Here’s another post from 2016 that got a love of love when it was first published,
and it is updated and edited with permission of me.
It’s a small hole, enough to let the sunlight peek into a dark attic corner. When the skies open and the waters flow though previously-uncharted creeks, the little hole acts as a flue for not gases, but fluids. I’ve stood under showerheads with less force and volume as this little hole, and the darn thing is wide open to the elements.
How did I let this happen? In this part of the Great Basin, you can count annual rainy days on your hands and toes, so roof maintenance is not an immediate priority when there’s a dozen other household chores and tasks in the way. Don’t get me wrong: you have a sad state of affairs if the roof and basement are not watertight, but doesn’t there always seem like something else at the top of the list?
Is there a writing metaphor here? “Hope for sun, plan for rain”? “There’s a silver lining in every grey cloud”? “Let a smile be your umbrella”? Let’s go with the obvious one, about success being an upstream destination (I may have made that up). There’s always going to be challenges and problems pushing you back. The trick is to remember that while you may be wading in water up to your knees looking for solutions, you will find dry land someday, and you’ll find it sooner if you keep pushing. It doesn’t matter if it’s a hole in the roof or a plot hole. Just keep swimming (that’s not original).
I write this post below the water fountain on the second floor. The tiny hole in our roof is unreachable behind load-bearing walls, so we need outside access, a twelve-foot ladder, and a courageous heart. If we had all of these, no sensible man or woman should risk their neck in this weather. All we can do for now is mop up the excess and look for a break in the rain, a prayer that is certain to be answered tomorrow.