If you know me, you know I love to mow. The grass.
The lawn. The yard. Whatever you call it. If I could ride around with my therapist it
would be the best therapy session ever.
I know most people hate mowing, but not I. It’s like an art form. And interestingly enough the same guy that
built my redneck TV stand, also is really partial to how the yard gets
mowed. Each time you have to go a
different direction, as it helps the grass stand up straighter…whatever…I just
want to get out on that beast on a nice sunny day and jack up my tunes. I do not however particularly love mowing Sister’s
yard because they have a plethora of trees.
I prefer mowing her pasture…I need long stretches, not short bursts. It is like being interrupted and I hate
being interrupted.
I don’t get to mow often…I am sure Father and Sister would
agree to that but by the time I usually am able to do it, they have it
done. Plus Sister has two kids who need
to earn their allowance…don’t want to disturb that.
Part of my “rent” when I lived in Minnesota with Scott and
Heidi was to mow the yard. I had to
first get the pooper scooper out and clean the yard up because Scott didn’t
like smelly lawnmower tires…so it wasn’t like a get on and go kind of job. To make matters worse, I was forced to work
with less than adequate equipment. I
wish I had a picture of this lawn mower.
I think he had patched it together over the years. Either way, I did it and didn’t
complain. I got to do what I wanted and
he got his yard mowed.
 |
| It looked something like this. |
Until the one day. I
started at the far end and noticed it was turning abnormally harder than
normal. Well by God I wasn’t about to
tell him something was wrong it. Scott
and his nephew, another homeless person like me, was also living with us at the
time. They were in the garage doing “man”
things as this poor woman (me) slaves away in this large yard. But anyway…I don’t think I made very many
rounds when the whole front end of the lawnmower made a horrible noise, fell forward
and just stopped. I don’t know how to
fix broken equipment. It would have done
me no good to lift the hood. I am pretty
sure I didn’t even bother to look at it, my arms were hurting, I was tired of
trying to steer the damn thing.
I politely interrupt Scott and Ryan and simply say something
is wrong with the lawn mower. I try to
explain what is wrong or what it is doing but I don’t get much out before they
are both laughing hysterically. “Uh, yeah,
you think something is wrong Tiff?” The
entire front end of the mower is sprawled out with both front tires lying at
the sides like 2 broken legs.
Apparently I broke the axle or something that held the
wheels together or the damn thing moving.
I am still not sure what broke, but I was pretty sure this mower had
been in the family for like 100 years…generation to generation kind of
thing. I was a mess and of course he was
going to make me feel as bad as possible, laughing hysterically at me
inside. I don’t remember the events
afterwards because I wanted to run and crawl in a hole and hide. I just knew this was going to cost me more
rent.
To this day he has never let me live it down. Shortly after I moved they turned the
basement into a state of the art entertainment center, remodeled my bathroom and
their upstairs and got some fancy new riding mower that gave you a massage
while you mowed or something crazy like that.
Obviously they wanted me to leave.
Couldn’t get me out of there fast enough!
To this day I have never used another person’s mower other
than my fathers and I am not sure I will ever be able to again.
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