The Perpetual Motion machine does exist: it is mischievously named “the house”.
When we moved in, the front looked like this:
Grass that was fried; shrubs that were ignored.
A general feeling of neglect.
A clogged sewer line a year ago finally prompted us to pull out the dying boxwoods; embarrassment at having the worst-looking lawn in the neighborhood prompted us to emergency measures with our yard.
Now, our yard is well on its way to becoming the envy of all who drive by.
The boxwoods are gone, roots and all.
As is my back.
The replacement bushes are still sitting in a nursery somewhere: that’s Wednesday afternoon’s project. In the meantime, the bed sits empty.
The upshot of all of this: the cat has a new place to nap.
