View from the North 40: Somewhere between a few minutes and forever

I’ve been a big, fat, liar, liar, pants on fire all week long. I’d be more concerned with this uncharacteristic laps in moral standards, but I’ve been on vacation and I just can’t muster the energy to show the proper amount remorse.

This general laziness also explains why all my lies include the phrase “a few minutes.”

“I’ll get started on that in a few minutes.”

“I’m just going to lay back down for a few minutes.”

“I’ll be there in just a few minutes.”

“I’m just going to sit here and close my eyes for a few minutes.”

“I’ll take care of that in a few minutes.”

“I’m going to my friend’s house to talk horses for a few minutes.”

“I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

“I’ll be only a few minutes late.”

The most frustrating lie was the one I told myself repeatedly after I finally got tired of sleeping: “That (insert name of homely task here) will take just a few minutes.”

It started with a load of laundry — much-needed shirts specifically — which should take about two hours allowing some lag time to remember something needs swapped from the washer to the dryer.

It took a day-and-a-half.

We had to figure out why the wash water wouldn’t get hot, which meant we had to figure what temperature water should be set at for washing laundry on hot. (You set the machine to “hot,” but do you know what that means, really?) In the end that meant we had to figure out how to bypass the hot water tank’s “economy” setting, then we had to figure out the setting that forgoes the washing machine’s economy setting.

Two owner’s manuals read, one no-laundry wash cycle, one load of shop towels run through twice and two wash cycles for one load of shirts later — plus lag time for forgetting to swap the laundry and some Kentucky windage for online research time — and those shirts were good to go.

The lies got bigger when I took “a few minutes” to start the weed eater for the first time this year. I don’t want to talk about it.

But if I did tell the tale, it would include these cautionary notes: Gas doesn’t get to the engine until you turn the fuel switch on. If you flood the engine, don’t be too proud to ask the two-stroke engine specialist what to do (FYI, hold the throttle full open for two pulls, then try starting it again). And if you develop a blister, put a bandage on it before things get messy.

The lies hit a whole new level for getting the lawnmower going in “a few minutes” between rain days.

Y’know, 100 yards isn’t that far. It’s not even a good stretch of the legs, and once upon a time I could’ve run it full tilt without hardly breathing hard for more than two minutes after crossing the finish line. Then you make the 200-yard round trip several times, generally carrying tools, lugging a “portable” air compressor and pushing the riding lawnmower — and it becomes an epic journey of Homeric proportion.

The sequel, the Odyssey if you will, comes after three-and-a-half hours of rough, windy, off-lawn mowing and you’ve run out of gas a good 75 yards from the nearest fuel source. Honestly, I would’ve skipped that last 20 minutes of needed mowing and quit for the day, but I couldn’t leave the mower abandoned in the pasture.

The last round trip — under that searing May sunlight, the ground reflecting the 65-degree heat, with me covered in dust, grit and bits of grass chaff, carrying almost two gallons of gas — that trip took forever. The only thing keeping me going was imagining the Netflix special that should be made about my steadfast determination to complete my task.

We’ll call it “A Few Minutes from Forever.”

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Or maybe just “I’m Too Out of Shape for Real Work” at http://www.facebook.com/viewfromthenorth40/.