You’ll be pleased that this has nothing whatsoever to do with religion, but it does deal with genuine upward thinking.
After putting up with a very slight leak in the roof for the past two winters, involving maybe two or three light rain showers, Kris has decided that it was time for a new roof. Simple, right? You pick out a tile that you like, bring the roofing guys over and get the job done.
Wrong. The old axiom that women shop, while men buy applies here. Women can go into Nordstrom and try on as many as 20 pairs of slacks before settling on the winning pair. Men see a shirt on the rack and head for the sales desk.
Women shop. Here’s what the selection of an appropriate tile has been like…
First, there was the visit from the contractor, who left three brochures that illustrated any number of colors and types. Right: types. You can order the typical tiles like you see in western movies or you can order an over-and-under variety that is more modern. You can order end pieces that clip over the final tile in a row. Then you (not necessarily me) have to consider the appearance of the new roof in different lights and in the noon hours and as evening approaches. What about color fade after four or five years? Do you want to emulate or avoid what your neighbor(s) have above their doorway?
And then, of course, there’s the matter of price. How many people do you think it would be prudent to ask regarding what they paid and who did the work?
It’s all of that, and I’m just guessing, but I’m quite sure that Kris has taken eight or nine tours of our greater area to see what’s out there and how it would look on her house. I went along on two or three of these safaris and then announced my preferences and headed for the TV.
Again, had it been my project I’d have picked what I thought was a winner and called it a day. But then it’s not my roof, though I sleep beneath it every night. My only concern was not stepping in a puddle when I woke up in the morning during the rainy season.
This all commenced in the middle of June on the heels of the chosen contractor telling us that he would be on vacation the entire month of July, so don’t even think about trying to call him until August.
It is now August, and we’re still on the road as long as the snow holds off.
When the choice is made and the contractor summoned, here’s what process will look like, based on what happened two doors away when they gussied up their roof. First, the roof is prepped, meaning that the existing tile is stripped away and the surface of the roof is renewed. Then six or eight guys set to work taking the new tile to the roof via a conveyor belt and apply it to the roof from the bottom to the top. Much noise, much dust, and where do the workers go to the potty? I don’t recall seeing an Andy Gump. It’s all an intense proposition.
But common here. Over the years I’ve lived in several areas around the city and I’ve never seen a neighborhood as competitive as this one. You make some improvements on the garage and three months later your neighbor has contractors at his place. He adds an extra room, you’re next. And on it goes. Even as we speak, a jack hammer has begun battering concrete across the street. Mercy.
Then again, comes the next storm from the north we won’t have to set out pans and towels in the hallway to the bedrooms. But long before that we’ll be taking a few days refuge at the beach just as the hammerers set to work.