Cutting the grass

For those aware, cutting the grass is a painful business. Especially for the hard-to-reach places on the western reaches of the garden. Our souls are easy to mow when the ground is flat, green-perfect, golf-course fresh. When the moles within burrow and turn the ground into a minefield of unexpectedness, one learns to think on one’s feet and twirl pas de deux as gracefully as one might. Rencontres du temps perdus is a misnomer. Every twist of the green and every turn of the putter’s handle brings remembrance as fresh as if yesterday had barely been. To sunsets over Topkapi and pearl earrings…. A little Yiddische humor to brighten a day or two.. Three brothers just off the boat at Ellis Island are questioned by an Immigration Officer, who asks the first, “What is your name?” “Berl” he replies. The Officer says, “Beryl? You can’t have a name like that in America. From now on your name is ‘Buck.'” He turns to the second brother and says, “What is your name?” “Cheyl” he replies.”Cheyl? You can’t have a name like that in America. From now on your name will be ‘Chuck!'” He then asks the third brother, “And what’s your name?” “Ferl,” he replies, “And I’m going back to Poland…”

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