The names for my breeze
Gentle breezes are seen as a positive thing. We assign mellifluos names, like Zephyr. Rolls off the tongue. Now, let’s crank up the volume. Go for a Force 8 on the Beaufort. A gale, with all the fear it provokes among mariners. Not exactly an 11, but we’re not interested in obscure amplifier volume references.
Last night, the breeze morphed into a gale. Rattled the windows and doors, here on my hilltop. With a sustained situation (a gale), you will sustain damage. Here, nothing awe inspiring, unless you are a shingle. Imagine! One moment, you are nailed and glued with your companions to a rooftop, and the next you are whirling through the air to crash into a tree. Houses don’t like gales.
This morning, after assessment of the damage, we called our insurer. Not because the damage was terrible, but because we pay for the service. Had a chance to meet our new agent, who arrived forthwith. I swear, we didn’t have panic in our voices. There will be a “deductible” which is the polite underwriter terminology for you pay first, and if the cost gets crazy, we will argue with you. Fun for all involved.
My days of clambering on a peaked roof are over. I peeked at the hospital report of a friend, and falls from rootops are not recommended at my age. Or yours. I’ll pay a skilled professional to put things right. Gale force!
If I wanted total shelter from the wind, I’d have to live elsewhere. I ratner appreciate my home. I mock the zephyr and I turn my back to the mighty gale. From behind a wall. Common sense, really.
