The grass is always greener

I've probably posted this before—I tend to repeat myself—but I grew up on the mean streets of West L.A., north of Wilshire. My home now is the first house I've ever lived in, although not the first one I've ever owned (whole other post).

Like every new and experienced homeowner eventually learns, homes are like Disneyland: they'll never be finished. A house is a living organism, its own ecosystem that requires regular, constant maintenance to keep living and thriving.

To which I say yeah yeah, sure sure.

For some reason there are people in the world who know how and, even more baffling, want to do everything themselves when it comes to home maintenance.

Seriously, that's just crazy talk.

There are more than a few household things you'll never catch me doing:

Restaining hardwood floors. Sure, inhaling the wood finish fumes is tempting, but no.

Tuning up the roof tiles. No thanks. I have neuropathy in my feet, and have enough trouble walking on flat ground. When I think of myself walking and trying to balance my slightly fuller physique on slippery roof tiles, one song keeps popping into my mind.

Changing out a sprinkler head is also a no go. It's tougher than it looks. There's alignment, positioning, measuring and water pressure involved. Plus since we now use detergent from Trader Joe's instead of real detergent, I just can't risk the grass stains.

Plumbing? I have people for that. Same with electrical. And heating. And airconditioning. Although I do change the air filters all on my own. In fact I custom order them a half inch smaller on each side so they fit easily and I don't have to try to jam them in while balancing on my step ladder.

I know. I'm writing my acceptance speech now.

Another thing you won't find me doing is mowing the lawn. We have an excellent gardner who does a fine job without all the sweating and swearing that would inevitably accompany my efforts.

Here's the funny part. Even though I avoid mowing the lawn myself, I get a tremendous sense of satisfaction out of watching a runaway lawn get mowed down to size by SB Mowing.

Spencer from SB Mowing is a gardner who's sprung to fame on Instagram and YouTube. He lives in Kentucky, which besides moonshine, the Derby and, ironically, bluegrass, is also famous for having two of the worst senators in the history of time—Mitch "Mr. Freeze" McConnell and Rand "Yes sir Mr. Putin!" Paul. Although admittedly with Ted "When's the next flight to Cancun?" Cruz and John "Leave the oil company money in a plain envelope" Cornyn, Texas does give them a run for the money.

I may be getting off point here.

Anyway what Spencer does is find wildly overgrown or neglected lawns once a week, then asks the homeowner or a neighbor what the story is and if he can cut it down to size for free. He films the entire process in time lapse, and then displays truly breathtaking, incredibly satisfying before and after stills at the end of his videos (the YT videos run quite long - the four minute one at the top is one of the shorter ones).

Watching him work I can almost smell the freshly cut grass, as if I'd done it myself. Which as we've established, ain't happening.

On his website, Spencer tells his origin story, promotes the companies that make the equipment he uses and, like any good YT or Instagram star, sells mowing merch.

I don't know if it's watching someone actually finish something they start (you can do that?), the fact he makes gardening and lawn equipment look fun and cool (you can do that?), or his obviously disciplined work ethic (you can have that?), but watching him bring these lawns and their properties back to life is endlessly entertaining.

I know what you're thinking. I'm going to end this post with some corny, lawn-related pun.

Like his business is really growing.

Or when he's done filming his work he yells "Cut!"

Maybe even say he was a little green when he started.

But I won't. I'm keeping this one pun free. You know, in case Spencer keeps his clippings.

The Lesson

I’m a terrible person. No, really.

I know, you beg to differ. To you, I’m just the handsomest best friend you could have, wildly funny, an unfairly talented writer, a great listener, a shoulder to cry on, generous to a fault, someone whose name appears in the Thank You/Acknowledgement sections of almost all the books my friends have written, a dependable source of Breaking Bad trivia and a dispenser of sage advice.

The only things I’m not are a ride to the airport, someone who’ll help you move or a guard dog for your laptop at Starbucks.

But despite all my many good qualities, I’ll say it again. I’m a terrible person.

Here’s why, and please pardon the abrupt shift in tone but the situation calls for it.

This past Saturday morning, the wife and I woke up to a fire truck and an ambulance at our neighbor Suzie’s house directly across the street from us. Naturally we were hoping everything was alright, but were curious what was happening.

We didn’t have the kind of relationship with Suzie where we’d be comfortable going over to ask what was going on. She’d moved in about eighteen months ago, and had been redoing her house for that entire time. Contractors coming and going from the house were just something we got used to, as was the shortage of street parking.

We’d met Suzie when she initially moved in, but hadn’t spoken to her hardly at all since. She was noticeably standoffish, not just with us but with other neighbors as well.

The prior owner of the house, Bob, had been a magnificent gardener. The front lawn was always impeccably kept, and beautiful rose buses adorned the yard. Since we looked directly at the house, we appreciated waking up to that view for years.

But since Suzie had bought the place, the front yard had gone to hell. The lawn was overgrown and underwatered, and the rose bushes were being given last rites.

And of course me, who can kill a plant just by being in the same room with it, never missed a chance to comment on her lack of gardening skills or her less than sparkling personality.

The ambulance was there for Suzie. I saw her wheeled out on the gurney, intubated and unconscious. She died a day later.

Yesterday I saw a truck in the driveway, and a woman going in and out of the house. I went across the street, introduced myself and asked what had happened. She told me Suzie had passed. She’d fought cancer for the past twenty-one years, and had been diagnosed with leukemia not that long ago, and was on some industrial strength chemo that apparently was too much for her body to take.

Her friend, who had known her for sixty years, went on to tell me what a welcoming person Suzie was, and how she worried about seeming so standoffish. She didn’t want people too close to her because of the chemo and her weakened immune system.

She also let me know how awful Suzie felt about the appearance of the front yard—how’d she’d wanted it to be beautiful not just for her, but also for the neighbors. She was just too weak to give it the attention it needed.

After a bit more conversation, she told me the house will be sold. In the meantime, the wife and I are going to have our gardner go over there and restore the front yard so it looks presentable and like someone still lives there.

I know it’s a new-agey kind of sentiment usually found on inspirational posters and those square day-at-a-time calendars Barnes & Noble sells at Christmas. And in a world seemingly fueled by judgement and hatred, it seems an impossibly quaint notion.

But none of that makes it any less true. It’s the lesson I have to keep learning. A little more kindness and a lot less judgement would make this world a far better place.

Not to mention me a better person.

Rest in peace Suzie.

Getting hosed on a new sprinkler

There are so many things I can't do. Now, contrary to popular belief, not all of them are because I don't have the brains or the ability. Some of them are merely because I just don't want to. No one's ever accused me of being an overachiever.

One of the many homeowner repair items, and one of the more common ones, that falls under the second category is sprinkler repair.

I had to take my beautiful daughter to school Tuesday morning. I know it was Tuesday, because that's one of the two days a week my city allows me to water the lawn without getting fined. No one said the drought was going to be easy.

Anyway, when I got back home from her school I noticed one of the sprinklers on my front lawn doing its impression of a knocked over fire hydrant. Or 'Ole Faithful. What I'm saying is it was a gusher.

Now, I know, you know and the American people know all that means is a sprinkler head was broken or gone, probably taken out by our gardener when he was mowing the lawn (another thing I don't want to do).

I actually do know what's involved in fixing the sprinkler. Dig up the dirt around it, unscrew the old sprinkler head, screw on a new one and replace the divot. Pretty simple.

And yet, as I like to say, no job too small for somebody else to do.

So I had a sprinkler repair company come out - ironically, they're called the Sprinkler Repair Company - and had them fix it. It took fifteen minutes start to finish. I don't even want to tell you what they charged, but at least the "making me feel stupid" was free.

Lesson learned.

From now on, I'm going to make more of an effort to do the things I don't want to do, both around the house and in the outside world, even though I damn well know how to. And maybe save a few samolians in the process.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to call and get somebody out here to change this lightbulb.

What a putts

I don't play golf. I've tried, but I can't. It seems like a monumental waste of time. And land. And money.

Besides, if I want to wear plaid shorts with striped shirts there are plenty of other places I can do it.

The picture to the left is part of the route I take when I'm out walking with my German Sheperd. Have a closer look at it. I'm fortunate to live in a neighborhood with some pretty nice manicured lawns, but even this struck me as a little much. See the cups?

Apparently what my idiot neighbor (and if you've been following this blog you know the place is lousy with them) did was go out and spend money to have a miniature golf course/putting green put on his front lawn.

I know what you're thinking: at least he didn't put flags out. You know what I'm thinking?

Let me direct your attention to exhibit B.

On the lawn immediately in front of his house, he has two holes with flags. I don't know what to make of any of it.

My first thought is I wonder if he followed the same procedure every other resident has to follow and cleared it with the homeowner's association. Come to find out he didn't (which would also explain the dolphin sculpture and the flagpole that aren't pictured here).

On the heels of that I think, well, it's his house and if he wants to he can. Which of course he can't. That's why there's a homeowner's association.

Then I think, wow, at least this guy didn't do something so stupid and boneheaded like putting in a sand trap.

Oh, wait a minute.

Let me direct your attention to exhibit C.

If the guy wanted to put a miniature course on his property, he should have put it on his property. Technically the street-side parkway belongs to the city, and they get really pissy when they don't have a say in what you do to their property. Or when they don't get paid a waiver fee so you can do it.

They're just funny that way.

I have a lot of friends, good friends, intelligent people that I respect that play golf often and enjoy it. But they have the good taste to do it on a course at a club, not on their front lawn.

I think I have to agree with Robin Williams: golf is a giant joke being played on everyone who plays it.

So I'll keep walking my dog past this house, smiling to myself at the idiocy of it all.

And taking a small bit of satisfaction in the fact that even if my dog can't play golf, there are other things he can do on this guy's course.

This clip has language that may not be suitable for the youngsters.