I was sitting and resting and talking with a friend as he passed my way. We talked of neighbors, the weather, and the crops, of all the men who had left the farm, to work in the big city shops. Of the girl who married the boy from out California way, the work being done on the new Intra-State Highway. Of sickness and of health of money and things, of all this government spending the people in Washington are doing these days and all the unwanted trouble it seems to bring.
And then the rain came.
It came in buckets last night, the wind was incredible and this morning, I am facing a Rocky Mountain High Sized pile of leaves in my yard. Which is ironic, because they are not my leaves, they are the leaves of my neighbors, I have pine trees in my yard.
One thing you can count on living in Oklahoma, smack-dab in the center of the U.S.A. is that the weather is going to be terrible. This is the only place in the continental United States where you can stand up to your rear in mud, and get dust in your eyes.
A friend of mine came out to visit us one time from California (the Sunshine State) and she saw a bird running across the road and inquired of me, “What type of bird was that?” So jokingly I said “Bird Of Paradise” (as I did not know exactly what type of bird it was).
She laughed, and said to me, “Bit lost isn’t he?”
So it rained and it has disturbed my peace of mind. My telephone rings and it is my neighbor and he says, “the rain has stopped, best get out your mower and take care of all them leaves. Don’t forget to put gas in it first, and make sure the blade is attached.“
Blade, it has a blade?
(Why am I always the last person to know these things?)
Over the years, men have come up with thousands of excuses for NOT doing yard work. War, Religion, Pyramids, The United States Senate. Finally they came up with the ultimate excuse. Business. My job will not allow me to do the yard work.
As much as I desire to do yard work, as much as I want a front yard devoid of leaves, as much as I want to do yard work, trimming, bagging, cutting and mowing. As much as every fiber of my being cries out …. I WANT YARD WORK … PLEASE LET ME DO SOME YARD WORK … I just cannot find time to do it these days.
Man, has finally figured it out.
Every day after breakfast he would announce to the wife, “Well honey, I am off to my office or factory now. I will see you later.” The man would just leave and never return until later, when supper was on the table and ready (that would be dinner for all you folks in California and the west coast, Europe and Asia, I am not sure).
He would conveniently arrive home much too late to do yard work.
It was a lot simpler when man lived in the cave, all he had to do is hunt down some food, drag it back to the cave, paint a drawing on the wall every now and then, and stay away from “primitive woman.” Now look what we have progressed to?
It was much better back then. Primitive woman would say, “You! How come you are not outside doing yard work?” Whereupon, me (primitive man) would say … “Hey, get off my back! I haven’t even invented fire yet.”
So back to yard work, I would much rather spend my time this day watching anthropology studies on the PBS network than get outside and rake up the leaves of my neighbors. I would rather get down on all fours and peck at the dirt like a chicken than do yard work. I would spend an hour watching monkey’s pick fleas off of each other and scratch parts of their bodies usually reserved for private, than do yard work.
Bay Watch comes on at 3:30 PM another anthropology study where primitive-well-developed-woman runs up and down the beach wearing a stretch garment that, if not occupied by Pammy Sue, would contract to the size of a gum wrapper.
That beats raking leaves any time.
A blade? Hmmmm, well, I’ll be dipped.