The construction project is still staggering along like a half dead opossum on an Oklahoma road--slowly, painfully, and very smelly.
We are at the point where we are trying to roof the original house. To tie into the addition. So it will stop flooding my house when it rains.
And The Man has just realized that our home, built over seventy years ago, was constructed by a one eyed builder suffering from vertigo.
Nothing is straight or plumb or flush or level or logical.
Which makes perfect sense to me, but seems to confuse him.
Last night, standing on a scaffold that bricklayers love but which makes my sheet rockers daughter's heart go thump and "damn, that's a long ways down to be standing on two boards not attached to a blasted thing," he was giving me a lecture on what he couldn't do.
Once again.
While I am certainly not a Pollyanna, I don't believe it does anyone any good to run up against a problem and belly up. The purpose of a roof on a house is prevent water from getting into the house when it rains.
Do I expect the roof to be the next masterpiece, rivaling the works of Monet and Picasso? Nope. I expect it to keep my ass and my assets dry when Oklahoma weather turns to hail, rain, and flying cows an chickens.
Never once will I contemplate my roof and declare it ugly.
Roofs are pretty ugly without me saying so.
So my response of slap the sucker up there and give me a damned nail to hammer met with lectures and a call to my BIL, who declared himself flummoxed as well.
I've decided it must be a man thing.
I have never seen so much time spent using a tape measure, a chalk line, and a level in my life.
Let's do like our forefathers did.
Close one eye, spin around in a circle ten times, and lean a bit to the left and it will all make sense.
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