It Strikes Me Funny: Deadlines aren’t met by the dead

My column is supposed to be in to the editor by 5 p.m. every Saturday.

No one ever said, exactly 5 p.m. or else, or we’ll come by your house and rattle your cage if it’s late.

So, I treat my deadline much like I do a cold slice of apple pie that sits at the back of the fridge.

Sometimes I’m interested, sometimes I’m not.

Got maple syrup? I’m interested. Three weeks old? Not as much.

Today, I sent the column (brilliant piece, as usual, I’ll likely win an award) at 4:59, but because I attached 4 photos it didn’t leave the building until 5:01.

Stink. It would have been on time had I not sent pics, but they were good pics.


["Amazing view. Life is great, eh?"]

Then again, it could have been in by 4:40 had I not tried to kill myself by climbing a slippery wet ladder to clean out rain gutters during the middle of a storm.

While typing, however, I’d heard loud splashing sounds outside my study window and thought, I’ll never rest easy until I clean out that corner gutter, the one that catches all the maple keys and leaves and other stuff, so, I might as well strip down to my under shorts, put on a rain coat, haul out the ladder and climb it during a storm.

Yet, the lightning should have told me something.

After seeing a flash or two I should have recalled a few pertinent facts about instant death from science class, circa 1965.

Instead, I stared skyward and thought, it’s great to be alive, eh?

Yes, it is. Now, get down off the ladder and finish your story.

5:01. I can live with that.

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