Revved Up

Straw Three - The Midnight Weed Whacker

Straw Three – The Midnight Weed Whacker

Several weeks later, my children were staying with my ex-husband and his, well, I shouldn’t say this word in polite company, but she really is a floozy, Officer. 

In any event, they were there and so I took my parents out for a wholesome supper at a fine restaurant and then we headed back for an evening’s entertainment of tea and conversation. It had been rainy, do you recall? No? Well, it had been. 

And it was spring but it was chilly, with quite a nip to the air. You know, it was one of those days when it feels as if it’s still winter even as the calendar claims it to be spring. Hence my father built a fire in the fireplace and we settled down for a little sherry as I was to stay overnight. 

We had a lively discussion about the local school board elections and then the topic turned, as it often would, to the neighborhood. 

There are always plenty of interesting things to discuss. After all, the flowers at the time were beginning to come up – although not at my parents’ home, as they were still, sadly, missing their petunias – the birds were starting to return, that sort of thing. The block’s birding society was getting together their spring/summer/autumn schedule which normally includes a potluck lunch and several busy weekends’ worth of activities. 

It’s quite a full schedule of events, as the neighborhood enjoys the antics of the local blue-winged warblers. Have you ever seen any, Officer? No? Well, they’re such sweet creatures. They’ve got golden yellow bodies and slate-blue wings. Hence the name, eh? They’re efficient little hunters and consume insects and spiders. Oh, I could watch them all day long! 

But I digress. You see, the warblers enjoy a fairly calm environment as, I suppose, many of us human beings do. We – the three of us – were discussing the birding society’s upcoming schedule of activities, when we began to hear a loud buzzing noise. It was almost as if it was the largest blue-winged warbler ever on record! 

Oh, but you didn’t get my little joke, Officer. My apologies. It’s because the warblers have a bit of a buzzing call. In any event, the thing of it is, the POJ family of course has neighbors on their other side. On that side of things, there’s a hedge. My parents never believed in growing hedges or putting up fences, but that couple did. I’m not quite sure why, although it may have had a bit to do with the previous owners of the POJ family’s home failing to pay their property taxes. Some of the upkeep may have suffered as well. And so that other side’s family grew a boxwood hedge. 

In any event, we all went outside rather quickly, as did everyone else. My father was a tad inebriated from all of the sherry, it seems, and so I had to corral him. Well, can you guess what we saw? 

No? Oh, that’s all right, Officer. You weren’t there, after all. What we saw, was that the hedge was being trimmed by the man of the house, from the POJ family, of course. It was one of those string weed whackers – my, isn’t that a naughty word? It was one of those things. 

Well, the hedge was becoming rather uneven and so we all called for him to cease and desist. I mean, we asked politely! Nothing to be done is worth doing unless you do it politely, of course. So that’s what we did. 

But I don’t know how appreciated that all was. In any event, I took my parents back inside and their neighbors all retreated to their homes. We had some more sherry and then we all retired. It was late! Maybe nine thirty or so. That’s certainly late enough for me! 

As usual, we slept well, until it was – I checked the cuckoo clock in the hallway, just to be sure, Officer. It was just past the middle of the night. There was the loudest of ruckuses! And it was that awful buzzing sound again. I got on my robe and slippers and a raincoat and galoshes and took an umbrella from the stand – it was the pink umbrella, as I recall. It’s like yesterday, how I remember it all! And I saw them out there. 

It was the man of the house from the POJ family, of course, and he was using that horrid contraption again. I suspect he was a tad inebriated. As I was retreating, I tripped over a glass object. My ankle began swelling up something fierce but I did have the presence of mind to pick up the object. I can show it to you, if you like, Officer. 

Oh, you do want to look at it? Now, let me see. It’s behind these figurines, hmm, yes, here it is! This is it. It’s a bottle of something referred to as Night Train. I did take a quick whiff of it and I can assure you, Officer, that it is not sherry.