I look like an ordinary housewife
when I'm mowing the lawn.
Certainly no one would ever mistake me
for anything Orange County,
and rarely even Stepford.
As I putter along on my trusty rider,
my tee shirt is a little stained,
my jeans a little tight,
my inappropriate flip flops
are firm against the pedals.
It's times like these that I realize
I really do wish I had a pedicure,
a layer of sunscreen,
and prettier hair.
I keep imagining the people passing by saying,
"Look at that old lady mowing the yard.
Is that a pizza stain on her shirt?"
"Her yard looks really nice and neat. It's a shame
I can't say the same about her hair."
"Don't those little lawn mowers have load limits?"
But, you know-
I really don't care what they think.
Because when the wind rushes through my hair,
the sun hits my face,
and I power up my MP3-
I. Am. A.
I crank that baby up loud enough
to be heard above an atomic blast!
I let its smooth music flow
into my ears like healing honey.
I envelop myself in a vibrating world
of notes and lyrics and vocals
that raise my senses to elevated glory.
I rock. I tap.
I weep. I laugh.
I hum. I sing.
I dream. I dare.
For two solid hours,
I endulge in my own private concert.
The music is mine.
The beat is my own heart.
My soul yearns to live in
such complete rhythms.
Most people have their favorites
to listen to at the gym.
Or while jogging.
Or,( heaven forbid this body), running.
But, I have Lawnmower Music.
Take a listen, if you will.
(I am trying to post the mix tape
at the bottom of my page,
but Blogger is being bull-headed
again this morning.
So- it may or may not be there)!
For sweet moments of the day-
I. Am. A.
Then, I put away the music-
put away my lawnmower-
and turn into an ordinary housewife again...