Got Grass?

What rhymes with Lawn?

Yawn. Pawn. Dawn. Ron. Con. Fawn.

Yes indeed . . . I could go ON!

But I won't.

Actually, I was looking for something pun-like to say, but I couldn't think of any good lawn puns.

Something about grass, vice presidents, and the Hunchback of Notre Dame, which would eventually end with Lawn Chaney, but I decided that the grass is actually greener on this side of that particular mountain.

Why lawns all of a sudden?

Because of sheer neglect. That's why.

See . . . I've been preoccupied of sorts. Gone are the days where I would make a  conservative list of daily tasks and treat my passions like they where chores, moving one little piece at a time.

Now I sort of just zero in on one thing at a time, ignoring life, limb and of course . . . lawn.

My front lawn to be precise.

I didn't plan on letting the whole thing wither and die (though spiritually I couldn't care less), I assumed, as we all did, that there would be rain, and I could pretty much do what I've always done this time of year, which is nothing.

We'd been talking it over, my wife and I, and had sorta agreed that it could be one of those "We'll get to it when we get to it." Making little strides here and there. A trip to Home Depot. Borrowed seeds. Some YouTube videos on lawn care. Baby steps.

But today, being Monday, and having stored my manual typewriter away until I get a fresh idea, and taking a shower that was as long as one can take without incurring the wrath of god, I decided to pull my green thumb out of my butt-hole and do some yard work.

It's a lot harder than I remember.

That or I've been sitting on my butt for too long.

You take the stairs, I'll take the latter.

But my hands are all red and swollen, my back is tight, and I even think my belly fat is sore.

Not uncomfortable, just angry.

But I raked away the dead and or decaying matter, poking holes as I went, spread the seed and turned the sprinkler on for the first time since September. I've got about five to ten day (so says the packaging) before the grass gets green again and I can return to looking my neighbors in the eye.

A lush, well manicured, deeply green lawn is probably one of the most ecologically disastrous things we could do to the planet, what with the chemicals and the gallons of wasted water, we're practically killing Gaia for curb appeal. But honestly, there's a little Hank Hill in us all, and a straight weed-wacked line is as pretty as my wife in a sundress.

Which is really dang pretty.

Anyway, the point I was making is that it's okay to get to things when you get to them as long as you eventually get to them.

Unless it's a finely crafted pun with Lawn Chaney.

That . . . you can let slide.