The lawnmowing conundrum.

The monsoon season has transformed the front lawn at Roseholme Cottage from the usual scruffy patch of grass one sees in front of the wee bungalows in streetcar suburbs to a verdant fast-growth jungle from which can be heard the call of the cockatoo and the cough of the hunting leopard. (Well, the Broad Ripple street leopard, which bears an astonishing resemblance to felis domesticus.) The grass at which one was chanting "Grow! Grow! Grow!" just weeks ago now draws cries of "Stop already!" as you pull the mower out for the second trim of the week.

With the front lawn on the east side of the house, the situation becomes dicey. Do you mow in the morning, before temperatures have peaked, and get your albino skin char-broiled by the direct rays of the pre-noon sun? Or do you wait until 4:30 or 5:00, when the front lawn is largely in the shade, but the air temperature has reached a sticky 90 degrees? (Side Question: How in Vishnu's name did I ever do yardwork before the invention of the iPod? Was I really making fun of these wunnerful gadgets just a few months ago?)

There's one ray of sunshine in the process: Our neighbor, who is as sweet and friendly as the day is long, is a fervent, politically-active Democrat. As a matter of fact, not being good with names, that's how she's known in my internal monologue or conversations with my roomie: "I was chatting with The Democrat today..." The acoustic mower just wasn't cutting it anymore, no pun intended, so I've transitioned to the electric for the remainder of monsoon season. A couple of weekends ago, it being the first time I'd ever used an electric mower, I was tying myself up in the mower's extension cord in the front yard. The Democrat saw this, and asked if I'd like to use her gas mower. I looked at her steadily and, doing my best to keep a tone of supercilious piety out of my voice, said "Thanks, but this one's so much greener." Ahhhh. So that's how Prius drivers feel...