I'll mow your lawn...

So I went for an evening walk with the twins. Well, their parents and grandmother did the walking, but they came too. I upped my paltry step count of the low 4000's to the low 7000s. (As a part of the study, I now wear a pedometer. I'm supposed to walk 9000 steps a day.

As we walked, we watched a man mow his postage stamp front lawn, and the twin's mom told me about signs they'd seen around the neighborhood, "I'll mow your lawn for $10." The best part, she said, is that the signs are printed on the back of printed sheets, like from drafts of a research paper.

We saw three on our walk tonight. We determined that the person who will mow your lawn for $10 is a seminary student who got an A. (One of the signs is printed on the back of the grading sheet, which at the bottom has A, A-, and A, presumably for varying components of the paper.) Another sign was printed on the back of an annotated bibliography. Yet another had actual parts of the paper, with comments. (This was the sheet that led us to our conclusion that he is a seminary student.) The twin's dad, a seminary grad, said, I wish I could map out where all the signs are and determine which order he posted them in so that I could read the paper. It was amusing, to say the least.

And now I'm back, in my dark third floor walk up, as I haven't turned the lights on yet. The very last bit of the sunset is disappearing between the roofs of houses outside my west window, and the noise of children on their big wheels, squealing as if they were on a ride at Kennywood.

Gee, I feel so good, I think I'm gonna break somebody's heart tonight (no, not really, that's a lyric from a Richard Thompson song.) But I might do some dishes...

This post is brought to you by the letter W, which is a V, twinned.

As I tweaked the prose, the sun has almost completely set and the children are presumably in their homes, as all noise from children has ceased. The birds are pretty loud though...