Life as a biker chick beckons

Tag : walk behind mower

Last weekend, a switch was thrown and suddenly it was summer. Ifound myself yearning for the freedom I used to enjoy with abicycle or a horseback ride. I inhaled the smell of new-mown grassand sighed. "Forget it," I said to myself.
When I had my right knee replaced, I was thrilled to be able towalk without pain. I was also a little intimidated and a teeny bitresentful over all the things my surgeon told me I must avoid. "Ican't tell you not to ride a bike or go horseback riding, justdon't fall off," he warned. "If you wreck that knee, I probablycan't fix it."
I was also warned not to kneel on it, which suited me fine. I can'tthink of many things involving kneeling (like cleaning and weeding)I really want to do. And, I discovered I wasn't alone in this whena lady sitting next to me in the surgeon's waiting room informed mewith a very pleased look that she guessed she'd just have to remainseated in church to pray instead of kneeling. I hadn't thought ofthat, being of a non-kneeling denomination.
So, I was, and am, reasonably careful. I stayed off horses inArizona. I avoided cycling down Haleakala in Maui, Hawaii. Kneelingnever crossed my mind. I did go hiking and scrambling around a bitbut caution was always parked in my mind like a fun-spoiling lump.
Then, one afternoon, spouse Robert, daughter Stacey and I weresitting watching the birds at our feeders when our cat caught achickadee. My immediate instinct was to rescue the bird. I boltedout the door, tripped over the startled cat, grabbed the terrifiedbird and half fell, half rolled down two concrete steps. Somehow Iwound up in a clump of rhubarb at the top of the rock garden.Having been thoroughly indoctrinated about the fragility of my kneemy first thought was, "Damn! Wonder if I can get up?"
My two relatives, neither of whom had moved, were no help. (Irealize now they were trying not to laugh) "You're OK, aren't you?"Robert said. Stacey added, "Should we call an ambulance?"
Other than raw scrapes on both shins and knees and a probablebruise on the rhubarb side of my derriere, I appeared to beunharmed, and found I could stand and walk. Like the chickadee, Ihad survived.
Later, when we were in the middle of mowing grass and I was gettingfed up with the noisy weedeater and all the green speckles it lefton me and my clothes, I went to a store thinking I might buy anon-motorized, old fashioned, reel lawn mower like I used as a kid.I was standing looking at this nostalgic green and yellow machinewhen a younger woman came over.
"Dear," she said, "I hope you know that's a lot of work. We boughtone and I had to bring it back."
There was something so ageist and patronizing about this that Ibought the mower immediately. And frankly the most trouble I've hadwith it was getting all the bits and pieces in the box put togetherso that it looked like a lawn mower with no parts left over. I'vefound it quite handy for trimming the places around the house thatRobert can't get to with the big tractor and gang mower.
Now I can hear the birds and smell the flowers. It's good exercise.And I've substantially reduced the green speckles on my skin theweedeater produces.