I mowed the lawn once. My husband came home from work---discovered what I'd done (I asked our neighbor to start the mower for me), and was filled with mixed emotions.

He was:
1. ashamed that I'd mowed the lawn (his job)
2. relieved that I'd mowed the lawn, and
3. thrilled that our neighbor Felix worked from home

Husband said that if he'd known I was willing to mow the lawn, he would have bought that self-propelled Toro DECADES earlier.

We need one last mowing here in the Hill Country. But only because we've had no rain. Not even the hint of rain. Looking out the window this afternoon, I said it "looks like snow." Which would have been correct if we still lived in the panhandle.

Silly me; it was 50 degrees outside, with clouds that looked like they were heavy with precipitation but lied lied lied. How can clouds do that? It's just mean.

But here in Texas, we always pray for rain, don't we. Rarely, we pray for the rain to stop. I mean a Dachshund could wade the Guadalupe and not get his belly wet. It's that bad.

Maybe I will mow next week, just to make my husband happy.

How can clouds do that? It's just mean.

Well, to paraphrase that great musical philosopher, we really don't know clouds at all.

You didn't say whether that one time mowing the yard was the only time, although that's the way I take it. I hope so, anyway, as I've always considered you to be an eminently rational person, and to think that you'd voluntarily assume the continuing lawn-mowing responsibilities would dash that perception. ;-)

But I understand your frustration over the lack of rainfall. It's been almost six weeks since our last rain (although we're still giddy over the 7" we got in September and early October). But we can stand it better out here than you folks in the Hill Country. Hope that situation changes for you very soon.

I have occasionally mowed the lawn since then, but only when Husband was ill or injured, and unable to do it himself. He was demonstrably grateful.

His ideal house would have one bedroom, a 12-car garage and a deck in the shade.

Lawn?

Mower? (Is that some kind of incarnation of a snowblower)?

It's like a teensy combine.

You do remember what a combine is, don't you?

"We really don't know clouds at all."

You really think like that. In music.

I know you do.

Of course I do. It's our state flower.

Your tales of labor woe brought back fond(?) memories of mowing lawns for extra income back in the day in my little Texas hometown. A typical job fetched $2, while the vast landscaped rolling hills of Mrs. Hilliard's gardened showcase - a princely $5! (That dear lady insisted on overpaying because she liked the way I mowed "close" around her trees). Considering that I used the family mower at no charge and a 29 cent gallon of gas would last pretty much all day, the profit margin was impressive. (As were the chigger bites).

Lawn mowing was my first "real job" too. I can still remember the fragrance of the new mown lawns, the asthma, the hay fever, the gasoline fumes, the billowing dust clouds, the mower that weighed more than me. Good times.

You really think like that. In music.

That's the way [uh huh, uh huh] I like it [uh huh, uh huh].

Um, what makes you say that?

I know a couple 'round here that do the same.

Sometimes, even in harmony.