Entry Three

I never thought too much about roof shingles until I was in the process of building my house. I remember staring at my wife with a confused look on my face (which is different than the confused face I sport the rest of the time; this new version registers even less clarity) when she asked me what kind of shingles we wanted to put on our new house. “There’s a choice?” I asked. “Absolutely,” she confirmed. “There are several colors to choose from as well as different styles. And we need a decision by Friday.” From that moment the blinders fell off my eyes and the world of roof shingles was opened up to me. I was mowing the yard and noticed that our neighbors had chosen a light gray, standard shingle that complimented the trim color of their fascia. Another neighbor had chosen tan shingles, a bold decision that elevated their “good neighbor” status and allowed me to be a little more forgiving of their frequent homeowner association violations. I was no longer able to look at a house and ignore what was nailed to the roof. One day, driving out of the neighborhood, I heard myself saying, “My, those green architectural shingles really set off the roofline of that two story ranch.” And I was driving alone.

Does this same principal apply to other areas of my life? Will the things I hear and read and dismiss as irrelevant today eventually catch my attention and drive me to expert status? Will the day come that I hear or see a commercial for Viagra or Levitra and not turn to another station? Will all of the innuendos and subtleties of the ads ring true and hold my attention? I can already check off three of the six signs of low male testosterone that are seductively offered via radio commercials every ten minutes, although “constantly tired” seems to be an unfair marker. My brain filter increasingly ignores ads for Ladies Night, domestic beer and any event that starts after 9 p.m. so I guess the vacated spaces need to be filled with something. The aging process is a subtle worm.

All words and images ©2005/J. Colle