Ex number 38

Everyone Forgets The Lawnmower Man

The morning, light and sunny, feels full of optimistic suburban summery-ness. It makes its usual sounds, and i know i'm in Australia because i hear the trademark laughing of the Kookaburras, and a lawnmower's hum that takes me right back to my childhood and suburban weekend summers.

Except it's not Summer. Not even Spring yet. (This is the new climate i'm getting used to.) And it's not yet the weekend. Instead it's Friday, and i'm just out of the shower, getting ready for work, and thinking, "Kookaburras? On a day like this?"

My dad once told me that if the Kookaburras pass thru the area laughing, they're signalling rain to everyone. Like nature's town criers. It's a quaint legend, i think, looking again at that too-blue-to-be-true sky. Then the mower reaches a sort of crescendo as it passes under my window so i look out and see....

Damn. The washing. The washing that i'd left on the line so the morning sun could dry out those last dampnesses of morning dew. Now the air is filled with a shrapnel of dust and grass-ends and dead leaves. (Why is Brisbane so dusty?) And there he goes, flicking my towel up out of the way so he can mow past. I urgently need to rescue it.

All i'm wearing is a towel so first i have to find something quick to throw on. Amazing how hard it is to find anything that's fit-to-be-seen-wearing-in public when you're rushed. The dirty clothes basket suddenly seems a handy source. (!) (Reminds me of the interesting things i saw people wearing that morning we were evacuated from the London hotel due to fire.)

I don't have time to question what IS he doing exactly? That the lawn is so thin and flat there's really nothing to mow. I run down stairs and do a plausible impersonation of "speed unhanging" where i have to really quickly pull off the pegs and take down the clothes at the same time and throw them in the basket and mostly miss and i just don't have enough hands and.....

The rhythm of the lawnmower sound has sort of stopped. So i stop the unpegging. And i turn my head and see the lawnmower man just standing, smiling, leaning on the handle of his idling mower. Smiling at me. Waiting. Patiently.
Smiling and waiting for me to finish unpegging because i'm standing in his way.

And for some reason i think i need to explain myself.

"I don't want dust in my clothes."

He's un-worried. "I get that a lot. Everyone forgets about the lawnmower man."

I process this as i keep unpegging, and figure that you can' t forget about this sort of thing if it's expected or timetabled. Therefore it must be a regular event.

"You're here every Friday?"

"No."

A pause. I keep unpegging. He's now standing next to me, watching. I'm glad my undies or lingerie weren't in this load.

"It's usually Wednesday"

I want not be one of those people who always forgets the lawnmower man. I don't want dust in my future sun-dried, morning-dew-refreshed washing.

"So i should keep that in mind on Wednesdays."

"No........"
(GOD! Of course not! )
".....It's not always Wednesday."

And, after another pause to think about it, he continued in his deliberate, unhurried way of speaking, to explain the conditions and exceptions that meant it couldn't be guaranteed to be a Wednesday and that even then it might not even be him it might be ..... but my mind and ears shut down there. It was too silly. And a bit creepy. I just wanted to gather my dear little washing and bustle it all safely inside.

No wonder everyone forgets the lawnmower man. He doesn't come on Friday, but he's here today (Friday). And he's sometimes here on Wednesday, but not always, and sometimes it's someone else anyway. And i'm sure it's not always in the morning because i've lived here for months and this is the first time i've seen or heard him.

So .... what's to remember?

Remember to never leave your clothes out on the line overnight - that's what. The lawnmower man could strike at any time. And only when you're not expecting him.


Oh, and dad was right about the kookaburras. It pelted down in the afternoon. So thanks to the lawnmower man, my clothes weren't rained on.