The best laid schemes of mice and men make fine excuses, too

“The best laid schemes of mice and men often go awry.”

Author John Steinbeck borrowed these well-worn words from poet Robert Burns when he wrote his 1937 novel, “Of Mice and Men.”

Today, the word “scheme” is often replaced by “plans,” and it just seems to sound better. Schemes just seem to have rocky connotations, where plans appear well drawn out. Regardless, the meaning holds true.

In not so many words, the plot of the book follows Depression-era migrant workers, George and Lenny, who see their plans of owning a farm really go awry. Google the title and in a few paragraphs you’ll get the drift.

It’s been that kind of week where those best laid plans, while nowhere near the gravity of those in the Steinbeck tale, certainly went sideways — to the point of being funny and thankfully, not at all tragic.

It all started the afternoon of Aug. 21 when I wheeled my lawn mower into the front yard. Not only does this chore make my wife happy as it fills up the yard waste bin, but it completes a weekly 1.5 mile hike, according to the App, ”Map My Walk.”

But before I could get the mower started, my neighbor across the street yelled and motioned up the street where billowing smoke certainly appeared too close for any comfort at all. Turns out it was the Wellesley Fire burning across Spokane’s Beacon Hill.

To get a better perspective, I jumped in the car and took a quick drive into the Northwoods housing development that overlooks the Spokane Valley.

Well away from the action — a good mile away from the light brown smoke and periodic licks of flame — I was watching as strong southwesterly winds seemed to be pushing the fire away from our Pasadena Park neighborhood.

Selfish as it seemed at the time, I was happy the gusts were not from the opposite direction, which surely would have pushed the blaze into our neighborhood.

Three hours later, the best laid plans of the day, which included a multitude of chores in the yard, went awry under a pall of smoke.

Last Friday, the plan was to head out of town to a friend’s place near Sandpoint for a gathering on one last football-free weekend.

Nearly out the office door, my phone began to buzz and caller-ID told me it was my wife, surely just checking how late my departure from Cheney might be that day.

The good news was I was unusually early that day. But the bad news was that the car would not start following her appointment in Liberty Lake. To her, it sounded like a dead battery, easily fixed by a jump — when the cables are on the right terminals of course.

Thirty-seven minutes and 33 miles later, this seat-of-the-pants mechanic quickly found out the battery was just fine and that the real fix-it guys with the diagnostic gizmos would have to figure it out.

It was certainly good the problem occurred within sight of busy Interstate 90 where cell service and repair options are abundant, not at Martin Bay on Lake Pend Oreille.

These best laid plans ultimately went awry with a failed fuel pump.

A weekend away still means the duties of home are waiting when you return from picking up the dog, who was not invited, and spent the weekend with family.

As I headed across town at 4 p.m. on the 25-minute drive and neared the destination, a text message from my sister-in-law announced that, “We’ve gone to a movie, but just let yourself in.”

That’s all great, unless the necessary house key is sitting back in the car at the Spokane Valley car dealer awaiting repair. It was too funny to swear about so I just shook my head and smiled.

Just for fun I stuck the start and end points into the mapping app and off I went. Twelve miles and 20 minutes — times two — plus the return home, so by just shy of 6 p.m. the family was again reunited.

Now I know that it’s those best laid plans that keep a big pile of river rock in my driveway from its journey to my back yard flower beds.

Paul Delaney can be reached at [email protected].