The Need to Weed
OK fans, I am back after some delay to deliver you verbals emanations from my cerebral cortex. Lina and I decided to up our suburban status today by taking on the yard (and special bonus) the garage, to give them both a righteous reformation.
Denial can be a useful thing...ever since the temps consistently registered above freezing, the ruffian nature of certain negative plants have been growing quite steadily and I ignored the implications...like "I am going to have to deal with this at some point but not NOW." Now was today. Combining Lina's detailed-oriented nature with my workhorse constitution, I think due to our efforts, we have moved to the middle of the distribution in the 'hood "Lawn-Grading" with our lawn's excellence. She is the brains of the operation, I am the brawn. Like the Horse in Animal Farm, my motto is "I will work harder."
We have a massive weed mound in the back as evidence of our efforts. One of the sign that we needed to do something to address the decaying state of the yard was our mail carrier wrote the number for our address inside of our mailbox because the numbers on the post were obscured by out-of-control branches. OK, we get the hint. Lina has also called some neighborhood boys to see how much they would charge to take out the weeds; their estimate? 6 hours and sixty bucks. I thought that their bid was high...I think that they figured that if we called them, we had already decided to not act the Reaper. Well, the young ones miscalculated. I am cheap and their proposal reeked of over-compensation. Who do they think they are, AIG management?
Lina buzz-cut the bushes up front like an army barber shaving the dreads of a Rastaman. She took out the wildness with the quickness.
I played Paul Bunyan cutting down weeds that had bark...maybe they qualify as trees. Truth be told, these bad boys have been in our yard for several years. They are not recent entries into the lawn. They have been around like punks on the corner defying me to take 'em on. Like Eastwood in Gran Torino, the old man (me) roused himself to defend what was his and acted ruthless.
As a final act, I mowed the yard down. Mowing offers a lot of satisfaction of achievement for the effort. In a world where what we sown and reap may have a long arc, the mower cometh like the Iceman and does its deed.
After our constructive destruction, I enjoyed several cold beers from the fridge. Beer should never be consumed without achievement. Or, drinking beer as an achievement is a sorry way to chug through life.
Denial can be a useful thing...ever since the temps consistently registered above freezing, the ruffian nature of certain negative plants have been growing quite steadily and I ignored the implications...like "I am going to have to deal with this at some point but not NOW." Now was today. Combining Lina's detailed-oriented nature with my workhorse constitution, I think due to our efforts, we have moved to the middle of the distribution in the 'hood "Lawn-Grading" with our lawn's excellence. She is the brains of the operation, I am the brawn. Like the Horse in Animal Farm, my motto is "I will work harder."
We have a massive weed mound in the back as evidence of our efforts. One of the sign that we needed to do something to address the decaying state of the yard was our mail carrier wrote the number for our address inside of our mailbox because the numbers on the post were obscured by out-of-control branches. OK, we get the hint. Lina has also called some neighborhood boys to see how much they would charge to take out the weeds; their estimate? 6 hours and sixty bucks. I thought that their bid was high...I think that they figured that if we called them, we had already decided to not act the Reaper. Well, the young ones miscalculated. I am cheap and their proposal reeked of over-compensation. Who do they think they are, AIG management?
Lina buzz-cut the bushes up front like an army barber shaving the dreads of a Rastaman. She took out the wildness with the quickness.
I played Paul Bunyan cutting down weeds that had bark...maybe they qualify as trees. Truth be told, these bad boys have been in our yard for several years. They are not recent entries into the lawn. They have been around like punks on the corner defying me to take 'em on. Like Eastwood in Gran Torino, the old man (me) roused himself to defend what was his and acted ruthless.
As a final act, I mowed the yard down. Mowing offers a lot of satisfaction of achievement for the effort. In a world where what we sown and reap may have a long arc, the mower cometh like the Iceman and does its deed.
After our constructive destruction, I enjoyed several cold beers from the fridge. Beer should never be consumed without achievement. Or, drinking beer as an achievement is a sorry way to chug through life.
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