This garden spot is within easy walking distance of the Funny Farm: two, maybe three blocks. In fact, I walk by there every time I stroll up to the liquor store to grab a six-pack of Guinness.
Any question why I’m beginning to think it’s time to move away from here?
This is far from the first such episode we’ve seen in past weeks.
Do I REALLY want to stay here? If so…why? And what will change my mind?
Well, I hafta tell you: it ain’t a-gonna take many more episodes like this to convince me that it’s time to move along. As far along as possible…
We never used to see incidents like this. Yeah: burglaries. Who doesn’t have them? Yeah: car theft. You leave your car unlocked on the street and ya get what you ask for. Yeah: even the occasional home invasion (not usually to the benefit of the prowler, BTW).
But lookee here. Nineteenth and Dunlap is about three blocks north of the Funny Farm. The apartment complexes to the west of Nineteenth have changed demographically: not just racially but economically. The latter change has not been for the best.
I’ve arrived at the point where I won’t walk around up there — certainly not without a male companion, or at least a large dog.
Head south along the same main drag and…hmmmm… Well, you feel a little less unsafe. But if you’re on foot, you’ll likely choose to cut through the neighborhood until you’re forced to come out on 19th to reach your destination. And, truth to tell, after you’ve made that journey a couple of times, you’re likely to choose NOT to go to the corner that hosts the desired stores.
If my son weren’t lurking around — he wants me to keep this house — by now I would have sold up and moved to another neighborhood. Indeed, these circumstances ARE the main reason SDXB chose to move to Sun City, a.k.a. Drabtown.
Where would I go?
Scottsdale.
Some parts of Tempe.
Prescott.
Berkeley, California.
Some parts of San Francisco.
By and large…. Truth to tell, there just aren’t many places where I want to live. Certainly not so much that I’m willing to pour money into a move, yank up roots, and take off into the sunrise.
I don’t wanna move, not by a long shot. But take a long hard look at it, and you think it’s time to get outta here while you still can. Without a large loss of cash investment. While you still have better choices to live in town. Before you have to go to the far side of the moon to get away from the crime and growing blight.
WAIT.WAIT.WAIT.WAIT! 😮
Return to the Land of Zillow and take another look. Therein, you see a slightly different picture…and HOOOLEEE Moley!
Here’s a shack, three blocks to the east of the Funny Farm: $875,000. (Uhhh…I paid about 200 grand for this place, and felt I was being gouged…)
This hovel has a rather tonier address: much closer to FancyDan Central Avenue. But is an address really worth EIGHT HUNDRED AND FIFTY GRAND???
Ahem…you realize…that place is in Sunnyslope, renowned until late as a slum…
And speaking of holeee whatever, this hovel is right around the corner from the Funny Farm: OVER A MILLION DOLLARS!
JAYzus! Apparently the antics and the frolics going on around here are not affecting property values. Or if they are…you don’t wanna know what houses cost in safer neighborhoods.
Hmmm…. Maybe instead of a house in a different part of town, mayybeee what is needed is a larger dog.
I’ve got Ruby the Corgi, of course: she will alert whenever she hears an untoward sound. But she weighs all of about 20 pounds. A German shepherd, she ain’t.
Must say…at this age I don’t want to have to wrangle a dog that size. But I could handle one that was professionally trained.
On the other hand, with my honored son having confiscated my car, I don’t know how I would get such a beast to the vet — even the clinic right down the road — if it got hurt or suddenly took ill. I can carry Ruby to that veterinarian. To get an 80- or 90-pound fiendish beast there, I’d have to recruit someone with a car and some physical strength.
Hmmmmmm….
Well, I do have a thing that contains chunks of lead instead of teeth…. But to use it well and accurately, I’d have to get some practice again, and stay in practice. And that would entail getting down to the gun range at least a couple times a week. And…yeah…that would entail taxi rides, and all the hassle pertaining thereunto.
A shotgun would do the job… But truth to tell, I haven’t been near one of those in many a year. Don’t even own one. That means I’d not only have to get out on the desert and practice using the thing, I’d have to get the thing. And again: traipsing to the range and banging away at targets is not quite how I’d like to spend the remaining time allotted to me.
Hmh. Looks like FAM’s site has crashed. It won’t upload an image. Let’s try to post…but save this copy to disk.
And so…awaaaayyyy!