If we haven’t reached (or maybe passed) the second anniversary of  the firing of our gardeners then it’s probably fast approaching. We shitcanned them after I caught them violating our adamant ban of gas-powered leaf blowers — whose residential use is against civic ordinance anyway, but it’s a mostly unenforceable statute most every corner-cutting sumbitch and the property owners who employ them loves to break.

Except us. But apparently Susan and I are in the city-wide minority who operate upon a “do unto your neighbors as you would have them do unto you” platform.

So for the past couple years in this troubled economy, give or take a couple months, we’ve saved the $80 a month spent on a scofflaw crew, and instead I have been the Chief Landscape Administrator armed with an electric weed whacker and hedger — along with a collection of rakes, shovels and brooms. Plus there’s the tiller I got at Susan’s request three Christmases ago, and the old-school push mower she got me at my urging two seasons’ past.

I’m pretty dependable in the execution of my duties but I must confess I’ve been derelict in denuding the backyard of its wild grasses and weeds, which have grown pretty rampant thanks to the abundance of recent rains.

Long story short: I made up for lost time and busted out the Homelite whacker. Plugging it in to the business end of a 75-foot extension cord I engaged the hostile growth indiscriminately to victory. And while I can’t claim that I beat back every blade of grass out there,  I’m proud to say that a couple hours later I’d whipped the place into far better shape than its been in a while.

Such is my exciting weekend.