Wit and Wisdom
by Beth Broderick
It was, of course, impossible to hear me coming, because the roar of his leaf blower was deafening, but he must have sensed me approaching because he turned suddenly, aiming the hateful machine straight at my face. I coughed and sputtered trying to wave away the dirt and debris that had spewed into my eyes, nose, and mouth.
“Oh! Sorry, sorry!” he said in genuine apology.
“It’s okay. No worries,” I said, trying to let him off the hook. Accidents happen.
I thought those machines were illegal. I remember a great, giant controversy over them years ago. They are, of course, an environmental disaster, burning gasoline with no way to filter it and spewing microbes that are meant to remain in the soil into our already-polluted air. The giant gadgets also deliver a healthy dose of noise pollution everywhere they go, and they are everywhere.
The anti-blow side was righteous in their complaint, patiently making their points on behalf of science and sense, while the pro-blow side had empathy for the plight of L.A.’s hard-working gardeners, who are tasked with doing harm to our environment in the pursuit of “beauty” at best and uniformity at worst. It’s not their fault, the gardeners. I appreciate their plight, but we really must find a better way to do this maintenance, and the law against this practice really should, please Gawd, be enforced.
HANGING IN THE WIND.
The way we “garden” in America is mostly ornamental, with offerings like green lawns that give exactly zero support to any living thing–no flying insects, birds, snails, or lizards. They just sit there in front of most homes, guzzling precious water. The Great American Lawn is—well--not so great.
The "meadow movement,” where we are encouraged to let our yards go wild and become a natural habitat for the creatures around us, has failed to gather steam. Folks have been advocating for this for years, and it just isn’t catching on. I am pretty sure most homeowners’ associations would block such deeply pro-environmental measures. Or try to.
I was cited at my last home for taking out the grass and planting a ton of beneficial plants upon which butterflies and bees could feed. The city had to intervene with the Neighborhood Watch folks and let them know that the effort to prohibit this was, in fact, against the law.
So is using a leaf-blower.
So is blowing your car horn at someone. This practice got so out of control, was so jarring on the nerves and eardrums of its citizens, that California has made it illegal. And yet, they blow and blow. Mostly, they do this at intersections where the car ahead of them is pausing to let an older person (someone like say, yours truly) cross the street. I have turned into the crazy woman who can be heard yelling:
“Knock it off. Stop honking. That’s against the law!”
“F… you lady!” they often reply, darlings that they are.
Well, okay, so what. I don’t care how nuts I seem. Those bastards can blow me!
“Because the Wind is High, it Blows my Mind.”
My middle-school friend, J, had this posted on her bedroom wall. She had written it in a fine script using blue ink against a white paper backdrop. It was from a Beatles song, a lyric I don’t quite understand, but it caught my eye every time I saw it. It was her motto, her mantra of sorts. I never learned why.
J’s mom was dying when I met her, and her father was–well, to say he wasn’t up to the task of parenting would be to ignore the fact that he was also violent, selfish, and nasty. The kind of man who would move a new girlfriend into his home with his three daughters while his wife was dying in a nursing facility. A charmer.
Perhaps this is why she persisted in being my friend in spite of my deep and abiding unpopularity. J often slept on the couch at my house. It was safer to weather the raging storms of my mother’s drinking and to sleep among the wild, unhouse broken animals, and cope with uncleaned surfaces than it was to go to her own home. That says it all.
I was (I can hear you thinking “was?”), a weirdo. Yes, I was and still am a tad off the beam. It has been said of me more times than I can count, that I dance to the beat of a “different” drum, and I am fully aware that these pages go a long way to prove that point.
THAR SHE BLOWS.
In the Seventh Grade, I decided, against all reason, to run for the office of School Historian. I had no idea what this role would require of me, but I was certain that I could be a leader; that there was an actual possibility I could be elected. This was ridiculous, of course, but I was determined. The speech I gave in pursuit of this forever cemented my reputation into the halls of weirdo-ness. It ensured that I would have cooties throughout my junior high career. To the best of my recollection, it went something like this (No, I am not kidding):
“Hail Hearty Hordes of Heroes and Heroines, Hastily Herded onto these Hallowed Halls to Hear Half-witted Hoodlums Hyper-Bale Half-Heartedly Hurling Horribly Hopeless Homilies, Hoping to Hoodwink Hapless Humans into Hoisting Hare-brained Hooters on High. Here Happens a Heroine Humbly Hoping that you will Hoist me to the Heights of Happiness as your Hale and Hearty Historian.”
Crickets.
There was, of course, no applause, and after a stunned silence, the kids in the auditorium began to laugh, and not in a nice way. I was surprised, having thought that my daring and quite original offering would be appreciated but—um—no. A big no on that.
I received exactly two votes. One was my own, and I am guessing the other was from J. Or, maybe a sympathetic teacher fudged it. At any rate, my dreams of being an elected official were dashed. I had officially blown it.
I stayed friends with J throughout high school and we were roommates during my first year of acting academy. We drifted apart when, not surprisingly, she took up with bad men and started doing bad things. The sins of the father and all.
I somehow found a home on stage, where my oddball humor and unusual presence gave me a shot at finding an audience. It took years, but I eventually found my footing in show business, which—as with Hollywood, the city famous for hosting it—I have come to both love and hate.
Still, I am grateful to be here in this land of the blow-dried, where box office is blown away, careers are blown up, and blowhards abound. (Ya see how I did that?) I am more intrigued by the grit and grime than the glamour, but both are so outsized that they are something to behold.
“Because the Wind is High, it Blows my Mind.” Indeed.
On we go …
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I did see what you did there. And this post had a catchy headline that standing alone didn't make sense. Thanks for keeping us informed and entertained. Also, I saw a lot of Texas in your California rant.
Here's to the weirdos. If my friend wrote a speech like that, I would absolutely vote for her! Bless the young and ignorant...it's junior high; they have a lot to learn. Enjoyment of wordsmithing comes early, I think, or never.
"Because" is a great song owing to its puns and easy harmonizing. There can be much to think about in a pun...perhaps your friend used her mantra as a launching pad for elevated thought. (Ya see how I did that?)
Thank you for your posts. Love them!
PS In California, starting in 2024, gas-powered leaf-blowers cannot be sold. In Pasadena, use of them was banned this last April.