Last year, when the power mower was broken and wouldn't run, I kept hinting to my husband that he ought to get it fixed, but somehow the message never sank in. Finally I thought of a clever way to make the point. When my husband arrived home that day, he found me seated in the tall grass, busily snipping away with a tiny pair of sewing scissors. He watched silently for a short time and then went into the house. He was gone only a few moments when he came out again. He handed me a toothbrush. When you finish cutting the grass," he said, "you might as well sweep the sidewalk." The doctors say he will probably live, but it will be quite a while before the casts will come off!