Gardeners delight

June 8, 2013

A gardener came to attack the grass taller than my boot. He rapped on the door and when I failed to open it in ten seconds, began ringing the doorbell in desperation. The orange extension cord snaked-in through the crack and I had to meander around the house to find one that was capable of accepting a three prong plug. Luckily the cord could have wrapped around the house three times so he could cut the grass and trim without having to move the magic cord. Hours later, another knock then the expected doorbell ringing ensued. A pleasant enough looking fellow who could not speak more than a handful of English words but could mime his thanks left with a generous wave of his hand. The truck was full to the brim with leaves, branches and grass, a mower and weed-eater strapped precariously on top, ready to teeter off at the corner. I attempted to obtain his contact information for future clean-ups but he simply nodded and smiled at me numerous times and made the universal phone call gesture. Ok, I will phone when I am ready, though I doubt his telepathic message would generate enough of an English translation for me to accept the call. Mute as a Zen Master.