My Neighbor Fell Off His Roof
By Gene Zimmerman
My neighbor, Jack, fell off his roof. He didn't dive off
the ridge when he was putting up his Christmas lights, he
just slid in slow motion down the steeply sloping front
gable, yelling something I can't repeat. Horrified, I
rushed in vain across the street to try to help him.
Thankfully his injuries were minor, though the bushes that
broke his fall gave their all to save him.
"Sam, what happened?" asked my wife as she hurried outside
to see what had caused all the hubbub, as several neighbors
had gathered around Jack and the bushes to assess the
damage.
"Just another Christmas-related accident, Carol. Like I've
tried to tell you, putting up Christmas decorations just
isn't safe. We need to hire a professional."
"Don't give me that, buster! I know you're trying to get
out of helping me with the Christmas tree and the outside
decorations! You try this every year! Now get busy and get
the Christmas boxes out of the attic."
Carol was a wonderful woman, but when it came to Christmas,
there was no compromise. Everything had to be decorated
just so or I'd end up in divorce court. So I swallowed my
pride and put on my hardhat in case I fell off a ladder,
and set to work.
Up in the attic, I sighed as I looked at our 27 Christmas
boxes, each of them numbered and carefully labeled by Mrs.
Santa Claus, i.e. Carol. The vivid memory of stepping
through the ceiling several years ago caused me to take
extreme caution. Thankfully this time there was no
embarrassing damage to the sheetrock nor to my ego.
After wearing myself out lugging all the boxes into the
house, I didn't have to wait long for further orders. "Sam,
why don't we open up the Christmas tree box first, so we
can set up our new tree." Carol was good at using the royal
we which usually meant yours truly.
"Sure thing, dear," I grunted as I man-handled the large
box with our new artificial tree into our living room.
Carol bought the tree last year at a bargain price in the
after-Christmas sales at Home Depot. Real trees always
seemed to have crooked trunks and often proved unstable. We
finally decided to buy an artificial one after our nine
foot real tree, complete with lights and decorations,
crashed to the floor last Christmas eve and took out our
Chihuahua.
I soon found the directions for setting up our new tree.
They were printed in at least 27 different languages. After
shuffling through most of the unintelligible pages, I
finally found one written in what I call Chinglish, i.e.
poorly translated English written by someone in China. It
only took three hours to get the five sections together and
the multitude of plugs correctly connected. But at least
all the lights were already on the tree. No more hassles
with hanging hundreds of lights evenly around the tree and
readjusting them until Carol decided they looked just
right.
"Carol, what do you think?" I inquired, admiring my
handiwork.
"Looks great, hon! Better than any of the real trees we've
had before. Now will you drag all the ornament boxes over
so I can start hanging ornaments on the tree?"
Grateful that Carol wouldn't let me help with the tree
ornaments, I quickly complied with her wishes. Breaking
some of our family heirloom ornaments a few years ago had
freed me of that task.
"Well, Carol, it's time for my football game. I think I'll
wait on the outside decorating till next weekend."
"Not on your life, Sam. Most of our neighbors have already
put up their outdoor lights and they're probably wondering
if we've decided to be Scrooges this year. You can always
watch the game on the Tivo later, while you relax in your
recliner and take pride in how good our outdoor lights
look."
"I wonder if they'll let me take the Tivo with me so I can
watch it in my hospital room," I mumbled under my breath.
That was partly in jest and partly based on experience.
Five years ago I was stretching to readjust our icicle
lights under Carol's supervision and the ladder shifted in
the soft soil of the flower bed and then fell. I
instinctively grabbed the gutter with both hands and hung
between earth and sky for what seemed like a lifetime as
Carol ran across the street to the neighbor's for help. The
last thing I remembered before waking up in the hospital
was the feeling of sheer terror as I felt the gutter come
loose from the roof. Thankfully it was only the left arm
that I broke.
My neighbor, Jack, was sitting on his front porch with an
icepack on his bruised knees and a beer in hand as I
dragged my extension ladder out of the garage. "Hey, Sam,
I'd give you a hand, but I'm kind of out of commission."
"Not a problem, neighbor. But what about the strand of
lights that's halfway across the ridge of your roof? Are
you going to leave them like that?"
"Sure thing, neighbor. Marsha has decided to hire a
professional to finish the job. Much safer for me that
way."
"Gee, I wish Carol would hire a professional. But she says
that anyone with an engineering degree ought to be able to
do a professional job."
Knowing how Jack had hurt himself, Carol did agree that I
could forego the usual string of lights on the ridge of our
roof. All I had to do was set up our lighted reindeer and
hang 150 feet of colored lights along the eves on the front
and sides of the house. It was dusk before I finished, as I
had to make two trips to Home Depot, one for more bulbs and
one for a new string of lights.
As I stood in Jack's yard and admired my handiwork, I took
great pride that I had completed my task to Carol's liking
and that I'd done it without major injury. Just then I
heard a yell accompanied by a thud, as my next door
neighbor's extension ladder collapsed and he fell into a
rosebush. Another decorating disaster. Maybe one of these
years Carol will finally realize that we need to hire a
professional. Christmas just isn't safe for amateurs.