Guys and Gals

I have arrived.  I guess.  I have a ‘guy’ that cuts my lawn now and rakes my leaves.  Collin.  A great kid.  A ski racer.  His parents drive him here and wait for him to finish.  Great parents.  And when he is in training in Italy or Argentina his mother or a friend comes over and cuts my lawn.   I wonder if they shovel snow?

My Guy Collin started at $20 a cut.  This year he wanted $40.   We settled at $30 - with a $5 tip.  He’s a good negotiator and he chats me up every time he stops by.   It’s not about the money, it’s about responsibility and accountability.  He has a Pay Pal and Venmo account, and he is reliable.  I’ve been looking for a kid to cut my lawn for years and could not find one willing and able.  Colin is a life saver.  So I can dawdle at my own little instant gratification projects, go for a bike ride or hit the hammock.  I’m free. 

Our lawns are our symbol of Americana.  I can’t grasp the sum total of the reality of the real world but if my lawn is neat and trim than all must be right in the universe.   It is our membership card in our neighborhood, keeping up with the Joneses and maintaining our property values. It is our grounding in the middle class where all the real work and the fun is.  It is our instant, visible gratification in a world where there is less and less.

It takes hundreds of dollars of water a month to water my lawn, water that could be put to good use somewhere else.  Brown is not beautiful here yet so we feed it and weed it and water it and cultivate it so it grows well and has to be cut more.  We have green lawns and golf courses, parks and farms and we wonder where all the water goes.  It is like the joy of banging our heads against the wall; it feels so good when we stop.

The point is I don’t have to cut it and I love that.  I was getting tired of it.  Dreading it.  Now I just say let it grow.  I know my dad taught us to cut our own lawn and paint our own house but I am sick of lawn and home maintenance.  It never stops.  The dandelions just keep popping up, the lawn keeps growing and the paint keeps peeling. But I’ve got a ‘guy’ now.

That is the best thing about living in a small town for a long time.  You have a ‘guy’ (or gal) for everything.  No matter if you are fixing something or buying insurance, painting the house or cutting the lawn, you have a guy, a sort of friend, who has always taken care of it for you.  He doesn’t overcharge you or blow smoke up your ass, he just does the job at a good price.   And if they have questions on hydrology or engineering, water, rivers or dams, I help them out.  I’m their guy.  It’s a specialized society, particularly in a small town.  I’ve got a guy who tunes my bike and a guy who tunes my skis, a guy that designed my house and one who built it, an electrician and a plumber.  It takes a town.  I love those guys.

Every time I go out for an errand, I run into a ‘guy’ or friend or a casual acquaintance, chat them up and feel connected.  Maybe its my old stockbroker from high school who lives down the block or my real estate ski buddy, my old dentist’s dentist son, or my eye doctor who grew up with a friend of a friend.  Then there are my urologist, neurologist, pulmonologist and physical therapy gals or our Gold medalist orthopedic or freestyle filmmaker, snowboard champion.  This town is full of  laid back, over-achieving individuals that add value and contribute.   We are all friends.

 That’s what makes small towns so attractive and this town so exceptional.  We need to cherish and respect each other and our specialties for the total value gained is greater than the sum of our individual expertise and efforts.  We collectively make this town great.  That’s why I still walk down the street and say 'hey' to everyone.  They are my ‘guys and gals’.

PRESS HOME TO RETURN TO THE FULL BLOG FOR MORE POSTINGS!