I'm going to set aside news talk for the night to discuss something I have come to enjoy as an adult: cutting the grass. I spent my day today doing that amidst laundry, cooking, and being a mom.
While some of you may be saying to yourselves "Huh?", please let me explain.
To me, there is something invigorating about mowing the lawn. We live in the mountains, so putting on my skimpiest outfit and getting out my gas-guzzling, emission-spewing Lawn Boy can be done without the snickers and jeers of passersby. I put on my ipod, shades, and a smile.
I grew up in a rural town about 35 miles south of Pittsburgh. We lived in my great-grandfather's house, taking care of him until his passing. The old farm house sat on approximately 1 1/2 acres, and every summer my younger brother and I were given the task of mowing all of it. Back then (and even now) we didn't have a riding mower, and self-propelled mowers were for rich people. After we were done cutting the grass, it was time to play. The smell of freshly-cut grass as we played The Bionic Woman and Six Million Dollar Man was all around us. Usually, we would take our pillows and all the blankets we could find outside to pitch a makeshift tent. Again, the smell of the grass lulled us to sleep until our mom came out to tell us it was going to rain (I think she was afraid of us getting bitten by something in the middle of the night.).
While we now have a self-propelled mower, some things haven't changed. After mowing our yard, I take a shower and go out on the porch to take in the smell of the grass with a hint of gas and oil. It takes me back to a time when things were so much simpler. My husband offers to cut the grass, but I politely decline. I wouldn't want him taking away my childhood.