"That's just a little bit of all right."

I climbed about on the roof today, something I’m not quite as comfortable with as I used to be. Not that I ever really liked it, but just now have gotten it into my head that—should I fall—things wouldn’t go so well for me. This climbing on the roof came at the end of the day, as a kind of reward for getting through the other, more mundane chores. First I cut some shims for my floor support—the section that needs shoring up just as you enter the house. I discovered that—quite by accident—if I set my table-saw adjustment on a slight angle, the resulting thin slivers of wood come out as nice shims. These worked perfectly for the section of floor I’ve already described in some detail; there is now almost no movement when you walk over that area. There still remains one support to be added from below, and I’ll be sure to keep it company with some of my home-made shims.

Next I disconnected the section of drain that was the only bit of plumbing still connected to the bathtub. I cut some of the bathroom floor away and got access to the plastic pipe that made the final run to the house drainpipe. Then I cut the pipe itself, got the other pieces removed from the tub’s two drains (the bottom one and the one at the top, used as an overflow drain), and then tipped the bathtub over on its side to see how it would go out the door. Getting it on its side was enough work for me: I didn’t want to risk rupturing myself by dragging the tub around—something I don’t think I could do even if I tried. With encouragement from two able bodies, it might make the trip out into the dining room with not much trouble. Then it will remain to chip the last few pieces of wall still clinging to the sides of the room, get things tidied up a bit, and remove completely the splintered and broken pine boards that make up the bathroom floor. I’ll eventually replace the floor with thick plywood, then some nice tile to make things look polished.

With the above work behind me, I took out the tall ladder I’d just bought out in Frederick and climbed onto the steep-pitched roof. My aim was to remove the satellite dishes that were up there. My television-hungry tenants had wanted cable television, which was just fine—the house was already wired for that. Then they decided that they would like this new kind of television, called “direct tv.” Sitting over in my own house, with only regular broadcast television to look at, I didn’t care really what they wanted, so long as they were happy and mostly left me alone. So I said ok. This was a big mistake; the installers—a series of mostly incompetent and low-skilled workers from the direct tv people, put wires all around the house, making the place look like a dump. Then, up on the roof, they installed not one—but TWO—ugly satellite dishes. The tenants seemed pleased with their new service, since I heard no more talk about getting additional things added to the house. So I accepted the hideous hardware that had been installed on my nice new roof, and kept quiet.

But I hated the things—always did, actually. Their moon-faces interrupting the roofline of the little house, the garish satellite dishes pointed upwards, swiping at the heavens to grab an episode of Three’s Company or a long-forgotten program of Julia Child cooking some kind of duck. The more I thought about these things the angrier I became. Then, during my excursions around the neighborhood, maybe walking or riding my bike, I would notice these same satellite dishes mounted in places that WERE NOT the roof. They were in people’s yards, on a post, or in some other location. So I had stupidly agreed to allow these things a place atop the house, and it may very well be that it was not at all necessary. The mistake had to be undone.

I first cut all of the wiring inside the house, every last cable that linked the place to some pay-for-tv service. I know that it will have to be replaced in the future, but I want it done right. For now, it was enough to know that it was gone. Then I loaded up my tools, climbed onto the roof, and unfastened the many bolts that held these monstrosities in place. I’d planned to just cut away at their supports with my metal-cutting saw, but—owing to the dangerous pitch of the roof, and the heavy weight of the saw-- decided that this plan was too risky. Anything to reduce the risk of falling would be all right with me.
I got the smaller antenna apart, inched close to the edge of the roof, and threw the whole business onto the hard concrete patio below. It smashed to the ground with a satisfying clang—hopefully disabling its innards for good. The other satellite dish was more problematic; it was much bigger, for one thing, and weighed a lot more. The writing on it said that it was a “Super Dish.”

I got it detached from its mooring, the legs and supports no longer holding it in place. I then gently lowered the cumbersome thing to the roof, so that it was resting on the asphalt shingles at a dangerous angle. I got away from it, not exactly sure what I should do next. It kindly decided for me, sliding—first slowly—down the steep roof, then picking up speed as it approached the rain gutter. It grated over my new shingles, jumped the gutter, and plummeted heavily to the ground below, where the plastic parts shattered, and the solid pieces of steel bent with the impact.

I looked down. “That’s just a little bit of all right,” I said aloud.