Year ‘round storm windows sound like a pretty good idea

I’ve mentioned my irrational fear of heights a couple times before in this column. My acrophobic tendencies, one might think, would keep my feet firmly planted on the ground at all times. One would be wrong.

For whatever reason, I find myself in elevated circumstances on a fairly regular basis. Whether installing Christmas lights, trimming branches or repairing loose roof tiles, I wind up distanced from Terra Firma all too frequently.

Usually, the space between the ground and my trembling body is restricted by the height of my 10-foot ladder. This is a good thing, since I can survive a fall of 10 feet or less. I know because I’ve unintentionally tested the theory on numerous occasions.

A fall from the ladder leaves me bruised and embarrassed, but alive. It also provides about a week’s worth of amusement for The Lovely Mrs. Taylor, who does her best to hide that amusement, but fails miserably.

Last week, however, the ladder was just my jumping off point on a journey to the roof, a place I have no business being. The roof in question covers the front porch, not the house proper, and is only about 12 feet off the ground at its peak. Climbing onto that roof is the only way to get at the second-floor storm windows.

These windows look out from my office. Usually, I just leave the storm windows in place throughout the summer and abide the Hades-esque temperatures. This year, I decided to remove the storms, open the windows and—come July—enjoy a little breeze like a civilized person.

It took me several days to get my courage “screwed up” for the journey roof-side. I stood in front of the house, gazing up at the porch’s gently sloping roof, repeating the mantra, “You can do this. It’s not that high.” Eventually, fool that I am, I started to believe it.

Being a careful planner and forward thinking guy, I waited for a cold, windy day to head topside. Mrs. Taylor held the ladder for me as I made my shaky way up the rungs. Heart in throat, I stepped onto the roof and edged cautiously toward the peak.

From somewhere below, Mrs. T announced her intent to “run to the grocery for a sec” to pick up some milk.

“Hurry back,” I said. “I’ll need you to hold the ladder so I can get back down again.”

Even from the rooftop, I could hear her eyes roll.

As Mrs. Taylor pulled out of the driveway, the rain started to fall. Just a mist at first, it soon grew to a steady downpour. The roof, old and moss-covered, took on characteristics most often associated with skating rinks and Teflon frying pans.

The screwdriver I’d carried with me—a key component to removing the windows—slipped from my pocket and rolled over the edge. It seemed to take a long time to hit the ground.

The light jacket I’d chosen earlier in the day was not waterproof, a fact now apparent. Angry, April winds levered the rain into near horizontal whips that cracked against me like pelted gravel.

As if to prove that even God enjoys a good joke, a jag of lighting split the sky and thunder shook the foundations of Heaven itself. The storm windows rattled in their casings.

There have probably been wet kittens more miserable than I was at that moment, but maybe not.

Eventually, the lights of Mrs. Taylor’s jeep appeared through the haze; I was glad to see them. Stepping from the jeep, she said, “What are you doing up there in the rain?”

Several answers occurred to me, all of which contained words I don’t usually use when addressing the woman I love. Instead of voicing them, I instructed her to hold the ladder while I belly crawled, feet first, toward it.

It’s a week later and the storm windows remain in place. I think this may be the year we finally get central air.

To contact Mike Taylor with your questions, comments, or advice to stop being such a chicken, e-mail mtaylor325@gmail.com or write via snail mail to: Mike Taylor, c/o Valley Media, Inc., PO Box 9, Jenison, MI 49429. Miss a week? More Reality Check online at http://mtrealitycheck.blogspot.com or www.mlive.com/advancenewspapers.