Every morning I drive by a house on the way to work. It’s a perfect house, perfect in the sense that it is meticulously cared for, never a blade of grass out of place, or a leaf in the driveway. It’s paint is in pristine condition, and I don’t think you’d find a chip or peel anywhere on the surface of the house. Almost every morning I drive by and see the owner out in the yard primping and preening his home. He picks leaves from the yard (or possibly lint), sweeps the sidewalk, mows and trims the hedges almost fanatically. The lawn is always within a half inch of a predefined height. I’d say four out of the five days a week I drive by, he is out there doing something. He is a young guy, maybe thirty at most, but, somehow, he has the free time to spend primping around the yard. It seems kinda sad to me, and such a waste of time. I yearn to have that kind of free time, but I’d spend it much more productively, like lying in the hammock, or going to matinee movies…