I was mad at my grandughter cuz she said she'd mow yesterday and didn't, and back by the creek was getting pretty reedy, So I went out to mow. She is coming upstairs and mad cuz I was mowing cuz we pay her for it, and she looked at this as revenue loss. "I TOLD you I would mow today." "You also told me you would mow yesterday. And enroll in college and get a job." Can't bite the damn tongue.
Back by the creek was too dense and damp and the machine couldn't handle it. I am thinking of maybe a scythe. So the machine craps out and I try to start it, and a little puff of smoke comes out. I used this as an opportunity to come in and cool off. I woke at nine-ish today so I thought I was getting a great early start, but by now it is past noon. So Louie starts the machine and I go back out mowing and, after about an hour, I got so sick. I thought I was going to barf. I am stumbling up the stairs saying, "Help me. Help me." And he wants to know how and I am gasping "Water, cloth. Help me." I was actually moaning. I felt so bad from head to toe inside and out. After a few hours I felt better and hungry. He said I had all the symptoms of heat stroke. This is the worst part of getting old. No matter how much you want to do something, after a certain point you just can't. Get your mind out of the gutter.
I've always been able to push on that little bit further, find that extra kernal of strength or power to get me to the finish line, but I am really disappointed that it just wasn't there today.
But I can always focus on stuff I still can do. Mowing sucks.