And preparation day rolls around again, but this time I sort of got caught up on my mowing, so I can rest this weekend with a sort of clear conscience. Snooks will bake challah and make up a one pot dish for the Shabbat. I will sit in my air-conditioned studio and look out on the freshly mowed fields with a sense of accomplishment. But it wasn’t all my doing. One neighbor came last week and mowed the verges, and another came this week and weed-whacked the edges so all I had to do was mow the middles.
Little acts of kindness like that make me feel less like an island and more of a part of something, though I admit I am not the easiest person in the world to do things for. I do miss my independence, but some of the little chores just wind me. A poison ivy patch has sprung up in the front yard, but the task of dragging out the sprayer, mixing the cocktail and pumping the blasted thing up can take me a whole day to accomplish. But it needs doing. And a fresh tree stump is awaiting the weed burner to burn it to the ground and make sure the roots are dead.
But 50 years from now, no one will miss the tree stump, a new owner will put in a Chinese garden or some other civilized horror, and life will go on … unless Messiah comes first. One can always hope.
So, armed with a fresh cup, I peer out my electric window into your world, and out my glass window to a brave new world …