One Mowed Yard Equals Two Doctor Visits

     So, after asking myself yesterday if I really, truly needed to see the doctor, I decided to check that I wasn't just being self-indulgent in the wake of allergies and some morning gastrointestinal not-to-be-described. The way to do this check is by applying motion to mass, of course, and to do so until you've worked up a sweat.

     The front yard wanted mowed.  Ms. Tamara, unfamiliar (and generally displeased) as she is with my corded electric lawnmower, now pushing twenty years old (the mower.  Well, Tam, too, but she may have pushed it slightly farther), fights the cord and ends up with a sore back.  Me, I have used the thing for years and wrestling fat, flexible wires is part of my job, so I have an easier time of it.  An hour or two later, I had a mowed lawn, too.

      The back yard beckoned.  Well, the part I had weedwhacked a week or two ago beckoned, and got mowed.  The bulk of the back yard did whatever vest-pocket jungles do -- seethed, festered or hummed with bugs and worms, a nightmare of Creepin' Charlie, wild honeysuckle, wild strawberries, volunteer maples, inkweed/pokeweed and laced through and through with Virginia Creeper, which is bidding fair to win the title "Yankee kudzu" despite its nominal state of origin.  The burdock and dandelions scarcely have a chance! It was a weedwacker and pruning-shears job and that's what it got.

     Came to the end of that (plus side ventures into weed-spraying the small, shaggy no-man's-land between my driveway and my neighbor to the south's garage followed by more of the same down the rarely used path between my garage and privacy fence that serves to illustrate the uselessness of mandated setbacks on narrow urban lots) and by golly, I was perspiring -- and not feeling especially dizzy or lousy.  Oh, soreness lurked, and is kicking me around a little right now, along with some allergy-like sinus, but I don't feel ill.  Or self-indulgent.