But now, I’ve made it a little bit easier with a
new newly borrowed self-propelled mower. I’d been trying to drop hints with my family that I would like a new one for my birthday (cough, cough, clear throat, “MOWER”-sneeze), but my overgrown lawn won’t wait. Luckily, my father had one sitting unused in his garage (which is pretty much how I came upon my last one). He has a riding lawn mower, so he didn’t need the other.
This thing moves. It’s variable speed, but my patience allows only one. The fastest speed causes quite a bit of hand fatigue, but it practically yanks me across the yard, so I can get this torturous chore finished that much faster. I wish I could provide you a picture, but it’s finals week, so I’ve been hunched over a computer all weekend on campus and only had the opportunity to mow when the sun went down. Yep – by the end, I was pretty much mowing in the dark, and as I headed off to work this morning, I noticed long strips of grass that I’ll have to take care of tonight. It’s
kind of exactly like shaving your legs to find you missed a small spot. So, since I have no picture, I’m just going to show you a picture that represents my murderous rage at the thought of mowing.
|This image found here, and my sentiments exactly.|
If there were ever a sign that my house is an old woman in house form, it’s the long chin hairs growing all over the lawn. After a trim (more like a total hack job) with my
new mower, the house is looking much less scraggly. And if I give myself a chance to come up for air from the books ( and for a beer), I can get started on applying new rubber mulch to my front garden bed.
If you were to choose the color in front of the house, which direction would you go? I’m thinking a pop of coral red would look great against the tan, cream, and navy of the house. Er, well anything would look better than dead plants. Anything.