Who You Gonna Call?

Friday, one of my colleagues commented, “You must have a guardian angel on your shoulder.”  My response was an indelicate snort, and "I don't think so."

My beloved tractor

We’d had a wild weather week. Torrential rains, flooding, power outtages, and straight-line winds ripped through the entire state. As luck would have it, our little pocket of Mendota Heights went relatively unscathed. Other than a few scattered sticks, I had no damage in the yard at all. All that rain, coupled with nitrogen-releasing lightening, and the grass was experiencing a major growth spurt. With the weather dweeb was promising a rainy weekend, I figured I’d better get the lawn mowed before Shabbat slid in at sundown.  Now, all things considered, Friday happened to be one of the longest days of the year, so I was safe planning dinner first, zen mowing with iPod and earmuffles second, all in enough time to talk to my folks promptly at 8.

The front was fast, and I was already making good time in the back when suddenly the mower stop mowing. The engine was running and I was still driving around, but the blades weren't doing the cutting thing. I drove up the hill to the driveway, hopped off, and immediately noticed the belt was off the cutting deck doohickey. I poked and pulled a bit and realized I didn't have enough understanding of how it was supposed to be attached to monkey with it myself.

The very last thing on the planet I want to do is call the junior son to say I broke the tractor. I knew he would give me the look thinking I wouldn't know he was giving me the look, so I just started thinking about radical options when I spied them down the block: a couple of guys on professional standing mowers. Hmmmm. I bet I could get one of them to come help this poor, tractorless widow. 


As I walk down the street, one of them sees me and I wave in a friendly fashion (note to mother: yes, this was a "Yoo-hoo, Dugans!" moment). The kid stops mowing and walks toward me. As he gets closer, I see the magic words and without thinking I holler, "I'm saved! I'm saved!" 

There it was, right on the t-shirt...those wonderful words: KLECATSKY BROTHERS. 

Tim Klecatsky

I couldn't have been happier if aliens landed! These are my guardian angels! Any time I get into homeowner trouble, the Klecatsky Brothers ride to the rescue in the shiny white pick-up truck to fix what's broken. They removed the jungle in the back and fixed the railroad ties on the side. The guys plowed out my 3 foot snow drifts...and just happened to be plowing next door the day I got stuck trying to go up my un-plowed driveway. Tim and the guys replaced the broken concrete walkway with the beautiful brick pavers. They are the trimmer of bushes and shrubs and the cleaners of stuck gutters....and Tim happens to be getting ready to mastermind the replacing of my buckled driveway. Mostly, Tim humors me... and my nitpicking emails. 


And there they were, the guardians of my sanity, mowing someone else's lawn. I told the kid what happened, and he said, "Don't worry, Bobby'll fix it." And from around the corner came Bobby Klecatsky. He was very kind; he didn't fall down laughing when I told him what happened. A scant few minutes later, he was lying on the driveway putting the belt back on the mower deck, explaining that I probably hit a stick or a rock and the thing fails safe and this is no  big deal. I thanked him profusely and said, "Tell yer brother to send me a bill." He just shook his head, "Don't worry about it. I hear we're tearing out your driveway next week anyway. This is nothing."

There are times when being a widow can be totally overwhelming. There are days I have no idea how I'm going to fix what's wrong. Those are the days I just pick up the phone and call Tim. 

Wifely Person's Tip o'the Day

Need a guardian angel of your own?  If you live in Mendota Heights, 
just call the Klecatsky Brothers at (612) 328-6862
and tell him the WP sent you.