Spring

I love Spring.  Seems like the best things have always happened to me in the Springtime.  This year, I kicked off Spring in NOLA (and for the record, Spring starts at Easter...not by the calendar.)  New Orleans was great, I ate too much and rode my hotel elevator down 23 floors with Bruce Willis.  So, this past weekend was spent with two loves...New Orleans and Spring.  When I came home, I was ready to tackle another love of mine....yardwork. 

My love of yardwork began as a child.  I wanted to be in charge of my own yard.  My father cut the grass, that was that.  Whenever I expressed an interest in tall grass removal, I was shooed away with a gruff "cutting grass is a man's job".  This infuriated me.  Haven't I proved myself worthy?  I didn't hang out in the kitchen all day organizing spice racks!  I spent my free time in "the shed", wreaking havoc on my dad's welding supplies, grease guns, and plywood.  It brought about a confusing time for me, because I abhored housework (woman's work), but was discouraged from yardwork (man's work).  Should I not be able to choose?  It is no wonder that later on when I was searching for a "rewarding" career, the same man told me "the only reward you need to concern yourself with is a paycheck. You can't just sit around enjoying yourself for 8 hours a day.  It isn't American."  The few times I was allowed to ride on the mower, it was always with the blade up...thereby kicking off a life of spinning my wheels.

Fast forward 15 years.  My exhusband and I lived in a quaint little house with a quaint little yard.  Finally, a yard of my own!  I purchased a 'power mower' and set about creating a lush lawn that would have made some sort of lawn publication had it not been located in Berclair.  My ex preferred to sit inside and smoke pot all day, so all yard duties fell upon me and I loved it.  I planted flowers, bushes, and herbs.  I mowed the grass every week.  I purchased more outdoor power equipment.   Mowing patterns were tested, patchy areas were seeded and pests were exterminated.  I had gloves.  After a few years of this bliss, ex and I decided to upgrade to nearly an acre of land out in the country. 

The whole marriage thing died before the next Spring.  The previous homeowners had taken very good care of the lawn in my new house and I was determined to keep it up.  I was a little nervous about trying to tackle all that grass with my power PUSH mower; but figured I was a strong and independent woman...so off I went.  And after two passes, I power pushed that mower right back into the garage and power called my dad.  Shortly thereafter, he arrived with his big person's mower and made quick work of the yard.  Quick MAN'S work.  The irony didn't escape me.  As I stood in the kitchen, admiring my dishes, my dad was passing back and forth, doing his man's work.  I died a little with each pass. 

A couple of years have passed and now I, once again, own a quaint little house with a quaint little yard.  I still have that 'power mower', though I have since lost most of my outdoor power equipment to and due to several MEN.  Last year, I hired someone to cut my grass as I didn't have time (I was busy not enjoying myself for a paycheck...thanks dad).  This year, because I am currently unemployed, I can't afford that luxury; therefore, my first order of business upon returning from my trip was to take care of the backyard. 

I borrowed a weed eater from my mom and stepdad, and of course, the rental agreement spelled out that I was to be supervised in the operation of this equipment (because I am 9 years old).  As I was trying to start said trimmer, I experienced some difficulty.  I choked it, half choked it, flooded it, primed it, and after several pointers from my non yardwork doing mother, and several tongue bites, I finally started it.  And promptly made her go inside.  It was great to be the one shooing someone off!  After murdering the weeds, I wheeled my mower out and gassed it up.  It started right off, and I went happily along, attacking clover mounds.  After about five minutes, my mower coughed and then passed out.  I couldn't restart it.  I turned it over and removed all the clogs from the blade and vent.  Nothing.  I checked the oil.  Full.  I checked the gas.  Full.  I kicked it.  I cussed it.  I smoked.  I may have even wept a little.  After sitting on the patio and giving the mower the stink eye for about ten minutes, I decided to give it one more try.  Walking up to it, I silently cussed it.  One yank on the cord and...cough cough cough...nothing.  I felt a searing heat come over me and thought about the $100 a month I was going to have to come up with to have yet another MAN take care of this problem for me.  It was then that I released the Kracken on that mofo.  And with a fury I never knew I was capable of, I yanked that cord almost clean out of the motor and cough cough cough...IT STARTED!  

I love Spring.  Things that have been dead or thought dead, magically spring back to life.  Brown becoming green.  Cold turning warm.  I have been trapped indoors with indoor activities (frantically searching for a job, sending out resumes, going over my budget with a fine toothed comb, etc) for far too long now.  And the thing that I am most looking forward to is hanging out with my recuperating dad.  Going to pick him up, bringing him back here for a nice lunch on the patio, and then shooing him inside whilst I set about my woman's work.