Mowed the Lawn

Every year we kick around the idea of getting the lawn cut before it gets too high and then takes four times longer than it should.

We failed again this year.

As per usual, I got the party started by handling the back yard where the dogs hang out.

It took a long while. The mower kept jamming up and stalling out.

I only got through it because I knew that Sam had the other two areas.

And normally, I enjoy cutting the grass. I like the freshly cut grass smell.

I passed Sam after I finished my part.

“We blew it again,” I said. “We waited too long.”

“It snowed 4 days ago,” Sam said. “Not much we could do.”

And there’s sort of a rebirth when the grass is freshly cut...

...I can’t exactly put my finger on it, but I feel it.

Looking out the window is better.

Everything seems cleaner.

Of course, it’s been a weird spring, hasn’t it?

I spent the hour after cutting the grass gazing at photos of people gathering in protest to try and make sure their rights aren’t violated.

One sign I saw said:

“Come and demonstrate for your freedom!

“Masks are not required!”

“Come if your sick! Your rights are being violated!!”

Where did it all go so wrong?

How did we slip away into such chaos?

Misinformation.

Fake news.

A guy can’t even enjoy a freshly cut lawn anymore.

God help us.

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