Free Wheelin'

The rain has continued here in Texas--the last report I heard said that we got rain in 22 days out of the 30 in June. I've actually been carrying an umbrella around with me--typically I just act like a caveman and sprint out of my car to wherever I'm going, sometimes using the "hold whatever is handy over your head" method of keeping my head from getting soaked. But in these recent days of deluge, a little planning has been necessary so you don't show up someplace in a ridiculously drenched condition.

I kind kind of sympathize with eskimos in the arctic circle. After a while, they don't poke their head out and think, "Damn it! Snow again!" Eventually they just shrug their shoulders, put on their yak-coat and beaver galoshes, and trudge out into it and get their stuff done. Friday night I fired up the edger so I could work on our yard. All of our yardwork equipment is ten years old, now, and for the last five years it has "lived" outdoors in a small shed, which seems to age it a little faster but, to Fran's relief, at least keeps the smell of gasoline out of our home. So, after some minor surgery, I got the edger running and, when the downpour came again in the middle of my task, I wasn't about to turn it off.

There I was, standing in the pouring rain, wearing my iPod, edging the yard. I thought to myself, "Well, at least I won't have to sweep this up!" And I was right. My clothes stuck to me, and my socks were squishy in my shoes. Finally, I finished edging the yard and I reached down and flipped the motor off. The rain was coming down in cold sheets, and I headed for the back of the house, passing a side window where Fran was making dinner. I caught her eye, and I could tell from the look on her face that my appearance was pretty startling.

I walked over underneath a heavily flowing downspout, and got under the water. I pretended to be in the shower, washing my hair, and miming getting the soap, etc. I looked up and she was cracking up and holding up her hand for me to wait. I knew what was coming next--pretty soon, my kids were craning their necks to watch crazy daddy. Well, at least they won't think I'm boring.

Last night, we had a fireworks show in the neighborhood, and I was outside before dark setting up chairs for the kids. Our neighbor from across the street, who is a very sweet lady married to a sort of curmudgeonly old man, told me "We saw you mowing your yard in the rain yesterday. I have to tell you, we had a pretty nice laugh at your determination!"

I thought it was kind of funny, too, so we talked about it for a minute. I asked her if she saw my crazy shower show, and she regretfully said that she hadn't caught that part, but laughed at the thought.

Another neighbor from down the street came out and mentioned my rainy yardwork too--it made me a little paranoid that I was being so closely watched. But, I guess it was unusual.

Just so you don't think I'm being unfair calling her husband a curmudgeon: He's one of those people who is always harshly lecturing you. And I mean always. I was sort of dreading what he was going to say about our tree--2 huge parts of the trunk split off from it earlier this year during a violent storm, and now it looks like half the tree is missing. I want to wait a year and see if any new growth will fill in at all, giving me some hope for its future. In the meantime, the tree appears healthy and it shades the front of our house from the hot afternoon sun. Fran swears that she will not authorize removal of that tree under any circumstances. But the buzz in the neighborhood is that, since the asthetics of the tree are ruined, it is bad form to keep it--it should be removed immediately. Sure enough, when he came outside, I got lecture of how my tree is never going to grow back and we should just bite the bullet and cut it down.

Well, this blog was supposed to be about how I went golfing with a huge, 400-lb., cigar-smoking, red-headed stranger who used the "f-word" incessantly and threw temper tantrums and also threw his golf clubs. Then, a sudden thunderstorm hit and he freaked out, panicking and driving our golf cart erratically. We ended up doing "donuts" in the mud just because he had the accelerator to the floor desperately trying to get us back to the safety of the clubhouse as we were being pelted by massive amounts of rain. He took a shortcut which landed us stuck and immoble in two feet of muddy water. As we sat in the water, he was freaking out and whimpering in panic, spinning the tires, panicking! After waiting for a few seconds, I hopped out of the cart, flipped the windshield down, and grabbed the frame of the cart. Twisting, I pointed it in the right direction, and pushed. Muddy water rose over my ankles, and the ground was slick. By now, I was soaked again out in the torrential downpour, and my partner was still freaking out. He gunned the engine and fishtailed off into a muddy hill. Reversing, he gunned it again sidways and I, stifling laughter at this point, had to straighten out the cart again. This went on for a few minutes, and then finally we made it back to the clubhouse and went our separate ways.

Maybe I'll have to just tell that story some other time...