Wednesday, February 11, 2015

Sore? Get Over It!

February 11, 2015

I'm sore. No, I'm not angry; I ache. Specifically, my back aches, and it has nothing to do with the coughing and hacking with which I've been entertaining myself lately. I've been putting it off, but decided that today was the day to begin tackling the ice dam on the entry room roof. Armed with axe, spade and snow shovel, I climbed the ladder to the roof and began shoveling the foot and a half of snow piled up there. Once the snow was removed about three feet back from the edge, I could see the water literally pooled behind the ice; hence the term "ice dam." We tend to think of snow as cold, after all, the only snow we see in the summer is in snow cones. But it really is quite warm relatively, and is a good insulator. Underneath the foot and a half of the stuff, it's warm enough to melt and sit there, till it finds a path ever so slight, whereupon it begins to run, usually somewhere inside the wall where it ends up doing nasty things.

I chopped away at nearly a foot of ice buildup, getting as close to the shingles as possible without actually hitting any of them. It's a delicate task. Too much, and you have a hole in the roofing material; too little, and the water stays pooled behind the ice. I cut three channels through the ice dam and watched the water literally spout off the edge of the roof in a steady stream. Then came the laborious task of chopping away big blocks of ice, followed by shoveling the snow from higher up on the roof. It was crusty, making it somewhat easier. Chopping a square-cut block from the snow was easy; instead of a pile of loose, fluffy stuff, you come up with a block that sits nicely on the shovel till you give it a heave. Each cut took two swipes, so it took awhile, but in a couple hours, the entry room was done. All that was left was to clear the ice blocks from the path and doorway below.

Tomorrow it's supposed to be frigid; temperatures are predicted to be in the single digits only; not exactly the best conditions for someone battling bronchial infection to be out huffing and puffing while repeating the whole process on the rest of the roof. But there is about twice as much left as I've already done, and putting it off only gives it more time to do its damage. So tomorrow afternoon, I expect to be back on the roof, chopping away. It's really not so bad; my health is pretty good except for this cold I've been fighting. Linda's dad was doing the same thing at ninety, so I figure I should be good for it at sixty-five. I'll have Linda rub down my back with liniment before bed; I'll smell like a medicine cabinet, but it will feel good. And tonight, I am grateful for sore muscles that tell me I'm very much alive and able to work. That's a gift to be thankful for! (I know, it's not good grammar, but it sounded less cumbersome than, "That's a gift for which to be thankful." Just deal with it, Jess.)

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