   | ||||
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
||||
Obsessions.
Perseveration.
Repetition.
Pacing.
Retracing.
Again and again and again.
To begin the conversation I will make a full throated confession.
I am obsessed with the movie Jersey Boys.
No, that is a half truth.
I am obsessed with the last seven minutes of the movie.
I recorded it.
I recorded it.
I press Play over and over and over again. When I am alone. In the dark. So I can dance. Dance with the cast as they saunter down the street making moves I made in high school and college.
Side step side step, back step, clap clap clap.
Dance. Dance. Dance. Hit Replay and Dance Again.
Shuffle shuffle sing along loud and strong.
Dance dance dance.
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
Until I hear steps on the stairs that are not rhythmic, will not match mine, and in fact will result in a snort and a smart retort that I am a few fries short of a Happy Meal, a few clowns short of a circus, and my personal favorite, a few peas short of a casserole.
True. True. True.
All of the above is true.
I am a Jersey Boys obsessive compulsive,
I am a Jersey Boys obsessive compulsive,
DMS page 5009, addict.
I admit it openly and with absolutely no remorse.
None. Whatsoever.
I am an Equal Opportunity Obsessive, allowing for those who must rinse, wash and repeat in whatever form or shape floats their boat.
With one exception.
Leaf obsessives.
Fallen leaves obsessivitis.
A few days now past, Halloween, and I think some evil witch must have cast a spell over my neighborhood.
Halloween night was cold, misty and damp. The next morning, after an additional hour of sleep, should have been a respite. A chance to erase the sugar throttled high of the night before, into a few additional snores and a snuggle into the pillow.
Instead, the morning air is filled with the sounds of motors and engines,
bristles and brushes roaring to life.
Halloween night was cold, misty and damp. The next morning, after an additional hour of sleep, should have been a respite. A chance to erase the sugar throttled high of the night before, into a few additional snores and a snuggle into the pillow.
Instead, the morning air is filled with the sounds of motors and engines,
bristles and brushes roaring to life.
The sun is shining on what is now 8AM, but is truly 7AM, as my body clock has not yet readjusted to the time change, but I hear the engines roaring.
Leaf blowers,
John Deere riding mowers revving,
mulchers mulching,
leaf chasers munching,
rakes scraping,
and bags a filling.
Obsessive Leaf Lurkers Running Amok
It is time, I think, as I slip into my Four Seasons Super Hero cape and mask.
It is time to begin a twelve step program into recovery for these
Flora Fanatics.
The Four Seasons.
I can identify.
Frankie....no that’s not right.
Uh-hem.
The Four Seasons.
Fall. Winter. Spring. Summer.
We have Four Seasons.
Summer is hot and sticky and humid.
Winter is cold and icy,
and full of snow angels and traffic jams.
and full of snow angels and traffic jams.
Spring is lime green, rainy and the barely there buds of new beginnings.
FALL. Pay attention now! Heed the headlines!
FALL means just that.
The leaves, the detritus of the other three seasons, are about to, going to, meant to, FALL FALL FALL FALL all over every single square inch of the Earth.
The leaves, the detritus of the other three seasons, are about to, going to, meant to, FALL FALL FALL FALL all over every single square inch of the Earth.
This is the Season for FALLING.
Falling falling leaves of every color shape and size. Crimson, ochre, cinnamon, and clover. Light, easily winded, teasingly trickled flutters of a life well lived. The wind whips the trees into a frenzy, and the piles coast along, landing on places and spaces we least expect.
FALL.
One of the most beautiful seasons of the year. Ask the 100 mile snaking line of RV’ers, on the road up to the White Mountains in New Hampshire, why are you here? No one has a rake or a leaf blower or a plastic bag. They are here to admire. To gaze.
To adore the seasonal pause, when the wind is cool, the air smells of bonfires and football games.
Okay so maybe these folks lined up across the highway are obsessives too, but my neighbors????. My neighbors are in need of an intervention. They rake, they blow, they gather, they bag. They mulch, they blow, they rake, they bag. The winds blow, the leaves continue their decline and fall.
The fight is on.
The battle for perfectly green grass,
with not a leaf in sight.
with not a leaf in sight.
I have an uncommonly enormous spider weaving a web on the screen outside my porch. I sat and watched it weave and spin, until a leaf settled close by on the web. I swear the following is true. The spider stopped its manic weaving, and waved. Waved one of its eight spindly legs, in gratitude. In thanks for a welcome pause in the chaos of weaving and building and catching and eating and so on and so on and so on. For as colorful as my spider friend is, this leaf was mind blowingly charismatic. So supremely colored in vibrant hues, it radiated the air with the palette of...
FALL
Remember the days of old, when walking to school, we kicked the leaves, made piles to fall into, tossed them into the air and watched them fall. We made crayon rubbings of their splendidly veined exteriors, celebrated their colorings as we plowed across fields in search of the perfect pumpkin. I made leaf placemats for my mother, and once, even, pressed one leaf, one beautiful crimson leaf between two sheets of waxed paper, until it ached.
Then I used it as a bookmark,
to mark my favorite pages.
to mark my favorite pages.
Obsessives we.
We are obsessed with the need to repeat our steps over and over again to mark our place in time.
To make sure there is no mistake.
No error in judgement.
No coloring outside of the lines.
No coloring outside of the lines.
FALL is the least perfect season of all, you fools.
FALL is the season when colors riot.
When everything in life that is a mistake, becomes an error forgiven.
FALL is the season when it is perfectly okay to change the color of your hair, to wear gaudy shades of magenta, purple and gold. To shout, to scream, to wickedly wave, that we are NOT finished.
Oh yes, we hear Old Man Winter
whispering in the distance,
but He is Not Here Yet.
FALL is the Season of Forgiveness.
So repent, park the mowers,
the blowers and the rakes.
Walk outside,
fall into a pile of leaves, and make LEAF Angels.
For I truly believe that the Four Seasons are a mess.
Misnamed.
Winter is the season we all fall down.
With no place to land,
except on a hardpack of ice and snow.
FALL is a safe place.
A Safe Place to Land.
And you all know how I feel about that...
Plus my rather vocal opinions on spiders.
However, FALL, is a forgiving place that allows me the courtesy of a warm sweet dance,
in front of the fireplace,
while the Four Seasons,
coax me to move my feet.
If this is the Season Of Falling, why not?
FALL in love.
FALL head over heels.
FALL in a heap...
Free FALL...
FALL all over yourself...
The GREEN season is over...the Season Of Pandemonium is upon us...
Give it up. Let it rest. Lock up the mower. Turn off the mower and if you don’t have an RV stored beside the faithful John Deere, then pull on a sweater, grab your honey and...
Fall head over heels in love.
Be wild.
Be crazed.
Be over the top.
Do it, before your fingers and toes are frozen,
in the Ice Age of Winter.
Dance.
Celebrate the Four Seasons,
and this time I DO mean Frankie...
Step Step Step and Slide....
Into the glorious pandemonium outside.
whispering in the distance,
but He is Not Here Yet.
the blowers and the rakes.
fall into a pile of leaves, and make LEAF Angels.
With no place to land,
except on a hardpack of ice and snow.
However, FALL, is a forgiving place that allows me the courtesy of a warm sweet dance,
in front of the fireplace,
while the Four Seasons,
coax me to move my feet.
The GREEN season is over...the Season Of Pandemonium is upon us...
Be wild.
Be over the top.
in the Ice Age of Winter.
Dance.
and this time I DO mean Frankie...
Labels: Dancing, Fall, Frankie, Leaves, Obsessive behavior, The Four Seasons, Trees
|
© Garden Variety Wisdom® All Rights Reserved |
