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| You're not getting me up there again! |
This is one of those days I wonder whatever possessed me to buy a 36-foot motor home. It's not the driving of it that is intimidating anymore. I don't even have to chant "wide turning radius" anymore like I used to. It's not the backing up that bothers me. I've had people come out and applaud when I get into a site on the first try. It's the washing of the behemoth that wears me out!
It's always a two-day project because my upper body strength gives out long before the dirt does. I wasn't able to talk myself into getting up on the roof this time, though. I'm embarrassed to admit it because people usually think of me as being so brave, but I experienced utter terror the first time I climbed on the roof of my house. Getting up wasn't too bad. It was time to wash the vents and grime from a winter in Oregon. Once up there, that 8-1/2 feet looked more like eight inches wide as I was trying to hose the dirt and not me off the roof. When I was finished, I sat up there at the edge trying to find the courage to turn around and stick my foot out in search of that little narrow step on that little narrow ladder while maintaining a death grip on that little narrow handrail.
I tried reasoning that thousands of people climb up on top of their RVs successfully every day, and then tried creatively visualizing me reaching the bottom in one piece. Unfortunately, the image of me sprawled on the ground with broken parts was stronger, so I finally called plaintively to my neighbor: "Help -- I've gotten up but I can't get down!" Don came up the ladder and stood there coaching and coaxing me in the disembarkation process. I finally managed to get down in time for the rain's arrival to christen all my hard work.
So my roof may be full of bird doo-doo and tree sap, and I just don't care enough to go back up there to find out. But tomorrow I'll attack the windows and maybe even spread a little wax on the front. Wish me luck!
Read more of Malia's thoughts from the road.
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