So, here it is, Father's Day again. Has it been a year already? Today it's over-cast and sprinkling. The over-cast is good to slow the flooding which is going to take place but the drizzling rain could be done without. Oh, dont get me wrong, my lawn looks amazing. I think it's the 16-16-8 from IFA. That and I used the correct Weed-Be-Gone this year. Yeah, last year I sorta, well I poisoned the lawn with Round Up in spots because I wanted to do Stacey a favor and get rid of all that pesky dandelion and crabgrass and other pernicious weedlings. Well, suffice it to say, I did in fact get rid of all of the aforementioned thorns and thistles. Additionally, about three days later, it became apparent also that the grass surrounding each weed was also on the decline. Additionally, at about a week, it was glaringly obvious that I was about to enjoy the entire year with a leopard-print lawn. Sexy on women, not so sexy on lawns.
So, anyhow, after re-seeding this Spring and with much love and tenderness, the lawn has made a full recovery. In fact, it's made a full come-back. I will tell you that all that I've put on it was the fertilizer, and a spray-as-you-go "BROADLEAF" killer which I verified about sixteen times was in fact what I was spraying the weeds with. Additionally I had some left-over Scott's Weed and Feed but it was only about a third of a bag, so...I'm not sure whether or not it even factored in.
Well I'm not really sure that you needed to know that, only in the sense that I sometimes make mistakes. I know, I know, you're thinking, "But Jon is so dang perfect." So perfect that all of his clothing sizes are in even numbers. But alas, it's not so. In fact, the other day, we were talking, Stacey and I. Well I was talking, Stacey was listening. It's our agreement. Dont you judge me! Anyhow, she brought up the time I hit myself in the head with a pick-axe.
We were out in Tooele, and Stacey wanted her mailbox put in. For the previous six or eight weeks I'd had the mailbox in a five gallon bucket full of rocks. But APPARENTLY that's white-trash and she was determined that I put it in. Hell or high water. Anyhow this particular day was a Sunday. So I felt I was safe in refusing to be bossed. So, I actually remember saying to her, "When we are before the Pleasing Bar of God, you're telling me that you'll stand there, and tell the Lord that you demanded that I put that mailbox in?!" Of course she said she would and that was the end of that. So, I went outside and grumbling located the shovel. Well after jumping up and down on the shovel like a pogo-stick, I realized that we needed to break this up a little. See, Tooele is built on an alluvial deposit of near concrete proportions and consistency. Anyhow so I get this old pick-axe. The head on this pick was about twenty or thirty pounds just by itself. Oh, also of import is that it used to be my grandpa's, then my dad's and because both of them hated it so much, it now was left to me. Anyhow the handle on the pick was rock hard. I mean, a solid peice of hickory to say the least. I imagine that Clint Eastwood could mob up a town as a preacher with this thing. (If you dont get the reference stop reading now, you're out. No, I mean it. If you dont have an affinity for Clint Eastwood kickin' arse and takin' names, we have no further use of ya) Anyhow, so this handle had shrunk over the last forty years or so and allowed the head of the pick to slide down the handle. (Dont get ahead of us, but yes, you're thinking what's going to happen is going to happen). Anyhow, so my dad had told me that you need to soak the handle in water over night to get it to swell. Well I didnt have over-night. What I did have was a mad momma-cita that wanted her mailbox in. So I filled up a washbasin tub and commenced soaking the head and then let the water run on the spot I was a-diggin'. So, the more I tried on this Sabbath Day to dig, the more and more angry I got.
Finally, when I could take it no more, and after about what seemed like hours of soaking (26 minutes???) I just grabbed this old pick and started swinging. Man I was pissed too. P-I-Double "S"-Duh! So I swing once. I swing twice, and near as I can tell about the third time, this old pick head starts a slidin' down the handle right at me. Well, yeah, it hit me. Right smack on the crown of the head. So, before I could stop myself, I launched the thing ass-over-tea kettle out across the road and into the adjacent field. It's important to note that Stacey was standing there watching the whole thing. She still thinks it's funny. I of course humor her and smile softly, knowing full well I would have jacked that thing into the side of her little Saturn Coupe had I been close enough.
But, I guess I just wanted to capture that. Yeah, I mess up sometimes. Lot's of times there are people watching. I do my best to be cool, but it just doesnt seem to be in the cards for me. It seems I'm destined to do things that just broadcast to the world my level of obnoxious common nature.
Sometime if you've got nothing to do, I'll tell you about the time I got pissed and started pullin' on a pair of plyers 'till they broke loose and smacked me in the forehead. But for right now, I've got a Father's Day breakfast they're cookin' me to eat.
Anyhow, smile, call your pops. Thank him for doing dad things. Thank him for that time he crashed the boat and had a Walley-World epic come-apart. I know my dad has, and as it turns out, so have I.
Be good, but not too good.
J
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