John Deer Green

Yesterday, I learned how to mow lawn on a riding mower. Until yesterday I had no idea what an important skill this was. Ranks right up there with driving a stick shift on my list. Ohkay maybe not that high but at least somewhere near, tying the cherry stem into a knot with your tongue, and doing a backflip, I can’t do the latter but I got the whole cherry thing covered. Chalk it up to one to many Friday nights at TGIFriday’s in high school.

My parents had a normal-sized yard growing up (at least here in the states) that only required a push lawn-mower. Great on the tan but a sticky way to get a work out.
Its nothing like my dad’s new John Deer-this thing comes equipped with a place for my
Walkman and a cup holder. (And yes I still use a walkman—not an Ipod--but more on that latter.) If you happened to be driving by my parents yesterday afternoon, you would’ve seen me in sweats and way too fashionable for lawn mowing sunglasses, singing at the top of my lungs to whatever new song was on the radio—with a little brown dog bounding along behind. It was great—since I am the mother of a seven week old (don’t worry she was being watched carefully by her Nanna and Poppa) I was thrilled a little time just to think. I’ll admit I got a little nervous when the thing went down hill—no one told me the machine slows itself down. I was ready to bucking bronco it all the way down—a little anti-climactic but not bad.
And what did all this thinking time get me? Well, it dawned on me that since I live in a condo I pay my association a nice chunk of change each month to mow my 12 by 4 foot piece of grass (I am not exaggerating it’s really that small.) And then my parents turn around and pay me to manage their acre of lawn. Go figure.