BJ Not BK

One small birdbath,
one St. Francis statue,
one little Dutch boy,
one pair of kissing frogs and before you know it, little by little you purchase an item here for the back patio, a bird feeder, a ceramic rabbit, a boy holding a lantern for the front yard, a pair of lions for the front porch and soon you are locked into the dark cult of lawn art.

Instead of mowing your 3.2 acres you find yourself weed eating around 32,435 objects strategically placed on top of stumps, around mailboxes, hanging from tree limbs. What once was a lush green yard has now turned into a concrete graveyard of leprechauns, fairies, and a small herd of life size deer. Windmills line the property laying out the boundaries and soon you find that no matter what your financial situation is you can't stop buying, can't stop adding to the collection. Your thoughts begin to plan your next trip to the whatever they call the statue store or to how you might be able to annex your neighbor's land as your own to add to your miniature maniacal empire.

Yet the tell-tell sign of your addiction comes clearly from the purchase of one object...the gazing ball. There it is, big, shiny, round, sitting in the yard, on the sidewalk, by the garden perched on a faux iron stand for all to see, for all to gaze into. What is it? What does it do? What mysteries are revealed upon gazing into it? Nada nada nada.

If you are suffering from what I have termed, "miniature concrete statue syndrome' there is help. Family members may need to hold an intervention as the beginning of the process is painful.

Gotta run for now. I hear Wal-Mart is having a sale on garden Gnomes.