TheBanyanTree: Once There Was Grass

[Monique Young]

Sometimes, to amuse ourselves, we look at houses. Someday we may buy one,
and so it's good, we tell ourselves, to see what's out there. The easiest
houses to look at are model homes for new construction - they sit there
empty, just waiting for someone to look at them, and so we do. There's
something about a house that's never been lived in that I find appealing.
It's a blank slate, no one has gone before me, no one else has made holes in
the walls and burns in the carpet, or marred the kitchen floor or left an
unseemly pile of their discarded rubbish in a corner of the garage for the
new owner to deal with. Everything is new and safe and clean. 

                The other day we stopped at a development not far from us to
look at the advertised model home. "MODEL HOME," the signs outside screamed,
which is what led us there. In this area, all one need do is drive aimlessly
and one will find many of these. A few homes were nearing completion, many
lots were still empty, and among this sat one completed, furnished,
landscaped house. We marveled at the greenness of the grass and the ample
porch. Upon entering the house we found the agent and lender, who were
having a comfortable conversation in the front parlor/office/whatever. I
removed my shoes, Andrew covered his with the blue plastic surgery slippers
to give him the appearance of a surgeon waiting for that important call to
report to the OR STAT!, and we meandered about. 

                The backyard also had the brilliant green grass that the
front had, and overall the house was rather nice. I especially liked the
large master bathroom, especially since I usually find that one or more dogs
like to lounge comfortably in my bathroom while I shower, which means my
standard shower routine consists of tripping over a large furry beast or
being accosted by a high energy puppy upon my exit, sometimes both at once.
These are the things I think of when looking at houses: how will the dogs
fit? Where will the dogs fit? Will I be able to train them to lay on THAT
side of the bathroom as opposed to THIS side of the bathroom? (Currently
there is no THAT or THIS side, as our bathroom is not quite big enough to
accommodate both sides.) There is a checklist in my brain that, were normal
people to see it, would inspire if not awe, at least downright confusion,
but it is my checklist. 

                We exchanged chit chat with the agent and lender as we were
leaving, and the lender asked, "Did you feel the grass?"

                It is not normally our habit to go around feeling grass, so
we said no, we hadn't, and he urged us to return to the back yard and feel
the grass.

                "It's plastic," he said. I'm not sure what he said after
that, exactly, because there was suddenly a rushing sound in my ears, the
sound one might hear as civilization collapses in upon itself, a testament
to its insistence on order and tranquility. 

                And it was not just the model home that used plastic grass
just so it would fit into everyone's idea of a house with green grass. It
was all of them.

                The agent explained how the developer didn't like how, when
he sold some houses, some people would not keep up their yards
appropriately. Made him look bad, after all, making those pretty little
houses and then people ruining them with their lax ways. So in this
development, the CCR's (covenants, conditions, and restrictions) stated that
yard maintenance was included (no owner maintenance), and all lawns, front
and back, were to be of the same high-grade modern wonder of the world,
artificial grass. 

                We may have been a bit stunned. I do believe we were
momentarily speechless. I didn't know how to process this information.
Artificial grass? Where one lives? Where one might want to lay in the grass
just to feel its grassiness? Only to discover it was plastic, an illusion of
something we vaguely remembered from childhood that no longer existed? What
if my dog, wanting to sooth a troubled stomach, were to search out grass,
her favorite method of alleviating discomfort? We'd have to drive her to a
park, negating one of the reasons for having a house. (Like I said, I have a
list in my head, and it is filled with odd things.)

                We mentioned that we had dogs. The agent asked what kind
they were, to see if they were on the approved list of dogs allowed in the
development. They passed, but I find that scant comfort. I'm pretty sure
that had we delved further, we would have found our cars wanting. No doubt
there are certain conditions pertaining to the appearance of cars, and both
of ours have recently been traumatized, as it were (which reminds me, I
really must get a quote on the bodywork on my most recent accident so I can
let the offending party know - it was most assuredly not my fault, which
surprises everyone, I know). I'm certain that were friends to visit us, they
would first have to pass a test to ensure their appearance did not mar the
attractiveness of the neighborhood. 

                We took the proffered material, mostly because we were still
stunned by the concept of a neighborhood carpeted by green plastic. As we
left, we touched the grass in the front yard. It was plastic. I felt an urge
to touch a tree, to see if it too was plastic, but feared the results. Were
we to buy a house in this development would I be compelled to get plastic
surgery when my face started sagging? Should we take in a homely dog, would
we have to move? Would we be required to upgrade our cars before we could
purchase there? And what if we were to have children and they turned out to
be, heaven forbid, MESSY? No doubt we would not be complying with the
CC&R's. Did they even allow children? What if gangs of children and dogs
were to run wild in the neighborhood, pulling up the plastic grass and
marring it with their Big Wheels? (The children, not the dogs. Neither of my
dogs has yet to ask for a Big Wheel, and I'm hoping they never do.)

                Civilization is, I fear, just an illusion. Deep down, we're
trying so desperately to inject order and the proper appearance into our
environment that we can barely see the seething mass of messiness underneath
that got us this far. Living things are not always pretty and cooperative
and lifeless, after all. 

                Also, I just cannot wrap my mind around the concept of
picking up piles of dog poo from plastic. It's really that simple.