It’s that time of year.
We’re putting stuff up, away, out, to bed…
The furnace has its annual maintenance scheduled, though we’ve had it on a time or two already. Ditto, the fireplace.
Mama Weather is all over the map when it comes to autumn. Some days she creeps in all quiet and foggy, shrouding the neighborhood in a cloak of invisibility. Other days, she booms and rattles and shakes the hopped-up-on-color leaves right off their trees. There are days she’s feeling so supercalifragilisticexpialidocious that the sun bounces and boings off everything it touches. And days she gets up in the wee smalls with some make my day ‘tude, and breathes her frosty breath on the pumpkin. And wilts every summer flower in her path.
She’s a complex woman.
We get it.
So. We’re putting stuff up, away, out, to bed…
- Tomatoes — rescued, and the vines pulled out.
- Hanging baskets – I don’t like to say it, but chilled to a mushy death by Her-Royal-Pain-In-The-Autumn.
- The last of the kale — yanked and composted.
- Container garden soil — scattered on the beds. Can’t hurt.
- Winding down perennials – clipped and snipped, but not too much. There is still plenty of color left in the leaves. The big show-offs.
Pumpkins are out playing with the chrysanthemums and asters, and a scarecrow presides over all.
We’re cleaning windows, raking leaves, washing siding, and generally getting the exterior ready for a long winter’s sleep.
The Christmas lights will have to be hung before the temps dip into too-chilly-for-fingers-to-grip-hangers degrees. That’s not far off.
Weekends are outdoor-intense. Breathing the fresh air. Getting the rosy cheeks.
Then, it’s collapse on the couch with a Guinness or glass of Black Cab, and a take-out menu.
Followed by — stand under the shower until your muscles cry like a baby, and a face-plant into bed.
What about you? Is that how your weekends are playing?
Mama Autumn is struttin’ her drama.