Adam Gadan was at home now, a freshly minted microbiologist out
of UCLA. Brilliant, handsome, and young, he had had no difficulties
sailing out of college with his degree, magna cum laude. There was
plenty of soul searching yet for this young man, and with college over
he had all the time in the world for anything, plenty of time for his
favorite pastimes.
Today, he only had to mow the lawn and get the edging done. If he
enjoyed this at all, it was hard to tell, but there was no denying that he
did a great job manicuring the lawn, in the place owned by his parents
that he had always called home. There were no close friends, boys or
girls, coming to visit. Adam Gadan was not into bars and drinking. He
was not a flashy dresser, and flamboyance was something not abhorred,
but an unnecessary pain in the rear, especially for someone of very
modest means.
He made up for his lack of passion for mingling and worldly
exhibitionism by being creative.
And creative he was. Neighbors and passersby were all enthralled
by the ever-changing patterns imprinted on this lawn, every summer,
for as long as they could remember. The patterns were never the same
except for perhaps a few weeks, and almost as surely as the sun rose
each morning, the lawn grid pattern changed. To baseball fans, what
resulted from this weekly event would shame the manicurists at Yankee
stadium. Perhaps Adam had a thing for variation, a need for constant
change, to spice things up constantly. He was creative, and there was no
time for a boring existence. The whine and purring of the lawn mower,
same sound, week in, week out, was a necessary torture, a means to
an end. He would shut the noise out with earphones and plugs, and
endured it with a bright outlook while he mowed down his lawn. His
reward: an impeccable lawn fit for the grandest estates anywhere.
In the Pacific Northwest the famed forests and wilderness of Oregon
were heaven for those who lived to enjoy the outdoors. Adam and his
family lived in suburban Portland in a three-bedroom ranch house, the
bungalow of old England. With its manicured lawns and surrounding
woods, home to the Gadans was an oasis from the hustle and bustle of
the city. Those for whom cerebral gymnastics held attraction could not
ask for a better abode.