Jack Kerouac

Truthfully, this blog has little to do with Jack Kerouac. I've actually only read excerpts of Jack Kerouac's writing (even though I really should read On the Road at some point) but this afternoon I had several spitfire thoughts ricocheting around my brain and everything came back to grass.

Probably because it's springtime and the grass is growing... *sigh*

So the grass thing started when I was hanging out with my friend Heather. We were talking about octopuses or mushrooms or possibly phoenixes when I glanced out my kitchen window and noticed Neighbor John mowing the grass. Neighbor John has a giant reptile (an iguana, I believe) named Tank who sunbathes with him in the backyard. When my friends are over and they notice Neighbor John in his backyard with Tank, they inevitably halt themselves mid-sentence to instead ask, "What is happening two yards down from you, Hannah?"

Today, I cut myself off mid-sentence when I saw Neighbor John, but it wasn't because he was sunbathing with Tank. Instead, he was mowing the grass. I said to Heather, "Shit. Neighbor John is mowing. He never mows before I do. Now I have to mow." This is a sad thing because I really do not enjoy mowing. Sure, it's a great opportunity to work on my tan, but after 42* years of mowing (soon to be 43; gosh, I love my birthday!) mowing really no longer has much of an appeal. So that was a sad thing that happened.

Since we're honoring Jack Kerouac and his stream-of-consciousness writing style, allow me to veer away from grass and instead announce that my friend Heather, who was also born on the eighth of the month (albeit December instead of April) and has two Hs in her name (just like I do), and I are going to be doing a joint art show at the Garryowen and opening night will be May 8. That's a Wednesday and the stuff that we're making is quirky and whimsy and all things fun. So maybe go ahead and put that on your calendar.

While walking my dogs, I got to thinking about my new friend Travis who is definitely quirky. Recently, Travis mentioned that when he dies, he'd like to be buried in a wooden box packed with grass clippings (something about nitrogen, I think? I'm not a science person...) and have a fruit tree planted on top of his grass-packed box of corpse so his essence could go into the fruit. Figs, specifically. He wants to have a fig tree planted atop his grass-packed box of corpse. And he will probably give the fig a funny name because he always names his fig trees.

While thinking about Travis's grass-packed box of corpse, I bumped into my neighbors Dave and Darlene and wouldn't you know that Dave wanted to let me know (he was almost apologetic about this) that he weeded for me today. I was like, "Oh my goodness, Dave! Do not apologize! You should never apologize for weeding or edging or doing ANYTHING that eliminates the grass on my lawn." And then I told him about how Neighbor John already mowed and how I now need to mow and we have come full circle... which is possibly what Jack Kerouac would do, but I can't know this for certain because I've never read him... which also brings us full circle.

*In editing this (are you proud of me, Mom?), it occurred to me that I haven't actually been mowing for 42 years. I've been mowing since about the age of 15, when I got hired as a lifeguard at the Lake Heritage Swimming Pool and had to spend 4 hours before the pool opened pushing a mower around the massive property that is now maintained by the maintenance crew that consists of grown men with riding mowers. It literally takes them, like, thirty minutes. 🙄