If I'm mowing, this must be Friday (or Tuesday)

The title is a thinly veiled reference to a comedy from 1969 called If It’s Tuesday, This Must Be Belgium.  It is a fun little film about a group of tourists trekking about Europe on a tour bus, and the adventures they experience in each of their many tour stops.  Anyway, I am convinced my neighbors set their calendars by my mowing schedule.  I mow the lawn every Tuesday and Friday without fail, unless it’s raining.  I mow after work, which means I’m out there mowing from about 6 PM until 7 PM all summer (Jonathan is usually mowing the backyard while I mow the front during the summer).  Once he goes off to school, the days get shorter, so I leave work early so that I can do both front and backyard before it gets dark, putting me outside from about 5 PM until 7:15 PM or so.  My neighbors on one side are retired, the ones on the other side are schoolteachers, so both of them are home all summer.  I’m sure they lose track of which day of the week it is during the summer.  You know how it is when you’re on vacation and don’t have the workweek to keep you on schedule – you often have no idea which day of the week it is.  I am positive my neighbors rely on me all summer to indicate to them what day of the week it is.  “Oh, Gina’s mowing… must be Friday, because she was just mowing two days ago and that was Tuesday.”  My teacher neighbors always come home while I’m out front.  I swear I see them check their watches as they go by to make sure they are accurate.  After all, I am like clockwork!  So, if I’m mowing, it must be Friday – or Tuesday.  

While I’m mowing, I think of great things to write in my blog.  I also think of great things while I’m in the shower. Unfortunately, once I actually get around a computer, I completely forget the brilliant posts I wrote in my head.  That’s sort of how my novel writing works too.  I write amazing scenes in my head while I lay in bed at night.  They are so brilliant!  Come morning, I’m an imbecile!  I can’t remember one single sentence.  What is up with that?  I’m memorably challenged.  It’s so sad.