The grass is always greener...
The Cataluna House, where SOS and I have honeymooned since our return to the mainland from Catalina, has a back lawn. This lawn, at its widest point, is approximately twice the width of our lawn mower. On the other side of our back fence is a golf course which stretches for acres. The first Saturday that I pulled out the mower to make two back and forth passes over the lawn, I fantasized about picking up the green postage stamp masquerading as a back yard, and throw it over the fence so the custodial staff at the golf course would cut it as they dreamily drove on their riding mowers. Surely they wouldn't even notice such a small addition, and I'd pull the lawn back over to my side of the fence before they even woke up. But in Southern California, a patch of green grass, no matter how small, is a precious priority, and so SOS and I have carefully mowed, and weeded, and watered... anticipating that day when we are told to move out and must leave a showplace of Southern Californ