Saturday was spent recuperating from the demands of another work week in my usual fashion: in the manner of a cultured and intelligent philosopher king. Specifically, I was camped out on the couch in front of the television soaking in about seven hours of NHL hockey.
Dedicating myself to torpor and sloth meant for the most part eschewing the pleasures of the great outdoors; it also meant eschewing (temporarily) the coincident burdens of the surrounding environment, such as the requirement to cut the grass. Careful readers will recall that cutting the lawn – an inconvenient recurring nuisance for some – has, in the past been more of a life-threatening spirit quest for me.
But (news flash) Sunday dawned, and after a morning cup of tea, there was a jay in the tree outside the window sounding a call to action. Against the aforementioned backdrop of timorous langour then, I ventured out into the Wide World and saddled up for 2009’s Maiden voyage aboard the JMV Eradicator. I am pleased to report that Mission 1-09 successfully and safely achieved its primary objective, the ensmallinating of the grasses. All systems were operative aboard the Mowing Vehicle, with one exception: the People’s Engineers will be receiving a request to review the Eradicator’s musical delivery systems. In order to avoid angry legal entanglement with the kind folks at the John Deere Company of Moline Illinois, I hasten to point out that these systems were added on an “after-market” basis. In particular, the system consists of the operator wearing an iPod and earbuds. Actually, the system consists of the operator wearing and iPod and ATTEMPTING to wear earbuds because – as every iPod user knows, iPod earbuds do not under any circumstances remain inserted in one’s ears.
Spotted and photographed on the scouting perambulations prior to climbing aboard the Eradicator: the charming little fellow pictured at left. This specimen was located using Top Secret and patent pending Juniorvanian Reptilian location technology: an unsuspecting and somewhat foolhardy individual with a pair of Crocs carelessly slipped onto his bare feet is dispatched into the surrounding flora armed with a camera and tasked with obtaining a photograph of a bird – perhaps a nearby blue jay. In this way, the collector is encouraged (by way of diversion) to keep his head up and his line of accordingly elevated and most decidedly NOT fixed upon the ground. The large holes in the aforementioned footwear will automatically, if somewhat alarmingly, assist in locating the desired reptile. Potential side effects may include the emission of a somewhat embarrassing and decidedly little girl-like yelp as contact is literally made between our startled naturalist and the disgruntled fauna.
Sunday also featured a lovely visit from my folks; my Dad brought a can of paint he had hanging around the house for my grandfather’s old porch rocker, now adorning our front deck. The name of the particular tint: “Cleveland Brown.” The marketing department at CIL must be one crazy hilarious place to work; what a bunch of slapstick knuckleheads they must be.
At the end of a long Sunday of yardwork, I found myself stiff and aching. Nevertheless, the grass was green, the sky was blue, and I was tickled pink to be spending time outdoors again. Hey, CIL guys – how ’bout giving us a few knee-slapping monikers to represent those colours?