All the rain that fell this week gave me the perfect excuse to indulge in my usual lackadaisical pursuits.
But believe it or not, I’ve been trying to take a break from my busy nap schedule and follow my wife’s admonition to be more productive.
The thing is, I haven’t been very successful.
For instance, my wife wants me to be more mindful of the yard. The rain made what I charitably call grass grow faster than our daughter can break into a song from the smash Broadway hit “Hamilton.”
In fact, I sometimes think there is a direct correlation between how loud she sings and how unruly the yard gets. It’s as if she’s serenading it like some sort of snake charmer.
And the really alarming thing?
At our house, the potential for a “Hamilton” sing-along is an all day, every day hazard.
Of course, our daughter isn’t really responsible for the enthusiasm our yard is showing this spring any more than she is responsible for mowing it.
That’s my job. And while I don’t have to like it, I do take some satisfaction that when the yard is freshly cut the weeds don’t seem quite as prominent.
Lately, though, dragging my broken-down old lawn mower from the dark recesses of our garage seems like an exercise in frustration.
It’s been so wet lately, I’m afraid if I fired up my mower I would only succeed in clogging it with clippings. It sputters enough without wet grass sticking to the underside of its deck and making it stall.
Waiting for the sun to come back out seems like a better plan. A drier yard would make for a happier mower.
With rain serving as a handy excuse to rule out yard work this week, I could have used the extra time to pursue other household chores. Living with two teenagers, our big dog Rodney and a couple of cats means the carpets need to be vacuumed regularly. Also, the kitchen floor could have used a spit shine and it wouldn’t have hurt the tub to be scrubbed clean.
But I decided to remain reclined in my favorite chair and focus on something else I’ve avoided over the past few weeks – writing a column.
I’ve been having trouble finding the same sort of inspiration our daughter gets from “Hamilton.”
I may make kicking back look easy, but staring at a blank computer screen with your feet up is hard work. It’s not as if I can simply download a column as if it were the “Hamilton” cast album and then sing it at the top of my lungs in front of the bathroom mirror.
But I’m going to have to find inspiration somewhere, even if it means clearing my head by getting out from under my laptop and getting behind a rickety old lawn mower that’s struggling to make the cut.