This morning I took Alison to the dentist and on my way out of the driveway and on my way back in, I found myself exclaiming to myself: Good grief, that grass needs mowing. And so, since it was early and in the shade I mowed it. The humidity was quite high and the mower sounded as if it were function on half a cylinder, but we both did all right – until the mower ran out of grass with just a tiny bit to do out back.

Of course, I dripped sweat but I put more water in and to sound New Age, which is now Middle Age, in my Oldish Age . . . I feel (brace for it) cleansed. Sort of Swedish sauna cleansed, not the Steve Martin high colonic cleansed. And, by the way, the yard looks better. I wore Mother’s “Don’t Worry – Be Crabby” hat. Two hair-coiffed, latter middle-aged, well-dressed in tennis clothes ladies passed me on their morning walk with water bottles – Didn’t even give me a nod. Rose was in the window – she and I grinned back and forth at each other once the ladies were a bit down the sidewalk.

Then Rose had to give me a stern look because she knew in her heart of hearts that I was doing a reverse look down my nose at the walkers.  Rose particularly hates it when I do that because not only is it demeaning for me, it reminds her that her nose is flat and she can’t really do it. Oh, I’m sorry Rose; it was just a little AmeliaJake jokie. Rose? Oh, I’ve gone and done it now. Good thing the mower is out of gas or she might mow my feet or something else . . . like my hair . . .  or MY nose?

Did I just hear the weedeater start up?