PrissyCook

In my last conversation with my dad, he said that my grandmother and her “boyfriend” had decided they were going to buy a riding lawn mower for the lake house. They were tired of hiring a yard crew at $75 a visit and that they were just going to start doing it themselves. The local Western Auto was having a Memorial Day sale and they wanted my dad to help them go down and pick one up.

They get around quite well (she’s in her 80s and the Mr. is in his 90s). They’re always working on projects, going places and are always up to something. But the idea of them, out in the Central Texas humidity, mowing the yard at the lake was almost more than I could bear.  I in a stern voice, gave my dad my opinion about them mowing the yard. He said it was their choice and we dropped the subject.

…fast forward a few days later…

My grandmother called to say hi (she says Hi darlin’). She was catching me up on what was happening around town and I asked her about the lawn mower. She said that she thought they could handle it. “We might be old, but that just means that we’ll take a little longer to do it. But we’ll be alright,” was her answer.

Then she said, “I’m too short to reach the petals and the Mr. can’t figure out to turn it on.”

Something tells me that I don’t have to worry about too much right now.

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