I said I wouldn’t do it, but I did. I signed up for yard work.
Dale and I wanted a retirement home with a modest yard, but in a planning oversight, we never actually agreed on who was going to do what. Fortunately, our Homeowner’s Association maintains the front yard. And that is probably why I haven’t killed him while he sleeps.
The back yard is a different story. The yard is not large, but neither one of us has been interested in general upkeep. We have a small patch of lawn, this is California after all, and we use a push mower. That’s Dale’s job, but I have been known to break out a push while Dale admires the scientific miracle of growing grass.
We were sitting outside last evening enjoying happy hour, and after the appropriate amount of lubrication, I said we should make it prettier out here! Something simple we can maintain ourselves! He happily agreed.
It was going so well until I said it. Said that thing.
I would like to see a defined edge around the lawn.
He thinks I’m obsessive. Who needs a crisp edge on their lawn? We do. We need an edger. We have one. Really? We certainly seem to be devoid of edges. He said we have a weed wacker, and apparently it has been resting in the garage with the rest of his power tools.
OK, I do know a thing or two about edging. I had a gas-powered Echo Grassmaster 5000 several houses ago, and dang, you could race trucks through the deep gap between the lawn and the beds.
When the Echo died, I gave up yard work for, oh, I don’t know, my real job? Dale assumed lawn duties and bought a week wacker because it sounds like something he would buy. Wacky weeds! What’s up with that?
We get this thing out, and he demonstrates. He said the string will wear out fast when it hits the brick trim, so you have to stop about every 30 seconds to pull the string. What happened to the function where you just tap it and more string comes out? Oh, that hasn’t worked in years. But doing it manually doesn’t work either. It’s impossible to yank that string out. I said this is a pain in the ass, and he said yes.
I butchered a strip of lawn and I said, that’s it. This is a piece of shit. This is the wrong tool for the job. This belongs in the trash. He said yeah, probably. I said I’m buying a real edger. He said absolutely, you should have one.
And all of the sudden he is Johnny Mission – let’s go to Home Depot and buy you an edger! He went to hold my hand as we walked in, and I gave him the Melania swat. I said you’re just happy I’m signing up for this. He said, oh, come on, but I saw the lazy little gleam in his eyes.
We ended up buying a lightweight Ryobi – I mean, I am not the strapping lass of my youth, and neither one of us is young anymore. I do not believe it will give me the precise military edge of my dreams, but it has a pivoting head that puts down some sort of edge. A less compulsive edge both of us can master. Because I recognize yard work, like marriage, is all about compromise.
And that’s how I got signed up for sucked into yard work.
At least your trying. This year, we finally gave up on doing it ourselves and hired a lawn/handy man who comes around twice a month and does whatever is needed. It’s working out pretty good so far.
That was an option, and maybe still is, but we ought to be able to do this as long as our bodies cooperate.