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Totally Not in the Mood!

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LOL!  A passel — and we DO mean passel — of annoying chores awaits the Human’s attention this a.m.

How can I count the ways that I don’t wanna…

  • Pick up the kitchen
  • Wash the dishes
  • Make the bed
  • Walk the dog
  • Figure out what’s wrong the the computer this time
  • Drag the garden hose around
  • Wash my hair
  • Clean the bathroom
  • Mess with the pool equipment
  • Figure out why every damn square inch of me hurts!

GAAAAA! Stop the world! I wanna get off! 

The big question of the morning is why do I hurt so damn much? Especially the hips: I can barely hobble around the house. And far’s I can see, there is exactly ZERO reason for that. Other than possibly, maybe sleeping cattywampus during the night, there is no good reason for the ridiculous body to hurt so spectacularly.

Ohhh well. Wonder Cleaning-Lady was kindly here yesterday. Thank the gods and all their minions! This will allow me to crawl back into bed (sans housecleaning chores!), whenever I can work up the strength to stumble up the hall to the bedroom again.

Meanwhile…I sit in a big old leather easy chair, swill coffee, and HURT. And that means the poor li’l dawg will not get her doggy-walk this morning.

On the one hand, I imagine walking a mile or so would loosen up whatever hurts (and hurts and hurts and HURTS), thereby relieving me of whining duty.

But on the other hand: I think not. If moving around were going to ease this pain, it would have done so already. The dawg and I have been up for nigh unto three hours, with the human putzing around in the usual a.m. tasks and frolics. By now, if normal motion were going to stop the pain, it would have done so by now.

This li’l excruciation actually has been going on since Christmas Day. That’s…what? Ten days or so? If it were gonna get better, it would have.

My son has made off with my car, and so I can’t go to the doctor without discommoding him. And that is a quarrel/guilt trip I do not wish to engage just now. Whenever I work up the energy (if ever???), I’ll need to call the doctor, make an appointment, reserve an Uber or a cab, get myself to the quack’s, rassle with that exchange, get a car to come back to the quack’s office, and get myself back home.

And frankly….that’s just more trouble and more hassle than I can manage just now.

Yeah: this hip thing has been going on since Christmas. According to my little Hypochondriac’s Journal (where I note ailments so I can describe them accurately to the quack), it started on the 25th.

Yup: here on the 25th we find an entry that reads “Spavined my right hip while on dog walk. Hurts like Hell!!!”

uh-HUH…  Merry Christmas to me!

So this has been going on a good 10 days. And “hurts like Hell” is a bit of an understatement…

Well…give it a day or so, and then I’ll have to start doing battle with the Mayo to try to get one of the doctors out there to look at me. That will be an exercise in frustration. And since I can no longer drive, it will be a nightmare effort to get to their office.

Hm. There’s a storefront doctor’s office next to the Albertson’s, just down the block. I’ve been there a couple times for minor stuff. They might see me on short notice. Problem is, I don’t think I can walk that far! So I’ll have to hire someone to drive me six blocks!!

Jayzuz!

STOP THE WORLD!
I WANNA GET OFF!!

*

!!!ringy dingy ringy dingy!!!…..

God Damned phone solicitor!

Phone soliciting should be illegal. 

The bastards who hire prison inmates to pester you on the phone should be arrested and fined out the wazoo. And the prisoners who let themselves  be used that way should have extra time added to their sentences.

Did you know that? A fair number of the S.O.B.’s who jangle your phone several times a day are prison inmates. Phone hustling is a prison industry. Phone s0liciting businesses go into the slams and hire inmates at a fraction of the going wage to call you on the phone and pester you.

Yeah: your taxpayer dollars at work!

How Lucky Can Ya Get?

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Really: just exactly how lucky CAN some little old lady get? 

The Cleaning Lady from Heaven just trotted out the front door — very likely en route to her next house. That woman works like a horse. Oh hell: make that like a Clydesdale. You’ve never seen anyone who does so much work at such high quality in such a short time. It’s 2:00 p.m. — and you can be sure she’s on her way to another house. That would be her third house of the day.

I do know she does the WonderAccountants’ house on the same day she does mine. So…no, I cannot be sure she goes to a third work site. But wouldn’t be surprised.

Finding this splendid woman was about the best thing that’s happened to me…at least in my adult life. She really is amazing, and what she charges is the going rate: the same amount other house-cleaners in North Central Phoenix charge.

Yesterday I spavined my back — don’t ask how. Today it hurts so much I can barely hobble around the house. NO WAY could I have cleaned this house — vacuumed, dusted, scoured, scrubbed, polished, changed sheets, and on and on. No matter how much ibuprofen I gulped down!

Wonder Cleaning Lady saves me from my self…and my decrepitude. Bless her!!

Glorioski!

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What a GORGEOUS morning!!!  High, thin clouds gently floating overhead. The blue sky peering through them. And splendidly temperate, inviting you to park yourself on the back porch, crunch a cookie, and guzzle black coffee.

Truth to tell, for all its eccentricities Arizona really IS a splendid place to live. Don’t know how my father found out about Sun City, but somehow he did…and forthwith he and my mother retired to those stodgy environs.

They hadn’t been there more than a year or two when a monster recession hit. My father, who had invested all his savings in the stock market, lost his proverbial shirt.

So, he had to pack up and go back to sea, the poor guy. Shipped out as first mate for a company that ran oil tankers out of southern California.

In the interim, my mother sat in front of the TV and smoked…and smoked…and smoked…and smoked herself into a fine case of cancer.

It didn’t make itself obvious until after he had swung his second retirement, and to his infinite delight had quit his job (again!) and gone back to Sun City to spend what he expected to be the rest of his years with the Love of His Life.

Staunch right-wingers, neither of them believed any of the maunderings that came out of the federal government. So, they were kinda blindsided when my mother’s non-stop smoking habit did indeed lead to an inoperable case of cancer, just as Big Brother said it would. As she died horribly, he never left her bedside, but took care of her, the house, the car, the shopping, the cooking, the finances…and the doctoring.

After she died, he couldn’t bear to stay in the place they’d dreamed would be their retirement haven and happy home. So he sold it and moved to an old-folkerie in Phoenix. And…a sad story attaches to that….

In short, though: that she killed herself with cancer sticks meant that she killed any chance for a contented retirement for him. If I’d been him, I’d have taken a long leap off the side of the Golden Gate Bridge. But…he was made of stronger stuff than I am.

He was an exceptionally handsome man…and the instant he walked into the old-folkerie’s dining room, he was, shall we say, noticed.

Forthwith, one of the inmates ambushed him. He was flattered — this was a guy who never looked twice at any woman other than his wife. That meeting led to an exceptionally unhappy marriage — one he refused to dissolve because he imagined “she’ll get all my money.”

And also because he had a daughter who was too stupid and too naive to say “But Daddy: your son-in-law is one of the most powerful lawyers in the Southwest. She’s not gonna get all your precious money!”

So…he was stupid and I was remiss and the new wife was a witch. Between the three of us, we concocted a fine unhappy passage through the end of his life.

If there’s anything to learn from that escapade, it’s…what?

When you experience a major life change (such as the death of a spouse), don’t make any sudden moves. 

If he’d waited just six months before jumping into marital “bliss” with the Dragon Lady, he no doubt would never have married her. He would still be lonely, but he would not have been freaking miserable.

When you plan ahead for the major passages of your life — retirement, for example, or marriage, or the rearing of children — think of and plan for ALL the contingencies. Not just the things you imagine will happen or hope will happen. But for the catastrophes and the fu*k-ups, too.

If money or major commitments are part of a “major passage” of your life, consult a lawyer and a financial advisor before jumping into anything.

******
arrrrghhhh!!!

Here’s the Cleaning Lady from Heaven, at the front door. It’s MUCH later in the morning than I imagined!!  LOL! I thought it was about 9 a.m.

Uhhhm…welllll… No. It’s damn near 11:30! She’s already cleaned the WonderAccountants’ house, straight across the street. And now here she is, ready to work her magic on the Funny Farm.

Seriously: this lady is about the most wonderful human being you could ever have working for you. If I ever took it into my feeble little mind to start a cleaning service (what, me? work???), she would be the one I’d hire as its manager.

Well…let’s wrap this up… ONWARD!

Congregate Living???

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Jeez. Here’s an update on the latest hoodlum fiasco in downtown Phoenix. Horrors!

I almost bought a condo right across the street from this happening. Very nice apartment, centrally located, excellent public transportation, right down the street from two major regional hospitals, and no further from my son’s house than this place is. If I’d gone ahead with that plan, I’d have been right in the middle of that mess.

Fortunately, I had better sense. On reflection, I saw that…

* The place was a hive: you’d be living right on top of the neighbors. And right underneath them. And right next-door to them. The noise would be constant.

* You had to park your car in a public garage. Likely it wouldn’t last long there…

* If they let me keep Ruby the Corgi, chances are that wouldn’t have lasted long, either. She does bark. And bark. And bark. Every time she heard someone coming up a hallway or banging around in their kitchen, you can be sure she’d want the world to know about it.

* Far as I could tell, it was a LONG way from any grocery or drug stores. Here, we have three major supermarkets and a Walgreen’s within easy walking distance.

….and, apparently, you’d be at risk of getting shot! 😮

Wrangling a four-bedroom house with a yard and a pool is no picnic: it does make the prospect of a nice high-rise apartment look pretty good. But boyoboy! Am I glad I decided against making that move.

The hired help here probably costs no more than the overhead in one of those fancy high-rises would. I have to pay Pool Dude, Gerardo the Marvelous Lawn Dude, and Luz the Ineffable Cleaning Lady. But none of them is breaking me up in business. And together they maintain the house handsomely, so I hardly lift a finger to take care of the place.

Now that I’m getting older (and older…and older…), I worry that I won’t be able to stay in a free-standing house much longer. But…but…why? Whence that worry?

It costs no more to hire people to come in and take care of the place than it would cost me to live in some holding pen for the elderly — probably less, come to think of it. My father moved into one of those places, and they took everything he got from the sale of his nice two-bedroom home in Sun City…and then some. He had a little left to will to me…but one helluva lot less than he would have had if he’d stayed in his sweet little house.

That’s what I figure: with the house paid off, living here doesn’t cost that much, even with the pay for the pool guy, the yard guys, the cleaning lady, and the various occasional repairmen. And barring a major catastrophe, I should be able to hire someone to come in and babysit me as I journey toward decrepitude.

And, with any luck at all (pray for a lightning bolt…), I’ll be able to leave this house, lock, stock, and paid-off barrel, to my son.

Morning in Arizona…

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Ahhhhhh! Is that coffee good, or IS that coffee GOOD?

Waiting for Wonder-Cleaning Lady to surface…if she’s gonna surface. It’s 9:40 in the morning now, and she hasn’t appeared at the Wonder-Accountants’ house — she goes there first; then comes to the Funny Farm. Sooo…I think (hope!) it’s safe to assume this isn’t one of her work days.

Oh! Yes: of course it’s safe!!!!  This ain’t Monday, folks...TODAY IS SATURDAY!

😀

Who’d’a thunk it? 

😀  😀

Man! I am in so much pain this morning, I can’t even tell what day of the week it is!!!

Put my back out a day or so ago, and just now it’s trying to remind me that I’m crippled. Doing a pretty good job of that, too….

Oh well. This means I don’t have to tear around the place picking up things and shoveling junk out of Wonder-Cleaning Lady’s way. That’s a relief!

Figured to take the Savage Corgi for a walk this morning, after it warms up a little. Just now, Wunderground says it’s 60 degrees out there. Which ain’t that cold…my guess is Wunderground is wrong and my back porch thermometer is right: 60 degrees. Ooops!!

😀

Reading was never one of my strong points.

😉

A-n-n-d… LORDIE! Did you see the news reports about the fire in that Swiss ski resort’s bar? Dear God!

Y’know, THAT is why I won’t go into those places. Never make a big deal of it…just always have something else to do or some other idea for amusement when friends want to spend the evening bar-hopping. Take yourself to a popular one and look around you… It’s pretty obvious: if you needed to get out in a hurry, you could find yourself in big trouble.

Kinda tells you something, right? Stay home to get snockered! 

We used to stop in Switzerland — occasionally — along the journey between New York and Dhahran. This was during the ten years my parents and I spent in (un)lovely Saudi Arabia. Every two years, they had a long leave…three months off(!!).

We would fly into New York, buy or lease a car, and shoot cross-country as fast as my father could manage: first to his brother’s place in Texas; then to my mother’s best friend’s place in Southern California; then up to the San Francisco Bay Area to hang out with the relatives for a short while; then like a rocket back to New York. Thence to Beirut, en route to Dhahran.

What a life. Ugh! 

Some of the American ex-pats out there would use their leave time to travel around India, Pakistan, Lebanon, and waypoints. My father, being a tanker captain, had his fill of travel and wanted nothing more than to get back to the U.S. and hunker down with friends or relatives.

At any rate, Switzerland was one of the favorites for the ex-pats. I think some folks spent their entire long leave there. It is a pretty place. Especially if you’re not dodging burning roof beams…

Reel Estate…

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Good lord! Looking at the local real estate ads is like watching a horror movie! 😮  Prices have hit the stratosphere and are headed into orbit.

Here’s an aging tract house in my son’s neighborhood, nothing special: $389,000. What the hell do they think it’s made of???? And…have they ever heard of “taste”?  That orange and black in the bedroom: eeeek!!! Wait wait! check out the blood-red bedroom!!!

Zillow thinks my son’s house is presently worth $498,000!!!

Let’s see what the prices are here in the ‘Hood…

One house for sale, right on a truly gawdawful main drag: 3 bedrooms, $420,000. And…1300 square feet; doesn’t even have a pool. WTF???  Here’s one up for auction(???!!!): it’s the same model as mine, $477,000. 

Wow!

Now we begin to ask, am I going to be able to stay in my home? Because the taxes are gonna go into the stratosphere.

That’s what happened in Southern California when real estate prices went berserk. I had a cousin — an elderly woman who had lived in the same place for-freaking-ever — who lost her home because she couldn’t afford the taxes.

THIS is not good.

Oh, jeez! Here’s one right up the street from me…matter of fact, it seems to be the same model as mine: $635,000!!!!!!

Uhm…I may not be able to pay the taxes, either….