Blue does not look good on a mower
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Even though it’s not my favorite, I’ve always loved the color blue and not just any shade, but a smoky, ice blue. I do like country blue, as well, and navy is OK. There are so many variations of the color, like cerulean, periwinkle, aqua...those are quite acceptable, if not the first shades I turn to.
Bright blue, baby blue and royal blue, you can count me out.
Any of these acceptable colors, I would use in decorating, when painting walls, heck, I’ve even had most of those colors of hair in my experimentation days. Accessories, such as shoes, writing pens and note pads are fun when jazzed up with some blue.
I’d even go so far as to purchase a car in a cool shade of blue and am actually planning to re-side the house someday in a dark navy color. (I even re-roofed my house a white/gray shingle in preparation of complimenting the future siding.) However, there is one thing blue doesn’t look good on. A mower.
A couple weeks ago, I went out to mow the yard for the first time this year, with more than a little trepidation. (Good word, huh?) Last year, the riding mower had started smoking, which is never a good sign.
I dutifully checked the oil, which was a tad low, but nothing to panic over, but the air filter had definitely seen better days. I went to my local hardware store (Hey Everything will really hook you up with what you need), bought a new air filter, forgot the oil until I got back home, and had to turn around and go back to get a quart.
Once I had all I needed, I changed the filter, added oil and the darn thing still smoked, but I got the yard mowed. Unfortunately for me, I got terribly sick and wasn’t able to mow last fall, so this spring, the grass was already ahead of where it should be.
But, I was determined. I started the mower, which coughed a little, but decided to run and some smoke rolled out, which is not unusual after a winter of sitting idle.
I turned the blade on, made it about a foot and thick, choking, grayish smoke rolled out. Maybe it just needs a good clearing out. I kept going for a whole round, until ice blue smoke starting pouring out.
At that point, I figured I was done for and so was the mower. I shut it off, clomped into the house and did what everyone does on a Saturday with no repair shops open. I posted on Facebook.
Got a question for my mechanic friends...
Within minutes, I had a bunch of replies, most of them stating I overfilled the mower with oil. I knew I hadn’t; Dad taught me how much to put in, just like he taught me that if you can’t get the amount of gas you put in your car rounded up to the next dollar, you’re a wuss.
My neighbors to the west, bless them, are always there for me, and the wife of the duo messaged me to drive the mower over and her husband (a mechanic) would look at it. Poor guy, he was already up to his neck in personal projects, but he kindly took a quick look at my ailing machine, although he probably felt like laughing as the clouds of smoke and I rolled into his driveway.
After checking the oil and confirming the level was fine (Ha, knew it!), and that the filter was fine, he discovered oil was spewing out of the exhaust. He said there was really nothing he could do without completely tearing into it.
So, I started her (actually, it was a him) back up and headed for home, trying to hold my head high, which was a bit difficult, considering the blue smoke pouring over me and the neighborhood. I parked it at the head of the drive, turned it off, went in the house and flopped down on the couch, wishing I had a good stiff Fanta. (You drink what you like, I drink what I like.) I messaged a friend who wanted the partially working mower, told him to come get it, messaged the gentleman who plows and shovels my snow, and asked if he did yard services. After an affirmative from both, the matter was settled.
No more mowing for me. In a way, I was sad, because I did used to enjoy just mindlessly tooling around, thinking and listening to music while I cut the grass. But, on the other, more practical hand, it was too hard for me anymore.
Mowing, even on the rider, hurts my torn knee, my hip, which is getting worse, and my terrible wrists (carpal tunnel, tendonitis?) with the steering. Forget the push mower, it’s sheer agony for my wrists.
I also felt bad that I can’t pull my weight around home. But, I guess there comes a time when you have to understand you can’t do everything. I suppose I should have tried to get a new mower, but it’d be the same story with my failing body. I’m still not back to full strength, I don’t know if I ever will be, after almost dying last year.
So, anyway, the decision was a quick one. Luckily, I never got attached to this mower, didn’t even name it (a first for me). When it went down the road, the only emotion I felt was relief it wouldn’t just sit and collect dust.
That day, after I made my choice, to take my mind off my woes, I decided to reply to all the people who tried help me by commenting on my frantic post.
As I was doing that, I saw a post from a friend who changes her hair color as much as I once did, which always makes me smile to see. This time, she was trying a truly gorgeous smoky, ice blue.
Boy, I thought, is that pretty!
That color really is beautiful on hair. Not so much on a smoking mower.