Field of Dreams

While saying I am weird should be enough for most people to grasp, I am apparently more weird than what is considered a "normal" amount of weird.

I love to mow my yard.



But right now, that is a joy which I am not able to experience. The sad truth is that I am compelled to watch as someone else treads upon the tender green that misses me. I'm sure of it. Because I miss it.

Although my yard will not win competitions from the neighborhood beautification committee, nor will Home & Garden show up for a photo spread in their August issue, I think that it looks pretty good after mowing.

My fantasy is to get my yard putting green perfect and the bushes all prepared to be perfectly aligned for height and width. It's kind of a strange fantasy for someone who has greenery more from dandelions than Bermuda hybrid and overgrown boxwoods instead of neatly trimmed new bushes that bear flowers.

I'd also like to have an actual putting green in the back yard along with a pitcher's mound. Yeah. I'm that weird. But I defend myself after having seen Rory McIroy's yard that has an assortment of golf's greatest traps, bunkers and pits to practice around. If he can have some cool yard features, why can't I??

Sure, I'm well aware that I'm not rich from having won so much as a two dollar scratch card and can't afford those kinds of lawn extravagances. But dreams are FREEEEEEEEE!!! Blissfully free!!

I imagine myself in the back yard with grandkids to come in future years teaching them the finer points of pitching a strike just over the corner of the plate or showing them how to chip the golf ball up onto the green for a sweet tap in for par. Sure, I'm perfectly fit, able and ready. Remember, we are in a dream state here, so be nice. You can dream about whatever makes YOU happy and I promise I won't laugh about it.

Back years ago, I pondered how wonderful it would be to own a literal field of dreams for baseball play. It would be a simple affair that would hark back to the days when baseball was still a feel-good game instead of a multi-millionaire's past time. I'd like to have an indoor practice facility that would allow for year round play... a facility that would always be filled because it would offer oh so much more than just baseball.

Fantasy on that field of ever blooming dreams would also include a family friendly place to come play all kinds of games and participate in activities that didn't have a hand controller involved. Tiny Indy cars could race laps around an oval, bowling, batting cages and all kinds of skating and sports rooms would surround a central hub where for a nominal price you could get pizza by the slice or a freshly grilled burger made to order.

There would be midget hockey and figure skating. Another area would have an aquatics center. You could sing and make a recording of whatever song your karaoke heart desired. It would be a star turn that would last a lifetime!

There would be a stage for plays, concerts and pageants of all kinds, and above all, it would be a place where everyone could live a few hours in a land of peaceful coexistence with everyone else and all would be right with the world.

But alas, someone else is compelled to mow my field of dreams right now and that distorts my view. My precious fantasies disappear in a cloud of flung grass giblets and the occasional sputter of smoke from an aging carburetor. And soon, that indiscriminate mix has rendered my vision of what could be into a mishmash of nothing special.

I try to take joy in the fact that the lawn is mowed. I really do.But I miss my lawn enriched fantasy. The joy that comes from walking along just letting my mind wander on my own private field of dreams.