Before I succumbed to my propensity to swoon, dramatically posed with the back of one wrist to my forehead (and I can’t believe I spelled “succumbed” right on the first try), I did a couple of useful things. I did the dishes, no small feat, but more importantly, I fought the lawn. The amazing thing was, I started the power mower by myself on the first try. Please do not belittle my accomplishment (you know who you are); this is a big deal.
First I had a go at cutting down the last of the tall growth on my front lawn. Alas that I did not take a “before” picture, but the “after picture” would not have been so beautiful anyways. Lots of bending and straightening, ugh! And all I can think of is the old lady we used to drive by in Rome sometimes when I was a little girl. She would be outside in her nightgown and robe, bent over, pulling up weeds, and my Dad would whistle at her. We referred to her as “Dad’s girlfriend.” I feel certain there is a young family which drives by me and derives similar amusement from the sight of my posterior. Then again, if I can have any small part in spreading joy, that is not a bad thing.
Lots of blooms!
I put in the picture there to break up the prose, but I took it after I had finished everything. Since I am putting things out of order, I guess that makes this a Non-Sequitur Sunday as well. Anyways, after I had clipped and pulled as much as I had a mind to, I got out the lawn mower, topped off the gas, checked the oil, and brought it out front, completely willing to flag down a passer-by and play the old lady widow card. I primed the engine five times instead of the recommended three. Imagine my delight when the first pull yielded the desired result.
I did the front lawn, even making an attempt at the side of the house. The back was not looking so bad, but I had at it anyways. After mowing, I took the clippers to the invasive wild grapevines. There I met with less success. For one reason, I was awfully tired by then. Still, I was proud of myself for my efforts. I posed a couple of times, both fists in the air, looking triumphant. Alas, there were no neighbors or passers-by to see. So I brag to my blog readers.
I feel certain other people have overcome greater obstacles and accomplished larger triumphs. I applaud you, of course. In the meantime, I have over 400 words of a Wrist to Forehead Sunday post. I think I am doing OK.
Mohawk Valley Girl 