What a chore

Every once in a while, mostly when I am not overly bothered by little things like financial realities, I think about buying a house. When I do, I often think about chores -- about mowing lawns and painting fences and fixing leaks and shoveling walks. The fact I find myself looking forward to these things is something I can only attribute to some form of early-onset dementia or the warning sign of diminishing mental capacity.
Clearly I have forgotten those years earlier in my life when I was pressed against my will into doing this kind of work. I mowed so many lawns growing up that they mostly blur into one long session either walking behind or sitting upon a mower. Sometimes I got paid. Sometimes I didn't. But did I ever actually enjoy it? No more than I enjoyed going to the dentist or smashing my head repeatedly into a concrete wall. And I've never enjoyed that much.
My only distinct lawn mowing-related memory involves snagging a lever on a riding mower in a volleyball net I had presumably left up in the interest of saving time. It is a story I remember mostly because it has been told frequently in the decade-plus since it happened, but the incident has been so warped by constant retelling that most people don't know the truth of it. If you believe my father, he came home from work to find the mower still running and me cowering -- apparently fearful of some violent retribution -- in a tree house.
The story is usually good for a few laughs, but makes some big assumptions. One, it assumes I was either so ignorant or so flustered by becoming ensnared I did not have my wits about me enough to turn the mower's key.
Second, it assumes the younger me believed my father placed such importance on the integrity of his volleyball net he was likely to punish me severely for foolishly befouling it with a riding lawn mower.
It's possible my father believes he was a more imposing figure than he actually was.
For the record, the lawn mower was turned off and I was inside when my father got home, most likely watching TV.
In any case, I'm not sure where these fond feelings about household chores originates, but the more I think about it rationally the more foolish it seems.
In recent week's I've had the chance to put these feelings to the test. Housesitting for a co-worker last month I was asked to water plants and mow the lawn. The lawn was not large and there was neither a volleyball net nor any other lawn-related games to impede my way. I won't claim it was difficult, but after walking behind that self-propelled mower for half an hour I found myself thinking less about the satisfaction of a job well done than about the wisdom of planting large wildflower gardens.
More recently, I offered to help as a sister, in an effort to keep water from seeping into her basement and collecting in a low spot that happened to be more or less under my desk chair, regraded an area along one side of her house. On Saturday and again on Monday we shoveled rocks, hauled dirt and put down plastic. My nephew helped from time to time. He picked up rocks for a while until a bug scared him away. Then he mostly climbed on the rock piles we had created and tried to rub his dirty hands in my hair.
It was hardly backbreaking labor, but it was hot. Especially on Saturday, when my efforts came after a 48-mile bike ride. The finished product seems to be making a difference, but I take no particular satisfaction in that. Mostly it makes me angry at a wall that couldn't even be bothered to keep out a little moisture. And there's nothing worse than getting mad at masonry.
I like to think things will be different if I'm ever doing this kind of work on a house I own. I like to think I'll take a kind of pride of ownership that will make me enjoy the neat-looking lawn or the leak-free basement I helped to create. More and more, though, I imagine myself doing these chores while thinking of all of the other fun things I could be doing. All of the books I could be reading. All of the bikes I could be riding. All of the reality television I could be watching.
Townhomes are pretty popular these days, aren't they?