Of Lawn Mowers And Rain Gutters And Old Navy

Sunday was our day to relax. Carlos and I had dinner out on Saturday to celebrate The Day We Met and Sunday was a day to rest.

But...................

When we lived in Miami we lived in a gated community and the homeowners association mowed our lawn. We could plant whatever we wanted, but they mowed any lawn we had outside our own fences. So, when we moved to Smallville and bought this house it came with a ginormous lawn, and we had no lawn mower to call our own. Carlos, who for some inexplicable reason, was looking forward to mowing the lawn...I know! Crazy!...began looking for a riding mower. But then, without warning, he settled on a non-riding, self-propelled Toro--I think it was the name that got him.

And he began to be in charge of the lawn.
But this weekend he kept saying it was too hot to mow; too hot in the morning, too hot in the evening. So Sunday morning, over breakfast, as he said it again, I announced that I would cut the grass. A Royal Proclamation.

Trumpets sounded. Doves were released. Carlos choked on his cafe con leche.

But I held up my end, and I went outside and I cut the grass--after a quick lesson on how that thing worked. But it was, well, it took me back to my childhood, when I would rise every Saturday morning to cut the grass for my Dad. I loved being out there in the sun, pushing the mower up and down, swatting away bugs, dodging tree branches, trying not to think about my foot slipping under the lawn mower like a scene from Fargo.

I mowed that lawn. One end to the other; round and round up and down. And I hated it now as much, if not more, then I did as a boy. The bugs; the trees; the dismemberment thoughts.

But, since I was mowing, Carlos was on rain gutter duty. We are surrounded by trees; oak trees, pine trees, eucalyptus trees, maple trees, crepe myrtles and dogwoods. And all those leaves make a beeline into our rain gutters. It's a hassle to clean them, but, since I was occupied with aiming the Toro at our little dog, Carlos did the gutters. Let him run his fingers through soggy leaves and pine needles. I. Was. Mowing! Dammit!

Afterwards, after a shower and a long slow sipped of Iced Tea, Carlos announced that he needed some new pants. The relaxation portion of our day would be put off yet again. Off we drove to Old Navy, nearly twenty miles away, because he'd heard they were having a sale. And boy loves himself a sale!

I dropped him off at the store and then ran down to the Walgreens to get a couple of things we needed. When I arrived back at Old Navy, he was still inside, so I went in to see what was happening. Carlos was at the register talking to a sales rep who shouted out a Hello as I entered the store. I hate that they do that.

Anyway, I walked to the register to hear Carlos say Sixty dollars? I asked what was wrong and he explained that they wanted $29.50 for the pants and another $29.50 for the shorts. Sixty dollars! he hissed again.

I smiled weakly at the cashier and said, You'll have to forgive him. He's not from around here. He's visiting from 1941 when pants were seventy-five cents.

Carlos. You gotta love him. Gutter man.