Wheaton’s Way

They say, “If you want something done properly, do it yourself.”

Here’s my caveat addendum: “… unless you don’t have a clue.”

Readers, after my last column, I was going to avoid the subject of Christmas lights this week, to – you know – mix it up a bit. However, considering the particular experience I had over the weekend, I am bound to tell you all about it.

As you probably know, I have been slowly transforming the front lawn into a sparkling Christmas wonderland, with the odd hiccup of uncooperative snowmen and underperforming lights.

What was missing, however, was the crowning glory of an icicle display. My half-hearted attempts last year really didn’t have the desired impact. I used a fruit picker pole to hoist a string of lights about 20 feet into the air, hanging them on pre-existing nails that were a bit too far apart. Unable to adjust them with the tools at hand, I resigned myself to a subpar result.

This year was going to be different.

The most effective way to attach icicles to the front of my house was for Muhammad to go to the mountain; I had to get up on the roof.

Two immediate potential flies in the ointment were my strong fear of heights and an A-frame ladder that didn’t quite reach the guttering, but stupid determination can break down many barriers if it’s strong enough.

Best friend and housemate, Lynne, knew better than to try and dissuade me from my quest. Therefore, on a semi-bright Sunday afternoon, we moved the ladder to what we felt was the most logical entry point and I prepared to climb.

Enduring an unenviable view of my posterior, Lynne held the structure firm as I ascended. It wasn’t too bad until the final two steps. (Actually, the final step, and then the one that says it should not be sat upon or used as a step in any way.)

I breathed deeply and went up one more, hoping I could pull myself up onto the standing seam roof without having to move to that non-step at the pinnacle of the ladder.

Nope. I was going to have to risk it. I pushed down on the plastic, checking to see if it was solid (because pressure from one’s palm is easily equivalent to the 200-pound weight of a person).

I guessed it would hold and went for it, gripping two seams on the roof at the same time. It wasn’t pretty, but I managed to get one leg up and over the gutter, onto the green metal. Then the other leg.

Made it, ma! Top of the world!

Not unlike Santa Claus, I had a big red sack with me – an A. L. Thompson’s bag, full of lights and clips. It was 3:30pm and I started attaching lights to the far-right corner of the house.

The process was slow-going. My dislike of heights came in waves, as I inched my way up. I’d tried walking the roof for a short distance, but I wasn’t a huge fan, and I could hear the odd creak with every step.

Icicle lights: $100. Broken roof: Priceless.

The alternative was painstakingly using my arms to drag myself up and down, every inch, which resulted in ongoing wedgies. My apologies to SpongeBob, whose visage adorned the yoga pants I was wearing.

Two of the five sides of the roof had guttering. It would have been easier to just keep clipping the lights to the seam, but it wouldn’t have looked as good for those sections.

In for a penny, in for a pound. I switched to lying on my stomach, and for a good portion of this exercise, I was literally facedown in the gutter, trying not to look at the concrete below, while standing seams ate into the softest parts of my body.

Two-and-a-half hours along, I was beginning to tire. My arms were Hulk-green – dyed from constant contact with the surface – and peppered with small cuts from where skin had met with sharp edges.

My hands were shaking slightly, like I was going into withdrawal, but I was near the end of the odyssey. One more string and I was done.

As I put the last clip in place, I felt a drip. And then another. It was starting to rain.
Here’s something they don’t teach you in school: standing-seam material basically turns into black ice when it’s wet.

The sun was completely down, and night had firmly set in. I had planned to try and walk part of the way back to the ladder, as I was about as geographically far from it as I could manage, but that would have been lunacy under those circumstances.

I was going to have to go the arms route. All the way back.

And so, I began. Push the body up with the palms, lift the buttocks over a seam, sit down again.

My sneakers couldn’t easily get purchase on the slick roof, so it was all arms. Is this why they rang the bell in the Marines?

I called Lynne on my mobile, and asked her to get to the ladder. I would be there as soon as I could.

Up I went, slowly, painfully, dragging the bag with me. The rain poured down.

I was now green all over. Maybe I was The Grinch? I didn’t hate Christmas, but my heart was feeling two sizes too small right about then, and had Cindy Lou Who popped up, full of cheer, I would have had a few choice words for her.

I cleared the summit – the pinnacle of the main roof – and began to make my way down. In the distance, I could see a bright white beam. Lynne was giving me my landing lights.

I grunted and groaned towards her. Everything was sore. My knees, arms, hands, shoulders… I was one big bruise.

As I finally got to the light, I just sat on the roof with my legs out in front of me, exhausted. Lynne shone the torch on me.

“You are filthy,” she said.

That was it. I burst into hysterical laughter. She wasn’t sure if I was crying or laughing and I needed a minute to clarify.

“Hurry up,” she said, “I’m getting eaten alive by mosquitoes.”

That made it worse. It took me a good while to compose myself, which I had to do, as I was now exiting the roof. This involved turning onto my stomach, and inching my way off backwards, with my legs dangling in the air until foot met ladder.

I loathed that part.

Would I make it or would Lynne figure this was her best shot at getting rid of me by removing the ladder?

I’m not writing this from my hospital bed, so, suffice to say, I made it in one piece.

How does the story end? The icicles are absolutely resplendent. Sure, I’ve got purple knees and I’m walking like Gollum, but I’ll heal.

When I saw the lights twinkling, the pain (nearly) went away,
And my small heart grew three sizes that day.