Grass

Back to band camp  I mean grad school…

During one of my courses, we had a discussion about different tools available to use with clients to help them with various things. One I remember quite clearly and still have a copy of is my anger bottle.

Mind you this was about 1.5 – 2 yrs. after DOD.

Since I like to keep it in my file of things to use at work, I painted it with white out to cover my answers. Last week, I pulled it out, dusted it off and turned it over. Turns out you can read everything quite well as long as you have a mirror handy or are very good at reading backwards.

My anger bottle was full up to the tippy top with things that were overwhelming me at the time. My things went a little something like this:

• Place of husband’s death
• Insert name of pathetic grad school internship here
• “Every other driver but me”
• “Inability to figure out me”
• Situation with in-laws
• GRASS

Yup, Grass. That ginormous mortgage I referenced earlier? It came with an almost fifty-five year old yard. That yard was unmistakeable hilly, full of overgrown trees and bushes and most importantly WAY too big to be push mowed. So these trees of mine, they kept the house really cold. They also kept the yard fairly moist and provided a spectacular home for all of the mosquitos in my county.

And the grass grew.

 I was suppose to cut it frequently to keep it short and easier to mow. Well, let me just say that it didn’t happen. I had a surprisingly small support group when it came to the maintenance of my home and lawn. In the first months I had help but after that- FAWGETTABOUTAAT. It would take me hours to push mow my lawn. Already being exhausted with grief and of course anger, I would wear myself right down. I was completely overwhelmed and didn’t know what to do! I decided to call a service so that someone else could toil over my grass – sounded like a fantastic plan. However, the estimate was shocking. Strapped for cash already, I didn’t sign on the dotted line. Then, the  new-a-year-ago mower decided it was tired too. I let it hibernate.

The grass grew.

My uncle decided to help me out and let me have my grandpa’s old non-motorized-blades-rotate-when-you-push mower. Um, that didn’t work.

And the grass grew.

Finally, I called up my father-in-law for help. He had purchased said mower just after DOD because the one we had was old, used and too hard for me to employ. He comes over, takes the thing and returns all fixed up. Then it breaks again.

This sad experience repeats itself until the rotten thing gets a non-repairable hole in the manifold something or other. I let the trash man take it home but shhhhh don’t tell FIL.

With the help of first runner up, we purchased a new LAWN BOY mower (love the thing) my last summer as the official worrier/cutter/hater of said lawn.  

Who knew grass could be SO overwhelming? Folks, it doesn’t take much for a newly widowed half crazy woman.