Ah, well, it took quite a long time to mow a relatively small area – the cord, dontcha know. I used this mower because the yard was starting to look like a bunch of bumps and hollows, something like a green case of measles.  I’ll be using a gas mower from now on – except for the areas where delicate new grass is coming up. One cool thing about the electric mower is you don’t have to worry about restarting after cutting the motor. It is just like a light switch. It took me a while to grasp this, but once I had I needed to fight the urge to just indulge in a period of “It’s off; it’s on.”

So now I am thinking of becoming a super lawn Nazi so I can have grass like a golf course green and the little mower will just putt along without fear of moles or random little sticks. Already this year, I have screamed, “No! Don’t  you think of moving that car on my new grass!”

I think I need to thatch. Perhaps I am becoming obsessed? Heaven help me if I take a hankering to the super trimmer at Mother’s, not to mention the chainsaw. All of a sudden I had a vision of myself riding my scooter with a chainsaw on my back.

I think it would be a wise idea to let my imagination go to idle and just tune in to Breaking Bad. Oh, wait a minute . . . I sense something awry with this plan.

I lost my watch before DST started and found it last week, then lost it and found it this morning. I forgot it was on standard time and thought we got home at about a quarter past seven, but, aha, my computer reminds me it is an hour later. Cameron bailed and so Summer and I went up and mowed, but first we had to jump the battery on The Wheel Horse. We mowed the North Field like snow plows go down the road, staggered. And after a while I realized our mowers were set at different heights.

Oh, earlier I caught a piece of hidden outdoor carpet in the blades when I got a wee bit too close to an overgrown area. And Summer mowed herself right up on Mother’s golf mound and realized all the other part of the circumference was quite steep. So she circled tightly and came back down. I didn’t see this happening until she was up on the mound. All I could think was, “Nooooooooo, don’t try to go down the north side. That would have been bad.

As it was she stepped on a board the wind had blown over and it had a nail in it and she has a puncture wound in her foot. I told her we’d get a tetanus shot in the next couple of days, although I think the one she had is still effective. Hours later, all the way home, she asked questions about wondering if her jaw was getting tight.

We took a break in mowing and watched The Pink Panther and ate peanut butter foldovers. When we went looking for the electric mower, we had to find keys for three sheds and we found it in the third, along with a five speed Schwinn. The chain and gears aren’t right so she worked on them for awhile but we’re going to have to research and then take it to a repairman.

Oh, the Yoder Girls came over to ask about a birdbath Mother had and I was able to give them some money to cover the milk they have been taking to the outdoor cat that is too scared to allow itself to be found. They are my age and a bit younger. Summer came up to me afterward and asked, “They are the  Yoder Girls????” and I explained they had been The Yoder Girls for some 50 years now.

We brought the electric mower home in the backseat since it wouldn’t totally fit in the trunk; we did try the trunk ride with the tied down lid but it bounced a lot of the way to Howe so we stopped at a convenience place and moved it from trunk to backseat. Acting nonchalant as cars traveled down the busy highway took concentration; we turned it this way and that and I crawled in the other side and pulled and she pushed and we got it in. Then we jumped in and hightailed it out of there – still looking nonchalant.

Needless to say, Sydney is tired tonight. I might be also. Summer will probably stay up most of the night keeping track of her possibly locking jaw.

This is a straight forward question. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to answer it: Have to get mowers going, here and at Mother’s. But I am taking grandkids and they bicker and get hungry and I’m sure there are other treats waiting for me. We need to take the mower with the bent blade from here up to Mother’s so I can take it over to the Amish repairman; we need to mow the lawn up there; we need to bring back a mower to mow down here. Maybe I’ll bring back the little electric since I know I want the thrill of running over the cord. Oh, yeah.

To go, we need ice, soda, snacks, the dog, dog eats and dog snacks and I must not forget the bag of keys. Oh, rats, I just remembered the fiasco of the needs-to be-repaired-ramp . . . that would be the one that is related to the split two by four. And don’t forget, Summer wants to wear the motorcycle helmet while she rides the mower.

It looks like none of the crew here at the cafe & roadhouse is eager to help. Spikey just looked at me and mumbled, “Party last night – go away.” I wasn’t invited . . . so I am showing you Spikey with her bed hair.

Well, seeya, I’ve got to go out there and carpe diem.

Oh, I was so pathetic at first. Horrible! But in the end I made endless circles around Hayden Honda to the left and then the right . . . and did not crash nor fall down. It was a miracle. Mike took me out in the parking lot and was very nice and helpful, but you know what? I was afraid. After getting some coaching, I said I’d like to keep trying and he said he would keep an eye on me from inside; I think he knew I didn’t want a witness when I decided I just couldn’t do it.

Then after some fitful circles, I noticed that the EMS van had pulled into the parking lot with its engine running. When I finally came back in, Kurt Hayden said, “I hope you didn’t think we called the EMS.” Hey, it wouldn’t have bothered me if they had, In fact, I was surprised the EMS guys hadn’t opened the back doors just waiting for me to catapult myself in.

I’m going to take some more test drives before I have them deliver it. See, a machine that has an accelerator instead of pedals takes some getting used to.

For all that I have written about my granddaughter, Summer, including pictures of her in the dumpster and the “I think they’re Chinese” people, I feel I must, in all fairness, mention that she won the Outstanding Science Student of the year. Come to think of it, maybe she is planning on learning ways to blow me up real good. She is also extremely good at math and is in the advanced class, but she didn’t win that award . . . Maybe it has something to do with the fact that she didn’t get the “Why was six afraid of seven? Seven Eight Nine” joke until many years later when she saw it in subtitles. Sometimes – maybe a lot of times – when she is picking on me for being old and wrinkly and other things, I look over my glasses and say, “Seven, eight, nine” and she exclaims, “I was little; I didn’t think about homophones!”

Apparently LZP was left speechless when he found out about my scooter because I received this photo, entitled Biker Chicks in my email.

If LZP’s brother, Der Bingle, were to send me a similar photo, the chicks would be Peeps. Or not. Maybe he would have to use real chicks for making a photo like this, because thousands of Peeps would have be harmed (ingested) otherwise.

********UPDATE**********

And now we have a suggested helmet to wear . . .

Today the high is supposed to be 49 degrees; I think last week we broke a record with 80 or 81. Well, it’s not last week anymore. And it is overcast with the dampness of yesterday’s rain lingering on. That’s not so bad; it’s  a bit of time to enjoy the little firestove and read a little. I found a book at Mother’s that, I think, is titled London Transports; it is a collection of short stories. I read a few in the evening last week while stretched out on her sofa in a room lit by the reading light over my shoulder and the flickering of the gas heater turned up so it had actual flames. Mother had a tendency to heat by pilot light.

Back to the stories. One was about a 29 year old virgin who was to be married and went into a bookstore to ask for a book on, yes, I am going to type it, sex. She told the proprietor she had a niece who was going to be married and needed information. The gentleman coughed and suggested she share her experience with her niece. She she told him she couldn’t because she was a nun.

She responded to his surprised look by remarking that nuns no longer wore “nun clothes” and he said his sister was a nun and her order had them donning shorter dresses and modified head coverings. Not to fear, she blurted out that she worked in a travel agency and was supposed to blend in with tourists. His mystified look prompted her to add it was her job to arrange travel arrangements for nuns serving as missionaries.

Maybe it was a porn bookstore . . . I don’t remember. But I was thinking, “You read this, Mother? You who had me screen all videos and DVD’s so I could forewarn you about closing your eyes or, if necessary, fast forward.” I just realized I didn’t investigate the rest of the stack of books waiting to be read.  Or the stack she had already processed. Maybe on this chilly day I need to go stretch out by Mother’s gas heater again . . .

A book, a Diet Coke, Sydney sleeping on my feet, warmth from the heater and the smell of woodsmoke in the beams of the house.

No, you won’t guess. You’ll never guess.

Here it is right in front of your eyes:

Yes, I bought, today, a Honda Metropolitan scooter.

Oh, Lord, what have I done? Now I need to get a helmet and practice a bit at Hayden Honda’s dealership and who knows what I’ll be morphing in to. I am wondering if this is so not me it is the ultimate me.

Hi, this is Woo and I found a story AJ wrote a few years ago about Hayden Honda. You can see it if you want on the Stories page.

Some people believe I have lived a sheltered life – especially in the dark side of vocabulary. I think some people may have a case. Today, one of my dear Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse friends took me aside and counseled me. I was familiar with the word dingbat – Archie always called Edith one, remember? So, I just always assumed dingleberry – and I hesitate to type it – had something to do with goofy behavior. I am not going to link to any online dictionary. My face is red. Although my first inclination was to just ignore what had happened, I just couldn’t let people stopping by think I used such a word. Ew,

My father would not want his daughter to talk that way . . . and that’s why I say “pass gas” instead of f–t. And why I will never use d———y again.

I suppose it is a generational thing.

The sky is blue and the temp is in the low seventies and I am savoring sucking it in. Just the feel of it. It makes me want to put on my moccasins and do a little alternating foot hop dance of  YES, YES, YES, YES, YES.

Der Bingle ordered a dark blue bath robe for me from Warm Things and it came today. YES! Although I must be careful not to dash out into the rain while wearing it or the weight of it wet will turn me into a puddle trying to edge back to the door.

Speaking of Der Bingle, I feel obligated to share: LZP has a son named Sam and Sam asked his dad if Der Bingle stood for Dingleberry. It was one of those moments when you press your lips together really tightly and wait until you can trust your voice to answer, “Well, I think Bing Crosby was before his time.”

And speaking of Bing Crosby, Christmas was different this year in a lot of stores. I didn’t hear his version of the Christmas songs very much. So I guess the deadness he experienced in, what was it? 1977? is finally catching up with society. Actually, we listen to a lot of dead guy’s composed music and to a lot of other dead singers; I suppose it reached a point when the kids asking parents about White Christmas and Bing Crosby found that their parents are also a bit in the dark.

I remember my mother calling me when he died and asking if I had seen a picture; I believe she was remarking on how bald he was. And then Mary Catherine Crosby turned up in Dallas, but JR is another subject.

Gosh, I am giddy with all this sucked in sunshine. I am tempted to run outdoors, arms outstretched, ready to embrace the day. However, it is possible I could be intercepted by men in white coats who would take advantage of my pose to slip the looooong sleeves of a strait jacket on me and cart me off.

**************************

Oh, wait, I may go willingly. As I was typing the above, I received a picture mail from the Dandelion Underground. The caption is “We are back.”