Blowing blooms with a British accent
By Bonnie Brown
Columnist
You all may recall that we have a lovely Crepe Myrtle near our front porch. It’s a
beautiful, healthy tree that is full of blooms all summer long. Those blooms drift across
the porch almost as if snowflakes. I have a lawn blower that I use to blow the Crepe
Myrtle “snowflake” blooms off the porch. This begins in late spring and continues into
the fall. Then, the leaves fall. They, too, become the target of my blower.
I say all this to share with you that my husband Tom swears he hears a neighbor (or
perhaps neighbors) shout “Thar she blows” when I fire up the blower! However, I have
never heard any such utterance except from my husband. It’s just a thing with me. The
blooms get tracked into the house and I simply don’t want to see the blooms settle on
the porch.
I am known to blow them off even in the rain. I do this because if the rain stops and the
sun comes out, these blasted blooms attach themselves to the concrete porch as if they
are glued down. But if the surface is wet, the blooms easily glide right off when I use the
blower.
Now, here’s the strange part. I have shared with you all that I talk to myself—a lot. I do
this as a means to remind me of chores or things I want to remember and saying things
out loud helps me to do this.
Remember when we had all those days of rain not long ago? I was out in a fine mist
with the blower and realized that I was “talking” to the blooms and for whatever reason,
I lapsed into a British accent, calling the blooms the “bloody blooms!” So, what does
this mean?
Perhaps I have developed multiple personalities? Maybe I’ve gone totally wacky, loopy,
or dotty? Completely unbalanced? Do I have other traits that indicate that I’ve slipped
away from the mothership?
Let’s review. I noticed long ago that I am most comfortable when all the jars and
containers in our pantry are labels forward. Same for the refrigerator. Do I lapse into
nonsensical verbalization if things get out of order? No, I do not. I simply give the
offending product a twist and get it back in sync with the other nearly-perfectly items
that are labels forward.
I admit that I can fold fitted sheets—and that I iron my pillowcases. I have a few more
idiosyncrasies that I best not mention in case there might be a mental health
professional who reads my column.
So, back to my lawn blower. I mentioned to Tom that perhaps the Crepe Myrtle had
lived a long happy life and that perhaps we should simply cut it down. He asked “Why?”
Good question, I thought. I couldn’t really justify cutting the tree down (not that I could
cut it down). However, Tom did mention to me that he kept his ears open for the sound

of the motors of our various pieces of equipment and that he would rescue the tree if
necessary.
Did I mention that when the blooms are done, the Crepe Myrtle sheds its leaves, and the
leaves have to be blown off the porch? Not to worry. Tom keeps a pretty watchful eye
on me in order to protect the tree. We’ll see if the tree survives the brutal winter I’m
predicting. Stay tuned.