God wants the leaves down, my wife wants them up. It's hard to please them both. Left to my own devices, I don't challenge the will of the Almighty. God puts the leaves on the driveway and the yard and I am supposed to go against that? And on a Sunday with football on? I mean, with church and all? Still, there she is, standing there holding out the rake, with an expression on her face that would turn milk into cheese. I'd better get busy. --Jobe, on a Sunday