Wednesday, November 13, 2019

Where did I put the lawnmower?



So I’m sitting here thinking, after I’d used the string trimmer on all the wild flowers, bamboo and poke salad plants in the yard between the trees where there used to be grass and wondered… where did I put the lawnmower?
At some point in time there was a little orange and Black and Decker electric that kept the yard trim while the neighbors sat in lawn chairs and watched the entertainment. Somewhere down the line, it died and I had to find a stronger model.
This was about the time of getting yard machinery that mulched and ground up land and cut wood. As I recall, there was a venture to the local JC Penney to drag a heavy cardboard box full of electric lawnmower, but it wouldn’t fit on the back of the bike. So it was hidden behind some trees while I rode home and got a lawn cart and walked back to retrieve the purchase. This is what happens when you do not have a car.
It was a heavy-duty yellow and black mower that would cut through the tall thick weeds and shrubs and trim around the bamboo jungle that was ever growing.
So today I’m searching the Lowes site for lawnmowers, then wondered. What happened to that lawnmower?
Was it broken? Did the motor burn out? Did I buy the string trimmer to replace it? Did I hide it under the house and forgot about it?
Why should I buy a new lawnmower for a one-time swipe over the wavy ground just to get ride of some flower stakes if I already had one?
Tomorrow I will dig under tarps and flashlight search in the darkness crawl spaces to see if I can discover a lost treasure or will I suddenly remember putting it out in the alley to be removed by one of the dumpster diver trucks.
These are the adventures of Just Another Life.

1 comment:

seeknowbrown said...

Hmmm, peaking under tarps. I just dug under a long unattended tarp. Found the bike my wife used to ride (back in the ice age?). Do we keep it? Take to the local dump? Oh, and there's the nice bike we purchased for my daughter seemingly yesterday. Will she like to retain it for my (super wonderful most-amazing-of-all-time most brilliant future hall-of-famer 23-month old) granddaughter? In fact, the tarp itself looks like it's life has expired, with tiny little windows of negative space streaming the sky's chilled fall light through what should be opaque block. I feel a little like a tarp. An old one. Probably in need of replacement.