Grass

We have had a lot of rain here lately. And as a result the grass, if left unattended, is frightfully long. I raised the mower height a bit. Then more. And finally, to its highest position. I thought, "I'll probably have to mow this again to a shorter height. Crap! Maybe even tomorrow." Still, I dug in. Taking it slow. Letting my Troy-Bilt 6.75hp kick out clumps of chewed up grass. It was not too bad in some parts. And excessively long in others. I actually like to mow the lawn. But I hate it when the grass is this long. My mood darkened. Then, I became self-conscious. It was around lunch time and the people in my neighborhood who drove by looked and I read their expressions, "He's finally mowing!" "What a slug!" "What took you so long, fella?" "My lawn looks great compared to yours!" And so on. But I kept at it, knowing that what I was doing was the right thing. And of course I chose the hottest part of this sunny day to mow this field. I tried to distract myself with the project itself. I studied the different weeds (yes weeds) as I chomped them to a manageable size. Some had flowered. Some were simply long strands. But I kept at it. About a quarter done. Then, half. Then, I noticed people driving by were smiling. I again read their expressions, "Hey! He's finally mowing that lawn!" "Nice job!" Still, I worried about my Troy-Bilt as it battled the thickest grass of the whole field. But we pushed on together. And people smiled more. Then, as I was just about done, I ran out of gas. I thought, "Good enough!" Even more smiles. And even I smiled.

Fact is, it wasn't my lawn. I was mowing it for a family that had moved out months ago who were still trying to sell it. It's a grand salt box, actually.

No praise here. Please. I'm just glad I have such a dependable Troy-Bilt. And just enough gas. Well, almost enough. Still, there will always be grass to mow, yes? Enough to share.

Crappy Minivan

Recently on a Friday night, I was driving from Columbus to Akron with my daughter to pick up a friend of hers for the weekend. And I pass this really old white minivan. Dented. Rusted. I think in its day it was a Ford. Or Chrysler. Hard to tell. But I thought to myself, "What a crappy ride." Then, as I do, I thought harder. And deeper. The dude driving has a name. I'll call him Ray. No, Leon. In the passanger's seat was Shirley. As I glanced again, I noticed two little figures in the seats behind them. Tasha and Rieanna. (Stay with me here.) So, they aren't a crappy ride. They are a family. Where are they going? Or, maybe they're coming back from somewhere. Yeah, that's it. They just came from visiting, ah, Shirley's uncle. In Canton. He's been aweful lonely since his wife died last year of breast cancer. They would have stayed longer but Leon needs to get to work in the morning. At 6am. I sat a little lower in my seat. Why do I judge people so quickly? And by what they drive on the freeway? Please. I glanced in my rear-view mirror and saw them trailing behind. I felt like crap. Everyone tells a story. All are complex. All are valuable. Yet we whiz by in our Walmart world behavior and never take the time nor effort to really get to know one another. Time and attention can be like a gift to someone.

Really, everyone.

Then, suddenly, Leon charges past me on the right. I think, "Slow down you idiot! You have Shirley and the girls in the car!"

Moron.

Balloons

I recently heard someone say the old line, "he's worth his weight in gold." Which made me think about weight. A lot. In a Walmart world, we sometimes equate weigh with value. More is better. Bigger is better. To continue my incredibly poor metaphor here, I can see why we like the material "cinder blocks" in life. They build foundations. They are solid. We can see them. We can touch them. The more we have the more secure we feel. And if we put them on a scale we can measure how much we have. Measuring seems to be very important to most people. It seems to give us a sense of value. Which seems to give us a sense of importance. Which seems to give us a sense of meaning. I thought, "What if you put a balloon on a scale?" It wouldn't weigh very much. Really, it wouldn't weigh anything at all. But then, the scale is the one of the Walmart world. Balloons are better than blocks. They defy the scale. They float about. They don't last forever. And if you pop one the air inside simply returns to the rest of the air all around. Still with us. So, maybe instead of finding value in blocks we should place it in balloons. The stuff we cannot see with our eyes or measure on the Walmart scale. But the stuff that we take for granted. Like friendship. Sympathy. Sincerity. Authenticity. Integrity. And love.