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Lawnmower Man
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This is going to be a quick, "banal blog" entry -- one of those that Alex Wilson and I would normally make fun of over a Weaver Street meeting. Although this shouldn't be as bad as the ever-scintillating recountings of a morning teeth-brushing, a long walk in the woods with no accompanying description or commentary, or memories of an apple core turning brown, you might want to stop reading...right...about...here.
This past weekend Steffi and I spent in Blacksburg, having moved up two more carloads of crap. This last trip marks the third time we've taken two cars -- something I'm getting sick of. Thankfully, this coming weekend -- the final move north -- should be the last time we have to drive the three hours in separate vehicles.
The previous owners, who had moved out the previous weekend, returned briefly to do some clean-up, remove their remaining personal effects, and to load up their motorcycle. So, Saturday night wasn't nearly as comfortable for us as it had been before. With no bed to sleep on, we made do with some friends' air mattress (Steffi) and the ranch house's hardwood floors (me). Not really sure who slept better, but Steffi complained of a sore back the next morning.
Among a number of things our tenants left us was a foot-high lawn. Therefore, figuring that another week of growth and who-knows-how-much rain might make the grass nigh un-cuttable without a diamond-tipped scythe, Steffi and I went out and bought a lawn mower -- the first such machine I have ever personally purchased and owned. We settled on a Murray (also the brand of my first BMX bike) with a 4.5hp Briggs & Stratton engine, and after buying a gas can and the requisite fuel and spending about a half hour assembling the damn thing (the grass catcher contraption almost had me cursing like someone trying to put together a Murray lawn mower), I finally began work on the lawn.
By and large I felt compelled to write about this because May 22, 2005 marks the first day in a large, unknown number of years that I've cut grass (and that of my own yard, to boot.) Thankfully, our yard is about 4 to 5 times smaller than the 1.5+ acre jobbie my parents sport in Pine Mountain, Georgia. Back when I had the privilege of mowing that monster, I would spend 3+ hours in sun, making seeminly-unending boxy spirals around the house. 511 Cranwell Circle is thankfully a lot smaller and the spirals a lot tighter...the whining/chugging/firing-up and dying-down sounds of the lawn mower's motor, however, are exactly the same.
This past weekend Steffi and I spent in Blacksburg, having moved up two more carloads of crap. This last trip marks the third time we've taken two cars -- something I'm getting sick of. Thankfully, this coming weekend -- the final move north -- should be the last time we have to drive the three hours in separate vehicles.
The previous owners, who had moved out the previous weekend, returned briefly to do some clean-up, remove their remaining personal effects, and to load up their motorcycle. So, Saturday night wasn't nearly as comfortable for us as it had been before. With no bed to sleep on, we made do with some friends' air mattress (Steffi) and the ranch house's hardwood floors (me). Not really sure who slept better, but Steffi complained of a sore back the next morning.
Among a number of things our tenants left us was a foot-high lawn. Therefore, figuring that another week of growth and who-knows-how-much rain might make the grass nigh un-cuttable without a diamond-tipped scythe, Steffi and I went out and bought a lawn mower -- the first such machine I have ever personally purchased and owned. We settled on a Murray (also the brand of my first BMX bike) with a 4.5hp Briggs & Stratton engine, and after buying a gas can and the requisite fuel and spending about a half hour assembling the damn thing (the grass catcher contraption almost had me cursing like someone trying to put together a Murray lawn mower), I finally began work on the lawn.
By and large I felt compelled to write about this because May 22, 2005 marks the first day in a large, unknown number of years that I've cut grass (and that of my own yard, to boot.) Thankfully, our yard is about 4 to 5 times smaller than the 1.5+ acre jobbie my parents sport in Pine Mountain, Georgia. Back when I had the privilege of mowing that monster, I would spend 3+ hours in sun, making seeminly-unending boxy spirals around the house. 511 Cranwell Circle is thankfully a lot smaller and the spirals a lot tighter...the whining/chugging/firing-up and dying-down sounds of the lawn mower's motor, however, are exactly the same.
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