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Monday, October 10, 2005
On Time Would Be Good
Last Wednesday I said to my yardworker, "William, the grass looks nappy. Let's get this all cut and trimmed today, OK?" By "let's" I meant him.
He smiled cheerfuly and said, "That right. It suppose to rain tomorrow so I get here then and do it all up right." Huh?
Well, no sense in arguing with him; he marches to the beat of his own obscure instrumentation. All the rest of that day and all of the next when it did not yet rain, William roosted on a neighbor's porch, smoking, sipping Colt 45, calling out greetings to passers-by, cackling at imagined bits of comedy, yipping out his high, barking laugh in tones that carried for at least a block. Apparently he had not run out of money. This would take time.
So the weekend rolled around and the grass was longer. Rain began in a small way that soon became a deluge. By Saturday at 3:00 P.M. in a neighbor's low-standing back yard, flood water rose up over the back of his pick-up truck. The back yard next to me was completely under water. My sump pump ran constantly. Then Sunday A.M. and clouds hung around, very dark and gray. All day drizzle came and went. Porque Choppe refused to step down off our porch.
Now it's Monday. The yard that was nappy last Wednesday is a soggy, wet hay field today. Quite likely William is somewhere with all four paws in the air, sleeping off a heavy dose of his favorite brand of anti-depressant. Dang. When you rely on "local" help, you're at the mercy of all their peculiarities. I wonder when my yard will once again look trimmed and spruce. If William had cut the grass when I asked, I might be able to take little chihuahua out without losing her in long green weeds.
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