This weekend I bought a lawnmower and cut the grass. It turns out I have a lot of grass. Halfway through, a neighbor introduced himself and admired the new Briggs and Stratton engine. Hoo-Hoo! We discussed basements, landscaping and sump pumps, a topic with which I am all too familiar. He told me he had pitbulls and a 21 year old son with a shiny red convertible. I told him I would try to keep my 17 year old daughter away from both.
At some point during the two hours of cutting and trimming, I started to wonder just why it was I wanted so much lawn. Oh, yeah, raised beds.
I’d show you a picture of the beautifully cut backyard with the perfectly straight diagonal mower lines but I was too tired to take a picture. Speaking of mower widths, I found myself in the aisle of the local big box store questioning two employees, “Do 2 inches really make that much difference?”. Funny looks.
The kid came with me this time. She made herself busy raking the flower beds and bagging leaves. I took her to a wallpaper store and she picked out some samples. We pulled up the carpets on the second floor and stairs. Why do people pick ugly carpets, she asked. Good question. Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder or the previous owners couldn’t see too good.
On Saturday, I visited the DMV and handed over all of my documents to a one eyed, leather vested, Harvey-Davidson afficianado listening to Casey Kasem replays on an XM radio. It was 1976 again, the same year I got my first license in Pennsylvania. We chit-chatted while he checked my information and assigned me the same driver’s license number I had before. I surrendered my New Jersey license and he punched a hole in it. Then he handed it to me and a yellow form for my temporary license and said, “Welcome back.”