Roof sitting

Not my house, just a house.


I saw a photo of some kids playing music on the roof of their house today and I was reminded of a story.
Once upon a time. . . no really, this is just a childhood memory. Back when I was about Jr. High School age, we moved temporarily into a large house near a golf course. We rented the house while our new house was being built. I guess we lived there for a couple of months. There were two exciting things about my bedroom. One was a small telescope I found on the window ledge of my bedroom. I imagined that the former occupant was a pervert and spied on the neighbors but never could figure out how to use the telescope so my career as a peeping Thomasina was short-lived.
The other exciting thing was that I could access the roof of the house from my window. The roof was easy to climb onto and I could roam at will without feeling fearful of falling. I would go out at night and just look at the stars or whatever kids do on rooftops at night. I wasn't getting into any trouble and had a kid's-eye view of the risk, i.e. that there was none; I'd never fall off a roof.
My adventures came to an abrupt end when my mother heard foosteps above her one night. Mom was a Nervous Nellie about things that go bump in the night (as well as bugs, elevators, dogs and miscellaneous other things). It did not go over well when she found me on the roof! To say the least. Metaphorically, I was grounded.
I have thought about going onto the roof of my current house (when the kids aren't looking of course). I thought it might give me a better angle for taking photos of the little birds that prefer the tops of the trees around me. I wonder what the neighbors would think if they saw me, my camera and tripod up there? That I too was a pervert? We'll have to see.