| Thursday, February 08, 2007 |
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I am in the midst of a grass crisis. No, not the kind that makes you eat a whole bag of Oreos and yell out "Freebird!!" at inappropriate moments. The kind that, when unattended, makes your neighbors say nasty things about you. They begin to point and whisper. The YARD kind.
I've bragged in the manner that the Bible will tell you will come back to bite you in the ass. I've bragged about my Braulio. He is the shizzle of all yard guys. We hired him about six years ago, when he left a flyer stuck on our front door. When we moved into the house seven years ago we set out (against my good, rational advice) to Tend To Our Own Lawn. My husband waxed poetic about how, when he was a wee boy, he Tended His Family's Lawn. He remembered it through misty childhood magic. I knew that his memories were similar to those that a heroin addict has when he's jonesing. But sometimes there is no talking to a man who is thinking "Let's Buy Power Tools!"
So off to Sears we went. We bought a weed whacker. We bought a lawn mower. Granted, The Husband did bow to my insistence the we buy an electric mower since I didn't want oil, gas, and NOISE in our garage. The first couple of months The Husband lovingly Tended The Lawn. Remember, we moved in at the end of September so summer was almost over. By the time March rolled around the Tending was getting done with slightly less enthusiasm. By May, when we had started to reach 1,000% humidity and 190 degrees Fahrenheit, The Tending of the Lawn became something akin to what I imagine it must be like to make a two-year old recite the Gettysburg Address while matching his Geranimals shirt and shorts to his Barbie socks. Not a pretty sight.
By June we had given the lawn mower to The Husband's mother and hired Braulio, The Wonder Lawn Guy. At first it was a little awkward. Braulio didn't speak very much English. There was a lot of smiling, head nodding, and pointing. There was some misunderstanding about how often we needed his services. But over the years we settled into a delightful relationship. Braulio took ownership of our lawn. He mowed when it needed it. He didn't when it didn't. We trusted his professional opinion. Occasionally our paths would cross and we noticed that his business must be very successful because he was upgrading his equipment and had hired an assistant. Ah, the American dream in action. Work hard. Build a business. Become a success story. A couple of years ago when I suffered a few injuries and was no longer about to tend to the bush trimming and ivy annihilation, he started doing that, too. It was like having an elf. We left for work. We came home to a groomed lawn. We stuck a check in the front door jam. MAGIC.
We learned over the years that Braulio takes a vacation from just after Thanksgiving to just after Christmas. We assume he goes home to Mexico to visit his family. In January he always show up and tends to the leaves, trims whatever has dared to grow in what is supposed to be this fallow season, and occasionally climbs on a ladder to clean our gutters. WE LOVE BRAULIO. We always leave a big bottle of expensive booze as a holiday gift when we put out the last payment before his vacation. A few years ago we gave him a raise without him asking because we appreciated his service so much.
It is February. We haven't seen Braulio since the third week of November. I started worrying about three weeks ago. I started speculating. Now I am despairing. The Husband and I talk. Maybe he is pissed off at us for some reason? Maybe he went home and isn't coming back? Maybe he got some huge commercial contract and has heartlessly dumped us puny little residential customers? The Husband thinks he got caught up in and ICE raid and has been asked by the US Government to Just Go Home Damned It And Don't Come Back.
All I know is that it's February and we have leaves hell and gone all over the place. We have weeds starting to sprout in the back yard. The ivy is about to take over the western hemisphere. The bushes on the east side of the house have blotted out the sun.
Regardless of the reason the Braulio has deserted us, we have reached the point where we started. The Husband is talking about buying a lawn mower. I am talking about institutionalizing him. I am a week away from giving up. I got our civic club's monthly newsletter on Monday. There is an ad in there for a neighborhood family that does lawn service. If my lawn elf hasn't come by this Monday I am calling those suckers. I'm missing my Braulio, but I'm excited at the possibility that I might get a lawn elf that speaks English. I am torn. I miss my elf. I have crabgrass. And the neighbors are starting to point and whisper.Labels: husband, personal urban drama |
posted by Carol @ 9:55 AM  |
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