The Runaway

I was telling a story on myself the other day, when one of the people in attendance, a lady, said,  "If that had happened to me, I would have never told anyone".  Her reaction struck me funny and gave me an insight at the same time.  I, of course, know that I will tell a story on myself at a moment's notice.  It's just something about my character. And I also always thought that most people probably do the same.  However, on closer reflection, I am starting to see that most people don't tell stories on themselves. In fact, to date, I have noticed that some people will tell a story on themselves to a close friend, but not in a gathering of people.  Even if most of the gathering are at least acquaintances of theirs.  It became apparent to me that the people who would tell the story on themselves were the more out-going group, the group that seemed to have a great deal of self-confidence.

Forgive me if I stray.... First I should give my definition of "telling a story on yourself". It is when you have done something incredibly stupid that leads to injury, property damage or arrest, and can, at a later date, be classified in my "It didn't seem funny at the time" file. Get my drift?  Well, maybe it would be easier to tell about my latest bone-head move that fits into the definition.

Two of my sons, Jeff, twenty-five, and, Sean, twenty-three (some of you may remember Sean from an earlier story, "Yes! There is Justice" ), were attempting to whip the Lake House into shape before the Memorial Day weekend.  We had a lot to do and wanted to get the lion's share of it done in one day and be able to coast through the rest of the work later in the week at a more leisurely pace.  My sixty-five year old ass was moving fast, too fast,  while it seemed like I needed to line Sean and Jeff up to a fence post to see if they were moving.  That is to say,  I don't think their hearts were into this labor of love, I call the Lake House. (You'll notice that I capitalize the name).       

Sometimes when you move fast you make mistakes.  I was moving the lawn mower out of the garage and down to the lower lawn between the house and the dock.  I usually use the neighbor's hill side to accomplish this as the steps on our property are kind of hard to negotiate with the machine in tow.  I started to go down the hill on the neighbor's property, where the terrain is steep but not as steep as my own.  It was then that I noticed  his lawn hadn't been cut either and the grass was quite high.  So I decided that if I let the lawn mover coast down the incline, it would be stopped by the tall grass, at which point I would walk down and push it the rest of the way to my property.

I let it go, and that lawn mower took off like donkey with a can tied to its tail, headed straight for the lake.  You need to understand that this property has a wall that the lake comes up to.  There is no beach.  We're talking three or four feet of water the minute you step off the wall.  Well, the lawn mower is racing toward the lake.  My son Sean, God bless 'em, (I've learned that in the south you can say anything about anyone....as long as you preface it with "God bless him", or "Bless his heart") is in hot pursuit.  The lawn mower streaks past him and straight into the lake and promptly sinks.  Sean arrives at the lake's edge and stops.  I yell at him, "Get it!"  The light blub goes on and into the lake he goes, soon to emerge with the lawn mower.  I grabbed the handle and he lifted the machine out to the wall.  I haven't even had time to start get ting mad at myself, when the boaters across the estuary start cheering and hollering. They didn't have score cards, but if they'd had 'em, I'm sure I would have received perfect tens. Of course, if they knew I was a damn Yankee transplant, it might have been fours.

The hero and the goat.  Guess which is the hero.

I called for the portable Hurricane (the leaf blower) and Jeff scurries over with it. I started blowing the lawn mower with the leaf blower.  Checked the oil and gas, they looked surprisingly all right.  I took out the filters, because they were soaked.  Pulled the starter rope and it fired up.  It sputtered and then stopped.  I pulled it again and it started again.  This time continuing to run but sputtering.  We tied the handle down and let it run for a good long time just heating and drying itself.  To date it is running just fine.  Who'd a thunk it?  

From now on, I think I'm going to give special attention to those story tellers who are talking about their own mishaps. But when it comes to telling stories on myself, I can corner the market.  In fact, I have way too many to share.