I just mowed the lawn.

It's kind of funny looking, and my push-mower leaves the tall grass sticking up like little flags to the shame of how long I left it. Also, the edges are bushy. Must find a hand tool for the edges.

But it smells good. I've always loved the smell of a freshly-cut lawn.

Which is good, because freshly-cut lawn is one of those things to which the boy is allergic. He won't be fighting me for the lawn mower anytime soon. No sirree.

In other news, I met the next-door neighbour. (It's hard to miss the sound of my push-mower. I really must find the oil for its blade. It is in a box somewhere, along with everything else.) We had a Norman Rockwell moment chatting over the picket fence. He's a very nice geographer.

Yes, there's a picket fence. The boy thinks we should paint it black.