As any suburban writer worth his Bandini will tell you, while the process itself can be satisfying, there's no feeling more pleasant than that of having just mown.  The heady buzz in those fleeting moments after you've shut down the Briggs & Stratton is indescribable.  The clean green lines in the grass, edges trimmed, ahhh, so gratifying.  There's no better example of selfish delusion in our society than a perfectly manicured lawn.  

It's the control.  

The aroma of my fresh cut mini-meadow juicy and warm from the glaring sun always makes me sleepy.  Or maybe it's just the normal post-cuttal depression, the drowsiness after le petit mow.  Yep, must be Sunday in the Land Of The Cinderblock Wall.  I think I might even eat me some Pringles today.

Viv is on another tear; this time it's compost.  I made the mistake of not canceling the newspaper subscription, so I am partially to blame for her perking up at the sight of an article about the composting seminar that was held yesterday.  Off she went with Amy at 9:00am, returning two hours later with pamphlets and a bucket.  And a newfound crusade.  With Joan Crawford's anti-wire hanger zeal, Viv has declared "No green waste hauled away ever!"

At the Mexican restaurant last night over dinner Viv unleashed her passion and delivered fact after fact about nature's wondrous mechanisms.  She wanted to make sure I knew what we could and could not throw out, and with remarkable specificity explained the hazards and benefits of animal fecal waste, human urine, and rotting meat. 

I had the chile verde, rice and beans.

After dinner she headed for the back yard where she removed nails from the parts of the old fence that lay on the hill beside my nifty new one.  The old boards are the raw material for our soon-to-be-built compost bin.  Construction was slated to begin this morning.  Let me check my watch.  Ah.  Almost 3:00pm.  Methinks this venture is headed for the project queue right behind the one-of-these-days deck, the tomorrow-I'm-gonna outdoor fire ring, and the as-soon-as-it-warms-up squirrel feeder.

In her defense I must tell you that Viv has been lying low today because we suspect Amy is getting a cold.  Little girls need their mommy or daddy when they don't feel good, and Viv has pulled the doting duty today, whipping up chicken noodle soup and crackers and juice.  My two girls are getting in some serious lie-down time.

Me, I mowed.

*****

I've put up a few photographs from the air show.  As is usually the case after these photo safaris, I come out of the darkroom wishing I'd paid more attention to my surroundings and criticizing myself for not loitering more diligently in some spots to find just the right compositions.  Ah well, I made my choices.  

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