Our story so far: The foundation was poured and walls were built for the garage addition to the old Methodist church we had turned into a home.
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During the course of a week, the skeleton walls were built just in time for the delivery of the roof trusses. These, too, had plans of a sort. Tyler specified the size, and the factory constructed the triangle-shaped roof supports in an engineeringly correct manner (“engineeringly” is not a word, but you get the point—they wouldn’t fall to fiddlesticks). Because the garage was not small, these trusses were not small either. They were forty-four feet long, and when they were delivered, the pile filled nearly the entire driveway. The weatherman also delivered: The day dawned sunny and clear, if a little more breezy than one might like.
The morning we set the trusses, Tyler—who had dreamed of this huge garage for the better part of a lifetime and after months of renovating the church was getting sick and tired of constructing anything and wanted to see progress—said, “If we get through today without anyone getting hurt, I’ll be happy.”
I knew then this work was tricky, trickier than most of what we had performed in our little, some might say big, project. If Tyler was measuring success by lack of injury rather than by dumpsters filled or two-by-fours used or square footage sanded, then this must be serious business indeed.
The enormity of the roof trusses required the use of a crane to lift them from the ground, one by one, and set them on the walls. A full crew of men—five plus Tyler and the crane operator—had been summoned. You-Can-Call-Me-Al and Reroofer straddled ladders and makeshift footings to help place them and then secure them, while the other men dashed around on the ground. Because cranes and skilled crane operators are, shall we say, not inexpensive to rent, everyone was moving fast and efficiently so as not waste time, which was money.
For the most part, I couldn’t watch. I sat at my computer in my upstairs office, one wall of which bordered the garage. I heard the regular sounds of engines and hammering and men yelling, praying I wouldn’t hear anything more urgent or worrisome than that.
I didn’t. The crane left to do crane-type work elsewhere in less than four hours. No one was injured. The trusses were properly in place.
Tyler was happy.
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Today’s headline is the first line from a joke. Answer: Because he had a bad case of shingles.
Tomorrow: In the meantime… Read about what kept me busy here.
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