I've now got a big pile of pine needles and oak leaves that I raked from the front yard. There's also a big pile consisting mostly of walnut leaves in the back yard. That would be the one to jump in, as the oak leaves and pine needles are pointy and can deliver painful jabs. We used to have maple leaves, too, which are even softer than walnut leaves, but unfortunately also quite sticky with sap. We took the maples out long ago. I miss seeing their autumn color, but I don't miss having them cling to my shoes like so much colorful flypaper. Of all the leaves available here, the walnut leaves are by far the best for jumping in. The cat thinks so, too, and she spent several minutes de-raking them this afternoon. I don't begrudge her the pleasure. If I were her size, I'd be unable to resist jumping into them myself.
I had occasion to go searching for information about an old song, and stumbled across Parlor Songs, a web site operated by a non-profit organization devoted to preserving American popular music from the 1920s and earlier. There are midis, scans of the covers of sheet music, fairly extensive (and fairly well-written) thumbnail biographies of composers and lyricists, and if you download a browser plug-in called SCORCH (which I think works only with Internet Exploder), you can listen to recordings of the music and also print out the sheet music itself. I didn't bother with that, of course, but I enjoyed looking at the pictures and reading the bios.
The site itself is a bit odd (not so much in its design as in its tone and outlook), as is not unusual with anything related to nostalgia, and as I poked around in it, I found myself thinking that, should someone then of middle age be transported hither from the 1920s and learn to create a web site, Parlor Songs is probably exactly the sort of thing they'd come up with. I have a vague memory of having seen a comic play of the 1950s, about two old ladies who retreated into their apartment upon the election of Franklin Roosevelt to the Presidency and who refused thereafter to have anything to do with the modern world. They would have approved of Parlor Songs.
So, I think, would the late Lucius Beebe have done, though he might have disapproved of those parts of it dealing with anything after 1910 or so. In short, the site is not an example of mere nostalgic preservationism; it is profoundly culturally reactionary. Don't miss seeing it! Though not without its vices, among its virtues is that seeing it could probably make just about anyone under the age of 90 feel like a young whippersnapper. In no time, you'll be donning your raccoon coat or your mile-long string of beads, and thumbing your nose at the old fogies who still think Victor Herbert is the bee's knees.