It did that slow “chug-chug-chug” noise like an evil chuckle before the engine quit. I tried pull starting it several times, raising blisters on my hand and nearly yanking my arm out of socket only to hear that chugging. The noise sounded like the mower was laughing. “Yeah, sure, you’re going to get this started,” it said. “Heh-heh-heh-heh.”
Half of my front yard was cut when the mower gave up the
ghost. I tried repairing it. For some reason, I have a talent for fixing lawn
mowers. I can’t balance a checkbook or tie my shoe normally, but I can repair a
Briggs and Stratton small engine blindfolded. It’s like when God was dishing
out the skills, he pointed at me and said “Lawn engine repair.” I would like to
have bargained that my chosen talent could have been business savvy or
professional athlete or some other money-making gift. However, negotiation,
alas, was also not the talent I was deemed with, either.
I stood in the yard, looking at the half-mown yard
(half-grassed?) and realized I had no
other option but to roll out a 70-year-old rotary mower to finish the job. For some
reason, during Holly’s move from
Illinois to here, we were able to bring along her grandfather’s Scotts’
Silent “reel mower.” The rotary mower,
for those who are less than 90 years old, is the type with no engine. Blades
rotate along the wheels’ axle, quietly clipping the grass. I think Pa on “Little
House on the Prairie” was the last to use one.
It sounded good in theory. I actually embraced the idea at
first. I wouldn’t have to buy gasoline, the job would be quiet and peaceful and
there’d be a sense of accomplishment in some nostalgic form. I could free myself from the shackles of subdivision
standards and do away with the gas-powered tradition.
So, I rolled the rotary, or “clippy mower,” out and finished
the yard. It was slow going and, because the blades were somewhat dull, it wasn’t
the greatest cut. But at least the yard was finished and I thought I found something
new to do. I rationalized that I needed
the exercise of pushing a heavy wheeled thing around the yard all evening. Despite my sloth-like existence, I do like
the concept of health. It may be somewhat ironic that I love watching the NBC’s
“American Ninja Warrior,” the television
show that features constants running through a gauntlet that requires them to
crawl hand-over-hand on some narrow beam or to swing on a bar and leap across a
pool of water. My Ninja moves including
dragging myself out of the sunken couch in our living room, dodging the cat,
weaving among his scattered toys and opening the refrigerator for my giant bottle
of Pepsi. Me, a Ninja? None ya’ business.
The following week, I rolled the clippy mower out again. The
yard had grown because of several rains and pushing the Scotts’ Silent was
difficult. And it wasn’t silent. My noises of exertions and cursing rendered
the product’s name moot. It was like pushing a plow through mud without a
horse. I’d back up, rear up and go at again, only to clip two or three blades
of grass.
I was the neighborhood show, too. I looked like an Amish
person. All I needed was suspenders, a long beard and a better attitude than I
had .
Some lawn care business guy stopped his truck by our yard to
gaze at my work.
“Ain’t seen one of those in a long time,” he said, pointing
at the clippy.
“Yeah, there’s a reason for that,” I replied.
I finished the yard in three days. Three days! I’d come home
from work, change into the mowing clothes and tackle the yard, trying to get as
much done before the light faded … both the sunlight and my own personal light called my soul.
Finally, I realized my return to the days of yore was not
going to work. Holly and I went to a local hardware store last week and I ended
up buying a gas-powered mower and returned to the 21st century. I
cranked it up the next day and mowed the entire yard in 40 minutes. No one
stopped to point at me and, as far as I know, the mower made no cutting remarks
about me. (I know, dumb pun)
How does this all apply to APBA? Well, considering it took
three days to mow a yard and adding in the prep time, the showering afterward
and the general tired malaise that
followed each session, there was little time to roll games. By the time I became civilized again, it was
late and only enough time to roll a game or two in my 1947 replay before I had
to go to bed, get up and do it all over again the following day.
On the day I breezed across the yard with the new mower, I
got three or four games in.
Because it’s a Briggs and Stratton engine, I can repair it
and keep it running for a long while. Mowing will no longer cut into APBA time.
Mowing. It’s such a
pain in the grass.
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