After a rainy few days, I jumped in to work in a very muddy yard today. I weeded two flower beds, and started tearing rock out of one bed that’s mostly just sat and drove me crazy for the seven years we’ve owned this place. One lawn mower trailer load of rock out of there later, the lawn mower quit. Wouldn’t start again. Perfect. I started weed whacking. It ran out of string. I can’t thread that thing for anything. Bleh. I weeded the berry plants and moved on. My goal this year though, is to do amazing things with all growing things. And haul a lot of rock out of my flower bed-to-be and put it in the driveway where rock belongs.
Blaine came home from work, tightened the battery connection on the mower (that I had installed last week) and it started right up. Of course. He then fixed the horrendous squeal that the dear machine had adopted this spring, threatening my hearing and the hearing of everyone in a three county surrounding region. Then, to fully round out his impromptu mechanic moment, he got the brake functioning properly. It has been sticking, requiring a good pry to get it to let go each time I braked. This sounds so simple, until you consider what a firmly applied brake released with impressive force might do. I fear I have whiplash along with my bruised pride. Did I mention our road was repaved this week? Oh yes. An entire work crew was enamored with Stellan, chubby cheeks made so much larger by his mini ear muffs hearing protectors, waving at them ecstatically from my lap. This enamored-with-the-baby work crew witnessed my less than smooth brake release. About 78 times.
The good news: they couldn’t hear the wretched lawn mower squeal over the road machinery. I think.