I, like everyone else, love week-ends. There is just something about the phrase "the week-end" that makes facial expressions change, heart rates slow, and smiles appear on millions of faces everywhere. Fortunately, neither the hubs nor I have ever had jobs that required us to work on week-ends. Now there have been occasions when hubby has had to go out on an emergency and I do work on lesson plans on the week-end, but as a rule, week-ends are ours.
Yesterday morning I was awakened to the sound of a lawnmower. Several months ago this happened at 6:45a.m. That's right, 6:45A.M. Who cuts their grass at 6:45a.m on a Saturday morning? Saturday mornings are for sleeping in, sitting on the porch listening to birds, quiet after a hectic week. Not listening to a neighbor cut his grass and definitely not being awakened by the lawnmower. After my little talk, and it was a friendly talk, my neighbor no longer cuts his grass until 9:00a.m. on Saturday. Still too early, but I did compromise. Anyway, yesterday there it was, the humming of the mower. So with my eyes still closed, I reached over to nudge hubby with my foot so he could go get the bad man cutting the grass. Our bed is a queen size so I can easily reach him with my foot but, he was not there. Reluctantly, I roll over, pry my heavy lids open, and realize that the time is 9:06. How could it possibly be after 9:00? I never sleep this late. So I jump out of bed, grab my glasses, and wonder aimlessly through the house. No hubby in sight. I go out the back door and the mowing gets louder. I round the back corner of my house, and the mowing gets louder. I head to the lower yard near the building, still louder. The mower, OUR mower, is backed up to the mulch pile for grass dumping. At this point hubby notices me, shuts off the "Yard Man", and smiles. "Good morning, Darling". I'm having a little trouble responding here, so all I can manage to say is "What are you doing?" His response? "I didn't want to wake you, so I came outside to cut grass." I just turn and walk back inside.
If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. That phrase has gotten me into, well let's just say, situations, before. But I dress, brush my teeth and hair and head outside. We work in the yard until I finally quit at 3:30. Since I had walked the 4.2 miles on Friday and cleaned my entire house, I had decided to just work around the yard and try to recover. Beginning Monday, I am sticking to the plan. Every part of my body hurt to some extent. By the time I had ridden my yard of pesky weeds, pressure washed the back porch, cleaned out the fish pond, pulled up the spent veggie plants in my garden and helped spread 27 bags of mulch, I was beginning to loosen up. Good thing. 'Cause I quit!!
Today's instructions say "OFF". Since I had screwed up the plan and had taken yesterday off from my walking, I decided to get up early and walk before church. This was great. I headed out at 7:30 and walked toward the armory, through the old WD parking lot and down Gold Street Ext. This is a great 3 mile route. And very peaceful. This is the earliest I have walked. Breakfast time around the town. I have a very keen sense of smell. Yes, it may have something to do with the size of my nose, but I'm not sure. Anyway, I can smell everything. I can smell the hubby's dirty socks across the house and I can smell when my neighbor burns something (which is quite often). And I can smell the rain. It's true, I can tell when it's going to rain. As I was walking past McDonald's, I could smell the grease. Since I gave up meat, I don't eat at McDonald's anymore and if you could have smelled the grease, you wouldn't eat there either. Loving daughter says they soak their fries in beef grease before cooking them. Maybe they do. Anyway, on the return trip down Gold St. Ext, I start smelling rain. This is a little disturbing because I have no umbrella today. I decide I need to hasten my pace. I'm feeling pretty good this morning so I step it up a notch. They sky begins to darken as I continue on down Phifer Road toward the high school. The next smell to register is horse poo. And there stands Mr. Ed at the fence looking me straight in the eye. So I stop for "A Time to Talk" (that is from one of my favorite Robert Frost poems). So I rub Mr. Ed on the head a bit, then bid farewell and head homeward. Maybe I'll take him a carrot next time or an apple. Anyway, going up death hill on Maner Road, I notice that someone is having sausage for breakfast. Oh well. I arrive home merely seconds before the rain begins to fall. Perfect timing on my part.
3 miles today. Pretty easy. Tomorrow's instructions are a little scary. It involves "hill walking". What else is new!!