I’m probably one of the only Americans who despised being a homeowner. There were a few reasons I liked apartment living better, but the major source of my disdain stemmed from a homeowner's marriage to incessant yard work. If there was one thing that reminded me of the curse, it was the entropy to which my yard would succumb in a single week. Yard work just seems like a monotonous task that one does solely for looks, with little to no return, and being left only with the promise that you’ll have to rinse and repeat in about a week. It just seems like a vacuous endeavor. It's utterly monotonous. While our move to Romania has significantly diminished the size of the yard for which I’m responsible, this yardwork has come with its own set of challenges. I now have to lug heavy machinery up steep embankments. I have to take care no to run over the electric mower’s cord (I didn't even know electric mowers existed before moving to Romania). I hate it. Yard work is a small thing, I know (unless you are one of our neighbors who wishes it would be a bigger thing for us), but it’s something I despise.
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