Saturday, August 12, 2006

It Started With a Lawnmower

Today's Emerson is interrupted for a little story. Today is a lovely day in Minnesota and my Bookman and I along with the dog, Godzilla, were outside taking advantage of it. My Bookman was going to mow the yard while I was weeding a flower bed. Only a part of the lawn got mown before the lawnmower broke. My Bookman was going to take the top of it off to see if he could fix it but discovered the screws were not of the regular flathead or philips variety. He was going to resort to the push mower which has not been used in the three years since we bought the electric mower. Unfortunately, our garage is a great place for shoving things we don't want any longer but can't part with for some reason. The push mower is in there somewhere but we couldn't find it. So Bookman decides to go to Home Depot to either a) get the tools he needs to take the mower apart or b) get a new mower and worry about fixing the broken one another time because the yard needs to be mowed darn it. He goes into the house through the patio door leaving me weeding and the dog pretending like he's helping. A few minutes later I hear him calling me from the front of the house, "Can you open the front door, it's locked and I left me keys in the house?" Sure. Only problem is, when he went in through the patio door, he flipped the lock on it and now we are locked out of the house. As my Bookman came around the house to the patio door to see if we could get what we have always thought of as a flimsy lock open, he stepped in a hole from a half-finished gardening project and twisted his ankle. He limped up to the patio door and we discovered the flimsy lock wasn't so flimsy after all, at least for those of us unaccustomed to breaking and entering. We cursed ourselves over all the time we'd spent talking about hiding a key in the yard but never doing it. My Bookman thought he had left the second floor window unlocked. We had the key to the garage, which is detached, so got out the extension ladder to find out that no, he had been in a locking mood today. The car keys are locked in the house too and the neighbors aren't home, so he decides to ride his bike the five blocks to the coffee shop to use the phone book and the phone to call a locksmith. I offered to go since I wasn't limping around on a hurt ankle, but angry testosterone doesn't listen to the wife and he pedals off on his bike that clearly needs air in the tires. The dog lays down in the shade and I start weeding again. My mind drifts pleasantly for a few minutes before it snaps to full attention. I am locked outside of my house and I have nothing to read! A panicky feeling starts swirling around in my stomach. What am I going to do with nothing to read? Then I look down at the weed I had just pulled. What am I thinking? I'm weeding, not reading and there are plenty of weeds that need pulling. My panic subsides, mostly. Very shortly my Bookman pulls up on his bike without his helmet. He had gone to the yarn shop which is next to the coffee shop and whose owner we know, had used the phone book and the phone and left his helmet on the counter. He limped around to the front of the house to await the locksmith. We didn't have to wait long. The locksmith had the door open within three minutes after his arrival. Now, as we contemplate where to hide a spare house key in the yard, I am also wondering if I should wrap up a book in tinfoil and plastic and hide it in the yard too. It might come in handy someday. On another note, don't miss your chance for a free book! Emerson will return tomorrow.