This is a topic I’ve been meaning to  post  for several weeks.   My brother-in-law, noting the problems Daddy and his 87 years were having with the temperamental gas-powered mowers (made more temperamental by Daddy’s clouded memory of exactly how to operate them), seized brilliantly upon the idea of getting Daddy a reel mower.  No pull ropes, no chokes or throttles, no gas or oil to check–just the utter Papaw Plling's new toysimplicity of “push me and I work.”

Daddy’s had the machine for a few weeks now, so in a recent phone conversation I asked him how “his new toy” was doing.  I heard exultation in his tone as he reported in glowing terms his happiness and delight with the tool . . . or, toy.

About fifty years ago, I remember him having one of those reel-type mowers, but the only use it got was from us kids horsing around.  We’d push the rusty mower  in random circles around the yard and driveway.  The blade was so dull that it chewed more than cut the grass.  Half a century ago, that machine had become a relic, outdated and upstaged by the shiny red, big-wheeled, gas-powered Yazoo that gobbled up tall grass like a weed-monster.

The irony:  today, the area around Daddy’s storage shed is a veritable graveyard of spent, abandoned, and/or wrecked gas-powered lawn mowers, none of which run.  The shiny green reel mower rules the grass-cutting roost.

Didn’t some wise dude once observe that life is more circular than linear?

(Or was that wise dude me in my imagination?)