The Arm, it is Messed Up

April 11, 2009

Last week, the sun finally decided to grace the Pacific Northwest with several consecutive days of sunshine.  The first days of sun unfailingly bring several things: flip-flops (way too early – it may be sunny, but it’s still below 60 degrees), an unnecessary amount of shockingly pale skin (see note about flip flops) and the constant drone of lawn mowers.

After plenty of rain, a few days of sun makes the grass grow at lightning speed.  The sun also allows the grass to dry out enough to mow the lawn, for many for the first time since October.  Such was the case with our lawn – it looked quite jungle-like.  My number-one-fan, also known as mower-of-the-lawn was away on a business trip and wouldn’t be available to mow it for at least two weeks.  The appropriate course of action immediately presented itself: I would mow the lawn myself.

For the first time in my life.

I know, shocking, isn’t it?  How did an independent person such as myself get to her mid-thirties without ever mowing a lawn?  I grew up in a house where the weekend chores fell along lines of gender.  Boys did yard work, girl helped mother with cleaning the house.  Whenever girl would grumble about this, mother would ask, “Do you want to mow the lawn?”  Girl, looking at the 110+ degree weather forecast, would grumble, “No.”

After moving out of my parents’ house, I lived in a series of places (dorm, apartment, ship) that either lacked a lawn or had landscapers to mow it.  By the time I finally had a lawn, I also had a mower-of-lawn, also known as my number-one-fan.

Voila, thirty-four years without mowing a lawn!

There comes a time for everything, though, and last Sunday was the time for me to finally mow a lawn.  First, I de-winterized the mower by putting in fresh gas with a carburetor-cleaning additive (thanks, guy at  Home Depot.)  Then, I pulled the cord and the engine roared to life.

I did a decent job with the lawn, considering.  Mistakes were made – I didn’t realize the edger had a guide until I nearly finished and I forgot to put the clipping-catching bag on before I started.  Then, I was afraid the mower wouldn’t start again if I stopped to put the bag on, so our lawn is covered with bits of dying grass.  The biggest mistake I made; however, was allowing my arm to make contact with a part of the mower (the air filter?) that turned out to be very, very hot.

I now have a second degree burn the size of a misshapen silver dollar on my forearm.  The blister broke instantly, so I have had to keep it covered to prevent infection.  At first, I covered it with gauze and tape but then I had an allergic reaction to the tape so now I have a burn surrounded with a rash something like poison oak.  Awesome.

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One Response to “The Arm, it is Messed Up”

  1. Mom Says:

    You poor thing! Why didn’t you tell me about your arm when I talked to you on Sunday. I hope you are staying out of the water or have it waterproofed before you swim. You don’t want to get an infection. Seems there are some nasty ones out there these days! Know you enjoyed your trip to see John and Carol. GG arrives on Sat. with Noelle’s party on Sunday. Wish you were around to decorate the cake!! Love ya Mom


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