Some days are just off-kilter. Today was one of them. But, like other days, it is passing. So, then, we come to tomorrow . . . and it is supposed to be sunny, if a little cool. Cool would be good because circumstances have kept me from mowing – and I mean THE BIG MOWING, not this little pansy stuff here.

Yes, it is Mother’s Day, and, yes, it is Sunday; but I’ll be taking care of Mother’s yard, and, following her example, not roaring a motor during the worship hour at the Methodist Church just down the road.

I told someone a couple of weeks ago that I first started “mowing” that yard before I can remember – following behind my grandfather with my little toy mower. I said, “And I’m still doing it.” She asked, “Not with the same mower?” No, but, you know, the view is sort of the same. And come to think of it, I won’t be wearing short, short seersucker pants with ruffles on the butt. Maybe, though, I’ll wear my Lands End hot pink utility, convertible pants. STOP! Don’t visualize it without bracing yourself first.

I’ll read a bit now and then curl up and doze the night away, perhaps dreaming of a laser mower – one shaped like a golf club with the laser beam emitting from the head, complete with controls for distance . . . don’t want to  – oops – chop a tree down.