Risky Moves

Thursday, as I pulled in my driveway after work, I glanced across the road out of habit to see what was going on at Nanny's and Pop-Pop's house.  Their cars were home and the workshop door was open.  Disturbingly, Pop-Pop's 10-ft. painter's ladder was standing open directly in front of the shop.  I squinted, but couldn't tell if anyone was on the ladder.  To be honest, I didn't think Pop-Pop could climb a ladder because of the arthritis in his feet, but I didn't doubt that Nanny might give it a go, and she doesn't have any business on a ladder, either.

I came on in the house, changed clothes, and sat down at my computer desk.  From here, I could glance out the window and see the workshop door.  Every few minutes, I'd lean back and have a look, ready to intervene if I saw someone move toward the ladder.

Sure enough, after a while, I saw movement near the ladder.  Judging from the speed at which the person was walking, I knew that the person was Pop-Pop.  As I watched, he made his first slow step onto the ladder.  Oh, I don't think so!  I jumped up, grabbed my car keys, and went down there.

By the time I got there, Pop-Pop was standing on the ground, holding the giant streetlight-type lamp that normally hangs over the shop door.  The look on his face said he knew he was busted.

I got out of the car and walked toward him.  "Hmmm...I'm not liking the looks of this," I said. 

"What?" he asked, trying to look innocent. 

"You, near a ladder.  Need some help?"

He hum-hee-hawed around and eventually said that he didn't think either of us would be able to re-attach the lamp.  I was a little relieved that he was apparently abandoning the idea for the moment, for I wasn't too thrilled about climbing the ladder, myself.  A few minutes later, one of his grandchildren drove up, and, thankfully, Pop-Pop delegated the job to him. 

While The Nephew reinstalled the light, Pop-Pop pointed out that the tomatoes were "firin' up."  Sure enough, it looks like they've been hit with late blight.  I couldn't remember exactly how long it had been since I'd sprayed fungicide.  "I'll have to check my records," I told him, meaning this blog. 

Looking back, I see that it's been about 3 weeks since the last treatment - too long, really, considering the vigor with which this fungus thrives around here.  I should have been spraying at regular intervals, regardless of whether or not signs of blight were present.  You'd think I'd have learned that lesson by now.