UNBELEAFABLE

This is how it looks for about two days.

As autumn approaches winter, the air is turning crisp, the days are getting shorter, and the trees are becoming barer. Nothing that we haven't experienced before. And I hear it was like this in the fall before we were born.

But this year, COVID has disrupted things in an unexpected way. Not that the pandemic has interfered with nature per se (unless you count the sudden rise in deaths). It's what it's done to people who have been telecommuting since March. People like my wife.

You have to understand that pre-COVID, Sue was working near the top floor of a high rise in Jersey City. So high a rise that there were times that she never knew what the weather was, thanks to being enveloped by clouds. I had to trust that she had enough time to make it downstairs if an airplane sounded unusually close.

Now, sitting next to our second floor window, nothing escapes her attention. Whether it be people walking dogs on leashes, or teachers walking their pre-K students like dogs on leashes, the world passes by on its merry way, providing a moment of welcome distraction for her, along with a chance to spread some gossip about the neighbors -- nothing particularly malicious, unfortunately.

Don't get her started. Don't get her started!

But it's only been within the past six weeks or so that she's encountered an event that, to hear her tell it, is comparable only to the bombing of Dresden in sheer decibel brutality. I'm referring to the neighborhood fiends cleaning the sidewalks with leaf-blowers. Otherwise known as the guys doing their job.

Spending time at home when I wasn't doing background work, I had gotten used to the sound -- similar to a handheld vacuum cleaner -- to the point where I didn't even notice it. In fact, I couldn't swear under penalty of death that they even existed until now.

See any leaves on the sidewalk across the street?
Believe me, the guy with the leaf-blower will.

Not so with Sue! Ducking out of the home office for a cup of tea, lunch, or a piece of chocolate, she keeps me apprised of the leaf-blowing activity, making sure to let me know who was doing it, how long it lasted, and -- this is most important -- how much it annoyed her.

This venting might make her feel better. Only now I'm starting to notice the sound -- which might have been the idea all along. Something about misery loving the company of easygoing husbands, I think.

Although the trees have lost much of their leafy glory, there's still enough to keep the cleaners busy through the end of the year, and possibly into 2021. By then, winter will be upon us. If Sue's got a problem with leaf-blowers, her reaction to snowplows should provide entertainment beyond belief.

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