The Lord Of The Grass
No, I didn't go to Amsterdam and score some ganja. Though one of my students who is known to be very familiar with the hippie lettuce notified me today that he was like going to Amsterdam this weekend because like, yeah...
No, I mention grass in reference to my lawn and how it is now less jungle-ish. Jungle-ish, you ask? Yes, I'd sort of let the ol' lawn go. In fact, I hadn't mowed it since I moved in. But the landlord was complaining and neighborhood kids were beginning to appear on milk cartons, so I bought a lawnmower and did what I hadn't done in at least thirteen years: cut grass.
I'd like to say that the whole bumping around in my backyard was a rewarding experience. That getting back to nature, developing my green thumb, and bonding with my neighbor was well worth the three hours effort. I'd like to say that, but what I'd really like is for my back not to hurt, my hands to not smell like the inside of a lawnmower, and for my neighbor's kid to say, "Herr Mauldin, you don't have to do all that work. I'd be happy to do this for my American friend. Pay me? Nein!"
That's what I'd like. But in the meantime, I'll just go sit out on the patio, watch the sun sink down, and admire the results of my toil.
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