Shingle Games

Remember the giant freak snowstorm we had in April? Finally, finally we’re getting some repairs. Well, a new roof, at least. The fences and deck will never be the same–no insurance company is a good neighbor, and that’s all I’m gonna say about that.

It’s been plain awful. First there was the bloody insurance company–the adjustor was a gentleman, but he was hamstrung by “company policies”–and then there was the mortgage company insisting on inserting themselves in the process where literally nobody wanted them. Then there was getting several different estimates, and then scheduling the actual work. I figured we’d be lucky to get the roof done before autumn rains moved in.

And we’re lucky, yes. Yesterday morning was the stress of being awake at 3am plus the agony of getting everything set up, and the afternoon was full of thumping, banging, one of the roofers singing along with the radio (he has a fine voice), Boxnoggin beside himself at all the ruckus, a midday video appointment, and finally my nerves were so shot I decided cake for dinner was acceptable. I haven’t cooked for a couple days, between the heat wave and this; I should really do something with the tomatoes on the counter.

It will be nice when it’s finished, and what a first-world problem to have, really–I’m very aware of that. But it’s still stressful; I zonked out hard last night, facedown in a book on the Thirty Years’ War. I hadn’t realized all three fellows survived the Defenestration of Prague. It was a fifty-foot drop, after all, and one of them injured himself on his own sword after the landing. That was as far as I got before sleep claimed me, and I barely woke up at 2am with the bedside lamp still on and a drool spot on the corner of the hardback.

I wasn’t able to work a lick yesterday, and I suspect today will be the same except for making sure the subscription drop has no issues. Which is fine, it’s why I worked all the way through the weekend…but still, Hell’s Acre needs some uninterrupted time. The plague has been super hard on that story; it requires some love. At least with the roof done a major worry will be cleared and I can use all the energy freed up to catch up, so to speak.

This morning Boxnoggin has been showing his displeasure by treating me as if the chez is some sort of democracy instead of a benevolent dictatorship where he’s concerned. If he made better choices, he would be right. But he doesn’t, so he was gently scolded and driven up the stairs with a click of the tongue and some firm but emphatic pointing. He is refusing his breakfast in protest–at least until I drop a toast crust in–and will be upset when the roofers arrive to finish the job, but such is life.

The funny thing is, by the time they’re done he will be dead certain the footsteps and crashing overhead have always been happening, and the quiet will give him the wiggins. He needs a good long ramble this morning before the workers arrive, so I’d best get the coffee swilled and my toast dealt with beforehand.

At least we’ve had wonderful weather for it–not too hot, which I was worried about with the 95+ days earlier in the week, but not rainy either. So all in all it’s worked out really well, and we’ve kept the roofers supplied with snacks and lemonade. I suppose I should view it as all working out for the best, given how it could have gone. Looking on the bright side is a defense mechanism at this point, I might as well continue. I’m grateful no squirrels have ended up in the mix. I mean, can you imagine?

Happy Thursday, my beloveds. I wish us all luck getting through; I’m gonna keep repeating “could be worse, could be worse,” under my breath…