Basil, back in the saddle.
Well, we can all breathe a sigh of relief — the mower has been replaced.
It took a trip to Sears, some research and haggling, but Basil emerged victorious. A brand, spanking new machine, chosen from among the returns whose price was even further reduced thanks to a long sheet of bar codes the clerk had at his disposal.
I’d tell you the pricing story, but really, that would spoil it for you if you had the chance to meet Basil. He’ll tell you the whole thing in great detail. Perhaps more than once.
Anyway, as soon as he got it home, he was off and running with it. A bit of fiddling with the mower’s height, a few neck stretches and hand exercises, and he was zipping to and fro.
You could practically hear the grass sigh with relief.
Basil was relieved, too; without the mower, he was more than a little lost. The yard work is his “happy place” and, well, he was very unhappy these past few days.
The reports during water breaks were positive:
“The blade is nice.”
“I can’t believe how light it is.”
“No wonder I was struggling with the old one.”
“I can push it with one hand.”
“Look how fast I’m getting this done.”
Me: Uh huh.
Halfway through the back yard, he made some new friends — three tykes visiting the new neighbors were pressed up against the fence, much the way Isabelle, James and Lily would have been a year ago.
I’ll never understand what is so fascinating about watching Basil mow. Is it the machine itself? The shirtless hairy chest? The sweat?
Who knows, but the now the lawn is presentable again — coincidentally just in time for Isabelle; James; Lily; their sister, Cameron; and their parents to visit us for the barbecue we planned the day they moved out.
It’s a good thing, too.
This morning the coffee maker died.
Pushing on a Rope 
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