I don't want to be a whiner. Well, any more than usual. But, this is a difficult time of the year for me. I lie awake at night, filled with worry. I stare out the windows...full of anxiety and confusion. What should I do? How should I respond? What is the right direction to pursue? I really should get a hold of Dr. Phil and see if he can help me cope. (I would do just that except for that restraining order the good doctor has out on me from back when I used do a weak impersonation of him on FirstNews.) What has me twisted in knots? The Green, Green Grass of Home!

This is the time of year when I argue with myself about whether I should mow the lawn again..one more time. Growing up in Wisconsin, the mowing season was much shorter and more obvious. For example, when I was eight, the mowing season fell on a Tuesday in July. Actually, I remember usually mowing from around Memorial Day until Labor Day. When my brothers were in charge of mowing and raking, they used a non-motorized, push mower and old-fashioned rake. There were a couple of years that fell between when my older...much, much older...brothers were out of the house and before I was old enough to be trusted, that our dad had to do the work himself. It was at that point that he opened his moth-house, also known as his wallet, and purchased a power mower and a lawn-sweeper. The lawn-sweeper was an awesome piece of machinery. There was no motor so all you heard were the bristles on the grass. Of course, it did not dig into the lawn the way a good raking would do, but it did make the lawn look pretty. It was really all about perception not reality...which may have influenced my decision to go into television. This was before we lost all the elm trees in our yard and leaves were everywhere. The sweeper was very wide...once I think we found we'd picked up an AMC Pacer, by accident. My dad would push that contraption all over the lawn and then dump the leaves in the gutter. We could burn them back in those days. I know it is probably environmentally suspect but I sure miss that smell. Don't tell anyone, but I used to light one little leaf in the backyard in memory of those days. I can't anymore because my wife doesn't let me near the matches. It all goes back to the time I tried to light our gas-burning fireplace and started the gas way before lighting the match. It could have been very, very bad. As it turned out, I was blown backward about three feet and singed my eyebrows. Since then, no matches or lighters for me. In fact, when my wife sees me carrying two sticks around, she gets nervous.

Enough with the smokey nostalgia...back to the problematic present. I have trouble with mowing this late in the year. My Wisconsin roots make it seem wrong, even sinful, to crank up the mower after Labor Day. Over the years, I've pushed myself, and occasionally my sons, to mow all through October, but then I hit the first part of November and I'm in a quandary. Intellectually, a word I rarely can apply to myself, I realize that if I don't mow in November, the lawn will be extra unwieldy by spring. But, emotionally, it feels like I'm cheating on the season. My brain says MOW MOW MOW. My heart says NO NO NO.

Yesterday, I though I'd figured out a way around this. I would NOT mow...thereby keeping my sod-based ethics intact but I would strongly suggest to our 17 year old, Taylor, that the lawn could use a trim. Let the sins of the father be visited upon the son! "Gee, Taylor, look at that grass blowing in the wind!" All that comment did was send him running for his guitar, harmonica and Bob Dylan wig. "Hey, Taylor, is that the lawn mower over there?" I tried. "Yeah, it is. Right by my old skateboard. Remember, about five years back, how I broke my arm on that thing...twice?! Wow. You know it still kinda hurts. I'd better go take a nap," he said as he turned and left the garage.

Finally, I tried something subliminal: "Taylor (mow) would you (the) like to share some of the Halloween candy (lawn) your little brother brought (now) home (mow) last (mow) night?"

"Thanks. I'll take the Butterfingers and, Dad, you really should see someone about that mumbling problem you've developed. It was like you were speaking in parentheses or something!" said he.

Well, it appears I may have to do the mowing myself. Unless, I can hold out for the first snowfall. After all, the Crown Center Ice Terrace opened Friday...a local radio station is playing Christmas music...stores are having holiday sales...snow can't be too far away. But it has to be enough to totally cover the grass because if it is just a dusting and I see grass poking up through the flakes, it will just make me totally out of whack. "See how long that grass is!? I knew I should have mowed! The spring is going to be horrible chore!" Winter whine tastes bitter!