“I’m fixing a hole where the rain gets in and stops my mind from wandering where it will go.” — The Beatles
Not long ago, and without warning, a chunk of the dining room ceiling crashed to the floor.
“Hey Honey, we’ve got a skylight,” I said.
Actually, I am not that quick. I didn’t say anything. I sat at the dining room table transfixed. What just happened?
Mary was in the kitchen. She heard the crash and rushed to the scene of the disaster. She looked up at the hole in the ceiling and then at the debris on the floor in the corner of the dining room.
“I didn’t touch anything,” I said.
Maybe it was a meteor, I thought hopefully. Something of value might be lying in the corner. Maybe something of great value.
Unfortunately, there was a clue pointing in a less promising direction. The hole in the ceiling was in the same place where we had a crack in the ceiling several years ago. A roofer came out and discovered we had a loose shingle, which had caused a leak, which had caused the crack. It’s really nothing, he said. He cleaned it up, nailed the shingle down and said, “No charge.”
How often do you hear a story like that? A crashing meteor is more common.
“Let’s clean it up,” said Mary.
“It’s out of the way already,” I pointed out. “Maybe we shouldn’t disturb the evidence. There might be bits of meteor in there.”
Mary got a broom and a mop and some towels and so forth. I would have helped, but I had knee surgery in December and while I get around pretty well, I am still more or less on the mend. The worst thing I could do would be to re-injure my knee and be a burden to Mary.
Just to be clear about this, I am not conceding anything had to be done about the hole in the ceiling. I am in touch with my Neanderthal roots. What would my ancestors have done had a hole suddenly appeared in the roof of the cave? They’d have moved the animal skins and the fire away from the hole. Problem solved.
Mary comes from a long line of homo sapiens. They are not an easygoing species. Everything is a crisis to them. I will never understand how they out-lasted my people. Sort of people, anyway. I called the roofer we used before. He is now retired, but his nephew agreed to come over and take a look.
Meanwhile, the ceiling was going to have to be patched. That requires the touch of a plasterer. Fortunately, Mary knows a guy. He and the roofer came over to figure out how the whole thing was going to be done.
In an unrelated matter, the air-conditioning guy came over. Our upstairs air-conditioned had gone out a month earlier. The air-conditioner did not go out with a bang. The first hint of a problem was water dripping down from the attic. Dripping, not rushing. Nothing to really be concerned about.
Except, of course, to the resident homo sapien. To her, it was another crisis.
The attic is really just a crawl space. Ever since the Critter Squad cleared the squirrels out — and who do you think made a big deal about some squirrels running around over our heads as we slept? — the only thing up there has been the air-conditioner.
In response to the drip, she called the air-conditioning guy and — surprise, surprise — we needed a new air-conditioner. The old one could not be repaired because it used a type of fluid that is now outlawed. Something like that.
“Let’s put it off,” I suggested. “Summer is almost over.”
But no, we have to deal with things as they happen. Besides, if we wait until next summer, the air-conditioning guy will be busy and the cost of a new unit will have risen.
The new unit was hung on the wall. The temperature number started blinking. It was my turn to complain. “This is like living in a cheap hotel with a blinking neon sign outside the window,” I said. If there is one thing Neanderthals will not tolerate, it is a blinking neon sign disturbing our sleep. We’d rather go extinct.
So the air-conditioning guy came over to fix the blinking light and happened to run into the roofer and the ceiling guy. Mary dealt with them all at once. I watched her with pride. My wife can deal with the world.
Our house is 104 years old. It’s the only house we’ve ever owned. We bought it in 1983. We raised our children here. The ashes of five dogs are buried in the back yard, or will be soon. It has been on my to-do list for some time. The ashes are currently in the basement.
The house and I have a lot in common. We have both reached the age at which things fall apart. We are fortunate to have Mary.
It’s easy to tell if a doctor or tradesperson has dealt with us before. If they’re new, they look at me as they try to explain things. I try to act attentive, but they quickly catch on to the fact that my mind has wandered. Then they turn to Mary.
The experienced ones politely acknowledge me, but immediately direct their attention to Mary. Only occasionally do I intervene in what I consider Mary’s business. For instance, if the hole in the ceiling turns out to be the result of a meteor, I intend to take charge of the negotiations with whatever museum wants to purchase the debris.
I’m already thinking of what we might do with our newfound money. Perhaps a trip somewhere. Europe, I’m thinking. I’ve never seen the caves of my ancestors.
Be the first to know
Get local news delivered to your inbox!
* I understand and agree that registration on or use of this site constitutes agreement to its user agreement and privacy policy.
Bill McClellan | Post-Dispatch
News columnist
Get email notifications on {{subject}} daily!
Your notification has been saved.
There was a problem saving your notification.
{{description}}
Email notifications are only sent once a day, and only if there are new matching items.
Followed notifications
Please log in to use this feature
Log In
Don’t have an account? Sign Up Today