Things built

Once again I have found reason to smile at the appropriateness of the naming of this blog journal, “Life on the Edge”. From all that surrounds me, analogies can be drawn to guide, inspire and instruct.

With enough time, I might gain a modicum of wisdom from the many small lessons thrown up here at Windgrove.

Yesterday, I went up on the roof to repair a leak in one of the three skylights that are in the ceiling of the living room (something that I have been meaning to do for over a year). Being a rather sunny and pleasant day, even if a bit windy, I sat down on the gently sloping corrugated metal roof beneath the shade of an overhanging eucalypt branch and pondered how best to fix the leak. In the end, just squeeze out three tubes of silicon around the skylight, make a hugh sticky mess, but shrug one’s shoulders knowing that no one but the birds and possums will see the total lack of craftsmanship in the application of the silicon.

Job done, I then became more philosophical and considered what it might mean to “open up” any protective covering; punch a hole through to allow light in; to have a “sky light into a dark space.

In other words, what happens when we punch a hole through our chests to bring light to our hearts? Is it a fail safe operation? Or will this action inevitably offer an opportunity for melancholic waters to seep into the safe surrounds of our innermost sanctum?

Most likely the latter. But who wants to live in the safety of a dark room? Or where the light source comes from artificial means?

Although knowing the RISD students and I would be together for only five days, I allowed myself, my heart, to be totally open. By being so open I knew I was exposing myself to a potential future wet. And now that all are gone my heart does cry a little. A tear drop here. A tear drop there. Nothing major, but drips nonetheless.

The second incident yesterday happened after I finished “patching up” the skylight.

Because the rain gutters were full of leaves and a potential fire hazard, I decided to clean them out. To do this I had to kneel down and crawl along the “edge” of the roof while reaching into the gutter with one hand and scooping out the leaves. When this is done there is invariably a bit of mud and gunk from decaying leaf matter that has to be washed out (remember, my drinking water comes off this roof). So, I climbed down the ladder, started up the fire pump and brought up the hose to clean out the gutters. This required a little extra care because with water spraying everywhere the metal roof was now very slippery. I crept along carefully.

Job done, I toss down the broom, rags and caulking gun and, holding onto the ladder with one hand with the hose in the other, I begin my descent.

Little did I realise that the now wet deck would be like ice beneath the ladder. One step with my full weight onto the ladder and it shot out from under me. Fortunately, the wind had earlier blown the ladder over and I had tied it off to the rain gutter so this prevented it from completely slipping down, but the quickness of the short fall was enough to spill me back onto the roof and twist my back (making sitting here this morning a bit painful).

I could have fallen the other, more dangerous way, onto the deck below, but didn’t.

Life on the edge has its perils, but the view is fantastic.

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