Whew! At the crack of dawn (nine-thirty) Rebecca came by to pick me up for our run. She is patient and encouraging, but I am sort of a geezer, so I whine and wheeze all the way. We go a little further each time, despite my moaning, and I actually wheeze a little less – at least I think so. My whining is unabated, however.
But that was not the truly knackering ordeal. For years I had the same gardener, whom I liked a lot, and who did a lovely job. But sometimes these relationships just go south, and this one definitely did. But what to do now? My faithful readers will know that while I love my garden to blossom and be beautiful, my enthusiasm about working outside and getting it that way is absolutely nil. I truly envy those who enjoy gardening. Sadly, I would so much rather cook – or even vacuum and iron.
My grass was the big worry. Samos nobly mowed my lawn several times, but this seems like too much to ask of a friend, especially one who lives as far away as he does. The prospect of doing it myself loomed ominously. Many advised me to get an electric mower, but …. way too scary! I am sure I would mow off my foot, or worse poke out my eye with a flying stone thrown from under the mower blades. Rebecca, who used to suffer taking care of our yard, seemed a trifle schadenfreudig at my dilemma, no doubt thinking that I had been insufficiently grateful when she was doing it. (N.B. I was always terribly grateful, and marveled at what a nice job she did.) Despite schadenfreude, she nobly helped me get a push lawn mower (i.e., powered by me!) from her favorite on-line gardening tools place. When it arrived, the prospect of assembling it was overwhelmingly daunting and sent me into yet another garden-related blue funk. She had it together in no time, while I sat by and mewled at the prospect of actually using it.
Well, today was the dreaded day. The grass was looking very tall and perky, and I have a spate of busy days coming up. By the time I would be able to get to it again, it would be knee high. No more procrastination, I guess. This morning after our run, as I was bemoaning my situation and the prospect of actual yard work, Rebecca thought I was asking her to do it for me, and started to mewl herself. I explained that I needed moral support for getting it outside and doing the first pass. We took it out and gave it a go. It worked! Rebecca whipped up and down the grass for a few lanes, and then, feeling little twinge of jealousy, I said, “My turn! My turn!” or words to that effect! Yay! And triple “yay” because after she left, I actually did the whole thing myself. Folks passing by seemed to be amazed by such an obsolete looking machine. I, in full Tom Sawyer mode, offered to let them try it, but I didn’t get any takers.
Dare I say it? It was sort of fun. I think, however, that it was the type of fun that is fun the first time only, and then gets old very fast.