of security. I mean, even more than with the ladder fully extended. So, carefully defeating the reluctant locking mechanisms, I put it to its full length and set it up at a nice low angle. It rested on our new gutter, but Cathy said that was okay. I clambered up, clutching a watering head that I planned to use as my mucking tool.
So there I was, hating it, as always. It showed plainly on my face to Cathy, but Sarah didn't seem to notice the frown of fear that decorated my visage. She asked a lot of questions, or at least she asked three or four questions a lot of times. She said when she was big enough, she'd get the leaves out of the gutters. I will hold her to that. The leaves on top were dry, the ones under were wet, the lower ones were kind of nasty wet, and below that was the usual black sludge of asphalt from the shingles. My watering head (about 18 inches long and curved at the end) was okay for some parts of the job, but I still had to use my fingers -- my poor, betrayed fingers -- to scoop the nasty brew out of the gutters. Sarah wanted to go ride her new trike in the street, but Cathy kept calling her back and telling her to stay nearby. I mucked the part around the ladder, then worried my way to the far side of the garage, exposing drain holes that had been largely unemployed with the covering of leaves and ex-leaves. Then I did the patio side and worked my way over the peak to the front side.
First I worked my way over to the chimney and looked down it. Seemed nice and clean. It got too dark to see before I could see any obstructions. Then I sat down, thinking how nice it was to be next to the chimney, and not wanting to leave the security of that solid brick wall. A friend (rtred) apparently went up on his second-story roof one time to clean gutters, a thought that makes me shudder. To think I used to shinny up onto the roof of our old house to sit and peer at the distant train tracks and other scenic views. Right now, I'm thinking I'd like my next house to be one of those basements with a roof over it that I used to see. The front side is the longest side. As I worked my way across, I pondered what I'd land on if my weight shifted just one inch too far. I wished I had forearms about six inches longer. By this time, I'd abandoned the sprinkler head and was just doing it all by hand. My right hand did all the mucking, but it was my left shoulder that was starting to ache, from the strain of continually saving my worthless life. Thanks, lefty!
Last and least, I went back to the side with the ladder and finished the short side there. Something like a tomato plant was growing over the drain hole. I tossed it down to Cathy, and we subsequently stuck it in the hole we'd been digging with Sarah this morning (she was in a digging mood) back of the garage. Then I sat and breathed a while before working my shaky way back onto the ladder; always the worst part of the enterprise.
Done for another year. I think I'll go break into the minibar, so to speak.
.
