This is a great thing except for the rocks. Yes, rocks. There are tons of beach rocks edging her garden and her home. How do I know there are tons? Because we carried every last one of those rocks home from the beach.
Oh, shut up.
Don't go getting all environmentally prude on me. We hauled them from a rocky beach that deposits so many rocks along its high-water mark that no one can actually walk or sit there because of the pebbles and stones. Most people brush them away or toss them back into the ocean. Next day ... boom ... the rocks are back with more of their friends. At this beach the rocks are like Star Trek Tribbles.
Besides, we moved those rocks over time. Years, actually. It's not like we wiped the freaking beach clean of rocks. There are still hundreds of thousands of rocks there.
Once when we were bringing a bag of rocks (they're heavy so you cannot haul too many at once) to the car, a wrinkly old cigarette-smoking woman in a sagging bikini started screaming at us for stealing the rocks. After her tirade, she tossed her still-lit cigarette butt right onto the sand where people sit and children walk.Yes, because taking a dozen rocks out of hundreds of thousands is sooooo much worse for the environment than polluting it with trash and cigarette filters.
Doh.
I'll let the rocks go along with the house when it sells. Those rocks bring lots of memories, and, much as I'd like to bring them all home because they connect with such great times at the beach, I don't want to be accused of stealing again or have any more decrepit hippies throwing lit tobacco my way.
