Lawn care was my mother’s avocation.  It was the green carpet of the neighborhood.  My girlfriend’s house had a visual of my house and its lawn.  My mother hated ground voles.  These dug tunnels and holes in her flawless lawn.  It was war, for my mother.

One sunny day my mother raced around with the handle part of a rake to poke holes in the tunnels.  My dad followed her with a mysterious bag.  My mother sought out all vole activities in “her” lawn and my dad smoked a cigar as he followed her with disinterest.  She was on a mission and he was outside soaking up the sun.

His job was simple.  He reached into the bag and dropped poison peanuts into every offensive hole made by a vole.  He did this in a “La Di Dah” lack of effort.  The poison peanuts and his cigar smoking while handling them made no sense at all.  He dropped the peanuts into the holes and puffed on the cigar coated with poison.

I was at my friend’s house watching this seemingly senseless activity.  Now I wonder if my dad ingested poison while he “helped” my mom’s obsession with a perfect lawn.  He lived on to irritate my mom by cutting the grass with no attention paid to spots he missed that pissed her off every week.