Dear readers. Thank you for receiving my first group of stories so positively. It has encouraged me to continue on with this tale, my latest endeavor. This story is VERY close to home, as you will see. More to come...
* * * * *
Joni Mitchell came out with an album named 'The Hissing of Summer Lawns' back in the middle seventies. I was wondering if it was available anymore, some are, some aren't. What even brought it to mind was my pulling off the thoroughfare and into my subdivision. Seemed like she summed it up pretty good, I reflected, as I drove past sprinklers gently arching their artificial rain onto picture perfect lawns. A landscaper was getting out weedeaters for a group of little brown men two doors down. They stood there patiently in the white hot mid day heat.
My lawn guy was due Friday. I'd gotten his bill last Thursday, reminding me to find out what somebody else might charge. I punched the garage door opener and pulled the car into the shaded confines, noting the azaleas were looking dry in the side yard. Loosening my tie, I got out, leaving the garage, and walked down to the foreman, now standing there mopping his face. The sound of weedeaters receded as his crew disappeared behind the neighbor's house.
We talked, he said he'd get me an estimate, which usually means he's too busy already and won't take on more work. I sweetened the till, mentioning a pair of Black Tupeloes in my backyard that needed attention, along with wanting a fieldstone wall installed to buttress my hydrangeas near the rear of my lot. He could put his sign in my yard for awhile.....I just didn't want to be overcharged for a guy on a lawn mower.
He loosened up, we talked, he fished out a card. He said he'd be over in a few minutes to have a look around.
I love small victories. They mean more if you don't have to cajole or plead. Then it's just pity, you haven't won squat. When you persuade someone to change their mind and both parties are happy with the result, I exult.
It was on my return to the house that Mitzi called out from next door. I opened her mailbox and carried the mail up the walk to her as she finished unsnapping the leash from her little terrier, Judy.
"So Ted, are you hiring someone new?" she asked, looking down the street at the noisy crew.
I shrugged. "Well, we talked anyway. He's going to come up in a half hour and eyeball things. But his going rate is less than what I'm paying now."
Mitzi let the dog back into the house. I think the noise was bothering it. "Thanks for bringing the mail." she said, scanning through and pulling out one with overseas markings. "Ah, just in time, you can always set the clock by him." she chuckled, laugh lines around her eyes.
What Mitzi was talking about was the check she got for alimony each month from Paul, her ex. They had it all. The two of them together twenty some years, two kids. Mitzi, a former teacher, stayed home, being Minivan Mom. Paul had a big career with a foreign airline, gone four days out of seven. The big surprise, late last year. Being transferred home, (the two are European born) Paul announced he's going alone. There is and has been someone else outside of Munich. Has been for years. Mitzi, sitting stunned on our couch, Marie's (my wife) arms around her, me serving a very light dinner that night.
You spend that much of your life with your mate, then he drops a bomb, it's traumatic. You just don't blindside people. Maybe it could have been worked out. I don't know. Marie knows more than I about the details, but she will keep a confidence. I don't broach it, neither does she.
Mitzi had been recovering pretty well, I noticed. Her sunniness was returning. She was exercising and was working on a nursing degree. She knew Wednesdays was my half days and invited me in for some lunch. Her idea of lunch involved a lot of diet things, which runs counter to my beliefs.
Patting me on the belly, she said,"You need to eat right Ted, get out from behind that desk, guy! Or some day you'll be taking pills for this, pills for that, it's no good, ja?"
That always made me laugh, that "ja" thing. No matter how long you live somewhere, the old country's just beneath the surface.
I said "Mitzi, lemme go get out of this clown suit. I've got some junk in my briefcase that I've gotta deal with, maybe I'll let it slide 'til tonight."
Mitzi's eye's sparkled, "Ah, that's more like it. You SHOULD goof off more. Put your swimsuit on, leave a note for Marie. I'll make you a turkey sandwich on rye. WITH a Breda."
That got me, that last. Mitzi still gets Breda beer from Holland direct. I've developed an affinity to it and it probably did go with turkey. Secondly, her pool is an excellent place to be on a hot afternoon. So, we said our for nows, and I trudged across the yard, went in and changed.
The lawn guy came up as I was cleaning up the kitchen. I pulled on a loud shirt over my trunks and went with him out to the trees I'd told him about. I won't bore you with that. He told me way more than I wanted to know about trees, bushes, grass. Once he got going, it was a torrent. But, alas, he was reasonably priced. I went inside to my office and made a sticky note to fire the overpriced lawn guy.
The phone rang. Mitzi. "So, you're not hungry? Your beer's getting warm, oh wait, bring that Corningware that Marie borrowed with you. OK, come on, Bye!"
I came through the back gate in her side yard. There was a path well worn from our kids, their kids, going back and forth through the years. Now the grass was reclaiming it and the gate rubbed some when I opened it.
Mitzi was already seated at the white wrought iron table near the pool. "OK, take that Corningware and just set it on the breakfast table. I'll get up our lunch."
I was flattered she'd waited for me. "Mitzi, you should have eaten already. I got tied up with that guy. I'm sorry."
She waved it away. "No biggie, I saw you talking, or listening to the man. Are you sure you don't want some sprouts?" She led me through the sliding door into the kitchen.
