Keeping a Roof Over My Head

I try to make a point of not dwelling on the weather here.  Given that I live near Lake Michigan in northern Indiana, it's kind of pointless to whine about the cold.  I actually love the climate here - four distinct seasons, not too hot or humid in the summer.  But I'd like to mention one feature of the weather that is a mixed blessing - it's windy around here!

I'm feeling a bit too lazy to do any real research, but I do remember reading that the average prevailing wind here is 10.5 mph out of the southwest, and that we average 4 days per year of 50+ mph winds. Otherwise, it's pretty breezy here on a normal day, even during the heat of summer, and I enjoy that aspect of our weather.

After some recent windstorms, however, I've begun to think of our pleasant cheek-caressing breezes as more a slap in this homeowners's face, when our roof began to decorate the yard.

Day one of the windstorm occurred, like most other hilarious domestic emergencies, when Eric was safely out of town.  Shingles blew hither and yon, cracking and crumbling on impact, with yours truly valiantly cleaning up the mess that was my yard. Of course, when I reported on the problem, his helpful response was, "I can't do anything about it right now."

Not my real roof

Never having had this particular type of damage, I was unsure what to do next.  What I did was wait, through what turned out to be another 5 days of high winds and lots of debris cleaning in the yard.  Helpful neighbors looked at the bare spots and pronounced that it would "probably not leak much unless we get snow or torrential rain."  Wow, what are the chances?  One fellow said I should tarp it as soon as possible, but I may want to figure out some way to anchor it besides nails, since that leads to leaks. As I said, helpful advice, and my thanks to my concerned neighbors.

There is just one problem.  I have all the grace and coordination of a week-old puppy, and fifty years of accidents and injuries have taught me that I don't belong on high structures or uneven footing, at least if I want to keep my basic skeletal integrity. This easy fix of "tarping" was not in my job description and I didn't need a fortune-teller to predict what would happen it I tried to learn this particular skill.  Eric said to wait until he got home, then we'd figure out what needed to be done. Fine by me!

Turns out Eric had some grandiose scheme to star in his own home improvement movie.  From the ground, it appeared that only a few shingles needed replacing, so he thought he'd do that himself. But with more nasty wind and rain in store, I was insistent that we call our insurance company and get the claim process going. Even though we knew we'd be pretty far back in line, since southern Indiana and several other states had suffered true devastation from tornadoes, we still needed to file a claim and get it inspected.

Someone else's roof

The Claims Adjuster got a bird's-eye view of things, and it turns out that the whole southern side (front) of the roof has got to be replaced. We quickly got a man out who put a tarp on, and started reviewing the damage estimate.  Eric seemed unnaturally gleeful about the prospect of a new roof. Turns out, he and a friend were discussing doing the job themselves to save some bucks. This discussion, not surprisingly, was conducted while drinking beer, away from the wives, which explains why it got beyond the fantasy stage.

Eric told me of his plans to tear-off and replace the roof with his buddy.

Him: "So I'll buy the materials with the insurance money, the me and Bubba will re-roof the front and pocket the extra cash. Bubba just needs a steady beer supply for hydration on the job, and a bottle of single-malt as a completion bonus. Genius, huh?"

Me: "Genius - yes! Before you start, will you go shopping with me for my funeral dress? I need to look extra nice as a widow, since we are woefully under-insured. Something veiled for the graveside, that can transition to a clingy sheath with a plunging neckline for the distraught scene back at the house."

Him: "What funeral? You didn't mention anyone dying..."

Me: "I'm planning your funeral, and I didn't mention it before because I didn't know you were planning to die."

Him: "I'm not following you. I was talking about the roof, you are talking about funerals."

Me: "If you and Bubba think you can roof our house, you are insane. It would be the death of one or both of you."

Him: "Why do you say that?  You are always bragging on my ability to fix things around the house. That's all I'm talking about."

Me: "No, what you are talking about is two middle-aged, flabby guys with desk jobs doing the work of young, experienced professionals. It's not happening."

Him: "I've replaced shingles before and there are plenty of middle-aged, flabby roofers, so I don't see your point."

Me: "My point is, you are the sole support for this family and you cannot be spared for some toughness contest on a high, uneven surface. If you are so confident in your roofing talent, and don't think it's too dangerous to risk the future financial security of this family, I have a little wager for you. Sign an agreement that says you want me to use the death benefit to buy an Jaguar XJR convertible and have a face lift and liposuction. I want to be an eye-catching man magnet to help me transition to my lonely future. If you are sure you won't die, then you have nothing to lose by signing."

Him: "Ha! As if. You know, Bubba's wife wouldn't forbid him from helping me. She has more faith in him than you have in me."

Me: "Are you kidding me?  Mrs. Bubba already bought the handcuffs and sedatives, the minute she got a whiff of Bubba's exciting plan for a virility contest at high elevation. She won't even let him do the bungee bounce at the mall! Why would she let him go to a 3-day keg party on our roof? Do you think she's any more capable of replacing her husband's income than I am? You doofuses are all that stands between we women and children and the homeless shelter. So stay off the roof, or start dreaming of me in my Jag."

Him:  "This is harsh. I was looking forward to the exercise, working outside in the nice weather, fraternizing with Bubba and some of the gang who wanted to help. You ruined my male-bonding fantasy. What else am I supposed to do until football season?"

Me: "Keep your shirt on, literally and figuratively. I've got plenty of projects you can do that don't involve heights or steep slopes. You can build some shelves in the sewing area, dig up the tree stump, replace the wood where we ripped out a cabinet or paint the kitchen.  Take your pick.  These jobs are so manly, I feel the Jag fantasy receding, being replaced by a painting fantasy.  And you are the star."

Needless to say, Eric and Bubba are disappointed that they were robbed of an opportunity to display their macho handyman talents for the neighborhood, all because of the silly worries of their nearest dependents. I, for one, am relieved to have resolved this matter, because I wouldn't have a roof over my head if it wasn't for Eric, and I'd like to keep him around awhile. And if we are forced to hire a crew of young, good-looking roofers who work shirtless and need lots of Gatorade and water delivered, well, that's just the price I'm willing to pay to keep Eric safe...and out of trouble.

To your health!

Take this simple test to see if you are ignoring important symptoms of an unpleasant, inconvenient but essentially non-lethal condition:

If you suffer from:	Then you may be afflicted by:
Headaches	Metabolic syndrome
Fatigue	Compromised immune system
Trouble sleeping	Sleep apnea
Weak bladder control	Fibromyalgia
Thinning hair	Color blindness
Low sex drive	Heartbreak of psoriasis
Uncontrolled weeping	Reduced liver function
Sinus blockage	Chronic fatigue syndrome
Hairy back	Hormone imbalance
Bad posture	Seasonal allergy syndrome
Dry eyes	Food addiction
Seasonal allergies	Epstein-Barr syndrome
Weight gain	Low T
Upset stomach	Old age

All you do is match the normal imperfections of the human condition on the left, to the serious-sounding condition or syndrome on the right.  Warning:  some symptoms are linked to all the conditions, so it may look a little messy when you are done.

My theory is that if it's called a syndrome or condition, the name was invented by a drug company to sell a product.  Once something is isolated as a specific symptom or set of symptoms, Friendly Farma Inc. can name the "syndrome" and develop an expensive treatment plan.  Catchy names, unpredictable spelling and acronyms play a large role in selling these new ideas to a sickly, whiny public.

(NOTICE TO WHINY PUBLIC: Please hold your fire. I'm not talking about true diseases or chronic conditions here.  This is innocent humor commentary and at least I'm not calling you a hypochondriac to your face.)

I've always thought that we are much healthier than commercials, magazines and drugstore shelves would have us believe.  However, it really started to bother me when our prescription drug plan changed significantly this year (along with our regular health plan).  This meant the Eric brought home lots of reading material to acquaint us with the new guidelines for dealing with doctor visits, approved prescriptions, payments, coverage limits, and other engrossing information.  Normally I'd just skim it and hope Eric would forget to quiz me, but the approved medications list caught my attention.  For some reason, it was a pretty short list.

How could that be?  I can't watch one hour of news without being regaled with the miraculous powers of Cialis, Lunesta, Abilify, Lipitor, Rogaine, Pradaxa, Nexium, Crestor and Plavix.  Doesn't my insurance company want me to benefit from the improved quality of life made possible by extensive research and testing on the part of the altruistic drug companies?  Well, of course they do.  They just don't want to pay the drug company prices, particularly if I'm not willing to either.

It seems our insurance company has recently decided that they only want us to take cheap drugs that prevent life-threatening conditions or regulate chronic conditions.  My blood pressure medicine and Eric's blood thinner are on this list.  They must want us to take them, because they are free (as in $0) on our plan.

But what about all those other drugs the pharmaceutical firms spend so much time and money advertising to the decrepit, whiny populace?  Why do they go to such lengths to make me want them, convince me that I need them, if my insurance company won't pay for them?  This seems patently unfair.

The lady on tv with the horrible toenail fungus stays quietly at home with the shades drawn.  But after a 30-day course of Phlizzerak, she's seen strolling the streets in broad daylight, smiling broadly at no one and everyone, stiletto sandals showcasing her beautifully healed toenails.  Why should she get to be happy because of a drug, while I have to suffer without it?

What about the couple who bump heads while they are working on some home-improvement project?  Do they get in an argument about his clumsiness or her inability to tell a crescent wrench from jackhammer?  No!  They magically appear in his-and-hers porcelain tubs, sweetly holding hands across the short distance that separates them from conjugal bliss.  And is this beautiful moment the product of years of hard work to develop their sense of humor, a climate of forgiveness and an understanding of one another's unspoken love language?  Not hardly.  This moment is brought to you by Schtiffenhaut Laboratories, makers of Xerdella, or some other nonsensically-named product designed to make you feel that you, Mr. and Mrs. Humdrum, are not living life to the fullest because you don't take this drug.

I'm not calling out Big Pharma for their profits, or Big Insurance for their cost-cutting strategies, or Big Marketing for the ads that do their best to create a need.  No one entity has forced one individual to buy one pill.  But the cooperative system of those three, working in tandem, is expertly designed to target the individual psyche, which is perfectly capable of evaluating its own situation and judging its own needs.  But does my psyche act on facts, or does it just want the tubs and stilettos?


I love spicy, hot, dangerous food.  Thai and Indian foods are my favorites.  If I suddenly found they gave me stomach problems, say, acid reflux that keeps me up at night, would I stop eating curries?  Probably not.  Commercials have been telling me for years to pop a pill before I engage in dangerous eating, so that I can enjoy my meals without interruption by the obvious symptoms warning of the damage I'm doing to my stomach.  Take an OTC acid reducer so I don't have to change my behavior or make a personal sacrifice - no-brainer, right?

I just wonder about our ancestors who didn't have access to 20,000 square feet of cures for every ailment, real or imagined, in the form of the ubiquitous Walgreens, CVS and Rite-Aid stores that seem to be everywhere these days.  I know there were snake oil salesmen, bogus treatments, home remedies, hypochondriacs, faith healers and leeches in our medical history, but did our forbearers spend so much time worrying about their body and its complications?  Did metalsmiths stay home from the forge when sinus pain and pressure cost them a good night's sleep?  Did pioneer women neglect the milking when PMS struck?  Did the laborers who built the transcontinental railroad complain about a sensitivity to MSG in their gruel?

It doesn't seem possible that I can be just 4 or 5 generations removed from hardworking people who put in 16 hours of labor on an average day, only to lay down on a bug-infested straw mattress on the floor - yet I travel with a special pillow or I "can't get a good night's sleep."  Really?

I think we've been had.  I think we are all much healthier, stronger and more capable than the product peddlers would have us believe.  I think if we all just sent the dollar equivalent of one month's hair care or bowel regularity purchases to President Obama, he could use that fast cash to pay bills, instead of raising the debt ceiling.