There are times when it gets to be too much -- when our water keeps cutting off for some unknown reason, and we have no idea who to call, since it seems to be a pump issue rather than a plumbing problem. When the asphalt driveway needs to be repaved, and the gravel driveway is no longer even navigable. When not only has the dang cinder block wall been sitting half-painted for at least five years, but now the entire house needs repainting, inside and out. And all the metal porch rails too! When the attic over the garage is still chock-full of stuff that was crammed up there 10 or 11 years ago (including a precious cradle handmade by hubby's father), has never been opened since, and can only be reached via a precarious extension ladder, which neither of us has any business climbing up or down -- especially with a heavy cradle in our arms! It's at times like these that I start wondering what it would be like to live somewhere in town, or where all the maintenance chores are taken care of for you.
But then, something like this happens...
and I wonder how I could ever possibly leave.
(All photos were snapped, first from our balcony, then on my morning walk around
our own driveway, with my handy little point and shoot, in the sequence
in which they occurred.)