Normally, by the time the snow flies, I've raked all the leaves off our little patch of lawn and assembled them into large piles into which my granddaughter and I can leap. I'm never averse to becoming seven again, and if it costs me a Naproxen or two, a few aches and pains are not too high a price to pay for joining Stasia in jumps of pure reminiscent bliss. This past autumn, however, was quite unlike any I've had in recent years, and among the many things that didn't get done post-heart-surgery, raking was certainly one of them. But, with the snow long gone, the leaves were still there and beckoning. Stasia answered the call. I did the same. Alas, given that I can no longer take Naproxen or any anti-inflammatory, I opted out of the great jumps.