--"Pup Dog" in Walt Kelly's Pogo comic strip (his only line of dialogue other than "wurf! wurf!")
If my lawn had not grown to scandalous heights, I would never have dreamed of mowing it in September. But it had, and I did. Dreamed of mowing it, that is.
As I may have mentioned, in these parts we don't water our lawns in summer. By July they grow brownish -- let's say beige -- and stop growing. No growing, no mowing. Sometimes the rains come late enough in the fall that the lawns turn green, but otherwise put off growing until spring. But this year, no. My lawn was definitely getting out of hand.
So yesterday, I dragged the mower out of the garage, filled it with gas, and pulled the cord. Or tried to. It wouldn't start. This wasn't one of those irritating first mows of the year when you repeatedly pull the cord all the way out, and the motor refuses to turn over. This was something I've never experienced before. The cord pulled about four inches and then stopped cold. Nothing I could do would persuade it to pull out farther, whether I coaxed it slowly and gently, or yanked it with all the fury that I was beginning to feel.
I turned the mower upside down to see if the blade was stuck? No. I opened any available apertures to check for problems. Nothing.
I reconciled myself to buying a new mower. I dragged the infuriating machine back into the garage, changed back into civilian, non-mowing clothes, and watched the Seahawks.
The Seahawks lost, but that's another story.
By the time that the Packer green and gold was dancing for joy all over my TV screen, it was time for bed. I went upstairs, began getting undressed, unbuckled my belt -- and the belt fell apart. The buckle fell off. On a fairly new and still attractive belt. Inspection showed that a tiny screw connecting the buckle to a metal plate that covered the end of the belt was severed. The belt was useless.
Note to self: Buy new belt. Wear shorts tomorrow until mission accomplished.
Seconds later, I climbed into bed with a portion of the Sunday paper I hadn't yet read. I leaned back on my pillow. The backboard collapsed against the wall. What the .....!!!! A tiny screw (you see a common thread here?), connecting the headboard to the upright post, was severed. It was irreparable, although fortunately the collapse had no effect on my immediate ability to sleep in the bed.
Let's review the bidding. Within a few hours:
1. Lawn mower unexpectedly and inexplicably can't be started.
2. Tiny screw is severed, making belt unusable.
3. Tiny screw is severed, forcing me to buy a new bed frame.
Odd coincidence, you may say, but of course merely a coincidence. I hear you chuckle at my paranoia, my superstition even?
Perhaps you recall that, almost exactly three years ago, I related how my house cleaner quit. The scheduler working for the service that provided her advised me that she claimed my house was haunted. I scoffed. The scheduler laughed with me, nervously, and informed me that another house cleaner had quit a couple of years earlier, also claiming to be alarmed by "paranormal events" happening in my house.
I hardly took any of this seriously, except for perhaps that first night at about 2 a.m.. when I awoke and lay in bed wondering if -- as the latest cleaning woman had suggested to her employer -- I had never noticed ghostly presences in my house because I wasn't "sensitive" enough, because I simply wasn't paying attention to what was happening under my very nose -- my insensitive nose. I sincerely hoped, at 2 a.m., that -- should this be true -- I would continue blissfully unaware in my insensitivity.
So. I claim nothing. I don't believe in poltergeists. I don't think I do. According to someone, presumably an expert, named Gordon Randall Garrrett, "The poltergeist phenomenon is usually spectacular and is nearly always associated with teen-age neurotics."
I'm neither a teenager nor a neurotic.
Shut up!
I've got to buy a new lawn mower.
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