The roofers came...

...and they went and then they came back again

I set up a lawn chair from which to watch the doings.

When I bought my house four years ago, I knew I’d have to replace the roof but planned to stall that expense until two days after my funeral, which I intend to be roughly 30 years from now and you’re all invited.

My homeowners insurance company, however, sent someone out who took damning pictures, and I was given four months to make a new roof happen.

After getting over my pique at spending thousands on something that isn’t all that interesting to me, I made roofing interesting to me. I went online. I did research and learned just enough to ask annoying questions of the professionals — which was so reminiscent of my last career, it made me smile.

I took on the process with a weird sort of glee, from applying for the home equity loan to having roofing company representatives come crawl around the upstairs storage space to figure out how much to charge.

The estimates ranged between $8,000 and $24k+. That last one made me giggle, because the man kept saying the roof would last 50 years, which also doesn’t interest me because I won’t be here, so…I ended up blocking his calls because he didn’t understand why I didn’t want the absolute best for this rickety old house that I love. I want good enough, as I want for all of us. Good enough is, well, good enough.

I ended up hiring a company whose owner came to give an estimate (some gave estimates using Google photos of the property), and stayed to chat about roofing and families. I liked Dean, and his estimate was about mid-point.

Roofing in New England in the winter is a little like Frogger, so we’ve all been waiting for a dry day. On Monday, a crew of seven showed up in two vans with amazingly long ladders. The wind was twisting the bedsheets on the line, and sure enough, they sent a guy up the ladder and he judged that it was too windy, especially because the crew will be wrangling plywood, which would act like wooden sails for the crew. They apologized (no need), and packed up and then a guy came with the dumpster, and I helped him move rocks so he could leave it in my squirrelly driveway, the one that tests the driving skills of all my friends.

A new crew returned yesterday. I set up a lawn chair to watch and tried to limit my shouted questions (“Can you see the ocean from up there?” and “What are you doing now?”) as the men crawled around on the steep roof. Years ago, I made friends with the guy who pumped our septic tank, and learned more than I thought possible about sewage. Another time, I chatted up the exterminator and learned that ants do a death dance when they’ve been poisoned. This is information I can’t necessarily use, but wouldn’t have unless I hounded people who come work on my house.

So after the crew returns today to finish the job, I will have a new roof, and I will be eating ramen for life and I will move through my old age knowing a lot about roofs — or at least, I will know just enough to bring party conversations to a grinding halt. Apologies in advance.