By Ronald Sitton

NORTH LITTLE ROCK, Ark. (Sept. 28) -- I plan to semi-officially end "Hell Month" today; I'm finally mowing my yard.

As you can tell from the picture, nary a weed-wacker impeded the growth in the front yard in the last month. My neighbors sneer at this pariah as I drive into the driveway each weekend, grab dirty clothes, two bags of papers to grade and a computer out of the truck before disappearing into the house I call home.

I'm told I worry too much about my job, I need to slow down, I should find time to smell the roses. Roses? I always said just when you think you're sitting on a bed of roses, you get stuck in the ass with a bunch of thorns.

So I got up at 8 a.m. and started the lawnmower. I'm sure the neighbors love me now. In an effort to do my part to slow global warming, I used my 1977 Montgomery Ward 3.75 hp electric weedeater with a 14" cut, on the front yard at least. No exhaust on this baby, but I'm sure I'll see the results in my electric bill.

The 38 percent increase passed on by the city made it jump to $270 this month. I felt bad about that until I found out my parents bill hit $315 and my best friends bill hit $420, even after I helped him install cellulosic insulation in the attic this past spring.

Anyway. The electric weedeater gave up the ghost after edging the driveway, before I even got around to edging the house or the rock curb that blocks the torrent of rainwater rushing down the hill, sweeping what's left into my cavernous back yard. The curb knocks the water into the culvert that divides my neighbor's yard and ours. But it doesn't keep the weeds down.

Onto the next weedeater, a 1/5 hp electric Craftsman with a 10' cut. But it doesn't have a spool for some reason. Two carcasses now sit on the curb. I go to the gas-powered Troy-bilt DB70SS to finish the front. So much for helping global warming.

The annual raking of the front yard takes about 45 minutes. I should rake more, but we've got a Magnolia in the front and it's a pain to keep clean. However, the pine needles fell from the neighbor's house, so I finally had to do it. Time for the second cigarette.

Age makes a person take breaks.

My front yard could fit in my back yard twice. If I didn't break now and again, my heart would grind to a halt in the middle of the hill, and that wouldn't do. So I start by cleaning the porch, then getting the back-yard mower out to tackle the base of the hill.

The grassy slope haunts me. It seems every time I think I get a handle on it, it wins again. Ruined two mowers on it my first year living here. I put the best parts from the two together to make a back-yard mower; if it tears up, I'm not crying. Planned to plant giant sunflowers on it, but never quite got around to it.

The base wore me out, so I sit to let the sweat evaporate and watch the birds pick at the leftover detritus. A bluejay flies up to greet me, then joins in the feast.

Breaks provide perspective.

As I gander over the back yard, I realize I've already accomplished a lot ... though there's still a lot to go. I think back over the first month of school, "Hell Month" as I call it. Working at home during the summer cannot prepare the body for September. Like sitting on the beach watching a tidal wave approach, you can only brace for impact.

Filling up a schedule - or three or five depending on the semester - can help. Grad school taught me I must schedule breaks to remain sane (OK, breaks and two black cats gave me a sense of sanity in grad school). The only way to schedule breaks involves scheduling work - a wicked cycle. But it works. When I come to a break, like this weekend's WINEAUX FEST in Altus, I take them whether I can afford them or not.

Sanity remains one of the faces we show the outside world; one must unwind before springing into the next abyss.
Trust me, everyone will appreciate it. Though my calendar fills, it feels good to mark off each day's assignment. As I trudge along, I see the goal before me, resting occasionally to look back where I've been. Appreciation for where I am pushes me to continue.

Roll another cigarette ... 38 seconds to microwave the coffee ... finally, I'm ready.

I decide to weedeat the slope, a skill I picked up mowing a mountainside with a weedeater when I lived at the House of Misfit Toys between K-town and Oak Ridge. Up and down and up and down and up and down and up ...

Along the way I find rocks to finish the bed I'm making for herbs or flowers or whatever will grow in the shade. I pick up a fallen nest and decide to see if I can trick a bird into landing in a lion's mane. I spy a yellow and black snake about a foot long sunnin' under my porch. He sees me, goes his way and I go mine.

By the time I finish this year's last lawn-mowing adventure, a shower beckons. Water cleanses my body as steam clears my head.

Have I said mowing the yard is not my favorite activity? Yet as with many things, it must be done or suffer inevitable entropy. Another job always remains. But the physical activity prepares the mind. Now on to the real work so I can play tomorrow.