I wrote a great blog post in my head. While I mowed the lawn last week. But did I write it down right away?
Take note: Take notes.
Anyway. We had to take the rider to the hospital. The farm machinery place. Where I saw two boxer-type dogs sitting oh so straight together in the passenger seat of a pickup, heads twin trained on the store door.
Take note: Take camera.
Anyway. Dear husband left me to go to Dallas for three days and put me in charge of the lawn. We call it a lawn. But really, it’s just a field that we mow to look like a lawn. Except when we let it go so long, it looks more like the field it is. Maybe we could call it a yard.
It wasn’t totally our fault.
I mean I know I promised to take on more chores when I quit work. But then I got caught up in this writing thing.
And Dennis had this big test to study for. And then it rained. And then the rider died. Which ended up costing us $40 to find out the battery needed to be charged–even though our tester whatchamacallit showed otherwise.
So I had to do it. Mow, that is. And put some muscle into it. With the supposedly self-propelled thing that left me puffing and palpitating. If I let it go any longer, even until the rider came home, it would soon like like the side yard. Which we finally let go last year (or was it the year before?), and now we can barely walk through it to visit the neighbor’s sheep.
So now we only mow a couple acres instead of five.
It took me three days to do the front.
Start. Stop. Because I kept letting go of the wrong handle.
Start. Stall. Clean out the clogged grass.
Start. Stop. Get drink.
Start. Stop. Walk a mile (seemed like it) to get the gas can.
Had I been whipping around on the rider, I might have chewed up the vole and little frog, both of which managed to scamper and jump to safety.
(I still remember when my daughter ran over a bunny nest . She does, too. It was years before she mowed again. Trauma all around.)
So I managed to make some progress. As long as I kept at it. A little at a time. And felt the satisfaction of standing back and looking back to see where I had been and what I had accomplished.
And this thought struck me.
Life gets out of control sometimes. For lots of reasons. And sometimes we just gotta let some things go. And tackle what’s left. Even if we have to start and stop. Take a break. With an eye on the goal.
Because life is not a free ride. We need to walk it out. Propelled by something bigger than self.