Wednesday, August 9, 2006

"Warts and All"

Look what I dislodged from it's home while edging the lawn!

[Quick Personal Note for SighleMacCaba: I am not bonding with a TOAD. And the only reason I'm welcoming the squirrel? Its my irrational hope it will chase away the rabbits. Urban myth, by the way, says rabbits like to get under cars and gnaw on brakelines. You might be better off with a squirrel.]

Anyway the little warted creature is less in length than the first segment of my index finger. I trap him to take his picture. Now don't go calling the SPCA.  I let him go unharmed although I think he's lookin' pretty good to the Robins in the neighborhood.

And you know what? This entry has nothing to do with the toad.  It's about firemen and edging the lawn.

I was sired and raised by a fireman, so I kinda of know of what I speak.  They are a meticulous lot.  Don't take my word for it.  Stop by the station sometime and watch them wax fire engines and floors, or hang up hoses to dry. As messy as their fire fighting can be? Go to the other extreme for the rest of their routine.

So? Well when you grow up with a fireman instructing you on proper lawn care?  You'd better neatly EDGE that "puppy."  That's especially true if your house is five doors down from the fire station.  You are not only talking neighborhood pride.  You are talking making grade for all the other firemen who drive by the house coming and going every other day.

You can get away with just about any kind of grass planted in a fireman's  yard. Trees and bushes and even flowers are optional. But? Had Hamlet said, " to edge or not to edge?" He would not have been contemplating suicide.    He'd be deciding whether or not to edge? Or change his name, and run as far away from home as he could get in 24 hours.  [firemen work 24 shifts]

So anyhow I'm living in the highest per capita income county in this state. [I'm sure my income is keeping it from being number one in the country.] And as I look up and down my street? Almost none of the lawns are edged? How odd.  It's been kind of nice for more than a decade not to live in fear that I might have forgotten to EDGE.  Home free, eh?

Not!  I'm at Lowes, Home Depot's alter ego.  I'm buying some thumb tacks or something and as I get in line at the register? The guy in front of me is buying an EDGER. I'm not talking one of those four stroke gas engine contraptions that violate every noise ordinance on the planet.  No, this is the old fashioned kind. For you youngsters? You just grab it with both hands like a shovel and give your lawn a shave along its' concrete edges. I think garden gloves were invented because of edgers.

So as I'm watching this guy meander towards his car, I am overwhelmed with guilt. I start seeing my Dad's intimidating scowl in  the clouds.  He is looking down on me:

"You don't edge? You YakHead. What you need is a good swift kick in the b__t."

[He never did it, but I was never comfortable that he wouldn't.]

So I march right back in to Lowes?

"You got any of those old fashioned EDGERS?"

With a sickening sinister sneer the clerk says, "yeah, right over there."

So I get it home with muted enthusiasm. I'm beginning to recall the feel of blisters on my palms and the creases between my thumbs and index fingers.  OOOW!

So I grab some garden gloves, guzzle some water, embrace the EDGER, and head for the front yard.

I can see front lawns for a block in each direction. Close scrutiny reveals only two yards have been carefully edged...two houses down to the South...( The guys a fireman, no ____T!) and three houses down to the North...don't know what that guy does.  One thing I'm pretty sure of? I'm the only guy in the neighborhood with a "HAND EDGER." I think the fireman's is nuclear powered.

Let me cut to the chase.  The grass is so thick and "hung over," it takes me two hours to manicure it's edges. I have a brand new 'STINGING" blister on my right palm.  It is in the low 90's and I am on my way to losing 8 pounds. [I see a best seller: Diet On The Edge. Lose Your Wasteline at a Blistering Pace.]

So will I edge next week?  I just remembered something else.

Doing stories on getting your home ready for sale? RULE NUMBER ONE: "Don't spend a lot of money upgrading your property if it sets it apart from the rest of the neighborhood. YOU WILL NEVER GET A FAIR RETURN ON YOUR INVESTMENT."

Hmmmmm!  Now if I can get the guy to the North of me to see the wisdom of rule number one? [there is no chance of getting the fireman to backoff.] Then maybe we can all stop trying to "LIVE ON THE EDGE."

"Dad? I'm going to bronze this EDGER and put your name on it. You must have some Pinochle game you need to get back to up there. I've got to get to work trying to save a HOMELESS TOAD."

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

An elderly Italian couple owned the house we grew up in.  It was a two-family house with a lovely garden in the back where old Mr. Martocci had fruit trees and beautiful flower beds along either side of a large lawn.  Oh, and a small grape arbor at the back.  (They made their own wine in the basement.  They also held the live Thansgiving turkey captive down there a couple of days before thanks giving.  I leave the rest to your imagination.  And this was the Bronx.))  Where am I going with this?  Oh yes!  Edgers... This old man edged his lawn by hand.  Yessir!  By hand.  He sat at the edge of the lawn with a pair of clippers in his gnarled old hands and inched his way backwards up the lawn, clipping and trimming as he scooched along.  And he always looked so peaceful.  I think he enjoyed it.