Uncovered

27 07 2009

Today it’s our turn to fill the neighborhood with nail-gun syncopation.  In June a hailstorm picked our town to rescue the roofing industry from the recession.  To make sure the honor was bestowed properly and completely, the sky launched frozen spikey stones larger than golf balls at houses, neon signs, windows, and vehicles for an incredibly long quarter-hour.

One of the smaller (1-inch), but more beautiful hailstones

One of the smaller (1-inch), but more beautiful hailstones

The next onslaught went on for weeks—contractors and sales people rang our doorbell, called on the phone, and left fliers in our screen door.  A pile of literature grew on our counter… and then landed in the recycling “Paper Retriever” at church.

Banging, scraping, and constant machine gun-like firing has been the next wave, and today we are adding to the cacophony.  Yesterday, the neighbor’s roofers punctuated my Sunday afternoon nap.  Today, ours will shorten their children’s naps.  (I imagine they didn’t take naps at all yesterday when the roofers were on their roof!)

Sitting under the destruction is more than unsettling—much like the storm, only longer.  My nerves haven’t recovered from last week when my husband was in the hospital.  Pictures on the walls around me are shaking, and ceiling lights are swaying.  Grandma’s heirloom coffee cup and saucer just gracefully slid from their perch on the bookshelf, thankfully landing without a chip.  There is very little material between the roofers’ feet and my journal here on the desk.  What makes this worse is that I went outside just a little bit ago to see the roof.

After mourning for my flower-friends (which are casualties—again—first the hard, white hail, now the torn, black shingles… sigh) I looked up at the naked roof.  Most of the plywood is still sunny golden just like it was when the shingles were applied.  They had performed well and protected their charge.  A couple panels on the east slope are grayed and black in areas; these the roofers avoided with careful sidesteps.  Falling through the roof into our bed is a real possibility on that part of the roof!  The contractor assured us that they will be ripped out and replaced.

Why those spots?  What had been different there from the rest of the roof?  We didn’t have any noticeable leaks inside, but there must have been a way for rain (and hail?) to get under, around, or through the shingles and damage the wood underneath.

Last week my top layer was torn off as I drove back and forth to the hospital everyday.  Lack of sleep, traffic, weird hours, and irregular meal times caused a chink allowing the uncertainty of the situation to trickle into my unprotected soul.  And now, a few pieces of my plywood need replacing.

The contractor said the roofers will be done this afternoon.  Peace is not far off.

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One response

27 07 2009
Laura Dominianni

Beautiful analogy, not so great experience! As God replaces your worn parts, your strength will be renewed. That bit of atmospheric wrecking ball looks like an eyeball, reminding me of a song sung at our wedding-
“His eyes are always upon you, His eyes never close in sleep, and no matter where you go, you will always be in His eyes”
May peace come swiftly and silently…

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