Burning Leaves

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I'm alone in my kitchen on a Saturday night making Muddy Buddies because I'm alone in my kitchen on a Saturday night. One side effect of moving to Utah last summer was the instant outsourcing of my date night to BYU sporting events. I can hear you wondering why I didn't go with Jeremy to cheer on the Cougars, and you make a very good point, only it's cold outside and I basically need optimum temperatures AND a friend who doesn't care about football to sit with me in the stands. Yay sports!

This afternoon Jeremy and I stood in our backyard in the ankle deep leaves that needed to be raked, and he said to me, "Is this what we wanted when we decided to move to Utah?" The question was less about unraked leaves and more about our sad teenage daughter, our broken washing machine (the repair man has already come twice and failed to fix it twice), the paper pile that is starting to lean to one side, and how Jeremy is leaving on another trip in the morning. I'm really good at timing so I chose not to mention that I still needed help hanging my new garland over the mantel, which was obviously the main priority on our nine page list of Saturday Chores, and also the outdoor light bulbs don't match. Only one of them is a cool tone. We all have our spectrum limitations and if you want to see mine, just make sure all the light bulb tones match except for one. 

Earlier this evening I went on a mom date with my teenager to Wal-Mart. We picked out matching Christmas jammies and the ingredients for Muddy Buddies, and then we listened to Taylor Swift on the way home. I love it when she sings along and I wanted to grab her hand and say, Yes! See what I mean? It's all going to work out and it already has! 

As we drove through the dark, I realized that someone in the horsey neighborhood was burning leaves. The scent brings the instant memory of standing outside on my grandparent's farm in western Pennsylvania watching Grandpa George burn leaves and trash in a barrel. The image has become smudged with time, but I remember his sheep following him around like puppies and how much I loved the smell of the burning barrel. In retrospect the chore of burning the leaves and trash was probably hard work, something that must be endured on a Saturday morning. Yet decades later I have pinned this lovely memory of George as he was in his day-to-day life.

One of the best things about being alone in my kitchen is that my counters stay clean and I can light a candle and no one tries to touch the melted wax, and then I can load my dishwasher while my dogs follow me around like sheep. In a few hours my people will all come home and discover the bowl of Muddy Buddies on the counter and I'll turn off the exterior lights because one of them is still a cool blue, and we will step around the piles of laundry as we get ready for bed, and in the morning, I hope the air still smells like burning leaves.