But I'm typing, just for you. Yeah, I'm that dedicated. Or crazy. Pick one.

They got started at 7a, and I was on the scene by 7:30. Ripping off shingles is backbreaking work, literally, and is best left to professionals. Since my dad put the shingles on, I guess he felt a connection with them and felt he owed them a personal removal. Whatever. All I know is that if the other half of the roof wasn't as steep as it was, we would've been screwed. We slid all the shingles down the steep roof to the pallet on the ground, to heap 'em in a pile on said pallet until the dumpster came with the offical roofers later in the month. (They're doing the straightforward work. We're doing the *tricky* work.) Then the moving of the boards (a 20' board is a heavy mofo) and the commencement of the hammer 'n' nail section of the afternoon...which bled into Sunday, but there was a short break while the non-heathens went to church and this heathen sat on the porch and watched the beans grow and listen to the red-wing blackbirds gossip. If that's not communing with God, I don't know what is.

But then the taskmaster got home and we commenced with the hard labor, Momma and I carrying rafters back and forth and hauling them up to the roof, where they were attached and then the deck needed to be nailed on. At one point, we were just sitting splay-legged on the roof and nailing directly in front of us, no grace, no finesse, just a two-handed method perfected by small children. But the job's done, and it's done well, we beat the weather, and there's a satisfaction in that.

Besides, it's so amazing to watch the weather roll in from Nebraska, across Iowa and Illinois, cumulus clouds building and anvils forming as you stand up higher than anything around you for miles and look over the trees and fields to the horizon...and then go back to work because that storm is coming *here*. What's really crazy is how easily comfortable I became with the height, with the pitch, with the non-secure surface. Friday night, I cautiously clambered to the peak to peek over the edge while Dad took the lightning rods off. I crawled like a crab, sort of awkward and juvenile. Come 9a Saturday, I was clambering everywhere and the slope (and edges that dropped off to something very far away below) didn't bother me in the least. I noticed the little things; how far I could lunge after an errant nail as it slid toward the edge, which parts of the deck were slicker than others, which scaffolding was too close to the house. I seemed to forget I was a good 35 feet in the air and could, oh, DIE.

I will admit if you have to work construction, you want my dad as the boss. He never nags, yells, or asks you if you know what you're doing. On the flip side, he expects you to do what he says, whether you think it wise or not. (What do you mean, three extra nails? Everywhere? Aw, man. (But the first roof is still good after 25 years, so I shut up and do it)) Luckily, he breaks every 2 or 3 hours for food and drink, which is really how life should be. A small break to eat something is a great way to find out just how dirty and disgusting you are, to get squeamish and icky about it, and then head back out into the sun and breeze and get all disgusting again.

Oh thank GOD for that breeze. It was perfect. It was perfect weather (except for the blazing sun, but beggars can't be choosers and I'd take sunny 75 vs overcast 90) and I didn't burn...but I looked like a very angry tomato about 15 minutes into it, per ususal. This really has got to stop. But it was perfect weather, and I really love my stampede string on my straw hat, except when it chokes me...but that wasn't very often.

I headed back to the city, exhausted and knowing that I was about to enter a Taste-bloated, Sox-celebrating, PRIDEful miasma of humanity...with no energy to put up with it. It was great taking a cab home, even if I had to still walk 3 blocks because of the traffic on Addison. Rumor has it that there were 350,000 people in Lakeview; I think they were all trying to leave when I arrived home.