Of Enjoli & Blisters

Dear John,

 

I got it done before the town ticketed me - the lawn is mowed. The back looks like somebody's been cutting hay. Jethro keeps the grass thick and healthy back there. The front looks like a mole farm. The dog, bless him, keeps the moles out of the back yard. I should find a way to rotate him through the whole yard. It would certainly look better. And I have the usual spring blisters on my hands and one on the bottom of my left big toe.

 

Doing things you used to do for me . . .

Remember the first time I mowed here? The grass was getting really long and your work hours weren't going to let you cut it anytime soon. You came home that night and asked who mowed the grass. I said the dog certainly didn't do it, and you finally figured out it was me. I felt a bit insulted by your amazement, but your admiration made up for it. I was brought up to be independent, and that included mowing. It was easy after I figured out how to engage the drive - it was my first time with a self-propelled mower.

 

Following up on yesterday's discussion, my brain went wandering and parodying while I was working on the back yard. Remember that old Enjoli commercial - I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan, and never let you forget you're a man, 'cause I'm a woman? Well, today my mind churned up: I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan, and never whine about needing a man, 'cause I'm a widow. I do bacon in a microwave, but that just didn't sound right.

 

This is why Mama brought me up to be like I am. She saw her mother widowed after years of caring for an invalid husband, and it was important to her that I always be able to take care of myself. And here I am. I'm not enjoying it, but you and Mama were right - you both knew I'd be okay. But nobody ever said I'd like it.

 

Love you forever,

Joan.