The Lawnmower Saga

It seems like this blog has gotten a bit lame because it's all horoscopes all the time, which is due to a combination of my tiny attention span and the miniature episodes that happen in my life.  I've been trying to think of something else to write about, but all I have is this long lawnmower saga that  I’ve mentioned, but here it is, in it’s completeness.  I'm so sorry.  It's all I've got.

Earlier this spring, I spent four hours, or possibly forty, attempting to start my lawnmower.  Trying all of the things that I could do with potions and sprays, like using starter fluid, and replacing the gas, and buying “mechanic in a can,” (which, by the way, caused the woman at the hardware store to say, “Wow.  Cool.  You mean I didn’t have to get married?  Come back and tell me if it works!”)

But nothing worked, so that woman is still married, and all this effort was spread over several weeks.  Meanwhile, the grass kept growing.  I eventually realized I needed to take it in to the very kind but quirky small engine repairman who fixed it last time.

But the truck was full of compost, so I had to spread that around the gardens first, but first I had to weed them, and then the truck didn’t start, so I had to jump it and drive it around while it charged, and then I eventually moved all the compost, and then waited til someone was around to help me load the lawnmower, and while all this was going on, I had to go to the coffee house every day to see if I could find Lawnmower Guy.  He doesn’t have a sign or a business card or anything; you just have to bump into him.

Meanwhile, the lawn continued to grow, creating nice habitat for Jeffrey and his babies.  (Who says a family is one boy rabbit, one girl rabbit?  We in Washington celebrate all kinds of loving partnerships.)  But I never saw Lawnmower Guy.

Eventually, everything else came together, so I decided to take it to the other guy, the one who has an actual sign and a phone number, the guy who lives about two houses away from Lawnmower Man.  He was pretty creepy in the way of having lots of pinup girls in his shop and an NRA sticker on the door and other things that are supposed to look patriotic but really just make a person look angry.  But he took the lawnmower, and called me a few days later to say I could pick it up for $100, cash only, which seems steep, but whatever, sometimes you have to throw money at your problems and not think too hard about it.  So I went  to pick it up, and even though it was only 3 days later, he looked at me blankly, and said,

“Yes?”

I told him I was there for my lawnmower, and he gave that kind of creepy up-down checkout look and made a comment that made me uncomfortable, but I handed him a wad of $5 bills, not to be passive aggressive, but because that’s what I had, and we loaded the lawnmower and I drove away.

Anyway, every day after that, I ran into Lawnmower Man.  Three weeks, I didn't see him once, then I started seeing him every day.  One day, I was drinking coffee with a friend, and he walked in and I waved hello, and it reminded me to tell this long and tedious story, which is really becoming one more of my disabilities, right?  Like, why do I keep telling this story?  Is there treatment for this?

But it's what our life is composed of.  Lots of long and tedious stories that have a few interesting human connection parts to them.  I'll pretty much sift through anything to find those little human bits.  Oh, how I love the humans.  So I told my friend the story, blah blah blah.

Skip ahead a week, and I was once again sitting in the coffee house (does it sound like that’s all I do?), and Lawnmower Man entered, saw me, and walked over to my table.

“Betsy, we need to talk about something.  Is it okay if I sit down?”

“Sure,” I said, smiling.  “Have a seat.”

“Wow, I’m really disarmed by your smile.  Give me a minute.”  I didn’t add that detail to suggest that I have an amazing smile or something, which I don’t – it's pretty average: a few teeth, an upturned mouth, etc – but rather, to round out the picture of Lawnmower Man.  (WAIT:  I just reread that and it sounds like I only have a few teeth.  What I meant is, it's a typical smile that reveals a few teeth.  Sheesh.  It's not like I'm some toothless cat lady or something.  I have many teeth, people!  Toothlessness is not one of my problems.)

So he sat down and composed himself for a minute while I waited, and then said, “So, last week, you were in here with a young woman, and I got the impression that you were talking about me.”

I felt pretty embarrassed, because he’s a super nice guy and had apparently been wondering for a week whether I was talking about him, so I had to tell my whole long story (I know!  Do you see my point?  I'm stuck, telling this stupid story over and over in which literally nothing happens.)  I told him that I had hoped to bring it to him but didn’t bump into him, so I had to go to the creepy guy down the street.

“Would you say he’s creepy in a sexual way?”

Right?  How do you even answer that?  And is it appropriate to go into it?  Like, should I explain, "I appreciate the female body as much as anyone, but I prefer not to see  women in skimpy leather thongs posed with Stihl chainsaws."  So I was silent, which I think says, "Yeah.  Creepy in a sexual way."  (Are there other ways to be creepy?  Like in a ghostly way?)

Anyway, he decided I should have his phone number in my phone to avoid this issue in the future, but rather than just saying it aloud, he leaned in, looked around furitively, and in a very quiet voice said, “Old prefix, eleven sixteen.”  (Although I changed the eleven sixteen part for the obvious reason.)

Did anyone else love that movie, Lars and the Real Girl as much as I did?

(You could choose to be grateful, if you're so inclined, that I stopped myself from recounting the lawn-cutting itself, which only took about 11 hours due to the length and wetness of the grass.)

Horoscopes: The Jeffrey is Real Edition

Aries (3/21 – 4/19): I was walking in the woods at a site the other day when a new client, whom I'd never met, came to find me.  He walked up, held out his hand to shake, and said, "Do I have bad breath?"  I didn't know that was a question we get to ask random business associates, but I guess I was wrong.  We walked around for a bit, and then he said, "Oh, excuse me, my pants are falling down." I looked, and it was absolutely true.  They were falling way down.  After a bit, he said he had something to show me in his office, and as usual, I was super curious, so I followed him into his house and into the upstairs office (which is one of the big differences between being 22 and 52).  The office was filled with half-built model airplanes, a larger than life cardboard cutout of himself as a cowboy, x-acto knives, glue, stacks of snapshots, hundreds of bowling trophies and ribbons, saws, sharpies, and reams and reams of paper scattered in disorderly piles on the large mahogany desk.  If this were a movie, the lead would enter the room and say, "Oh my god!  We've been ransacked!"  Be he seemed okay with everything.  The whole episode was on that razor thin boundary between creepy and refreshing, which is precisely how your week will be, Aries.  See if you can stay on the refreshing side of things.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  I had dinner with a friend the other night who, not once or twice, but three times asked if I wanted to know a secret.  (Has anyone ever answered no to that question?  "Yeah, why don't you just keep that to yourself.  I'm not very interested."). And now I know three different secrets which I hope I'm worthy of.  Of course I can't tell you what they are, but it did make me think I should do more of that.  Rather than having a dumb blog, I should be a woman of mystery.  Right?  Like, hang out with me, people, and there will be super interesting secrets ahead!  I'm more like, "here are all my cards.  Yep, that's all of them."  Taurus, you already are a person of mystery.  Keep it up.  (Oh, and maybe just tell me one or two secrets that I can add to my dossier.)

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  As we circumnavigated The Nation the other day, we did some planning for the apocalypse.  I don't really have much to offer as a team member, so I try to emphasize how much salt I have, because I like to think that makes me useful.  As you know, I make salt out  Puget Sound, which isn't actually making anything at all; it's just waiting for evaporation to happen.  Anyway, during our circumnavigation, my companion mentioned that cow parsnip can be used as a source of salt.  Gemini, am I being replaced on the team by a common weed?  I'm trying to come up with another attribute, something that would be useful during the apocalypse that I'd be uniquely positioned to offer, but nothing is coming to mind.  Just the salt.  Grrr.  Gemini, you won't have any problem getting on a team.  And in case you end up being the team captain, I have salt, and I know the King County Code really well, and I own a digital thermometer.

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21): Last week I had the giant good fortune to be present when Dr. A defended her dissertation, which was a ton of hard work in all the ways that the humans work hard, and she did important research about that topic that causes me to cover my ears (climate change).  And a lovely side benefit was getting to see The Others.  Even though I hadn't seen them in forever, after about five minutes we had inside jokes and laughter, and they were actually at 6th and I.  Right?  Anyway, Cancer, this week, work hard in all the good ways, and enjoy a festive drink with me.  Maybe some Spanish coffee or something off the beaten path.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  I'm sitting at a different coffee shop (I know!) and the woman behind me, who's hogging the only actual desk, started vigorously and loudly stirring her iced drink with the plastic straw.  I turned around to see what was going on. "Wow," I said, "I thought that was a pencil sharpener."  That's kind of funny, right?  Like, who has pencils anymore?  Who sharpens them, who brings a pencil sharpener to a coffee shop?  Etc.  But she just stared at me blankly and said, "You thought that was a pencil sharpener.  Oh.  No, it was me stirring my drink."  In a flat  non-curious monotone.  I'm so not a fan of non-curiosity, Leo.  This week, wonder more.  Wonder about everything.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  I had this dream the other night, you know the one.  Where I'm lying on the floor under a table in the library trying to write a stupid book because all the chairs are full, and the book seems pointless.  And then I remember that I have a plane to catch in an hour, and I should pull myself up off the floor and ride my bike the 45 miles to the airport, because I was supposed to be there an hour ago.  I go out to my bike and it has a flat tire, so I start fixing that, and then I realize that I don't have a good way to carry my huge suitcase, so I'm just holding it in my hand and it's banging against me while I pedal, and I can't really change gears with one hand and even though I know I'm not going to make it, I pedal on doggedly.  And that's sort of what we do in our lives, right?  We're all dying, as is everyone we love, but we keep pedaling anyway.  I think that's good, Virgo, and so will your week be.  (Can a legit sentence end with "be"?  Yes.)

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  I think there's only one person besides me who actually believes I have a pet rabbit named Jeffrey, so I'm including a picture.  This is my pet (noun), which, it's been pointed out, I never engage with as the verb, but we talk to each other and he's so completely not like that other rabbit, Harvey, because Cake Boss actually saw him the other day.  Libra, talk to the animals this week.  They like that.  

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  I'm listening in to a conversation, and the man says, "Yeah, I don't really know anything about the Grateful Dead."  It doesn't make sense, because he's the right age and demographic to know more.  "I've heard Casey Jones, but that's about it."

The woman says, "Oh, you should go home and listen to 'Ripple'.  It's a great song."

"Oh cool!  My wife would like that too.  That's how I seduced her the first time!  With Ripple."
Proving once again how people can be excited about a big misunderstanding.  At the risk of seeming like that creepy person who never is really in a conversation, but rather, just lurks around listening, I will say that it's pretty amazing what's going on all around me.     

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): I hardly remember anything from Goulds Book of Fish, which I read about 10 years ago, except for one part where a guy says, "You know, life only hands you so many chances, and if you piss all over them, life sort of gives up on you."  I think that's true.  Don't piss on any chances this week, Sag.  Just be your charming self.  And drive carefully.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  Do you know those people, the ones who never own anything, and all of the problems in the world are someone else's fault?  Yeah, me too.  I think the best thing for the planet right now is if we all take it upon ourselves to own our shit, apologize well, and be generous with our feelings and our things.  Tall order, I know, but picture the world if everyone behaved that way.  Lead the way, Capricorn.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  I keep thinking that it shouldn't be that hard to get rich when I look around and see all the people who've done it.  It seems like all you need is an idea and the ability to doggedly pursue it.  It's that "doggedly pursue" part that's escaped me.  I'm more the kind of dog that naps on the couch.  But Aquarius, you should totally doggedly pursue something this week.  Let me know if you need companionship on your journey.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  I've been carrying my one little beer to the private beach each night and drinking it while I watch the water, which is about the cheapest vacation one could have.  It also reminds me that yes, there are beavers and giant fish and quite possibly monsters in there, and they're kind of fun to watch.  Pisces, let's do some water-y things this summer.  Bring your wetsuit or at least your thermometer.

The Week Ahead

Aries (3/21 – 4/19): The other day, I met M. for a picnic at the river, and as we met, she handed me what looked like a loaf of homemade bread.  It surprised me, because she lives in a tent.
"Wow, thank you!  This looks homemade!"

"Oh, no, I got it from a dumpster.  But it was only like, 45 minutes after they put it in there, I think.  I knew you'd like that."

Which I totally did.  The whole thing.  The picnic, the gift, the fact that she gathered 37 loaves of bread from a dumpster and started giving them out.  Aries, you'll get some unexpected gifts this week.  Accept them with grace.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  So the other day, I was walking by the gum wall when the man behind me stopped to marvel at it.  I know!  He was just staring at it, saying, "Nice."

I walked back to talk to him, and yes, let him know that I'm the curator.  "Do you like the gum wall?" I asked.

"Very much," he replied, and stood there staring at it for a while longer.

There are cultures, I hear, that don't have a word for the color blue, and in those cultures, people are unable to identify the color in a line up, even though they have the capacity to see it.  I guess what I'm saying here, is that maybe nobody had the ability to notice the significance of the gum wall until it was named.  Do you think so, Taurus?

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  Not to make all the horoscopes about the gum wall, but last week, I went for a beer, and as soon as I walked in, the bartender said, "The gum wall is looking awesome!"  It reminds me, Gemini, that life is so short, and we're all milling about looking for things to celebrate and marvel over.  We celebrate to keep the hounds at bay.  If nothing else is available, we'll celebrate chewed up gum.  You could find that depressing or inspiring, depending.  Pick inspiring when you get the chance, Gemini.

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21):  I noticed this tree in the river, which is odd, right?  Completely submerged, and it's not even close to flood season, although the river is a little high still.  I mentioned it to my companion, who said, "Wait, isn't that a tulip tree?"  Which it was, making it all the more strange, because they don't even live around here.  Vacationing, I suppose.  Cancer, why haven't we planned a vacation yet?  Lt's do it.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  The other day, I overheard a woman say to the man she was sitting with,

"Do you like the comic, 'Peanuts'?

"It's okay," he replied.

"I just love it, myself.  Ever since I was little, I've really associated with Lucy.  She reminds me of me."

I had some advice for that man, but I didn't want to meddle, so I kept my mouth shut.  Leo, watch out for the Lucys this week.  They are so disappointing.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  Finally, Redhook has taken that hideous "Cheers to Ben Harris" off the bottle caps.  It's about time.  But they've just defaulted to the same lame half dozen sayings.  I tried their new beer, Redhook Wisecracker Wit, even though it's a wheat beer, not my fave, because I thought there might be wit involved.  Which is a reasonable assumption, right?  I'm so not crazy.  And they had a joke about Ginger/ Marianne on the label which was a little funny, but alas, the same dumb sayings on the cap.  It's going to be a disappointing week, Virgo, but stay open, in spite of everything.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  Why don't we know exactly where the Biderbost site is, Libra?  Shouldn't we go there? I guess we'll have to settle for going to the museum, which contains desiccated relics of the magical real place.  So much of life is like that.  One or 16 steps removed from the actual magical thing.  But it could be worse.  Anyway, if you figure out where it is, can we go there?  Maybe have a picnic or just breathe for a while?

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  Oh, Scorpio.  What would I do without you?  Anyway.  I was apologizing to someone I don't know very well for something tiny, at least I hope it was tiny, but as soon as I started saying I was sorry, I got this huge lump in my throat and couldn't really finish my sentence because I was sort of weepy, making it super awkward.  Because, really, it was a tiny thing, every-so-slightly bigger than accidentally stepping on someone's toe the day before.  But the words have power importantanc, and no matter what the context, it evokes that thing.  Scorpio, evoke that thing this week without all of the awkwardness.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  I try to assume the best from people and imagine that everyone's doing the best they can, and that most of the harm that happens is unintentional.  Keep believing that, even when it doesn't look that way, because it's probably true.  If a butterfly lands on your nose, appreciate it and try not to swat it away, even if it's annoying and you can't quite see past it, because there is some good luck and magic there.  Don't lose track of that.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  I was sitting in the coffee house the other day and saw one of the lovely young women come in crying, as she has for the past several days.  She received hugs from a few friends.  I texted her an encouraging message from across the room because I didn't want to intrude.  She left.  I asked, after she'd gone, "Are all these tears about a boy?"  "Yep."  I guess that's the way of the world.  Women crying about some boy or another, and men going, huh?  I had no idea!  But maybe that's where art comes from, and maybe it's better to have the capacity to feel and care deeply than not, and maybe it's better to be the one who can cry than the one who's chosen not to feel any more.  Or at least that's what we comfort ourselves with, because secretly, it looks a whole lot easier to not give a shit.  (Oh, did I say that out loud?)

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  Oh, you want to know how the lawnmower situation is?  Unchanged.    Pretty

much everything is unchanged.  But I have a tip about the to do list:  if you stop adding to it, it will eventually get shorter.  Some things will just drop right off with no effort, and some things, you can rename. That's all I've got for you, Aquarius, but it could be useful.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  Someone shared a Ghandi quote with me this week, "I will not let anyone walk through my mind with dirty feet."  That seems like a good strategy, if you can pull it off.  So many problems, though. No one means to have dirty feet, that's for sure.  And you really don't notice the feet are dirty until after the mud has been tracked in, right?  So Ghandi, as great as you were, that's just not super useful.  I think it's better to be able to forgive those dirty feet, for surely, they meant no harm.  Or just get dark carpeting in there.