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Monday, October 22, 2012

This Means War

No, I am not talking about Petra.  Not today, anyway.

I am talking about an all out, full-blown, weapons of mass destructions-type war.  No, not war on Monsanto.  Yet.  I am thinking with the whole up for vote thing going on in California, that might be coming down the tube.  

No, not war on Big Sugar, King Corn or Big Pharma.  

This war is all physical, and a blood-sweat-and-tears kind of thing.

This is the war on the leaves.

Some person, long ago (I'm assuming) made up this nice word: "autumn".  Um no.  That person probably lived in Miami and thought it was cold and wintery at the oh-so-brisk temperature of 65 F.  I prefer the shorter, uglier, and more descriptive "fall".  That would be because everywhere I look, I see hunks of crunchy, crusty, disgusting, browned-up leaves crapping from the sky onto my lawn.  

Fall in the mountains is lovely, I'm sure.  You can see it from a distance!  Look at those lovely colors!  Or perhaps down a country lane, just like in a commercial and the swirls of leaves fall in behind you like a sprinkling of fairy dust.  Or you can conjure up images of a lovely Amish town, buggies speaking to us in the time of yesteryear, reminding us of scents like pumpkin pie, spiced cider, and lovely candles in each window.

But in my crib, this AIN'T that.

Yes, I said ain't.  That is how distressed I am.  This is upsetting enough to get me standing in front of my window with my neck "oh-no-you-didn't-ing" all over the place while my hands and fingers are whipping this way and that as snaps fly left and right as the outrageously uninvited piles of deciduous blarg slop down on my grass.  

(And yes, thank you for asking, the grass is doing just great.  It's actually turning back to that phenomenal color called green.  And those little sprouts!  They're popping up everywhere.  My insanity is paying off.  If you have no idea what I'm talking about, you should take a look at this: It's the concrete evidence of insanity, essentially.)

I wake up.  I open the shades.  I look at my lawn.  It's trying to obey.  It's trying to raise itself up by it's bootstraps and get out of it's ghetto ways.  It's doing a nice job.  I mean, hey.  No more Ratty McCatskins over here, and it's turning back to the normal shade it's supposed to be.  And then what happens?  The demon-possessed maple tree decides it's done, it's had it, it's gettin' jiggy wit it and off come the leaves.  Excuse me?  Where do you think YOU are going?  It doesn't care, it doesn't listen.  It's like it needs to get on Nanny 911 asap.  If I could put it on a naughty step, I would.  If I could chop it down and not have it fall on fifteen houses because it's so big, I would also go for that.  If it didn't cost like two million bazillion hundred squillion dollars to pay someone else to do it, I would lynch that sucker in ten seconds flat.  But, alas, here I am, all qualmed up.  Kill neighbors homes vs. two million bazillion hundred squillion dollars vs. me picking up so many leaves that you could fill a barn with them.

Bring it.  

Oh it's ON, BABY.  LIKE DONKEY KONG, BABY. (if you didn't read that in a sassy voice with your eyeballs bulging out of your head, you need to restart and try again.  Don't forget the head wagging.)

So yeah, I cranked out like 4 hours of yard work today and yes, my lawn is like 23 square feet or something.  Whatever.  I rounded up.  Don't hate.  And now, what have we got?  Green.  Open the window, mira!  It's grass.  

Today's score - Ms. Daisy: 1, Demon-possessed maple tree: 0

As you know, fall isn't over.  We've got another round to fight.  I'll be ready.  I've got a leaf-blower, a rake, my lawnmower, a broom, and all the compost bags I'll need to cram those uglies in.  

And for now, I will go off to dreaming of ways to hang gigantic tarps from the sky above my grass so that they can just slide off, like in a tent-ish fashion away from my lawn forrrreeevvverrrr.  

I'll get you my pretties, and your little dog, too!  

Wait, what was I saying about insanity before?  Oh, nothing.  Never mind.  Probably doesn't apply here.  Right.

Anyway - peace, love and a two-speed leaf blower,
Ms. Daisy

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