In between going to the beach, barbecuing, lying down in a dark room and melting, I’ve continued to write my weekly column, It’s My Life, for the Examiner’s Feelgood.
I know ‘yer man’ is always popular, so here’s one mostly about him… and a lawnmower.
You’ve got to love summertime, waking each morning hoping it wont rain, free from the slavery of homework and after school activities. It’s the time of year at one with my nature…lazy.
“Sorry, it’s too nice for a big dinner this evening, we’ll just have salad.”
“Excuse the mess in the house, it would be a sin to stay indoors doing housework.”
I’m not a complete waste of space though as I do love to garden. However, that does not include mowing the lawn, because in truth I barely even notice if there’s clover or a few daisies about or it’s overdue a cut. But yer man does. He’s a big fan of the lawnmower. Talk about not letting the grass grow under your feet? Every few days he’s out mowing.
In our previous house we’d a small garden and a small lawn mower. It only took about five years of hard labour for us to accept that it was of little use when we moved house. When we finally did yer man skipped off in search of a ‘real’ lawnmower.
For a while he became an expert on mulchers and horse power, taking this big purchase very seriously, but at last the decision was made and he arrived home, financially lighter, with a giant, shiny new, yellow lawnmower. Yes, the brightest yellow lawnmower you can imagine. I suspect when mowing he could be seen from outer space.
So delighted were we both with his new toy that upon finishing the grass I too would go out to delight at how perfectly the grass was cut and marvel at how it hadn’t taken half the day.
One morning, no more than a few weeks after its arrival, yer man was leaving for work. Perfect wife that I am, I was at the front door to wave him off. He began to reverse but stopped suddenly. Jumping out of the car, leaving his door wide open he ran at speed around the side of the house. Curious I followed him, only for us to crash head on at the corner.
“It’s gone!” he said.
“What? What’s gone?”
“The new lawnmower!”
He raced back to the shed as did I, unsure why we were running. Sure enough, there was a big empty space where his pride and joy used to sit. Then he was off again, out onto the road, and once again I followed. There we stood looking up and down, possibly yer man hoping we’d spot someone running off with it.
In my best funeral voice I said, “Dad’s lawnmower’s gone.”
“The lawnmower, it’s been robbed. Stolen. Knicked,” I said.
“But I saw it this morning.”
Yer man’s head whipped around. “What? Where?”
“Outside the front gate. On the grass.”
“Why didn’t you take it in?” he spluttered.
“I didn’t think. I just wondered why you’d left it out all night.”
So we’d learned two things, the robbers had struck at 5 a.m. and that at least one of our children would never make the guards. Sad to think she was moments away from foiling the robbery and forever being the favourite child.
Over the next few weeks yer man spent quite some time driving about on fine days checking neighbours lawnmowers, but we never saw it again.
Finally a few weeks later a black and red replacement arrived.
“I see you decided to go with a different colour.” I said.
“Yes, yellow was too conspicuous. The guards think someone saw me mowing the lawn with it.”
Really? Did they think, that’s a nice mower, no one will ever notice if I rob it?