Who’s that on my roof? Why are they there?

 

 It’s too early for Santa Claus. Besides, the chimney sports a metal cap. And reindeer couldn’t find a landing place with all the dormers and other protuberances. It’s not son Eric, not until he gets around to cleaning the gutters, which means he hauls over a ladder in his truck.

                Oh, now I get it. During the last blowsy rain we experienced, a tiny crack in my bedroom ceiling opened just enough for drops of rain to fall onto decorative pillows resting on a wheeled cart behind the bed. I mused sleepily that it was dripping down the outside and hitting the concrete window- sill. Wrong! I reached over and felt wetness. Rising, I moved the barely wet pillows to another corner, brought in a thick bath towel, folded it into thirds to also muffle the sound, and went back to sleep.

                When Eric heard about it, he said, “Mom . . “  He pulled the word out into two syllables dropping off at the end. “You’ve GOT to have a new roof!” He was here after bringing the new Pony riding mower. So he directed me (he’ll be 60 in December) to my laptop. “Look up Better Business Bureau.” Done. “Roofers.” Done. “Benton, Bryant.” Done. A list of A+ companies appeared. I wrote down the top three’s telephone numbers, then went to “Hot Springs” and found a fourth one who does business up here also.

                The next morning, I began . . . I actually BEGAN calling the numbers in a timely fashion. The first number’s answer was a gravelly male voice saying leave a message, but his voicemail was not available I was told. Mark that one off.

                Next number, success. The roofer and a helper came quickly, asked where the leak was, put the ladder up at the place, and both of the guys went up. I worked in the yard and noticed them from where I was. He promised to have an estimate on email by day’s end. And he did.

                Son says, “Get at least one more estimate,” so on a Friday, I called the other two numbers and left messages. Monday, they both called. One came immediately and I told the fourth one I couldn’t see them until Thursday or Friday. They neither called back or came, so they’re out of the running.

                Second fellow and helper—with their ladder—ascended with a notebook and a tape measure.  He had asked about roofing the shed, too, and I acquiesced. When they finished, the owner came to me and said he’d get an estimate by that night, which he did. His estimate included all the concerns of son Eric. He got the job. Friday night, he left a color shingle booklet to choose from. I gave son Eric, again, via email, the particulars so he could look at the same thing online from his home.

                We both liked the same two colors, so I texted the hired roofer and told him our decision. This past Monday, he ordered the shingles. Now, if they have arrived, I will have signed a contract and forked over half the total payment. Next week at this time, this 88-year-old house will sport a new roof, the first I will have seen in at least three decades.

                As one of my friends said after he’d planned a flight to a Key West Literary workshop, his piggy bank had a low balance. After this new roof, so will mine. But no more leaky ceilings.

c 2022 PL dba lovepat press, Benton AR USA