Thursday, November 03, 2005
Gardener Convention, 7 a.m.-5 p.m. Daily
I used to curse the fire engines as they would race past my apartment with their sirens blaring. I used to curse the drunks as they would stumble past my window yelling at 2:05 a.m. on Saturday mornings. I used to curse the homeless man that would rummage through my recycling bin clanging bottles at dawn on the Thursday before trash pickup. I would gladly trade all of those inconveniences now if the incessant noise from the leaf blower across the street would stop. Living in suburbia has its advantages: warm days, mild nights, a washer and dryer in your house. But, the manicured lawns may be the death of me. Gardeners roll in and out of my neighborhood, trucks loaded with menacing motorized tools. Truck after truck after truck after truck. As I write this, the gardener across the street has been blowing the same leaves all over the yard for 113 minutes. I'm not lying. And when he's done, my next-door neighbor's gardner will roll up and begin mowing. And when he's done, it's my gardner's turn. It never ends.