Moan My Loen

I have an arrangement with a friend across the street. Because I believe that buying a power mower for a task engaged as rarely — at max 20 times a year –, and because he has a safe place to store a power mower, and because I wanted to be a friendly cuss, I arranged to share my machine with him if he’d store it and keep it filled with fuel. Done deal; everyone’s happy.

Until I waited until this weekend to break out the old mower for a first cut of front and back and discovered it wouldn’t start after twenty or thirty yanks. Not only did friend agree to take it in for a tuneup and blade sharpening, he loaned me the push mower he was given by his almost-other half. As soon as George Stephanopoulus signed off this morning, I picked up the mower. An hour and a half later I finished mowing my front lawn. It’s not a big lawn. WIth a p;ower mower I’m done in 15 minutes tops. But the yard needed the attention, and I needed the excertise. Like voting, I consider yard maintenance a PRIVILEGE for those blessed tith the circumstance and capacity to do it. I’ve never complained about raking leaves, mowing lanss and trimming hedges . . . . . except from ages 10 to 19 when my parents asked me to do it. The power mower should be backinac tion next week. THEN I’ll mow my back yard.

It’s been a productive weekend without the book deadline staring me in the face for the first time since January. I’ve re-filed photos that have been awaiting my attention since 2006. It was a marathon effort, but now that I’m focusing more on aviation history, an essential effort. The filing waiting for me in the basement cabinets would choke a horse . . . . but it won’t choke me. It’s nice down there; cool. I worked up a sweat tidying up and rearranging things Saturday, and I enjoyed it. Made some real progress!

 If I cared to, I could pitch the TV nad do nothing but poetry, songwriting  and aviation things around here for the rest of my life, and I would except for two programs: The American Experience and Charlie Rose.  There are others, but those two are essential ingredients:”the cream in my coffee; the salt in my stew” (as the old Ray Coniff semi-hit used to say.

For the gold star of the week: what line follows that?

I won’t be really done with essential catching up until I write the review of the new Chanson du Soir CD I promised.  I have –as the great jazz artist’s wife Mrs. Davis must have once said — Miles to go before I sleep.

Live long . . . . . and proper.