The first climbing Gladly was my husband, who agreed a little reluctantly to head up onto the roof yesterday to see if he could spot a potential point of entry for our mystery intruder. The roof appears to be intact, but he reports that there are three vents up there big enough to accommodate a squirrel. Or something. I left a message for the company that replaced our roof in 2013. It doesn't actually say "HELP GHOST GROUNDHOG ROOTLING IN MY WALLS" but let's hope the urgency comes through nonetheless. I think the most likely scenario is a squirrel who is treating one of the vents like a hollow tree, storing walnuts for the winter in my walls. I am optimistic that we (read: they) can slap some screen over the openings (while Mr. Squirrel is off gathering more winter walnuts, let's hope) and secure it to keep out any future visitations.
If that doesn't work I might have to call an exorcist.
I've never been on our roof. I do plenty of traditionally masculine jobs around here: I handle the negotiations with tradespeople and I am comfortable arranging auto repairs and maintenance; I manage our money. But I think in my mental schema gutter-cleaning and roof reconnaissance require a Y chromosome. The ladder might as well have a NO GIRLS ALLOWED sign on it. Weird, huh? What about you -- do you have mental gender blocks on any household tasks?
Anyway, I did do some climbing this weekend. One of Gladlyville's founders was a man who loved trees, and so we are blessed with many many beautiful old trees -- some old enough to have been planted by the man himself, others planted by people who cared about his legacy. Pete and I love to wander the quad and talk about the trees we see there. Did I tell you already about my failed tree-climbing attempt from late August or early September? I used to love to climb trees. I used to be better at it. Pete wriggled himself into a beautiful European beech tree and tried to persuade me to follow him. I got my arms and legs around the lowest branch...and then I hung there, contemplating the way of all flesh.
But today I found a fir tree that was easy to climb. (Picture by Pete.) And then -- I started to say I was emboldened by my success but really I was chivvied by my 12yo -- I made it up into the beech tree that stymied me before. He was a little bossy about it. I said, "My abs are protesting," and he said, "OH WELL TOO BAD." But do you know, it worked.
So maybe I'm getting old. But at least I'm not that old.
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