I never really thought about grass. I never really had to since I moved into my apartment, and I just assumed all that will be taken care of. I could smell it when it was cut. I used to cut my grandfather’s grass when I was a kid; used to get $20 bucks to trim his yard. When I had a home I was inclined to chop my grass, do the weed wacker thing, etc. But, something has changed at my apartment complex. They are repaving the parking lot and also they are digging out the concrete sidewalks as well. So, in my dress shoes on the way to work, I am forced to trudge across a grass filled hill. Now, I think about grass every day, having to navigate this bumpy, overgrown, dew ridden field. Now I have wet shoes and socks in the morning as I hover around my 55 barrel drum of coffee, soaking feet under my desk. Grass has been come the evil in everything.
I stepped from the field this morning, my shoes shinier than they’ve ever looked; grass and dirt hugging to the tops and sides, like it was trying to escape some prison of their own doing. I find myself having to bend over and wipe them off with my fingers, trying at least to pretend that the tie, and dress pants are part of the ensemble. I’m trying to look nice. I’m trying to look decent. But it’s the grass. It has a long history of being bad.
My parents would complain about grass stains on my jeans as a kid. Mom, they are jeans! I’m a kid! What do you want from me? Grass as an adult, “Aren’t you going to cut your grass?” And this I could never get; what is the perfect timing for grass cutting? I was never able to achieve it. It was either too much or too little; not to mention when it rains. WTF! Suddenly, it grows four inches overnight, and seeds pop out. Anyone that knows about grass, that is not a good thing. It means you will be spending your weekends putting down new seed or sod down until you are exhausted, and with a broken back.
The field I cross is not level. It’s part of a hill that slopes from the main road. It’s great to think that if it rains, I won’t be washed away, but because of that, there are all these drainage holes that you could step in and twist your ankle. Oh, they aren’t marked. It’s a crap shoot walking across. You have to be a psychic in order to navigate these forests of grass. Most of the troughs are over grown, so you never know how deep they go. Sending out sonar might not reach back to you before you step. I’ve noticed not even animals will cross this place without assistance; crossing the Les Miserables barricade would be easier with the French troops firing upon you would be easier.
When I was in Hungary, they didn’t cut their grass. This was a revelation. Not that there was a lot of it, but it was foreign for them to even think about the trim. Grass there wasn’t lush and green, it was just another weed that lived in a yard, and you need to machete through to get to your overpriced, Communist made car that had no air conditioning.
Now some have their minds in another place when I talk of grass. With the advent of many states making “grass” legal so smoke has created a whole new culture out there. Well, it’s been there, but it’s been underground. Now, like others, they can smoke the stuff out in the open. I have to say, when I was a child, I knew the difference between that and a tobacco cigarette. When I was at Great Adventure in the seventies, waiting in line for the log flume, I smelled it. When I was at a late showing of Pulp Fiction, there were two guys in the front of the theatre smoking. I really think the management waited for them to get over the munchies before they called the cops to have them taken out. Business first!
Well, hopefully the parking lot gets finished soon, the sidewalks get poured, and things get back to normal again. My shoes will appreciate that.