Up on the Rooftop

When Cheryl and I were on one of our first dates, we were walking in a Las Vegas parking garage, on the 4th or 5th floor. Cheryl was being silly and ran toward the railing to look out over the edge. I panicked and grabbed her belt to pull her back, and her belt snapped open and there I was standing with her belt in my hands, babbling at her like a crazy person. I did this because I am so afraid of heights I cannot think straight.

I've been dreading the day when I would need to climb up on top of the pagoda's roof. I tried to do it last week but chickened out. Stepping from the ladder onto the roof seemed like an impossible challenge. And then how would I ever get back on the ladder? Yesterday I built some scaffolding just so I wouldn't have to step off from a flat surface. That's how scared I am.


But the scaffolding wasn't quite enough. I put my 2-foot step ladder up there just so I wouldn't have to make a big step up. Pathetic.


By this morning I had attached all the roof boards that I could while standing on the scaffolding. I slithered up on the partial roof, hugging the boards with my entire body so that the wind wouldn't toss me off (there's no wind today). I attached a few more boards in this really uncomfortable pose.

Then somehow I found a switch in my brain and turned it off. I sat up straight, and everything was OK.


I got the rest of the boards on pretty quickly, at least on this side. And I actually had fun doing it.


Now I have to do the side with no scaffolding... Crap.

Not a Pagoda

After many months of planning and research, of scouring the web for pictures of Asian architecture, of searching through websites and blogs for ideas, of hacking into some online sites that sell drawings and stealing their ideas (though I never actually used them, so I guess it's OK).

After all that effort, this week I finally transferred the jumble of abstract ideas into something physical--I cut out the curved rafters for my little building in the back yard. We've decided to call a pagoda, though it is not a pagoda at all.


The curved rooflines of real pagodas have a purpose beyond decoration--they are just one element of an amazing suspension system, stronger than the strongest earthquakes. My curved roof is for show, a sort of affectation that allows me to pretend it's something more than a simple picnic building. Maybe it also helps allow me to pretend that I'm not just an old fart from Arkansas.


Sensing that the project now has some interest, Jam has resumed his role as project manager. What a good boy.

Touching the Sky with Rafters

I invited Cheryl out to take some pictures, knowing that she would be pleased to capture my fear of heights with her new lens. But first I had to get this 12-foot ridge beam in place. Heavy.


Willow is back in charge of project development while Jam is busy doing crochet with Cheryl. He'll be back.


The straight rafters came next. These were easier than I expected to install, but getting the first one right was a pain.


What I'm really excited about is making the curved rafters for the corners. Here's what my Sketchup drawing looks like.


In this photo taken by Cheryl, I am back on solid ground, my dignity and confidence restored, grateful that I did not wet myself while up on the ladder. However, I know that to finish the roof I will eventually have to crawl up on top of it.

Moving One Ton of Sand, Just Cause

It's been raining all day and our roof did not leak. Most people could say that sentence casually, without a second thought. But for us the concept is so hard to grasp that I still can't quite believe it. After 11 years and 4 roofing companies, the roof is finally watertight, or it appears to be, at least in one small area above the stairs. Shoot, now I am afraid to get up from my desk and check again, for the 100th time.

This weekend I finished grouting the stone patio around the grill area. But before I get started on the new roof (the one for the patio, not the leaky one in our house), I decided to move the remaining sand (about one ton of it, literally) from the side yard. Shovel by shovel, then in a wheel barrow ride of about 40 feet, and then shoveled out into another huge bag, so that we're able to do the landscaping next to the pergola before summer gets here. I'll be using the sand to make stucco for the old grill.

Also, I've left our lime tree next to the grill patio where it is clearly in the way. I don't know why--it just seems to belong there.




Next: building the new roof. Maybe with copper tiles.

Self-Confidence and Luck

Self-confidence is an adolescent, drunken friend tempting you to do things you should not do. It is a bad boy with no common sense and no grip on reality and especially no concept of what it means to grow older. It convinced me that I could lift the 12-foot beams onto the posts by myself without pushing the posts off center.


Self-confidence is a brother to self-delusion, working together to prop you up. But when one goes away, so does the other, which is sad because they are fun to have around.


I spent the afternoon listening to them. And then by accident I found a way to steady the posts and balance the beams long enough to stair-step them into place. It was luck, not planning.


So I feel pretty good about myself. Self-confidence, self-delusion and luck are my friends, at least for today.

Grill Area, A Pattern Emerges

The start of any project is ugly. Demolition creates a disturbing chaos, visually and emotionally, because we can't be sure that such destruction is necessary. After all, someone years ago installed the concrete picnic table in our back yard, and no doubt they stood back to gaze at it with affection. I'm sure they had some pleasant dinners on that table, but not us--we've neglected it, let it grow mold, and never once had a meal on it.

And the picnic table was in the spot where I plan to build the new grill area. But what to do with half a ton of concrete? Break it up and throw it away? No, I decided to knock it down and use it as a foundation for the stone patio, elevated so that a heavy rain doesn't flood the grill. It just took a few minutes and the table top and benches were flat on ground. No going back now.

Then I moved some of the old concrete tiles to complete the base area. A pattern began to emerge from the chaos. I filled in the gaps with rubble, like paint on a canvas, and the pattern came to life.

I almost ran into the house to get Cheryl. "There's something really beautiful in the yard I'd like you to photograph," I said to her with some pride.

We walked out and she curled her eyebrows at me. "Are you kidding?" she asked.

"You can make it beautiful," I said. (After all, I did get her that really nice camera lens for Christmas...)

"OK," she said, "but we aren't going to actually see this, are we?"

I explained that it will be under the stone.

A future homeowner will uncover my artwork some day and wonder why we buried a perfectly nice picnic table. Maybe I should leave a note.