In Arborial Memorial

OK...I know that we have all tipped our Arnold Palmers to the joy of leasing for a bit.
Send someone else the bill fromthe grdner and the pool man and all that.

Fair enough.

But, I want to go on record:

I hate leasing
and here is why:

This poor disfugured monstrosity used to be a gracious tree that helped to turn the backyard in to a secret garden rather than a monument to the scorched earth policy.

And then there is this:


This arboretic (word coined specifically for this purpose and I do not apologize for it) atrocity used to be the hallmark of the front yard. It is right outside my office window, and the birds would sing to me from within the shelter of the boughs.
The only upside is that Halloween is coming and the up-lighting makes this thing that used to be a tree absolutely petrifying.

I understand the need to trim. TRIM- not amputate. Huge limbs were taken off never to return.
Why? Because the gardener (in name only as he does as little as possible whenever possible) called the owners and convinced them that the trees were a danger to life and (sorry) limb.

Truth? He hates to rake. He hates to mow (so he has this incredible story that he gives anyone who will listen about why the grass is spotty in some areas) and apparently, he hates trees.

Oh- says the owner from somewhere on the tree lined avenues of Beverly Hills-

cut cut cut cut cut cut cut.

And so, he did.

It was a wake up call.
We live here
It is not our home.