Crazy Summer Days
We've had a lot of rain so far here in the summer of '13.
I've only played golf twice because I'm still, unbelievably hurting. I will fix this hip before the end of the year, but it doesn't do much for me now.
On the rare beautiful warm days.
When there is so much grass to mow!
My parents home is absolutely stunning. As an adult and driving around on their piece of ground I am reminded of how lucky we were as we grew up. Just endless amounts of space. I thought of it as I mowed around the garden area. I considered it as I mowed the spot where we played football. Then there was the baseball field. The best field in town with the pool in dead center as the home run area.
I had endless power in those days.
Yet unbeknownst to me there was a pitfall.
On a previous visit John had cut down a peach tree, leaving only the tree stump.
I hit it hard.
Right in the middle of a Triumph song.
The riding mower stopped dead in its tracks.
I did the only mechanical thing I knew how to do.
I turned the key.
Nothing.
It sounded as if the battery had come undone.
I lifted the hood. (It wasn't as easy as it sounds. I told you I'm incompetent).
The cables seemed to be disconnected. The battery had shifted in its compartment.
"What chance do I have of getting this started again?" I asked the blue sky above.
I thought I heard laughter.
Yet I'm a stubborn bastard.
I grabbed the push mower.
I had been about halfway through the nearly five acres. I'd finish the rest by hand if I had to! I wasn't leaving my obsessive-compulsive mother to stare out the window at high grass.
I started moving, dragging the bad leg behind me. Up and down, back and forth. The sweat pouring down, the yards and yards of grass still un-mowed just mocking my pitiful ass.
"How about a mother%U#@ing break!" I yelled as the Stones finished up Shattered.
I got my answer as the push mower stuttered and then stopped.
I checked the gas tank.
Bone dry.
The gas can was dry too.
I went through the checklist in my mind.
I needed to head to the station for more gas. I needed to somehow push the dead mower about a half a mile to the barn. I had to call my brother and confess it all. I broke the mower on my turn. I left half a field undone.
"One time," I said as I sat on the seat of the rider and turned the key.
I nearly had a heart attack as it came to life.
An hour later I was done.
I spent that entire sixty minutes thinking of divine intervention.
"I had no business fixing that mower," I said to my beautiful wife as I returned home.
"Pure luck, obviously," she said.
Perhaps.
I've only played golf twice because I'm still, unbelievably hurting. I will fix this hip before the end of the year, but it doesn't do much for me now.
On the rare beautiful warm days.
When there is so much grass to mow!
My parents home is absolutely stunning. As an adult and driving around on their piece of ground I am reminded of how lucky we were as we grew up. Just endless amounts of space. I thought of it as I mowed around the garden area. I considered it as I mowed the spot where we played football. Then there was the baseball field. The best field in town with the pool in dead center as the home run area.
I had endless power in those days.
Yet unbeknownst to me there was a pitfall.
On a previous visit John had cut down a peach tree, leaving only the tree stump.
I hit it hard.
Right in the middle of a Triumph song.
The riding mower stopped dead in its tracks.
I did the only mechanical thing I knew how to do.
I turned the key.
Nothing.
It sounded as if the battery had come undone.
I lifted the hood. (It wasn't as easy as it sounds. I told you I'm incompetent).
The cables seemed to be disconnected. The battery had shifted in its compartment.
"What chance do I have of getting this started again?" I asked the blue sky above.
I thought I heard laughter.
Yet I'm a stubborn bastard.
I grabbed the push mower.
I had been about halfway through the nearly five acres. I'd finish the rest by hand if I had to! I wasn't leaving my obsessive-compulsive mother to stare out the window at high grass.
I started moving, dragging the bad leg behind me. Up and down, back and forth. The sweat pouring down, the yards and yards of grass still un-mowed just mocking my pitiful ass.
"How about a mother%U#@ing break!" I yelled as the Stones finished up Shattered.
I got my answer as the push mower stuttered and then stopped.
I checked the gas tank.
Bone dry.
The gas can was dry too.
I went through the checklist in my mind.
I needed to head to the station for more gas. I needed to somehow push the dead mower about a half a mile to the barn. I had to call my brother and confess it all. I broke the mower on my turn. I left half a field undone.
"One time," I said as I sat on the seat of the rider and turned the key.
I nearly had a heart attack as it came to life.
An hour later I was done.
I spent that entire sixty minutes thinking of divine intervention.
"I had no business fixing that mower," I said to my beautiful wife as I returned home.
"Pure luck, obviously," she said.
Perhaps.
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