I sold my lawnmower today

I sold my lawnmower today

About 3 years ago, I decided, because I was living in a house with a yard and had roommates that wanted to do yard work, I'd whip out and buy a lawnmower. A really nice one. A red one. I was told on the tag that when you hold the little bar up tight against the horizontal handle, it would help propel the mower and if the one pushing the mower, fell, slipped, stepped in a rabbit hole or in any other way passed out and let go of the handle, the mower would stop immediately.

I took this as gospel, since I was never going to be the one pushing the mower, in any way, for any reason. My roommate, although he would have probably appreciated a John Deer mini-tractor of some sort that allowed you to sit on it, turn on a dime and had a cup holder that would fit a Big Gulp, but he just got a mower that cost a little over $100.

Well, he used the mower about 4 times, and then decided that he'd just sink his money into a yard man to come every week, whip out HIS riding mower, take 10 minutes to do the largess of my small yard, ride the thing back up on the trailer. And go away.

So, to store the mower after each time it was used (remember, all four times), he washed, polished, took tweezers to any stray piece of grass that tried to hide from his discerning eye. He didn't want to use the mower, but he felt he would be abusive to it if he didn't clean it like new each time (remember, all four times) that he broke it out and wandered around the yard with the mighty red beast.

He did enjoy the mowing, when he was in the mood, but he really hated making ever-diminishing squares, so every time (remember, all four times) he'd mow, after the first time, which means all the rest of the time.. three times.. he'd do a figure 8's, circles, and triangles (which when butted together were really squares, but I didn't want to ruin his fun), and that was the extent of his yard mowing.

He would sit and watch the yard guy and his assistant, a really sturdy, well-molded woman that would come with the yard guy. She turned out to be his girlfriend, but my roommate would take them water and then talk to the girl as she did the trim work around the house. He would tell her how he loved being in the outdoors. He stopped talking to her when she told him she hated working in the outdoors, but her 'old man' lost all his help and she had to drag with him each day. He said, "oh." And came back in the house, and got lost in his computer game. But I digress...

I moved to a mobile home park and had a little yard, so I thought, 'What the heck? I'll get the lawnmower out of storage and mow this puppy myself!" So, being the Amazonian woman I felt I was at that moment, I drove my car to the shed, folded the mower handle back on itself, hoisted it into my trunk, all by myself. Then I stopped at the gas station and got 2 gallons of gas, got everything all ready .. and the darned thing wouldn't start.

A helpful neighbor came over, cleaned the spark plug, primed the little pump (where the heck do people learn to DO this stuff???), and vaVOOM! The little red beast cranked right up! Whoo-hoo! The neighbor looked at me with a question in his eyes, and I stepped up and said, "Thanks so much! I'm going to mow the yard!" He stepped back, still holding the bar up against the handle and I took over. The captain of my own ship, and facilitator of making a beautiful yard! Here I GO!!!!!

Dang. About 50 steps into this project I was silently begging for someone to shoot me now. But, seeing my neighbors, including the one who got the darned thing going, were bent over a car engine as if they were really trying to fix it, but every time I'd stop to wipe sweat out of my eyes and happen to glance over, they quickly looked back earnestly at the car engine instead of flat out watching me.

I noticed that they'd put the cell phone right on the fender next to where they were working. I later found out that my face was so red, my face with such a grim expression on it and my arms shaking more than the vibration of the mower itself, that they thought they'd have to call 9-1-1. About 40 minutes later, seemed like three years, I staggered through the last width of grass and let go of the handle and the mower stopped short and there was quiet. Except of course the thundering in my ears and I kept trying to wipe the spots that kept swirling around in my eyes away.

I dragged the mower back beside the steps to my door, sat down and breathed deeply and willed my heart to slow down.. not stop.. but just ease up just a little. The black spots were moving straight to the iridescent. The neighbors, by that time, were asking me something. When my throbbing heart slowed and my hearing came back, and my glasses unfeigned, I smiled, wiped my forehead on my grass-shredded forearm and said, "No, I'm fine! I DID IT!!!! Whoo-hoo!!"

What I can't understand was, after I grooved on mowing my own yard that first time, and I would get gas at the station on the corner and get home with it, my yard was mowed, weed-whacked, leaf blown.. and I never got another chance to mow my yard again.

So yesterday, I happened to mention that I was selling my mower to a co-worker and he jumped right on it. He wanted the mower for his son so the son could start mowing yards and making spending money for his x-box stuff.. whatever that is, heck, I just learned to start up the lawnmower.

Bekki Shanklin, copyright 2006, from her "Thinking all the time" series