Yesterday, we borrowed a neighbor's expandable ladder and schlepped it across the road. I toted the front end - or at least walked in front, for who knew which end was really which - and Ron carried the back. We stretched and leaned it against the gutter. I ascended, the aluminum steps and rails stiff and unyielding under my feet and hands. I liked that. My pockets were stuffed with tools and my head with plans to take down the tilting antenna. It sagged at a precarious angle, ready to tumble. We decided it would be best to remove it before it fell and impaled someone. Like me, for example. Rusty, yes, but the bracket was still stronger than I or the screwdriver or wrench or hammer or whatever else I held in my wimpy little hands. I grunted. It was no use. "Shoots," as they say here in paradise. The bolts were fused with chunks rusted away, so I couldn't get a grip. We hoisted up the reciprocal saw fitted with a hack blade and I cut the thing into manageable pieces, eventually dislodging it from the tweaked and oxidized brackets. Ta da! What an amazing gadget! It sliced through the metal like buttah. I didn't fall and break my neck. (Been there, done that, don't recommend it.) The trickiest part was going back down the ladder. It's always easier to climb up. Ron was grateful. High places are not his favorite.
I had my eyes examined the other day. The good news is that I still don't need bifocals or reading glasses. The bad news is that, as my ophthalmologist says, "We lose the elasticity in our skin and our eyelids begin to droop as we age." Super. Just what I wanted to hear. Here's a news flash for ya, doc. It happens to other body parts, too.
Go Dodgers! Go Yankees so the Dodgers can kick your okole in the World Series! Go Broncos!
Did I mention that it's raining?
A hui hou. Aloha!
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