Flying Kites and Pushing Mowers

There are two new kites parked by the umbrellas in my closet. They have been there for a year now, still in their plastic covers, never opened. I have string but don't know if kites still need tails. Flying kites is better than fishing, in my mind. No cold hands, no stinking bait, no guts. A person can fly a kite and go home for a nice little half of a New York Strip steak. I am obsessing over food today after looking at My Pyramid.

Memorial Park, in the middle of Omaha, is a wonderful destination for toboggoning, sledding, walking, smelling roses, sitting on the hillside listening to the music event a few days before the 4th of July and watching the evening fireworks display later. On any breezy spring day there, one can watch the lazy kites dip and dive, always creating a challenge for photographers.

Omaha folks are kite fliers. Yesterday there was a kiting event in a nearby suburb and I see there will be another next week across from one of our hospitals. There is a club for most anything under the sun. Once I was a quasi-member of the push mower group in Omaha. We gathered one evening in Elmwood park for a picnic and commiserated on how we loved our quiet little one person powered lawn mowers. I still love my little mower and it still does the job whenever I am up to putting on my old shoes and providing the power. That is simple living at its best.

I grew up with an understanding of how to operate a push mower. And I recall how glad I was when someone came up with the bright idea of putting a stinking, heavy, noisy motor on them. I suppose fifteen years ago, or more, I found a small antique mower at a garage sale for $5.00. I was thrilled with the way it worked. Since then, I traded it in on a new model of the same thing at the Dundee Hardware Store. It cuts a wider swath, works well, and is pretty grimy with all the WD40 sprayed on the moving parts over the years. Who needs a gym with a push mower and grass growing like crazy.