Saturday, August 4, 2012

Counting Shingles

I slept in today. That’s right…til 7. I couldn’t get up for Lauds…the thrill of an extra hour stifled any ideas of getting up. I was out. And after all the work done today, I shudder to think of the morning.

It’s funny how we measure our days. Most often in life, the measurements include academic scores, number of friends, zeros in paychecks, time spent at work. Our measurements are constantly changing. When I was at home for the week or so after I graduated, for example, I measured the significance of my days by the number of errands I ran or the number of pages I read in my book.

Today, I found myself measuring my day in roof shingles. And as I bent over, scraping ancient moss covered wood shingles from the roof of an even more ancient cabin, I couldn’t help but laugh at my change in circumstances. There I was, tearing up wood pieces furiously, chips and dust and wasps and spiders and even bats flying about me, in my attempt to accomplish yet another human task to “give value” to life.

Roof shingles? Really?