I have been struggling lately with that brain that whirrs off and keeps me up until o'dark-thirty. Last night was another one of those nights. I did fall asleep eventually, and when I did, I slept like a rock.
I was horrified to wake up and discover it was 9 am. Tim was already gone down the street to the new roof and I did not hear a thing. I didn't want him down there alone. I drank my coffee and ate my 4 McVities and got myself dressed, teeth brushed and headed down the street to help Tim.
On the way, I met a man who lives across the street from that house. "Going down to supervise Tim, are you?"
"No," I answered. "I'm going down to help."
So I got there just in time to load the old shingles on to the truck. Tim moved the truck and pointed to the 4 x 8 plywood sheets and said, "Push them up the ladder to me."
I said, "I thought you were cutting them."
He said, "I am. I will cut them on the roof."
I firmly said, "No. You will not. They are big and they are unwieldy and you're making us work way harder than we need to. They'll get cut on the ground and the smaller pieces carried up to the roof. That's safer."
He snorted. "It's not any safer."
I put my foot down. "I'm not doing it like that, and neither are you." And I waited.
He huffed and he puffed and I just looked back at him. "Fine!" he said. "We're cutting them on the ground."
And so we did.
He didn't have a pencil. I walked back down the street to get one. By then the guy across the street was sitting on his porch. "Going home for lunch, are you?"
I was hot and sweaty and I had just had yet another unneccessary argument with my husband. I looked at him and said, "No. I need to grab a pencil." I walked home and grabbed four of them to stick in both trucks. I walked back.
Tim was still pissy, but I didn't care. I have a very bad knee and standing of unlevel surfaces is always a bit scary for me. My knee suddenly gives out. Hauling heavy stuff on a slant made that possibility even more likely. I handed him a pencil.
He cut the pieces of wood, and then I hauled them up the ladder and across the roof to him where he was up on the high roof hammering away.
"Get me my roofing nailer," he said.
He was still mad. I still didn't care.
"Where is it?" I asked.
"In the truck," he answered.
"The big truck or the small truck?"
"The dump truck."
And so I headed to the dump truck which was parked on the street. By that time, in a passing way, I noticed that the man across the street had been joined by his wife. I opened the door to the dump truck, and lo the roofing nailer was not there. As I looked behind the seats, I became aware of yelling behind me. I didn't really attend, because the couple fights.
(Yes, I am fully aware that I'm the pot calling the kettle black.)
In any case, I was putting the seat back in place and I heard "Hell-ooooooooooooo! HELLLLL-OOOOOOOO!!!!!!!" in a demanding sort of a way. I turned around. The man said, "Yeah! I'm talking to you!"
Did I mention that I was hot and tired, and not having the best of days? I feel like that's important to this story.
Summoning all my patience, I said, "Yes?"
"WHAT'S YOUR NAME ANYWAY???!!!!
(Are you freaking KIDDING me?) Politely, I said, 'Debby' and headed back across the street. I called up to the roof, "Tim. It is not in the dump truck. Did you bring it up from Grand Valley?"
"Then it is in the other truck," he said.
I looked in the other truck and there it was. That's my main job, I swear. Finding the things that he sets down and forgets where. He's got a lot of places to set stuff down. Sometimes those places are at different houses.
(At one point, he was yelling, "Where's my tin snips?" I said, "Well, you had them in your hand." He said, "Did I?" I said. "Yes, Tim, you did." I checked both trucks. I checked the ground where we were working. No tin snips. I found them. They were on the roof, resting right there on the peak of the first story side of the house. I said, "For pete's sake!" and pointed them out. "Huh." said Tim.)
But I digress. I hauled the roofing nailer up the ladder like I hadn't been dragging lost stuff up the ladder all day and handed it to him on the high roof. Did I mention that I'm afraid of heights? I feel like this is important to the story too. But there was not much of a choice here. I know I shouldn't be on the roof, but I also know that Tim probably shouldn't be either.
"Grab that roll of ice and water shield and bring it up."
I went down to grab the roll and it was heavy. Really heavy.
I struggled it over to the ladder and started trying to get it up the ladder. I said, "I'm not quite sure how the **** you think that is going to happen."
"Just hold on, then," he said in a voice that was as grumpy as my own.
Between the two of us, we wrestled it up on the roof. We got done what we needed to get done. I even got myself on the second story roof. It was sickening, but I did it. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the neighbors across the street. Apparently, they'd gone out some place. They were coming back and stopped their car in the street to watch us.
When I am really scared, it comes out as mad sometimes. I feel like that is another important detail to the story. "Gees," I snapped, "What in THE hell is their problem?"
Today we got the underlayment down and the drip edge installed. We got the ice and water shield and the felt paper down.
Most importantly, we seem to have provided great entertainment to the couple across the street.
Oh. And you have received the sanitized, fit to be retold version of the day's events. That may be important to the story too.