It’s the metaphysics of cutting grass.  Go on over and read.

I like the way this fellah thinks because I, too, tend to mentally free-wheel whilst whacking the thatch.  Indeed, if only it weren’t so awkward to hold a pen and pad (much less a notebook with wireless connection) while pushing the mower around, I’d probably have half a dozen blog posts out of each treatment.

I also like his attitude that striving for a perfectly manicured, perfectly maintained lawn free of all weeds and other contaminants is an anachronism left over from middle class status-seeking in the 50’s, since without massive payouts to a professional service that I couldn’t possibly afford, I’m simply unable to keep the jungle out of my own yard.  After some time of personal struggle, I’ve finally been able to reach peace of mind:  After its weekly trim, my plot is uniform and green and that’s good enough for me.

Speaking of such things, while we were on the road Saturday, going to spend the night out of town with my godparents, I got a somewhat panicky call from the kid who I hire in the summahs to help me out, informing me that my mower (a new-this-year Craftsman 6.75 torque, 21 inch Briggs & Stratton from Sears) had blown up.

I wonder what kind of stream-of-consciousness ideas that would have generated in the Robbo brain, had I been at the helm.