by Maryanna Gabriel
The roofers came, and left, and came again. It was like a gypsy camp, as they called out to one another in French. The rain started, then stopped, the dogs (three), the girlfriends (okay, one), the vans (several), their self-contained homes lined my drive. I made muffins, cookies, biscuits and even a breakfast pizza as I practiced my patois. My theory was it best I be encouraging.
It was slow going.
At least, it felt slow to me. More than once, they sat out a storm, trying to decide if it was safe enough to go up and work. October flipped into November. Then I was lucky enough to have help with picking the last of the quince, and moving heavier things, bless the dear man for offering. Finally, miracle of miracles, the roof was covered. I had chosen metal. To outlast me. They went home.
Maybe you heard. The Pacific Northwest got hit by an atomospheric river. Suddenly in the dark, water tumbled and splat upon my night table. Then a drip-line started across the kitchen. Laying out towels, I shone my flashlight, trying to see how bad it was. Gosh, was I grumpy.
As fate would have it, they came the next day with the final capstone, the apex to solve the problem. The final deed was done. He never warned me. Maybe he didn't know the word in English. I don't even know the word in English myself.
In celebration, I offered roasted cashews. Having second thoughts, I laced the nuts with raisins and chocolate chips. Just in time. The heavens opened, and the wind she did blow. But I was cosy, power failure and all. The house was dry, and the wood stove glowed warm. Yay for the roofers.
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| Dry and cosy... |