Looks Like An Early Winter

The missus and I have been fighting a bug all week. She’s still down and out, hacking her lungs out while trying to rest in a Nyquil-induced slumber. It’s 7:07 in the morning on a Thursday, and the rain is pounding against the roof. Our golden dogs just made their way back into the house, soaking wet, after refusing to wear their raincoats and then scurrying willie-nilly into the downpour for a quick pee. Their reward was a bowl full of dry food. My reward was fifteen minutes of drying wet fur. It’s not even November yet; it’s too early for this shit.

But sometimes it snows in April, as the saying goes, and sometimes it pours in October. The weatherman says that this bout of rain will last through Wednesday. I guess I won’t mow the lawn this week. Even though it sounds fun to run machinery in a monsoon, it is not. I have this head cold and the clippings clump up something fierce beneath the rotary hull. It’s a mess. I know, I used to do that for a living.

That seems like a lifetime ago, the lawn jockey business. I did it from the time I was 15, give or take, until I was about 32. That’s seventeen years for those counting at home. I remember placing a flyer in the paper towards the end that said “nearly 20 years of experience.” I rounded up. Sue me. I sold the thing within 6 months of that flyer. I hated the lawn business.

The lawn business was how I came to love the rain, though. As I sit here pounding this keyboard while the torrent pounds my rooftop, I’m in something like heaven. I love the sound of rain. I love the feel of the rain, both on my skin and in the air. There’s something magical about the air right before and right after a rain. There’s something powerful about the sound of it. I love the rain. I started to love the rain back when I was a lawn jockey because the sound of the rain meant I didn’t have to go do the work. When I did, in the rain, there would be mud trails and that clumping thing I talked about earlier. I hated that business. I stayed in it too long.

I stayed in it too long because it was easy. I don’t mean the actual work was easy, though it was at times. Routine. The routine was easy. I worked hard to make it my own, and purchased it from my step-father. I built it up, gained a strong reputation, and I worked hard. I loved the bookkeeping of the business. I loved making the routes, planning the weekly calendar, and doing the math. In the end, I worked 4 days a week for the amount I had once worked 6 days to 7. I had it all figured out.  I loved everything about it but the work. It was lonely work. Me. My machines. My thoughts. Too many long days of that. Plus, I really don’t like getting dirty. On a clean day, now, I shower twice. I’m not built for dirty work. I’m a people pleasin’, spreadsheet workin’, keyboard poundin’, clean hair and smiles kind of guy. Always be what you are, I say, as soon as you figure out what that is.

And that’s the rub. Figuring out who you are. That’s not easy. I would bet that three-quarters of every person, or more, on this planet never figure that out. They’re always angry or always sad or always unmotivated and they don’t know why. It’s because they haven’t figured out who they are, I say. Maybe they have, though. Maybe they know exactly who they are but who they are don’t fit in that well. I don’t know. I’m a blogger, dammit, not a doctor.

If I was some kind of doctor I would get up out of this chair and go figure out some way to stop the missus from coughing. She’s in misery in there. Trying to sleep, now at 7:27 on a Thursday morning. I feel better but I don’t feel perfect. Like a mild hangover instead of a brutal head cold. She’s just gotten worse. She’ll sleep all day again today; I’ll get the chores done around the house. I don’t mind those. I’ll open all the shades and watch the rain while I dust and vacuum and mop. I won’t even get that dirty, and it beats mowing the lawn. I’ll probably still shower twice.

Thanks for reading, folks. I hope your day is splendid and that you get to do exactly what the real you prefers to do. If not, hang in there, tomorrow is another day. Take a moment to enjoy the rain, take a good shower or two, and fill in your calendar for the week.

I hope you don’t get what we got.

It’s way too early for this shit.

Author: Tom Being Tom

Tom writes a blog. When he’s not doing that he’s usually hanging out with Mrs C, his wife of 20 years. Together, they have two beautiful, golden boys. Literally. The retriever kind. Tom recently started a novel and is a member of one of the largest social groups known to man.

His worldview was formed by the strange intermingling of comic book superheroes, socioeconomic politics, the Air Coryell offense, and an atheistic spiritual awakening.

He intends to save the world next Thursday.

2 thoughts on “Looks Like An Early Winter”

  1. Haha! This is a great read and so glad you don’t have to do what you hate anymore! Life is just too short for that. Hope you both get well soon!

    1. It was a tough road to tow, Christine, but how do you know unless you try, right? Thank you for the kind words and well wishes … last night was a tough one for the missus!

Now, You Be You: