Point of View

Due to a recent bout of unexpected sunshine, I was persuaded to abandon the comfort of our couch to work in our yard. Although my wife's and my relationship is quite balanced, she has deemed lawn upkeep as "Scott's job." I know not why, as I have not requested this high honor, and, to be quite frank, am not particularly skilled in this arena. Nonetheless, being her loving pawn, I march duly forth with lawnmower and weed eater to engage the high grass.

Our lot is not particularly large, unless one is faced with the prospect of mowing it... and the grass is long - and wet; three intertwined dynamics of last weekend. This permutation of factors means I cannot simply drag the mower over my property once; rather I must set the cutter to maximum height, labor to and fro, back and forth across the bumpy lawn (periodically grinding to a stop on uneven clumps of mud), shake the bulky, heavy, dismally designed bag with the ridiculously narrow opening numerous times, then repeat, repeat, repeat. After this preliminary trimming, I lower the cutter and engage in this funfest yet again.

While attempting to stuff the gooey, wet, stinky, clippings into the lawn bag, it rips and falls, spilling a mess along the sidewalk. I now grab the push broom (a tool close to useless for sweeping wet, sticky grass from asphalt) and proceed to sweep (such as it is) and scoop the grass back into the sack, only to have it yet again tumble (this time to the other side), spilling even more of its contents, changing my routine from sweep and scoop, to sweep, scoop, and swear.

Whether triggered by the pain in my back, the sun in my eyes, or the sweat soaking my brow, I do not know; yet a random thought skipped across my mind as I bent down to lift the green waste, "At least I'm not shoveling show in freezing temperatures. THAT would be a major drag."

And in that instant, lifting wet grass in overfull, black, heavy lawn bags seemed a lot better. How can I complain about maintaining my very own front yard, in a good neighborhood, on a mild day - and being healthy enough to do it - when so many cannot even afford a mortgage? And what about those who simply wish for a roof over their head? In that light, I'm blessedly fortunate.

With that thought as a launch-off point, I realized again that point of view is essential. Many go to bed with distended stomachs and hunger pains, and I so quickly lament that my double Grande extra hot latte has to have non-fat instead of whole milk, or that I must bypass ordering a chocolate muffin to accompany it.

Funny, huh? Look one way; life stinks; look another's it's mighty fine. (I will still admit however that it would a gardener would make it even a little better.)