Thursday, June 10, 2004
Pulling the Cord
Many things I do I think are weird. Weird, not because the acts themselves are weird, but because I can get so much pleasure from them, like mowing.
I have always considered mowing fun. This is coming from a boy who grew up in the Texas heat where being outside in the summer was a dangerous as, well, mowing with sandals.
I remember the first yard I mowed. I was in 2nd grade and I spent a lot of time with my friend Cisco. We used to ride skateboards in the cement ditches in our neighborhood, ride bikes across San Antonio, drink Coke-A-Cola, or just sit in the shade. Cisco must have read Tom Sawyer early in his life because he used to get me to help him do his chores. One of them was mowing.
Maybe it was because it felt old, or that I was doing something dangerous, or just doing something my parents probably would have not have wanted, but I loved it. I used to ask Cisco if I could mow his yard.
When my parent did let me start to mow, we had moved away from Cisco into a huge acre lot. The plot was not only huge, but grass was only on a third of it, the rest was covered with weeds and dirt. In Texas the only things that grow is grass (that is properly watered) or some prickly, pokey, near dead weeds that can draw blood if you walk on them without shoes or try to pick them.
It took hours to mow this yard and when I would finish, I felt that I had completed a task that no one else in my house wanted to do. I felt I was a contributing member of the family.
Today, I get different pleasures from mowing. My brains wanders, probes subjects that I have no other time to focus on. I write stories, finish arguments, or work math problems. Sometimes I get tired and then I sing (in my head) or get hungry and breathe. I get comfort in the fact I know exactly what to do next and how much more until I am done. I relish the smell of cut grass and the feel of the yard under my feet. I love the consistent hum of the lawnmower and how I can tell when it needs more gas before it really does.
Lately, I’m finding it difficult to do easy things. My brain is not letting me focus. I find myself staring at my hands and crying. When this happens, I grab my hat, go outside, turn on the choke and start pulling that cord.
I have always considered mowing fun. This is coming from a boy who grew up in the Texas heat where being outside in the summer was a dangerous as, well, mowing with sandals.
I remember the first yard I mowed. I was in 2nd grade and I spent a lot of time with my friend Cisco. We used to ride skateboards in the cement ditches in our neighborhood, ride bikes across San Antonio, drink Coke-A-Cola, or just sit in the shade. Cisco must have read Tom Sawyer early in his life because he used to get me to help him do his chores. One of them was mowing.
Maybe it was because it felt old, or that I was doing something dangerous, or just doing something my parents probably would have not have wanted, but I loved it. I used to ask Cisco if I could mow his yard.
When my parent did let me start to mow, we had moved away from Cisco into a huge acre lot. The plot was not only huge, but grass was only on a third of it, the rest was covered with weeds and dirt. In Texas the only things that grow is grass (that is properly watered) or some prickly, pokey, near dead weeds that can draw blood if you walk on them without shoes or try to pick them.
It took hours to mow this yard and when I would finish, I felt that I had completed a task that no one else in my house wanted to do. I felt I was a contributing member of the family.
Today, I get different pleasures from mowing. My brains wanders, probes subjects that I have no other time to focus on. I write stories, finish arguments, or work math problems. Sometimes I get tired and then I sing (in my head) or get hungry and breathe. I get comfort in the fact I know exactly what to do next and how much more until I am done. I relish the smell of cut grass and the feel of the yard under my feet. I love the consistent hum of the lawnmower and how I can tell when it needs more gas before it really does.
Lately, I’m finding it difficult to do easy things. My brain is not letting me focus. I find myself staring at my hands and crying. When this happens, I grab my hat, go outside, turn on the choke and start pulling that cord.
