scaling the heights

This afternoon I was slogging my way through the current issue of The Economist stuffing my head with arcana about corruption in Kenya, women protesting in Mexico City over tampon restrictions, and why China is doing such an abysmal job in vaccinating its population, when I heard voices.

No. Not that type of voice. The type that urges you to burn down your neighbor's house. Just conversational voices. The type of talk working men indulge in when amidst their profession.

The source was no surprise. Whenever I hear voices that sound as if they are in my patio, I have learned to look a hundred feet in the air. And that was the source of this afternoon's voices. Men working on the communication tower that abuts my property.

Yesterday we talked about Omar's change in professional aspirations -- from dentist to accountant -- as he enters university (news on the omar front). That led to some interesting conversations about job choices. And the effects of those choices.

While I stood in my patio watching the technicians work, I thought about how exciting their work must be. To work so high in the air with the minimum of safety equipment. Especially today.

We have had some rather brisk breezes this past week. Today is no exception. The wind blowing through the tower's girders emits what might be best described as a wavering moan. The sound effect simply adds to my admiration of the work those men do.

Not too long ago I saw an article about people involved in extreme sports. The kind of guys who jump off cliffs in their "flying squirrel" outfits. Several of them said they were offended when people call them adrenalin junkies. They claimed the whole theory was wrong. They simply liked pitting their skills and succeeding at pursuits where death is highly likely, but then avoided.

Even though I am not involved in any extreme sports (as long as we exclude Facebook posts), I understand exactly what they meant. During one of my first driving lessons with Dad, he told me that every time a driver puts tires on the road, he is dead. If he returns alive, he has had a good day.

Maybe that is why I look at those tower guys with a bit of envy. Certainly I had my exciting moments in the Air Force and as a trial attorney, but the thrill of climbing a tower in high winds to work on antennas must be akin to tending sails on a eighteenth century tall ship. The stuff of tales.

For the moment, though, I sit here in the patio listening to the clang of the safety belts on the girders, I can share in a bit of the thrill of doing something beneficial while surviving danger.

It truly is a good day.