I may have to move myself off my lazy butt. Actually, I already have. Kind of.
Our yard guy didn't come last week. He didn't come the week prior to that, either. So Thursday afternoon I dragged our own mower out of the garage, tipped some fresh gas into it and for the first time in six years, started it up and cut and trimmed the lawn. Kind of just did what I call a "mow-and-blow."
Lemmetellya, it flat kicked my butt. This was the first time I've done this since the summer of 2008. That was when I underwent my first knee replacement. Laura and I reasoned that doing yard work on a brand new knee, in place thanks to major surgery, probably wasn't a good idea, at least for awhile. So we hired the man who does our neighbors' yards to do ours.
My knee recovered beautifully and our new yard man worked so hard and did such a good job that, hell, we just kept him on. Then a couple of years down the line I had a second knee replacement. By now, the thought of letting our yard guy go, even after recovery, given how hard he worked and the pittance he charged, was just - well, not tenable.
But fate will take a hand in things. Our yard guy's son just knocked on our door and told me that his dad is in the hospital, that he wouldn't be coming again this week. Hope the guy will beat whatever ails him, he's a very nice man. But in the meantime, looks like I'm back in the saddle with mowing, trimming and cleaning our yard again, for the first time in six years.
Oh, good, just in time for the enormous sycamore tree next door to drop its 11 zillion dinner-plate-sized leaves all over our house and yard. Ah, well, I can use the exercise.