LETTERS FROM HOME: WHO'S THAT WALKING ON THE HOUSE OF HORRORS?

April 20, 2000

Dear Pat,

People have been walking all over us for the past few weeks. They were so difficult to find that we don't seem to mind.

Roofers have been pulling up our tiles and exposing rotted wood. Just when we think they're done they find something else wrong, a spot where the roof is ready to cave in. Look at this, they say, and sure enough there's a hole too big to ignore. OK, fix it, please. Look at this eave, they say. OK, replace it, please. OK, OK, OK.

In defense of our house, it was built in 1915 and has earned the right to give here and there. But lately it has been doing lots of taking.

First the chimney came apart in a windstorm, breaking roof tiles that leaked rainwater into the house, damaging ceilings and walls. Brick masons came to our rescue.

Then the roofers arrived, a group of young men who have been taught the trick of walking on a tile roof without doing harm. They drive muscular trucks and red sports cars, wear earrings and call us Sir and Ma'am. They probably live in modern houses that need no repair. Smart guys.

Hank and Lucy are past being beside themselves in the face of all these interlopers on their property. Fenced into the kitchen, they look pained that we won't let them out to defend the castle. They bark, they pant, they growl under their breath. We try to soothe them, but I don't like the sound footsteps on my roof either.

Now the roofers have put on painters' hats and have been cajoling DC and me to choose the colors. They don't seem to understand how hard it is for us. We didn't get married at age 43 because we make snap decisions.

Our preference would be to pick one color we like, see how it looks at different times of the day, then add a color that feels right. And so on. The painters aren't nearly as Impressionistically inclined.

"Tan is good," the head man advises.

DC is so commitment-phobic she sought my mother's opinion about colors. Mom has a tasteful sensibility but she also has a brick house with white trim. It's just someone else to blame if we end up with the House of Horrors.

The roofer-painters have been around the house so long they've almost become family. The dogs seem newly insecure about their own status, and the pigeons that usually perch on our roof have left for calmer surroundings.

The R-Ps know DC is the one to ask germane questions of. I am the one to ask if you need an electrical cord run out the window.

Recently at a banquet for historic preservationists -- DC's favorite cause -- two speakers talked about the meaning of a house. One point of view was that a hearth is God's altar. The other said a building is not sacred, the natural world is. And even mountains eventually crumble into dust.

As you might guess, we can see both sides. Certainly we're in tune with the crumbling part.

Now that the roof is fixed, the plasterers will be coming to repair the water damage to the ceilings and walls.

When they've finished painting, the roofer-painters plan to replace our gutters.

We've heard loose talk of waterproofing the basement.

The guys who are going to fix our fireplace to insure it won't burn down the house are due before winter.

There's no hurry, of course.

Love, Sam

Sam Blackwell is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian