My yard needs to be mowed. It is tedious little things like that that perturb me. I need to mow my god damn yard and I don’t have the time but I most certainly have the allergies that yell at me, “no, you do not want to mow the god damn yard!” Stupid yard. Stupid allergies. In Fall, I took a class called Silence, Solitude, and Laziness –the pillars of the good life. I spend a lot of time still thinking about what equates a good life. Is it mowing the yard? Is it finishing assignments on time? Is it doing well at my job? Is it traveling? I keep wondering when the big reveal will happen, the tada moment, when someone jumps out and tells me — hey, this is how you live a good life. I know this is no going to happen but I still like to look for it.

Sometimes I feel like I get glimpses of it when I hang out with little kids. Kids that just love you for no particularly good reason. They don’t care if you think your smart or stupid, skinny or fat, and they most certainly do not care about that pesky zit that showed up on your neck (although they will be more than happy to point it out to you). I have a little 4 year old buddy named Townes, whom comes over to my house on occasion. The first time he came over, I told him that I had a tub of toys, referring to a large plastic tub I keep stowed in my garage for such a time when children overtake my house. After pulling my car into the garage, Townes rushed into my house, and promptly found the bathroom. He then pulled back the shower curtain and gave me a look of absolute disdain, “there are not any toys in this tub,” he yelled, annoyed that I had seemed to have lied to him. I laughed and showed him the correct tub. Kids are so damn literal.

If Townes was a few years older I would pay him to mow my yard.

I wonder if Townes will have any recollection of such an interaction. To him it was no big deal, to me it was hilarious, and worth mentioning to multiple friends. It is always interesting to see what one deems important, what one chooses to recollect with great detail. I remember the look on his face, the grass-stained jeans he was wearing, and his lopsided bangs (it is a well proven fact that all children, at one point or another, will get their hands on scissors, and give themselves a lovely new hair-do). I remember the smudge of tomato sauce on his upper lip due to the pizza we had eaten at Old School. I imagine that this will fade, this memory, because that is what they do. Shuffled away in some place deep down.

Maybe this whole thought was brought about because of my need to mow my yard and his grass-stained jeans.

I really just need to mow my yard.