Mowing...

Ever since I was a young girl, this has been a forbidden task for me. Something about an allergy to "fresh-cut grass". At least that's the way it was initially diagnosed. What else would throw a young person into a full-blown asthma attack after having played around it in while raking and sweeping and inhaling that fine mixture of lawn mower exhaust, shredded St. Augustine grass and eau de dirt that surrounds the process. I am not talking about a meager attack of wheezing and discomfort. I'm talking about lips and fingernails turning blue, and family doctors saying "I'm going to give her this shot. It will make her heart race, but if it doesn't work, we'll have to get to the hospital." To this day, being around a yard being groomed makes me feel as though my throat is closing up, so, yes, I definitely avoid it.

The truth is, though, that I have loved having a yard - nearly all of my life, I have lived in a place that had one. Well, as of this week, I no longer own the property I live on, though I will need to keep the lawn mowed until I move out. I will not miss caring for the lawn. I will not miss cleaning up after limbs that fall from neighbor's trees, or the absolute mess left by an occasional hurricane. I will not miss that blankety-blank pyracantha bush by my front door - the one that would never die, no matter how closely one cut it to the ground. I will not miss dragging hoses and sprinklers around in the heat of Houston summers.

I will miss the gracious curvature of the crepe myrtle trees in the front, in which we strung many a Christmas light. I will miss the screen of nandina bushes that kept our little front patio private. I will miss landscaping in the back yard and along side the house - the hibiscus, the tung tree, the shrimp plant, the faux gardenia tree, the hummingbird bush, the variegated ginger, and the potato vine - all very lovingly planted by my wondrous mother who had the greenest of thumbs.

If all goes well, I will move into a condo which looks out over the treetops of a neighborhood, and has deep, deep windowsills on which I can keep a few sturdy plants. I would love to be able to take a bit of the yard with me...without the mowing.

Fall color...

It's one of the stranger things about living in Houston - the fact that our fall color might be its most vibrant just the week before Christmas. But, indeed, that is what has happened in the gardens. A raft of poinsettias in pots contrasting with the yellows and red of the changing foliage.

What a blessing! As I have driven through our beloved Memorial park every day and witnessed the destruction of the drought, it has been spirit- lifting to see some of the trees changing color not because they were dead, but because they were still alive and preparing for rest. Somehow, that amongst all of the death, there were still things alive, and thriving, and holding on for dear life, and going on about their normal routines.

The holiday madness at work has ended. Next week will be quiet. Many will be leaving for holidays with family. We will be blessed with a simpler rhythm, and a wrapping up of the old year before starting the new - going about a more normal routine. This evening, with the help of my younger son, I decorated a mini-tree with some of our most representative ornaments, and while unpacking to find those treasured pieces, divided up the ornaments from our 30 year old artificial tree into 4 most appropriate boxes - one for each "child" and one for me. With a bottle of wine and home-heated pizza, it was a good evening. Somehow, I felt a little like those trees, dressing for the holidays a little differently than before, and shedding some treasured leaves to downsize for the winter.

It now feels like Christmas is coming, and peace can be part of our lives for a while, if we let it. Silent night. Sleep in heavenly peace.