An occasional rainy day. . .

. . .can be a great thing.  It allows me to write without feeling guilty because I'm not outside doing some necessary homeowner kind of task.  Yesterday tasks, in fact, included a rather troubling moment, a sort of reverse rite of passage.  About 37 years ago, Bill Brewer and I bought a 22 foot metal ladder.  Most of you don't know Bill.  He was an English teacher with us back in the early days, who eventually went to law school.  Back then, Brew and I were summer housepainters, which is why we purchased the ladder.  It cost $22, $1 per foot.  When Bill went off to law school, I bought out his share of the ladder for $11.

               Over the years, I did summer painting with other teachers, and my ladder often came with me.  As it aged, it was given the nickname "old bounce and sway."  Linda always hated the ladder.  She hates and fears heights and can't understand why I don't.  The ladder served us often at home, particularly in the pre-cable days of roof antennae, that would get blown around a lot.

               Anyway, we have a tree farm growing in our gutters, and yesterday I got "old bounce and sway" out of the garage, only to discover that it was too big and cranky and stuck for me to handle.  Even though, I go to the Y three times a week and do all sorts of exercises, I lost a lot of strength in my bout with gall bladder complications in the winter, and it all hasn't come back.  I just couldn't horse the old beast open and up like I always had.  Troubling.  So, I put old bounce and sway, 37 years young, out to the curb with a "Free" sign on it. Before you know it, the ladder went off with its new unknown owner.

               I'm sure that Linda is thrilled with this occurrence.  As I said earlier, she did not care for "old bounce and sway."  But I am mildly troubled.  On my 50th birthday I did 51 pushups. Now, a week and a half after my 62nd, I'm not sure if I could do 1.  I'll now be hiring people to clean out the gutters, and I can't be tempted to hoist that ladder again.  I suppose a rite of passage can occur at any point in life.