{chortle!} Here we are, back home from the morning Doggy Walk, right along about 7:30 a.m. A little hot & muggy, but not too bad this morning
Yesterday: it was a swamp out there.
Still no sign of Pool Dude. Dayum! I do hope he’s not back in the slam.
I’ll try to call him on and off during they day. If he doesn’t answer…well then, time to find a new Pool Dude.
Darn it! He’s a sweetie, so I hate to lose him, Most of those guys, as it develops, are ex-convicts. Turns out that pool maintenance is one of the careers for which our wise gummint fathers train convicts. So if you hire a pool dude, chances are you’re hiring a record with him.
And chances are he won’t last long in the job.
***** Ooops! ERROR! ERROR! ERROR! *****
WTF?????? It ain’t Monday. Forcrissake, it’s SUNDAY!!!!
Jeez. Who knew?
LOL! apparently Pool Dude knew! 😀
**************
Strolling around the rather pretty ‘Hood: houses built in the 50s to the 70s take on a “historic” look in these parts. So I was reminded of our beloved 1923 house in the historic Encanto neighborhood, a home and a neighborhood I miss to this day.
Gosh, I loved that beautiful old place.
Dear Ex-Husband moved us out of there, to a large degree by telling me we would take our son out of the brain-banging expensive private school where he was going (public schools in Encanto are out of the question) and putting him in one of the perfectly acceptable public schools in North Central.
Turns out he had NO INTENTION of doing so!
And that little deception was one of several factors that led to the end of the marriage.
Truth to tell, even though I loved our gorgeous home and our beautiful historic neighborhood, I didn’t feel safe in Encanto. But frankly i don’t think there are many places where women feel safe. One of our most memorable Encanto adventures occurred when our German shepherd awoke in the middle of the night and EXPLODED into a rage. Roaring like a banshee, she shot up the hallway, where she chased a poor, hapless prowler out of the house.
Then we have the fact tat, bein’ white trash myself, I did NOT fit into tony North Central. One of the bitch neighbors there actually said to me, in casual conversation, that they thought it was such a shame we moved in there, because our presence ruined the neighborhood.
No kidding!!
At least in Encanto, the neighbors were polite to the White Trash.
Oh well. Hereabouts, the question of the day (or of the decade?) is whether I’m going to be able to stay here in my beloved little palace, or whether I’ll be forced to move into one of those dreadful old-folkeries. My son is already yammering about locking me up in one of them, an institution called the Beatitudes.
Ugh! How would I prefer to be dead? Let me count the ways.
I might manage to persuade him to lock me up in the jail of my father’s choice, a single-story spread here in North Central, called Orangewood.
It’s actually not a bad place. My father moved there after my mother died. He was spectacularly miserable there…but not because of the institution itself. What made him miserable was marrying a bi*ch named Helen, who really was…ahem…well…a hag of the first water.
If he hadn’t married Helen, he probably would have been OK there…even very fine. But he’d been married to my mother for something over 30 years. So in his mind “normal” people lived in marital bliss. For a man to live alone without a female helpmeet apparently struck him as abnormal, possibly even bizarre.
Unfortunately, what was “bizarre” was Helen. And their relationship was truly grim, at least from his point of view. He refused our suggestion that he divorce the bi*ch, moaning She’ll get all my money!!!
The horror of it, eh!
Unfortunately, the horror was being married to Helen, who was one of the meanest human beings I’ve ever met. He was so miserable with that hag that he used to…oh, get this! If it weren’t so grim, it would be hilarious:
He would tell her he was taking the car to be worked on at the Ford dealership. No kidding!
Then he would go outside to the parking lot, climb into the car, and sit there reading all day long!
After he realized that was a bit transparent, he would drive the car up to one of the city’s many canals, park near a hiking trail, and do the same: just sit there and read all day long!
Ohhh well.
Speaking of “all day long,” I need to quit the endless scribbling and head on over to the Sprouts. Outta here!