Are we there yet?

September 26 - October 2, 2016

A yard work story

By Jay Edwards

Oh, life is like that. Sometimes, at the height of our revelries, when our joy is at its zenith, when all is most right with the world, the most unthinkable disasters descend upon us. – A Christmas Story

I kept seeing the bushes around my house getting larger. They thrived during the unusual excessive moisture we had in August, a time normally more welcoming for rolling tumbleweeds, or scorpions crouching in the shade of a thirsty rock.

But not this year, and now I was going to have to pay the price. I dusted off my hedge clippers and pulled the 100-foot orange extension cord that last saw duty during Christmas light season. So I began, stopping every three minutes to wipe the sweat away. September was making up for August’s laziness.

About a third of the way through with the bushes in the front, I slung the gyrating blades of the clippers too close to the cord and sliced right through.

After throwing it into my garbage can I headed down to Fuller and Sons. The great thing about that place is it’s close, fairly small, and they always have salty popcorn. I told the guy what I needed and he was handing me a new cord in about 30 seconds. I said thanks and told the guy at the register I’d have to be more careful with the trimmer. He laughed and said he’d heard that a million times.

On my way home I started thinking about it happening to me again, visualizing me destroying the new, 17 dollar and 83 cent cord on its first day in action. I shuddered and drove on.

Back at work, after only about thirty minutes I was just about finished with the front when it happened. And it was almost like, during that millisecond when I saw everything clearly and plainly slowing down. But of course there was nothing I could do as the trimmer’s tip barely touched the orange rubber of the new cord and the whir of the blades was silenced.

I can’t print what I said next. You can imagine and probably, if you own a home and the yard it sits on, you’ve said much the same kinds of words at one time or another.

I have since heard of people under extreme duress speaking in strange tongues. I became conscious that a steady torrent of obscenities and swearing of all kinds was pouring out of me as I screamed.

I went in the house and told KM what I’d done and she was sorry for me, offering to go back to Fuller and Sons, as that painful humiliation would be more than any poor home owning schmuck like myself should have to bear.

But I said no, there had been enough destruction for one day and I walked the new cord out to its own place in the trash, which happened to be just on top of its older cousin.

My shoulders were slumped and my head held down; and nothing seemed right with the world.

With as much dignity as he could muster, the Old Man gathered up the sad remains of his shattered major award. Later that night, alone in the backyard, he buried it next to the garage. Now I could never be sure, but I thought that I heard the sound of “Taps” being played, gently.

•••

Hey art lovers! Take a look at this original oil painting titled Old Broadway Bridge by Little Rock artist Jane Lovett Holt.

It would look great hanging in someone’s downtown office.

If interested, contact her at Jane@JaneLovettHolt.com

Jay Edwards is editor-in-chief of the Daily Record. Contact him at jedwards@dailydata.com.