I dusted off the ol' lawnmower yesterday and took her for a spin around the yard. Of course, when I say dusted off, I mean I made a few half-hearted attempts to dislodge the two-inch layer of grass that is crusted around the engine. Usually, we have the mower covered with an old, vinyl tablecloth, but sometime in the last three weeks it had blown off, thus providing an excellent shelter for all sorts of creepy crawlies. An actual spider web clung to the left side below the handle, complete with resident spider. Little Sis will be happy to hear that I did not jump back and scream until someone arrived to take care of the spider. Instead, I calmly (okay, maybe not so calmly) ignored the eight-legged creature in the process of reviving the mower.

Our lawn mower was born about fifteen years ago, a shiny, red bundle of purring motor and whirling blades. It was not fortunate to be blessed with a grass-clipping bag, nor self propulsion, but all in all, it came into the world a content machine. I was not present during its formative years, but it seemed to learn all the basics and, indeed, nearly excel at the intricate art of grass-cutting. Every Saturday morning, LM, as it was affectionately called, had a mini-tune-up, a quick rub-down, and a leisurely stroll around the front and back yard. I'm sure that someone, somewhere, has photos of little LM cheerfully chugging along and trimming the lawn to a perfect 2 inches. Life in Lawn Mower Land couldn't be happier.

In LM's sixth year of life, we assumed ownership, blissfully unaware that this machine had lived a full and happy life and was looking forward to serving out the rest of eternity in a quiet junk yard. For the first few years, LM gamely put forth the effort, zipping around the yard in front of one of my brothers as they pushed with unparalleled speed. Brothers, I have found, are more than willing to keep the lawn mower in tip-top shape, as it allows them to get out of housework with the (dubiously) legitimate excuse of yard work. In fact, brothers are quite able to ignore potential problems as long as it does not interrupt any lawn mowing activities. And so, when my brothers moved out and on with their lives, they left little LM behind, sad, tired, and with an embarrassing leak.

I dumped another quart of SAE-30 oil into the chronically dripping mower, trying not to notice that the grass upon which LM had been sitting is completely dead. Just another section I don't have to worry about mowing! Let's be optimistic! I wheeled LM out to the front yard, pushed the prime button twelve times, and yanked the cord. At least it starts right away. Never mind that a large blue cloud drifted out and covers the immediate area. It starts and works, and that is all that counts.

It had been about two and a half weeks since I mowed last. Due to an unfortunate water leak and hasty excavation a few years ago, our lawn is not only uneven, but home to three different kinds of grass. Near the driveway, the grass is short and sort of a yellowy-green. The side closest to the neighbor's yard is dark green, long, and fine. The grass in the middle looks mostly like crab grass (but it isn't - I know because WalMart doesn't sell crabgrass . . . I think) and grows like a weed. Wait, not a weed. Grows like really fast-growing grass. The result makes our front lawn look like it has a Mohawk. And, because the blades haven't been sharpened since, well, forever, LM kept choking on the long grass and shutting down. I persevered, adopting a rhythm of tilting the lawn mower on its two back wheels and thunking it down on the organic shaggy carpet. In this way, I managed to circle the entire lawn, successfully trimming the grass. I surveyed my work, gave the sputtering mower a friendly pat, and wheeled it to the backyard, repeating the process. Eventually, I replaced LM back in its dead-grass parking spot and tucked the vinyl tablecloth around it.

One day, little mower, I will replace our entire yard with genetically engineered grass that will grow no more than 2 1/2 inches high, and then you will finally have your rest. Until then, please, please don't die.
I don't want to go back to the scissors.