We are painting this house. We have removed the rotten dilapidated shutters, and we have begun to paint it green, not a dark green, but sort of an antique-ish green color from an 'historic house' paint line. The windows will be trimmed in vanilla. We put a copper topped cupola at the roof peak to provide ventilation in the attic. We put on a new roof and new gutters and new soffit and fascia. It really is beginning to look like a changed house. (Yes, BB, I will take a picture)
Anyways, I was up on the porch roof when Tim sent me down the ladder to get something from the trunk. I can't remember now what it even was. I looked at the ladder feet, and they were set. Assuming that the ladder was locked (and you know what they say about those people who assume: assuming makes an ASS out of U and ME. This time it did.) It was a telescoping ladder, and it began to collapse. I grabbed for the roof with one hand, clung to the quickly collapsing ladder with the other. My shoes (comfortable old slip ons) went flying. One went completely to the sidewalk out front probably 20 feet away. The other nearly dropped on Mike's head. There was no time to yell. Tim grabbed for me as I swung crazily in the air. The ladder swung out and I was hanging on to roof with one hand and the ladder with the other, suspended in the middle, holding on to both for dear life. Alerted by the dropping shoe, Mike looked up and grabbed the ladder at the bottom and pushed it back against the house. Once Tim had a firm hold of my belt loop, I was secure enough to let go of the ladder and grab the roof with both hands and pull myself up on the roof.
Later, a resident of the nursing home was out with his father. Wheelchair bound, he watched us working for quite a while, fascinated at the progress we were making. His father, white haired, with the sunglasses you wear after cataract surgery, had brought the family dog, a nondescript black and tan hound of indeterminate breed. The trio talked quietly, the younger man's comments were spoken with great difficulty as his father waited patiently. The dog rested his head on the son's knee. I called down to ask them how it looked from the street, and got the official okay.
What a lesson. What a great big lesson God provided me today.
As I watched that father with his son, I tried to imagine how it would feel to be confined to a wheelchair, unable to walk. Unable to do for yourself. Unable to speak. Unable to even pet your dog. I realized that I was a darn lucky woman. I had a long winter. I was sick. Now, I am not. Now I can paint. I can walk for miles. I can work. I can fret over cancer as much as I want, but for all I know, I could sail off a roof tomorrow. Or get run over by a truck.
The only thing that I know for sure is that I have today.
So do you.