Friday, June 11, 2010
And because of this, some times the little things derail my trajectory.
Over the last few weeks, we’ve been dealing with yard issues. A grass jungle in competition with the Amazon. Central Florida, rainy season, and St. Augustine grass are the ingredients you need to build your own. Oh, and a yard man waylaid by a family emergency and his own bout with the summer flu.
Although I’m prone to exaggeration, growing up in a Southern family descended from Irish immigrants who believed story telling was a momentous event and the bolder, the more outrageous, the better, I’m not embellishing when I say that our grass is up to my knees and climbing.
Hear that pop? It’s the sound of my Type B persona cracking.
Home Owners Associations, neighbors, and snakes. Oh crap!
Each day that creeps by without the sounds of a mower fists my stomach tighter than a fishing net caught in a boat motor. I called other lawn services for assistance. If they remember to show up, their quotes are more than my hubby is willing to pay. I, on the other hand, would take a second mortgage on the house just to get the job done.
This week has been especially tough and my stress has rocketed past my intergalactic shuttle blowing my Type B cloak to smithereens. I begin wondering, where in CF could I buy a machete. Soon, I might have to whack out a path to rescue the dogs.
And then something wonderful causes a shift in perspective.
I let the dogs out to play, hoping they won’t get lost in the tangle and drown. While I fear having to traipse after them with nothing but flip flops to protect my feet, they have no qualms about diving in and parting the green sea.
Well, one of them doesn’t.
Brave little basset.
All I can see is the white tip of his tail above the lush blades bending to the slight breeze the same way that the leaves in the trees rustle. He leaps. He stalks. He hunts with the determination of Pooh tracking his honey pot.
For that little basset the mountainous green blob about to swallow the house is a land of adventure. A land of opportunity. A land no longer deemed just the place to do his doody.
Watching him play, and grin—yes, he has this weird dog grin, open mouth, flash of teeth, long, lolling tongue, helps de-escalate my stress and teaches me that when things aren’t perfect maybe it’s because I’m looking at the situation the wrong way. Like a kaleidoscope, when we don’t like what we see, we can shift perspectives for a new outlook. Sometimes that slight modification of attitude sets the universe back on its axle and we move forward once again.
As I began writing this post the endearing sounds of a weed-eater enchanted my ears. My heart beat a little faster than normal. I race the dogs to the French doors, throw back the sheer curtains, my hand flies to mouth, my fingers fan my lips.
There he is…my yardman…my hero for today. Fighting his way through the backyard wilderness to conquer the monstrous turf eating at my sanity.
Some might think, poor little basset. He’s lost his novel land of exploration.
Not to worry. He’s just as content to chase the lizards and geckos from the back porch. Or bark at the deer meandering behind the fence. He’s happy-go-lucky that way. Amazing that he has such resilience after being abused and abandoned and rescued from a kill shelter before finding his forever home with us.
Reminding me again, we can’t control the challenges we face but we can change the view. After all, life is all about perspectives.
** Some may have wondered why we didn’t cut the grass ourselves. The short answer is that we don’t own a lawn mower. Those who know us understand why.