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Still More Existential Agonizing

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My poor son is freaking out because — with some reason — he thinks I drink wayyy too much booze.

And y’know…the truth is, even a glass or so a day is prob’ly too much.

My parents always had a cocktail or two before dinner. And as I reached the Drinking Age, I came to join them. Actually, my college boyfriend at the time got me started on swilling a cocktail or two a day. So it was pretty easy to just blend right in with the family custom. 😀

Has that custom grown into an exceptionally bad habit?

Hmmmm…..  One could argue so. 

Yeah, I do have a whiskey & water or a glass of wine every afternoon, before dinner. Then a glass of wine with dinner. And yeah: it makes sense to say that’s too damn much. Especially for the girlie scion of a good Christian Scientist family. 😀

So now, dammit….I’ve decided to climb on the wagon. 

Ugh, what a way spend the late afternoon, right?

😀

But truth to tell, I think we’ll all be better off if the old lady quits lapping her li’l cocktail every afternoon. How booooring!

My parents always had cocktails before (and sometimes with) dinner. The difference was that they didn’t drink wine. So they didn’t have that nightly swill of cabernet or Sauvignon blanc with dinner. Instead, they generally lapped up a whiskey and water or two beforehand. And that was it.

My son, having noticed how much wine I’ve taken to slurping down (doubt if he’s noticed the disappearing whiskey…), has asked me to knock it off. And truth to tell…I think he’s right.

So here we are, riding the wagon again. 

Matter of fact, I hadn’t noticed until recently how much booze I’ve been lapping…and y’know, I do believe he’s right. I need to quit that! 

One of the li’l problems that arise when you get in the habit of regular boozing is that you don’t realize how much you’re spending on your swilling. If you buy a bottle of wine or whiskey only when you go into the store to buy food, that cost gets blended in with the grocery bill, and unless you’re paying close attention, you simply don’t notice that the grocery bill is hovering near the stratosphere.

And in fact, that is pretty much what’s happened here. Recently I realized that holee maquerel! I’m spending an obscene amount on food. 

Well.

No.

Sorry. Cabernet is not food. Neither is Sauvignon blanc. Nope. Not food. But it sure as hell is jacking up the grocery bill.

So. No. Quit it!

As of this evening, we’re guzzling iced tea or water with dinner. Ugh.

Oh well: we’ll survive. And probably be the better for it. 

 

Glub!

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Wow, what a horrid morning. 

By the time the dawg and I got home from peregrinating around the park and Lower Richistan, I was soaking wet. It is so humid out there that you come inside with your clothes soggy.

Meanwhile, fighter jets ROOOOOAAR out of Luke Air Force Base, preparing for the next World War,

My mother used to love to sit on her back porch in Sun City and listen to them charging back and forth. Didn’t ever seem to dawn on her that the nuclear war they were built to engage would mean the end of her sweet little Sun City house, the end of  American life as she knew it, and the end of her.

I guess she either didn’t believe World War III was gonna happen (and fortunately, she was right in that…at least, so far) or she just didn’t care. The war racket used to terrify the bedoodles out of me. But really: why? Once it started to happen, you weren’t gonna live through it. So why get all exercised about it, eh?

And now that I’m old, I suppose I don’t care, either. At  least, I don’t get so alarmed at the prospect. Once it starts to happen, I’ll be dead. So…what’s to care about?

The Night Comes…

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Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

                                                             –Dylan Thomas

One of my favorite poems since I first read it, now “Do Not Go Gentle”  seems to speak directly to the moment. Here at the end of life, one’s impulse indeed is to fight the pending end, to quarrel with it, to sock it back, to dodge out of its way.

All futility, of course. Life begins. Life ends. We can’t evade those fundamental truths.

Is life itself futile? 

I don’t know. If there’s a God, why would that god invent such an elaborate creation, if not for some reason?

Okay, okay: Out of boredom.

Yeah, that makes some sense. It might even make more sense than the theory that God created life to satisfy some goal, to make something happen, because it mattered.

Sometimes it seems as though nothing matters. Other times, as though everything matters.

What to make of that confusion? 

Nothing, I reckon. Who, after all, are we to imagine that God — if there is a God — would have some reason for building creation? Other than boredom, that is.

What we need to contend with, on a logical and on an emotional level, is simply that none of it makes any sense. Not to the mere human mind, anyway.

If it did make sense, we would not ask these questions, would we? We would not imagine or envision a God, would we? Because we would know. If there were a Truth, we would know that truth.

We who are human may imagine we know truth. But objectively speaking: no. We cannot. Because we’re merely human. Existence is so vast, so outrageous that there’s no way for we who are humans to make sense of it.

Maybe it doesn’t make sense, hm?

Joys (and Amazements!) of Cultural Difference

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Ever notice how differently people from different cultures do things in daily life?

😀

The current amusement, here at the Funny Farm, has to do with toothpaste.

Wonder Cleaning Lady, that gift from Heaven to our house, is totally flummoxed by the Old Bat’s habits in dental cleaning. Ohhhh weirdness…

I like to brush my teeth not with minty icky commercial toothpaste but with baking soda. It’s slightly abrasive, it doesn’t taste disgustingly minty, and it really gets your teeth clean. Accordingly, I keep a pile of it in a little glass bowl on the bathroom counter.

Apparently this is a bit too alien for WCL.

She has taken to throwing out the baking soda in the bathroom counter bowls!

Admittedly, most Americans would find this dental cleaning habit pretty alien, too. So I can’t blame her. But…JEEZ! Lady, at least ask me if it’s OK to throw away the damn stuff!

😀

Today I had to retrieve the whole box of baking soda — entailed a bit of a search of it — and refill my bowl of DIY “toothpaste.” And next week, I’ll have to catch her long enough to explain that I use the stuff every day and wish she please wouldn’t throw it out.

She, in consequence, will be further convinced that I’m crazy. LOL! That won’t take much more convincing! But maybe she’ll knock off the toothpaste disposal habit. Tooth detergent, I guess you could call it…cause it ain’t pastey.

It’s interesting, though, how differently people do things. And that sometimes those aren’t individual differences but collective differences.

Ah, Bartleby. Ah, humanity!

Dog & Human & Heat & Humidity

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8:25 in the morning. Back-porch thermometer says 95 degrees in the shade. And WET. Wet as fukkin’ Saudi Arabia. Wunderground says a mere 11% humidity…but I wouldn’t believe that. It is plain downright SOGGY out there in back.

Wanna fix coffee and food, but don’t feel like ingesting anything: it’s just too hot!

Ruby and I hiked around the park, through the neighborhoods to the east and south of it. Did not envy the workmen who had arrived in their pick-ups, preparing to heave, haul, prize, and hammer at one house under repairs & upgrades. Ugh! Physical work in this heat? Spare us, Lord!

Got a dentist’s appointment this afternoon. Will have to hire an Uber to drive me over there, unless I can persuade my son to knock off the job for the purpose. He’s the one who stole my car…so I guess he’s the one who oughta drive me to appointments. I may just cancel, though: I’m not up for dental hassles today.

Guess I need to call Financial Dude, extract a few thousand dollars, and go buy a car. This time, too, purchase a padlock for the garage door! Can you believe my kid stealing my car? Uhh…“protecting me from myself”….?

Real protective, trekking around on foot through 110-degree heat, eh?

Speaking of summer marvels… What the HELL is Trump doing in DC? Who does he think he is? Adolf Hitler Redux? And WHAT the Hell has happened to American voters’ brains?

Frankly, I suspect what we’re seeing there is a result of the long-term dumbing-down of America’s schools. It’s taken a few decades…but our wanna-be dictators are, indeed, winning out.

Oh well. This post is supposed to be about a dog and a human and heat and humidity. Not at all clear that Mr. Trump is human. He’s certainly not smart enough to be a dog. “Hot,” he’s not, in my book. That makes him “humid,” eh? 😀

*****

A-N-N-D… Just get yourself sat down to munch a little breakfast and swill a little coffee and it’s

R-R-R-R-R-R-O-O-O-O-O-O-A-A-A-A-A-A-R-R-R-R!!!!!!!!!

Gerardo’s boys show up! And now they’re out back ripping and roaring and banging and crashing and hauling and dumping and….awwww geeeez!

F*ck. Now I’ll have to clean the pool. Just what I wanted to do on a 108-degree morning.

Okay, Okay…yes, I surely am glad I don’t have to mow and dig and weed-whack and trim and haul…on any morning, to say nothing of one where the thermometer reads 108 in the shade of the back porch before 9 o’clock. But how do they KNOW when all I want to do is sit down and unwind?

Really. I should sell this house and move into a North Central high-rise. Let the Kid sell the apartment when I die and figure out what to do with the dog.

****

Forked over a hundred bucks for 20 minutes’ worth of yard work. But…he had five guys out there. One of ’em a newbie.

WHAT an obnoxious job. A hundred bucks is a freakin’ bargain, I’ll tellya! Especially on a 118-degree day…

So now we’ve got a new guy…nice-lookin’ fella, fresh out of Mexico. We’ll see long he hangs around.

Honestly, I don’t understand — not even faintly — how those guys hold up under the strain of physical labor in 100-degree heat. They must be strong as horses. Or crazy as loons…

Called the kid to tell him he’ll have to drive me to the dentist. He was less than thrilled. Maybe he thinks I’m going to hire an Uber to get over there?

Well. No. Just gonna let all my teeth fall out.

😀

Deliver me the chow!

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Okay, here we are in the 21st century, whither Yours Truly just arrived. 

As we scribble, it is hotter than the hubs of Hades here in lovely uptown Phoenix. I need to go to a grocery store: the only chow with which our shelves are well stocked just now is…yeah…dog food!

The human needs meat. It needs veggies. It needs fruit. It needs pasta. And it craves a glass of wine.

For some time, I’ve known that the local Sprouts will deliver. So, I gather, will Albertson’s. But I haven’t taken advantage of these alleged services, because…well…let’s be frank: Learning something new feels like more trouble than it’s worth these days.

My charming son has absconded with my car. Apparently he thinks that 80 is too old to be navigating the homicidal streets of Phoenix with much hope of survival. Ohhhhkayyyy…. Wanna know something? HE CAN HAVE THE THING! Because the real horror — which he seems to have overlooked — is that I don’t need that car to get around. 

Y’know… We have Uber. We have a wonderful shiny new lightrail that whizzes right up Main Drag West. We even still have old-fashioned boring busses. Dreary little hickish Phoenix has turned into a big city…and lo! These days we have big-city amenities.

Dudes and dudettes! We don’t need no steenking car!  :-D

Nevertheless, as we scribble, the outdoor thermometer reads 109 degrees in the shade of the (north-facing!) back porch. And y’know what I am NOT gonna do?

I am NOT gonna walk the two or three blocks to the Sprouts or the Albertson’s. NOT A FREAKIN’ CHANCE!  Nay verily: I’m gonna call Sprouts and order the meat and the veggies and the bottle of wine I crave.

Let’s see how they do! 😀

Americans are not good with fresh produce: they don’t know what good fruits and veggies look like. So…we shall see if Sprouts’ staff can overcome that cultural challenge. But if they can…I may never go into a grocery store again! 

😀  😀  😀  😀

Seriously: I do hate grocery shopping. If store staff can get their act together well enough to select decent produce, this ole’ lady will cheerfully hire them to do so.

The main problem will be scraping together enough cash to tip these folks — no, I do NOT carry cash with me. I put everything on charge or debit cards. And no, I do do NOT want to traipse across the city to the credit union to extract cash dollars from my bank account.

But there’s gotta be a way around that. We’ll figure out what it is. Maybe they’ll let me add a tip to the bill.

Heh!  Y’know, when we stayed in London, we didn’t own a vehicle. ‘Twasn’t necessary: busses and cabs would take you wherever you pleased in the city. If we wanted to take a weekend sight-seeing junket into the countryside, we’d rent a car.

Between  you’n’me, I don’t see why we couldn’t do the same here. What with Uber, why do you need to grace your garage with a hole in the ground into which to pour cash?? 

The Sprouts, the Fry’s, and the Albertson’s are no further from my house than were any of the stores in London — in fact, they may be closer. London had trains: we have trains. London had busses: we have busses. London had taxicabs: we have taxicabs. So…uhmmmm….

Yeah: at the risk of repeating oneself: why do you need to grace your garage with a hole in the ground into which to pour cash??

{Cackle!} Why do you need a damn garage at all????