I made the great mistake of going across the street yesterday morning to bring the Vespers flowers back from the church.  Each bouquet was in a bowl still filled with water and so it was a two-handed, two-trip operation.  No problem.  Except…

As I headed home the first time, a voice called out to me from the rooftop of our house.  There was Jay, precariously (in my judgement) balanced, putting the finishing touches of paint on the gingerbread above his head.  Oy vey!  I could scarcely look.

Never mind that he had left this bit of work for last – for the first day after school was out so that his teen-aged son Charlie could ‘spot’ him… just in case.  He had told me about his plan before he left on Friday.  “I’m not getting any younger (or more agile was the implication) so I’ve figured out how I can place the ladder straddling the roof peek and…”  OMG!  I think I went deaf at that point and my palms began to sweat.

When you are afflicted with acrophobia (“the extreme or irrational fear of heights”) as I am, even knowing that someone will be up high and in a precarious situation can make you hyperventilate. When the plan involves your very own roof and your very own friends it can hardly bear thinking about.  And, as a matter of fact, I had repressed that entire conversation until yesterday morning when a cheery voice called out to me from on high.

In a less perfect world – a situation beyond belief right now – I would have dropped my bowl of flowers right there in the middle of the street.  Somehow, though, I managed to complete my task without incident and even called a tremulous “Hi!” to Jay and Charlie.  But, after one tenuous glance, I kept my eyes focused on the honeysuckle in the lovely David Campiche bowl gripped between my suddenly damp palms. OMG!

I sent Nyel out to get pictures.