Monday, October 28, 2013

Take A Seat

It just made me laugh, so I took a picture of it. 

I don’t even know why I saw it. Who walks down the street with their dog, looks up at a two story house, and thinks, “I wonder if the neighbors put a chair on their roof today? And what does it mean?”
There are so many possibilities.
It’s an empty house, so maybe it’s a foreclosed owner’s way of giving the bank the finger. Or in this case, the rung.
Gotta give them a “thumbs up” for creativity. But how did they get it up there without breaking a single tile—or even a single neck? It’s perfectly balanced on the highest, pointiest eave. Did they wire it up there? If not, will it fall to the east or to the west when the winds kick up today? And when it lands on a pedestrian’s head, will they run home screaming that the sky is falling?
That’s ridiculous. The sky isn’t built out of chairs. Talk about overreacting.
These are the kind of questions that keep me up at night. There’s not a lot to do when you’re waiting for melatonin to kick in. Guess I’m pretty boring when you think about it.
Maybe it’s a metaphor for life. For example, climb to the peak of your dreams and when you arrive, take a seat—you’re the king of the world! Enjoy the view. Don’t get too comfy, though, it’s a precarious spot. One false move, Jack, and you’ll fall down and break your crown.
How depressing.
That can’t be it. Well, the house across the street has a giant fake owl perched in the transom of their second floor gable. It’s supposed to scare off real live pigeons so they won’t roost and poop. I think. Maybe this is something like that.
But this house seems friendlier. A chair on the roof says, “Bring me your tired, your poor and your huddled masses” of string-stealing, patio-pooping, puppy dive-bombing fowl friends. I didn’t see a single tired bird huddling there this morning, though.  Most of them were in my yard eating the rye grass seed we bought them for lunch last week.
I hate birds. But that’s another blog.
This chair is a puzzle. It looks so serene up there all by itself, barely noticed by tired drivers hurrying home for dinner. Is it lonely? An introvert? Or maybe it’s arrogant, and proud to be elevated above its station.
“Fine,” it once thought to itself, “craft me into a common piece of furniture if you must, but I have aspirations! Confidence! An unusually high opinion of myself!  And possibly a little dizziness.”
No, I think I figured it out. It’s not even complicated. Either our neighborhood lost a great comedian when these neighbors left—or that was one Biblical marriage.  Ever read Proverbs 21:9?
“Better to live on a corner of the roof than share a house with a quarrelsome wife.”
Well, one of them was a comedian.

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