The other day someone posted on Facebook about the snow falling off the roof where he lived. That reminded me of the snow sliding down our pitched gable roof. Even on the ground floor, the sound carried of the swooshing snow, then thudding on the ground. Sometimes, the white avalanche could be seen rushing past the windows.
One year, my father painted the house. It was summer, on one of his vacations. He had double ladders on a picnic table to get to the top. Every bump brought a gasp from my mother, on the nervous edge. She envisioned him falling to his death from the top of the house. She forbade him to paint the house ever, ever again. This was a job for professionals.
My dad did a lot of work around the house. He also hired professionals. The house was his pride. He had wanted to live there since he was a little boy. One of his last projects, he had Mr. Lilly lay carpet Mom picked out in Dalton, GA in their last big trip. It was a dove gray smooth carpet, covering the whole downstairs, except the kitchen and bathroom, all the way up the stairs. He also had the furnace replaced.
I find it hard to believe it has been twenty two years since Dad has lived there. My mom had to sell the house a little over two years later as the work was too much for a widow with no handyman around.
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