It all began with a phone call...

There I was - blissfully asleep at 8 a.m., enjoying the cold, morning air that blew in through the window. I could hear the stirrings of people outside as they started to leave for their day's activities. I knew that many other people were either getting up for work or starting their commute.

But I... I could sleep in. I could stretch and roll-over.

As my dear friend Willy once penned:

Away from the light steals home my heavy son,
And private in his chamber pens himself,
Shuts up his windows, locks far daylight out
And makes himself an artificial night:

And then I got the call. My grandfather had decided, this morning, to put a roof on the front porch of my house. He had me assess the condition of the roof on Monday but since I barely know how to describe what I'm looking at, I could only use a limited vocabulary.

Well, when he called this morning, he was already heading to pick up my father and shingles and was going to be at my place in about an hour. So I roused from my bed and began mustering myself for roofing.

I've never done this kind of work so I basically was just there as grunt labor; and I hate being grunt labor. My grandfather purchased nine packages of shingles to cover the roof. Each package weighs ninety pounds. Yes, 9-0 pounds. Ugh. Hauling them through the house and up to the attic was one hell of a workout.

The front pannel of the roof is done but the sun got too high before the sides were finished. My dad will return on Friday to do the last of it.

I've begun to loathe 8 a.m. phone calls.

-T