These wonderful, every-fifth-day May rains have filled the reservoirs and provided a nice supply of moisture for our yards to tap into this summer. That's the good news. The bad news is that everything is growing Amazon-like and that means I need to be outside nearly every evening mowing, cutting, and trimming lest our neighbors get angry.
The problem is that my mind still assumes I'm in my 30's. That was 3 decades and five surgeries ago, however. The boys and I used to knock out 14 yards in a single Saturday and laugh and joke the whole time. Now, the joke is on me.
We live on 1.7 acres. Before we even bought the land, I remember Carole asking, "Are you sure you can take care of all that landscaping?" What was I supposed to say, "No, I'm not man enough, dear."? Now, when the temperature is 98 and the field next to our house needs to be knocked out, I struggle with whether I should: (1) just let it turn into a preserve of sorts and sell tickets, or (2) call one of my kids, or (3) teach Carole how to drive a John Deere lawn tractor. But since I'm only 60 and real men don't quit when they're "just" 60, I straggle out there and fantasize about a postage stamp lawn.
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