Lawn mower, by Nancy Chek

When someone asked Carl Reiner whether he considered himself a writer or a comedian, he said, “When I write, I’m a writer; when I tell jokes, I’m a comedian; and when I cut the grass, I’m a lawn mower.” Tonight I was a lawn mower.

Yes, after two years and one month, I have unpacked and assembled my Fiskars lawn mower. And all without a number 11 wrench (who has a numbered wrench lying around the house anyway?). My grass had not been cut for two weeks (in the back, not yet this season). I was so pleased with myself for identifying points A through L, negotiating hexagonal bolts and a couple of cotter pins, all while not damaging myself with the sharp-as-a-razer blades, that I went out in the dark and cut the grass. The street light helped—or not, since I was cutting in my own shadow. 

I suspect I did a not very good job, and tomorrow I’ll have to check the setting of the blades to make sure they are aligned, clean up any mess I made, and tackle the back yard. That’s what tomorrows are for. And that’s why God invented practice. 



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