4:15 p.m. to 4:30 p.m.
- I run my kingdom from an L-shaped, corner desk.
- Men are mowing my lawn, which is very nearly an acre in size.
- The boy rushes out to help.
- A friend of my brother-in-law cut his fingertips off last week with a mower.
- I peruse the accounting, looking for billable items that might have been overlooked.
- The smell of freshly cut grass comes through the window to my left.
- The cat pokes at my leg, looking for attention.
- I drink a Rolling Rock beer.
- I think about the field trip with the boy’s class tomorrow.
- The men ran out of time sheets last week. Two days’ hours are written on napkins.
- I missed the guys’ payday last week. They never complain.
- In front of me is a Fire Marshall report 45 days overdue and a certified letter from the IRS.
- I stand up. The boy tools by with a mower, pretending to be a man.
- I start printing invoices.
Update:
I have been informed by the little man that we no longer need the water-filled weight for the basketball hoop stand. He moved it, claims to have chopped up “a ton of snakes” with the mower, and when he emptied the water, “it smelled like dead fish. Like salmon or something.”
Oregon is crazy for their salmon, and now apparently salmon have died in my basketball hoop. This can only mean trouble.
The boy returns to mowing. I am spared giving a lesson on spawning.