Okay, Scott, I know you went to Mexico just to get out of mowing the lawn. But beware: next time, I shall be as wise as a serpent and pack your suitcase while you're still at work so when you get home you have time to mow the yard before you leave.
No, I guess my husband didn't flee the country to shirk lawn duty. But I felt like doing that very thing this afternoon as I grunted and hauled The Evil Machine around the yard. Mowing the yard is, of course, my third favorite outdoor activity. The first two are climbing razor wire fences and crawling over freshly broken glass.
All day long it haunted me; I knew I'd have to mow the yard when I got home. It's needed trimming for a couple of weeks, but what with a busy schedule and rainy days off, I have managed to procrastinate to this point. But as I drove to work this morning, I noted the dawn, bright and clear, and knew that the day had come.
But before I could get to the yard, I needed to get through my day at work. I had a pretty easy day of it, if you don't count the sore knees from standing so long. I was observing ortho (joint) surgeries today as part of my work orientation at the hospital. I think they require it for two reasons: 1.) to help the new graduate (me) better understand the processes that bring patients from the holding room, through the Operating Room to the PACU (recovery room, and finally, to the ortho wing of the hospital where I will be working. 2.) To help the new graduate (me) to see the gritty violence of joint surgeries so as to be more compassionate when the patients ask for pain medicine when I take care of them upstairs. I think my observations helped achieve both purposes. I watched a shoulder surgery and a bilateral knee replacement. Boy, that's rough stuff. I'm very thankful for Crawford Long and the other doctors who fought to popularize the use of anesthesia: there would be no elective (optional) surgeries without it, and I wouldn't have a job. The patient didn't feel anything, but it was amazing to see the doctor and his electric drills and saws and non-electric hammers and pegs. It's amazing to think that by undergoing this operation, a patient can be saved from crippling joint problems and go on to lead an active lifestyle again!
The OR people were really nice; it was the first surgery observation I did where the staff were so helpful. They explained things, and when my knees were getting sore from standing in one place so long, the nurse brought a chair in from the other room; I didn't even have to ask. And the CRNA (anesthesia guy) noticed that I was cold sitting there, and brought a blanket from the warmer for me! It was greatly appreciated, since street clothes like jackets aren't allowed in the OR. (and they keep it cold in there. Where do you think those "save the polar bears" people keep all those polar bears? And I could have sworn I saw a penguin on an ice floe...)
After watching the BTKA (knee surgery), I followed the patient to PACU to see what happens there (not much, today at least!). I got to sit down there, the whole time. Then it was time to go.
I delayed as much as possible. I got home, checked my e-mails, checked facebook, and exercised on our elliptical machine. I entered my day's exercise in the log book I've started to keep, then sighed. I couldn't wait any longer. Time to mow the yard.
I headed out the front door and was surprised to see a police car idling at the end of the driveway. I picked up a few sticks in the little grass patch in the front yard, then bent over to get a big stick out of the driveway.
WOOF!!! WOOF! WOOF!!! The flashing white teeth of a German Shepherd greeted me.
After I landed back inside my skin, I noticed the cooling unit that should have clued me in that it was a k-9 police car. Oh well. Thankfully there were only 30 people outside their houses to see the police happenings, so it's not like anyone could have seen me.
I trudged up the hill to get our lawnmower from where it is stored at a neighbor's house. The first thing I noticed was the noise: one of the wheels was making a horrible, rapid clicking noise. I couldn't tell why. So I just kept going.
I was half afraid I'd get arrested for stealing the lawnmower as I made my way down the street, past all those cop cars and the ambulance, but nothing happened. I was ready for the dog to bark at me this time. He did.
The right front wheel still wouldn't move; it was like there was a brake keeping it from rolling, but I couldn't figure out how to fix it. Then I couldn't get the mower to start. After permanently damaging a few tendons and possibly my entire rotator cuff, I had succeeded only in increasing the volume of my grunts as I attempted to start The Evil Machine. I sat back and thought. I had used it before, I reasoned, with no trouble starting it. So I went through the motions again. And again. And again. I think The Evil Machine sensed that I was about to give up, because on my "one last try," it purred to life like a malevolent beast. I thought I had won, but little did I know that The Evil Machine was only biding its time.
Mowing our yard should not be a big deal. It is a small yard, smaller than any other I've had. But the house is on a hill, so two sides of the yard are slanted. To make matters worse, there is a ditch (that has to be mowed) at the bottom of the yard. And the weeds were so tall and thick that the San Diego Zoo asked if they could use it as a model for their latest rain forest exhibit. (I told them no; I didn't want them to scare away the badak tampongs). Well. If trying to push The Evil Machine up a hill weren't bad enough, I had to force the beast (which weighs more than a third of my weight!!) up the hill, with one of the front wheels locked. The whole time. After repeating this twice, I got smart and started pulling the lawnmower behind me instead of pushing it. This worked well till we hit a big patch of weeds and the mower stalled. I took it back to level ground and started it again, continuing on my merry way, pushing The Evil Machine down hill and dragging it up behind me again.
Then it died. And I couldn't start it again.
I turned it over on its ill-natured back. I heard it glug-glug-glugging in protest. I refused to listen to its pleas, and I found the source of one problem. There was a clump of grass stuck in the bottom of the mower. Only one. But it covered the whole bottom of the mower, miring the blades in fresh and not-so-fresh grass clippings. The hole that's supposed to allow the clipping to pass out was stuffed full. So I spent a few minutes digging to free the mower blades,hurling the gigantic clumps over to the fence. It would have been easier to throw them in the neighbor's yard, but I didn't.
I thought that with the indigestion problem solved, The Evil Machine would renounce its former ways and reform. It didn't.
After grunting, shoving, dragging, and heaving that mower all over the backyard, it was finally finished. On to the front.
The front yard is about the size of a large bathroom. It would be easy to mow except for the aforementioned hill, which is even steeper in the front, and a giant poplar tree (liriodendron tulipifera) whose roots stand a significant obstacle to even the most kindly and obliging of lawnmowers that have 4 rolling wheels. So in stark contrast to the recommended and professional way of mowing, with long, smooth rows, I hacked at the grass with The Evil Machine, going back and forth and back and forth. The police cars were leaving now, going down to the end of the road to a wide place to turn around. The ambulance, however, lingered, no doubt sure that I would need their services after The Evil Machine turned on me and chewed my leg for a while.
I kept a tight rein on the beast, however, and the ambulance was able to leave empty-handed.
Then I had to push the thing back up the road to the neighbor's house. The wheel started working again, just to show me there was nothing really wrong with it and it had been uncooperative out of pure spite. I could have sworn the thing was laughing as I finally took it back to its bed. I had to tuck it in, pulling its plywood blanket back over its head, but I refused to kiss it goodnight.
So now it's over, for another week anyway. I wonder how much a self-propelled mower would cost. Oh, I have an even better idea.
A SCOTT-propelled mower.
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