Feeling Sore

I'm reminded today that it has been a loooong time since I mowed a lawn. As I mentioned earlier, my parents have a large yard. Luckily for me, they also have a riding lawnmower. Unluckily, their yard has some weird-shaped patches that are inaccessible with the John Deere mower. Enter the push mower.

Before my parents left, they emailed Amber and I long emails explaining all the things they wanted us to do, where keys were, what to do with the dog, etc. My dad included an explanation of how to start the riding lawnmower. I chuckled a little at that, since I've used such machinery before and it's not that hard. I chuckled even more when I got on the mower and saw that the instructions are printed on it. His anxiety is excusable, I guess, since it's a new mower and he's had bad experiences with his kids and the lawnmower before (cough cough COURT). So I mowed the parts of the lawn I could get to while Abby napped, and that was my hard work for the day.

The next day, I traipsed confidently out to get the push mower and finish the job. There was a sinister creak as I opened the door to the shed where it's kept, and a grim spider eyed me with black humor. I sidled up to the mower, and was confronted by levers, a pull cord, several screw-on caps, a yellow button, and a set of handlebar controls. Good heavens, I thought. Who would have believed that the push mower would be more complicated than the riding mower? And where the other mower had directions printed, the push mower mocked me with a panel advertising all the special features that I couldn't figure out how to use. Determined to finish what I'd started, I dragged it out into the sunlight, depressed a few levers, and pulled the starter cord. To my surprise, it started up, and I finished mowing the first section with little trouble, although the engine seemed tired, as did my arms. When I went to start it again at the next section, though, I tugged the starter cord in vain. Little did I know that my parents had bought the prima donna of lawn mowers, which requires a significant rest period in a shady spot before it consents to perform again. Silly me. I think I bruised the bones in my hand pulling on the cord. I was so determined to start it that I even summoned my pregnant sister from the house to give it a whirl. The mower admired her guts (ha ha), but refused to go on without its beauty sleep.

While the mower was a bit of a snot, it does have its good points. After a bit more tentative tinkering, I discovered that it is not, after all, a push mower. It's a barrel organ! Just kidding. It's a power mower. The lever that I thought was the blade height adjuster actually sets the forward speed, if one pushes buttons and depresses levers in the correct secret combination. So my brain got a workout yesterday, but it's passed the soreness to my legs, shoulders, back, and hand. What a prima donna.