A New Roof

Life in my corner of the small town world has been very busy lately. No time for fun, no time for naps, no time for anything but work. Which is why today is such a wonderful day. It’s a totally free day.
There are many things I could choose to do with this free day, but only one thing I really want to do. I want to write. I had made a promise to myself and others that I would write at least every other day, but it’s obvious, especially to me, that I haven’t written anything of a creative nature for 18 days.
But as I sit here on my free day, I try to think of something worth writing about. I noticed that Jeff, our neighbor across the street, recently put a new roof on his house. The dappled red and black shingles look striking atop his red brick house. I can tell by the way he stands, Superman style with his hands on his hips, feet spread apart, and looks at his house each morning before going to work, that he likes the way it looks, too.
Jeff is an interesting study in a neighbor. He isn’t particularly friendly and has lived in his house, alone, for almost 15 years. I am quite sure he coached one of my sons in T-ball many years ago, but his lack of recognition or response when I wave each morning makes me question my memory. But then I remember how he never was a very friendly guy, which might explain why he and his wife divorced just prior to his moving into the neighborhood.
Jeff does his best to keep his yard nice. His house sits at the top of a hill, and the mowing of the grass in his front yard each week during warm weather is frustratingly comical. We watch as he uses an ancient push mower to cut the grass on the 85 degree slope. His thin, aging body struggles with each push, and at the end of the job, he sits alone on his front steps, elbows on his knees, one hand dangling down between his knees, the other lifting a frosty beer to his lips. I’ve often wondered why one of his two children don’t help him, but I recall they come by only occasionally, and stay a very short time.
One day a few months ago, I saw Jeff working feverishly in his yard, pulling out old shrubs, painting the trim, surveying the house from this angle and that, sizing up the place and making adjustments, major and minor, that created an overall different picture of the once non-descript little place. He seemed driven, and if I was sure he’d even know who I was, I would have congratulated him on his hard work and the fine end result. But as I said, he isn’t one to chat up the neighbors and seemed lost in his own mission.
When the new roof went on a few weeks ago, it was like a crowning glory. The whole house looked fresh, young and happy. When I commented to Fred about it one morning, he grunted and said, “Are you kidding? That roof looks ridiculous!” I walked over to the picture window in our living room and replied to myself, “I think it looks terrific.”
All the fussing and the fixing up of the house across the street made us wonder if maybe Jeff was going to sell the house, and move to a condo or townhouse with less maintenance and less of a reminder of how alone he is. In the 15 years since he’d moved in, I’ve watched him live in quiet loneliness, never any guests, his children barely there. I’m sure he bought the house, post divorce, with the idea that he’d create the perfect secondary home for his children to come stay with him on pre-determined days. Plenty of room and their own bedrooms to call their own when they came to be with their dad. But in all these years, I’ve rarely heard him speak, show emotion or be engaged with anyone or anything, least of all his children. Unless, of course, you count the emotional connection he has with the old push mower and the challenging slope of the front yard.
Last Saturday, Fred came in the back door and said, “Did you see what’s going on across the street?” He sounded excited and playful, which was surprising since I knew how exhausted he was at the culmination of a project that had consumed our lives for months. I looked over at him and saw a spark in his eyes. “What? Is he doing something else to the house?” Fred chuckled and said, “No, he’s not doing something else to the house. He’s got a woman over there. They’re standing in the front yard, and he’s behind her with his arms wrapped around her, snuggling her, and they’re admiring the roof.”
I live in a small town.