Two days without rain means time, again, to mow.

One positive of last summer’s drought was the no-mowing streak of 27 consecutive days. Not DiMaggio numbers but welcome nonetheless.

Gail Sheehey’s book about passages should have included mowing the lawn as one of life’s benchmarks.

Guess I was about 12 when my Dad put my hands on the old push blade mower and told me to get started on the back yard.

He didn’t mention that the new chore could last a lifetime.

Two years later he bought a power mower and rented it to me so I could do several neighborhood yards weekly – $2 each, with $1 from each going to mower rent.

Walking behind a modern version of that gasoline-driven monster I wondered how much longer must I do this.

As I finished, wetter than a dog dipped in a tick bath, a pickup pulled up at the next estate, a trailer behind it filled with exotic-looking machines all designed to make yard care easier.

From the truck jumped two guys at least half my age. They unloaded, cranked, cut, reloaded and moved on before I could get my Lowe’s special back in its rightful place, beside golf clubs that have not been used in far too long.

At that point, I made one of those passages — anyone need a good lawn mower?