Poor, pitiful me

A perfect summer day is when the sun is shining, the breeze is blowing, the birds are singing, and the lawn mower is broken.
- James Dent

Despite the extreme heat, and my low tolerance for it, I was determined to be helpful in the yard. Our previous property, in my opinion, had been easily maintained by one so I'd rarely been of assistance in the yard. I'd cleaned the house the night before and dedicated the morning to mowing the lawn. He'd promised that if I completed this considerable task, then he'd spend a couple of hours by the pool with me and my martini... the rarest of treats.

Happily humming the Green Acres' theme, I hopped onto the ancient lawn tractor with a chuckle. As I'd mowed the lawn once before, I considered myself a seasoned professional and was confident that my task would be completed directly. Proud to be contributing, and thankful for the distraction, I completed the back, side and front yards without incident. As I crossed the driveway and began the last leg of my journey, the substantial stretch of land leading to the road, I felt a fabulous sense of accomplishment.

As I was not yet familiar with the property lines, he walked ahead of me down to the road to point out the marker. From the bounce in his step, I could tell he was smiling even though his back was turned to me. Giddy with the knowledge that my task was all but complete, I rapidly descended the stretch toward him and his big, bright smile... god he was handsome. Three quarters of the way down, however, the tractor came to a sudden, silent stop. There were no warning signs. Immediately his smile faded. This was not the first time the tractor had come up short. He'd now have to mow the remainder of the lawn with the push mower, which would take several, sweltering hours. Though I'd substantially completed my task, he would not be joining me by the pool.

Despite my strong suggestion that he leave the lawn for another day, he began the trek to the garage to retrieve the push mower. He would never leave a job undone. Silently cursing his refusal to buy a new tractor, I swallowed my disappointment and followed him back to the house. As I was changing into my swimsuit I heard the push mower roar into action. With a sigh, I walked down the stairs and toward the kitchen. Me and my martini... alone again. At least I would always have vodka and books to keep me company.

You for a mate....

I have lived through much, and now I think I have found what is needed for happiness. A quiet secluded life in the country, with the possibility of being useful to people to whom it is easy to do good, and who are not accustomed to have it done to them; then work which one hopes may be of some use; then rest, nature, books, music, love for one's neighbor - such is my idea of happiness. And then, on top of all that, you for a mate, and children, perhaps - what more can the heart of a man desire?
- Leo Tolstoy

Written for us, perhaps.