Am I A Termagant?
Leaf blowers bring out the worst in me.
I hate leaf blowers. The relentless whirring reminds me of a swarm of mosquitoes.
Or shrieking children.
The high-pitched sound of the motor makes my molars vibrate. Gas powered ones are the worst. Not only are they loud, but they stink.
My husband Joe loves to blow leaves. He’ll do it for hours and hours on a fall day. When he runs out of gas the silence is beautiful. That’s when I can stop clenching my jaw.
Then, just as I begin to relax, our neighbor across the creek will start his leaf blower. Even with an acre of land between us, I can still hear the roar of the motor. Water seems to amplify the noise.
I can’t escape.
Other lawn care machines don’t bother me. Joe can ride on the tractor all day without me getting bent out of shape. Weed whackers aren’t too bad either.
Most days, after refueling, Joe will return to the task. Even with the doors and windows shut tight, my ear drums will start to vibrate. He’ll blow in the same area for a long time with intense concentration. Are the leaves super stubborn in that spot?
This is one of the constants of fall. No leaf is safe once it’s fallen to the ground. They must always be blown into piles.
Every.
Day.
He’s not the only one in my neighborhood with an aversion to leaves and powerful blowers. I just wish they would all coordinate better so this torture was less often.
Announcement:
Leaf blowing is permitted only on days when Karen isn’t home. Her schedule will be posted online for your convenience. Blowing leaves during unapproved times will result in Karen going full “Karen.”
I’m pretty easy going otherwise. Well, if I’m completely honest, that’s not always true.
Some days I find it annoying if someone tries to talk to me when I’m walking my dog. If I have my AirPods in, I’ll wave, but most of the time if I’m talking on the phone, listening to a good book or podcast I don’t want to be interrupted.
Sometimes I wear my AirPods without listening to anything. That way I can point to my ears and declare I’m on the phone if someone tries to wave me down. I’m not on this walk to socialize. My dog needs to poop and I need to get back home to shut myself away from the leaf blowers.
When did I become such a bitch? If you ask my siblings, they’d probably tell you I’ve always been a bit of one.
For me being overly sensitive to noise and crowds started during the Covid lockdown. Then the combination of being in a hospital room for a month during my stem cell transplant and the additional year of isolation after made it worse. That’s why I’m not the extrovert I used to be.
Last weekend, I went to my cousin’s daughter’s wedding in Chicago. Preparing for that trip made me very anxious. I haven’t done much traveling since March of 2020. Getting on a plane was so strange. I used to do it all the time without any worries. Now I feel a new level of germaphobia. My sister and I were the only two people on the plane wearing masks. It’s a good thing we like to be different.
I was relieved to learn the welcome party was at a brewery. I envisioned being outside under a tent with fresh air blowing through. Instead the party was in a loud, crowded room. I have trouble hearing anyway - probably from all that leaf blowing - so catching up with the family gossip was hard. And even though everyone seemed healthy, I worried because I hadn’t gotten the current flu or Covid vaccines yet.
On the plus side, the University of Virginia vs. Florida State football game was on the television. My cousins, and most of the extended family, are from Florida and many were wearing shirts representing their team. My siblings and I were the only UVA fans present. The other guests weren’t amused as we cheered when Virginia won in overtime.
The next day, I tried to mentally prepared myself for the wedding. Over two hundred people were invited, so I knew I’d be facing crowded spaces again. My sister has Multiple Sclerosis which makes her a bit unsteady on her feet, so I used this as an excuse to find our seats quickly. Luckily our table was close to the bathroom and an exit door.
I used to be a party animal, but there was no way I was going up on the dance floor. Too many people, too much noise, too much chaos. When the constant boom, boom, boom from the DJ’s speakers became overwhelming, I took a quiet break outside.
Definitely an old person problem.
Have I’ve become a curmudgeon? Wait, I just looked it up – a female curmudgeon is called a termagant. That’s how to describe an angry or mean-spirited old woman.
Am I mean-spirited and angry? I can be if I take an afternoon nap longer than twenty minutes. That’s when I become a shrew.
Especially if my husband wakes me up by blowing leaves.
I love this SO much.