Once again I sit at my desk typing on this Thursday afternoon. I guess this is where I am supposed to be. I had planned on having a very productive day mowing the lawn, watering flowers and pulling weeds but once again life had other ideas or God did.
I knew that it wasn’t going to go the way I thought it would when I climbed on Inny my lawnmower for mowing the inside yard, and yes I do name my lawnmowers, cars, weedeaters, etc. Call me crazy, yea pretty much I am. Anyway Inny would just click when I turned the key.That shot down my quicky mow the lawn and get it done before noon plan. I decided the front yard really needed mowed so I resorted to Ol” Reliable” our push lawn mower. It cuts but it’s a manuel push. And we got the job done in “pant” “pant” about one hour. By this time Ol Reliable and I both had our tongues hanging to the ground and even though I had good intentions of mowing the back yard, when I pushed Ol Reliable to the back and looked down that long grass infested neverending park of a yard, my good intentions flew away with the cotton that floated off my tree in that backyard park.
So off to it’s resting place Ol Reliable went and then I had an AHA! moment. I would use the very old, dinosaur of a lawnmower that we had scavenged from my Mom and Dad. It was originally our riding lawnmower back in the day when I was young and fit and could actually throw my leg over the seat to get on. The Murray had cut grass like a John Deere in its’ hey day.
Words straight from a farmer’s mouth. My neighbor in Wyoming was a farmer from way before I was born. He was one of those farmers that believed the only good tractor was a John Deere tractor. Nothing else measured up to a John Deere tractor. My neighbor used to laugh at me on the Murray as we bungled along cutting the grass in his lot next to our house. My neighbor had had a stroke and had lost the use of his arm and leg but somehow his family had found him a John Deere hydrostatic lawn mower that would work with the push of his good leg and arm. He could mow circles around me and my Murray. Literally, he would be mowing and pass me twice before I got around the lot. But he had quite a bit to mow and I offered to help with Murray of course. He looked at me a smile hovering on his face and said. “You best keep up with this John Deere.” The Murray and I did keep up, sort of, and we got the pasture mowed. That is when the greatest compliment the Murray and I ever got happened. The farmer pulled up beside me on his John Deere. Mr. Freeman looked at me and then he looked at the Murray. “You know if you paint that red mower green , it could almost pass for a John Deere.” I about fell off the Murray right than and there. I still don’t know to this day if he was kidding or not but I am going to remember it as a compliment. I figured Murray and I had earned Mr.Freeman’s respect because after that I was in charge of mowing that lot.
But that was years ago. About twenty or so years ago. Anyway a long time ago. Now the Murray and I are older. The Murray has gone through years of mowing grass, weeds and maybe even trees. It’s been used, abused and just plain worked until it ended up in one of my Dad’s old sheds missing a tire, a belt and a battery with the grass catcher tied together with baling wire and a board under the seat. It was destined for the junk pile in the sky, well the scrap pile in town, actually, but my Dad offered to bring her over to our junk pile if my hubby wanted to fix her. I have to say when it comes to mowers my husband has the gift. With a little TLC and alot of cussing and banging and a few new parts, he can get anything running…for awhile. It takes alot of TLC to keep old dinosaurs running. Years of use can to that to hard working machines. They don’t last forever. Ask any junkyard owner. But as luck would have it Old Murray had a comeback.
And like Frankenstein one dark night the new, old, cumbersome, lumbersome Murray was reborn. “It runs, It runs.” my husband yelled over a roaring one speed, only the rabbit works motor. “Just keep her right at the rabbit, wiggle the shifter until she finds a gear and let her go!” My husband jerkily took off out onto our dirt road, racing toward the electric fence but turning just in time to start mowing. Following along I had to admit the Murray still had it in her. She was cutting that grass like there was no tomorrow. So I decided to give it a try. I have to tell you right now that I also had aged a bit. The first realization came when I tried to throw my foot over the seat, like when I was young and I got stuck there until my husband came to the rescue. Second, I didn’t realize that Murray didn’t have power steering. She was one tough broad to turn. Third was something I never realized in my younger, fit as Rosie Riveter days, this mower was one tough lumbersome cumbersome mower to operate. She didn’t have shocks and she didn’t like trees. That’s all I have to say about that. But Murray mowed, so Murray became part of the mowing family.
I digress. Back to the problem at hand. The backyard park needed mowed. Lumbersome, Cumbersome and I would finish it in no time at all. But once again it was not to be. After forty five minutes of pushing the dinosaur out of it’s lair and trying to start it on rabbit run,then it would cough and spit and just die, I gave up. Words came out of my mouth like Oh crap and all the other words that seem to come along with it. “Why I yelled Whyyyyy!” So leaving old Lumbersome Cumbersome in the junk pile where at the moment I figure she belonged, I awkwardly crawled off the dinosaur, gave it a good kick to the tire that always goes flat and stomped into that grass infested park of a yard, seriously contemplating getting horses ,cows, goats,sheep whatever eats grass and letting them devour the whole mess. But then again therein lies another problem. My dogs. That’s a story for another day.
I angrily stomped to the chickenhouse. Might as well gather my four brown eggs that I get from fifteen molting isa brown chickens and ten budding leghorns. Grumbling I walked in the chicken house and looked through the nests and suddenly it was like the clouds were swept away and the sun shone down on one little white egg laying all by it self in the nest.Ahhhhhhh! My little leghorn chickens were starting to lay. It was a white egg! My first ever white egg since I had chickens! I was ecstatic. The chickens were ecstatic or maybe they were flying around because I was dancing crazily in their house. Whatever it was it was a celebration of the white egg. Some how my day of doom and gloom had become a day of celebration.
I quickly walked to the house with my treasure, and tripped over a brick in my sidewalk, stubbing my toe in pain, but the good news was I still had the white egg. And just as I came to standstill before falling ,eggs and all to the ground, I spied, wonder of wonders , my Orange Crush Rose had finally bloomed. Another dance of celebration.
Okay by now you probably think I am crazy. Yes, I may be. But,suddenly, it came to me how easily one can let a day turn from bad to worse in the splash of a moment. And how God can in the blink of an eye make that day amazing again. It might be just a little white egg and a plain orange rose, but those two little simple things made my day of gloom and doom become a day of celebration and joy. God made me realize that all this will soon pass, and of course there’s work ahead but just don’t forget to enjoy the little things in life and for goodness sake stop and smell the roses (in my case see and smell the roses) once in awhile. God Bless!