I Have an Edger Now
So I’m standing in the kitchen, watching and listening as my wife talks to her best friend on the phone. And that’s when I realize that I have hit another milestone, taken another exit ramp away from a life I once lived.
Because I remember the way she and her friend used to talk. More importantly, I remember how she and her friend used to act around one another. And the two girls I met at Jack’s Joint, making every man fall in love with them with each twirl of their vintage skirts as they danced to the rhythm of the Basie Band, are not ringing any bells with me at the moment (least of all the ones that used to go ring-a-ding-ding).
Instead, the two are talking about our cat — Dean Martin. He’s a rescue, and we’ve shown the guy a lot of love since he’s been living with us. He’s great and all, but I’m keenly aware that by adopting him, we’re one step closer to having children. Doesn’t every married couple try their hand with a pet, thinking that will prepare them for parenthood and not being any more wrong about it? I’m afraid of having children, but when I look at my wife, I know it would be a sin against humanity to not have children with her.
Sigh.
She smiles at me as she listens to her friend’s latest dilemma (she’s single), and I smile back wistfully. To me, she still looks just like the girl I married five months ago.
Still, the cat talk is making my eyes bleed with boredom, so I pour myself a beverage and decide to survey the grounds.
Walking through our backyard, I think back to the time when I didn’t want to buy a house. “There’s a convenience to renting,” I used to argue — usually while I was waiting on the landlord to come and fix something on the property, like, oh, the heat in the middle of winter. But when we saw this house, I immediately fell in love with the fact that the entire backyard was edible.
Looking at houses was a difficult time for me. I remember looking at apartments when I first got out of college. I only rented from property managers who baked Mrs. Field’s cookies in their offices. That touch of chocolaty chip goodness really made a difference in my purchasing decision. So you can imagine that I was shocked when our realtor took us from home to home, nary a morsel of Tollhouse to be found. The house we bought — the first house I told my wife I liked — was the house where we ate raspberries off a bush in the backyard.
I walk around the yard, taking in the dazzling array of lush vegetation; Bradford Pear trees, apple trees (both green and red), wild strawberries, pepper and tomato plants, dill, basil, asparagus and the aforementioned raspberry bush. Even the trees we can’t eat — like the huge Juniper trees — can be used to make something useful, like gin.
I, of course, had nothing to do with this veritable cornucopia of Eden-like pleasures. The woman who owned the house before us planted everything and she was epic. She clearly revolved her life around planting things in this yard. I have to laugh as I think of the law of averages: She spent all of her time in the yard planting, probably never getting a moment to actually enjoy it. Then the person who buys the house publishes a newspaper and never gets any time to plant, let alone enjoy it.
I do mow the lawn, however. And as I walk barefoot in the yard, I can’t help but notice how supple and thick the lawn is under my stewardship. I attribute this to my unique “rotation” strategy, whereas I mow the front yard one day and the back yard a week later. In the back, this strategy often means the grass will go to seed. I mow it without the bag on my mower, thus letting the seeds fall back into the soil, filling in any bare spots. The recycled clippings return much needed nitrogen to the soil, letting the grass grow a deep green and eliminating the need for harsh poisons or chemicals. That, and I’m too lazy to grass catch.
I survey the garden beds with a look of satisfaction, noting that my recent acquisition of an edger has made their perimeters look uniform and neat. Last year, I didn’t think I could afford the edger. This year, as I look at the perfect narrow canyon carved between my sidewalk and lawn, I wonder how I thought I couldn’t.
And that’s when I realize that the conversation about the cat was far more interesting.