Listen to Jim: http://www.jimreedbooks.com/mp3/lawnmower.mp3 or read on…
I’m flat on my back upstairs in bed, alone in the house and feeling sorry for myself
for not being able to get up and around because of this dislocation thing with my
back–you know, the kind of back pain that only gets worse if somebody tries to
help you to your feet.
The house is a century old and made of old wood that creaks and signals throughout,
whenever anything moves in or about it.
Suddenly, I hear, or feel, that someone or something is on the front porch. Two
thoughts present themselves: 1. a neighbor is about to ring the bell, or 2. we’ve had
a series of yard and porch thefts in the ‘hood lately, so somebody could be grabbing
something.
Since the bell doesn’t ring, I decide I’d better check on things. Adrenaline must be
kicking in, since I arise relatively painlessly and hobble to the stairs, still not sensing
anything but movement on the porch. Halfway down, I can see through the front door
glass that a male is leaving the porch, carrying my lawn mower with him and heading
for the adjacent alley. I can’t possibly run down the stairs after him, so I do the next
occurring thing: I return to the bedroom and raise the alley-side window, stick my head
out and instantly see the lawn mower thief below me, scurrying past.
Without thought or consciousness, my fifty years of theatrical and speech training pop
into mind like a perky toaster, I recall a wonderful scene from The Dresser, in which aging
thespian Albert Finney uses his booming voice to actually stop a train. I expand my
diaphragm, remember how my theatre coach taught me to project words from upstage
to the last row of the audience, add a pinch of Christopher Lee and Boris Karloff for
extra fear factor and yell, “Put that down!” The thief is so startled at the heavenward
voice that he drops the mower, spins around, wondering what to do next. Then, for
emphasis, my brain makes me add, “I’ll shoot you, you S.O.B.!” Where that last line
comes from I’ll never know, but Clint Eastwood and John Wayne must have influenced
me in some way.
The lawn mower man has an epiphany and disappears faster than the Roadrunner.
Later, I retrieve the mower and wonder what in the world made my back pain go away.
If I knew the answer, I could influence the incomes of orthopods and chiropractors
everywhere.
But I’m rather proud of myself for using my best weapon in a responsible manner.
If you ever need help stopping a train or a thief, just call