Mowing by moonlight
It was time to cut the grass. I either had to mow the yard or stick a scarecrow in front of it. Maybe I could convince my neighbors I was growing a low-yield, organic, heirloom-variety corn or wheat.
The plan was to cut the grass Wednesday after work. It was my only free night. Thursday night was the opening of the Pittsburgh New Works Festival at Off the Wall Theatre in Carnegie. Friday, I saw “Dixie’s Tupperware Party” down at the Cabaret at Theatre Square. Today, I’m whitewater rafting in Ohiopyle. If I survive that, I’m going to see “Observe the Sons of Ulster Marching Toward the Somme.” That’s a heck of a title! It was shaping up to be a busy week. I only had one shot.
Wednesday, I was racing home from work. Unfortunately, traffic ate into my plans: Orange cones as far as the eye could see, like the poppy field in “The Wizard of Oz.”
I got home from work later than normal, but I got out there. I find mowing the lawn to be a meditative journey. It doesn’t take a lot of concentration, and it’s a great time to think about things. Blame a deep thought on the crooked lines. I skipped a strip last week and gave my yard a Mohawk.
I was mowing at twilight, racing against the clock, trying to finish before I was mowing in the dark. Suddenly, my meditative journey turned into an action thriller. I was Jack Bauer with a Toro. The hedges didn’t stand a chance. I accidently clipped some flowers on the side of the house. I shouted, “Leave them! I’m running out of time!”
I was on the last few rows in the backyard as the sun dropped behind the trees. I started sprinting with the mower out in front of me. It never occurred to me to put more lights on. I finished just in time.
However, I could not see the fruit of my labor, but I could smell it. I love the smell of freshly mown grass.
I used to be allergic, but thanks to many, many shots in the arm, I am now able to stop and smell the flowers without sneezing on them.
Side note: To test a person for allergies, they inject your arm with a small amount of the thing you’re allergic to and wait to see if it causes a reaction.
I was allergic to grass, cat hair and various other types of both flora and fauna. My arm bubbled up like a witches’ cauldron. It itches like crazy, and you’re not allowed to scratch it. Paging the Marquis de Sade to the allergist’s office. Stat!
But I digress, like I do. I managed to put the lawnmower away in the dark. I didn’t even check the shed for spiders (see my spectacular spider-column, “Man versus Spider,” July 4).
Mowing the lawn in the dark proved to be an arduous task, but it sure beats shoveling snow.