The Golf Cart
I enjoy mowing the lawn. Evidently my boys do not. Earlier in the week I made the mental note to tell Matthew to cut the lawn, but it slipped my mind, and there was precious little chance that he'd come to the conclusion on his own.
Yet I was sort of glad he never got around to it because I actually was looking forward to doing it this evening. I enjoy the scent of freshly cut grass, and I enjoy looking over how good the grass looks when its cut. The fresh air and the exercise is good too. We don't have a ton of lawn to mow, but it's a good 45 minutes with the hand mower.
So, the scene is set. I start the mower and make the first pass, honestly thinking of nothing other than cutting the grass, and that's when I see him.
There's an old man in our neighborhood - I'd put him at about 80 years old - who spends a lot of his day riding around on a golf cart. He is a nice enough guy who waves each time he passes by. Today he waved and I smiled and waved back, and then I thought of something that I wrote about 15 years ago in my book, In Real Life.
(In Real Life was a critically acclaimed, but wildly undersold novel about life and death. It can still be ordered through my publisher or amazon.com - it was also the most fun I ever had writing).
Anyhow, the character in that book faced the death of a loved one and he wondered about the randomness of it all - "Why was my best friend facing such a crisis at such a young age when there are people who live longer than they even want to? Why do some people have the final curtain drawn in one fell swoop while others suffer for years and years?"
And I felt real ashamed for looking at my neighbor in the golf cart and wondering why he was granted such a long, long life. Not that I was begrudging him his health, but it just wasn't fair!
"It's not fair," I mumbled, and my grand mood in mowing the lawn was shattered.
Some days that is all it takes.
I sort of rushed my way through the project - I couldn't have cared less about the scent of the grass. I wasn't proud of how good the grass looked after I cut it down. Instead, I wanted the task to be done with, and wondered why Matt couldn't have completed it.
And then the golf cart came around again.
And my neighbor lifted his hand high and smiled at me again. He pointed at the freshly cut grass and offered a thumbs up, and I smiled back.
The rest of the day slowed down, and instead of envying him his long life and full days, I sort of congratulated him on making it through the mess, and settling down with a slow golf cart and a raised hand.
I hope he lives another healthy and happy 50 years.
Yet I was sort of glad he never got around to it because I actually was looking forward to doing it this evening. I enjoy the scent of freshly cut grass, and I enjoy looking over how good the grass looks when its cut. The fresh air and the exercise is good too. We don't have a ton of lawn to mow, but it's a good 45 minutes with the hand mower.
So, the scene is set. I start the mower and make the first pass, honestly thinking of nothing other than cutting the grass, and that's when I see him.
There's an old man in our neighborhood - I'd put him at about 80 years old - who spends a lot of his day riding around on a golf cart. He is a nice enough guy who waves each time he passes by. Today he waved and I smiled and waved back, and then I thought of something that I wrote about 15 years ago in my book, In Real Life.
(In Real Life was a critically acclaimed, but wildly undersold novel about life and death. It can still be ordered through my publisher or amazon.com - it was also the most fun I ever had writing).
Anyhow, the character in that book faced the death of a loved one and he wondered about the randomness of it all - "Why was my best friend facing such a crisis at such a young age when there are people who live longer than they even want to? Why do some people have the final curtain drawn in one fell swoop while others suffer for years and years?"
And I felt real ashamed for looking at my neighbor in the golf cart and wondering why he was granted such a long, long life. Not that I was begrudging him his health, but it just wasn't fair!
"It's not fair," I mumbled, and my grand mood in mowing the lawn was shattered.
Some days that is all it takes.
I sort of rushed my way through the project - I couldn't have cared less about the scent of the grass. I wasn't proud of how good the grass looked after I cut it down. Instead, I wanted the task to be done with, and wondered why Matt couldn't have completed it.
And then the golf cart came around again.
And my neighbor lifted his hand high and smiled at me again. He pointed at the freshly cut grass and offered a thumbs up, and I smiled back.
The rest of the day slowed down, and instead of envying him his long life and full days, I sort of congratulated him on making it through the mess, and settling down with a slow golf cart and a raised hand.
I hope he lives another healthy and happy 50 years.
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