Ninety degrees and overcast at 7:30 a.m. Hideous, muggy, Saudi Arabia-style morning.
The Dawg and the Human have made their daily circumnavigation of the neighborhood. Mercifully, at this hour no fruitcake is haunting the park, therein to shout obscenities at an 80-year-old hag. And it’s a little early for the workmen pounding hammers at the nearby house that’s being rebuilt into a mansion. So…it was a quiet morning.
Whenever my son inherits the Funny Farm (assuming we can engineer things to make that happen…), he is going to fall into a sh!tload of money. These houses are going up and up and up and UP in value, because of their central location and their upper-middle-class style.
Still, I must say….I wish I were in Berkeley, whence my mother’s family emanated. So pretty, and so cool! Much classier than these parts. And, o’course…much more expensive. The Human and the Dawg couldn’t afford to live there, not for love nor money.
So…here we are, sweltering in the Southwestern desert, short on culture and high on sweat. What a place!