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A Revelation in Transit

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Y’know… Over the past few days — “weeks,” really, is more like it — a kinda startling revelation has occurred to me. Hang onto your hat, now: What with the proximity of key retail stores, the new lightrail running up and down Conduit of Blight Blvd., and a fleet of shiny new busses, I don’t really need to own a car. 

Oops: should’ve warned you to sit down before reading that…  😀

But seriously…  Without the little catastrophes of the past two or three weeks, this idea would never have entered my fuzzy little mind. BUT…oh, yes, but: the fact is, between the lightrail, the shiny new busses, and the Uber cars swarming all over the neighborhood, I actually may not need to have an expensive pile of metal and glass sitting out in the garage.

Yeah. Seriously!

I can get from Point A to Point B with very little more trouble than it takes to climb in my car and drive between those points.

We have several Uber drivers living here in the’ Hood. They’re delighted to take you wherever you imagine you want to go. And if they’re not available, Phoenix still hosts a fine fleet of standard taxicabs. Call a Yellow Cab and it’ll be at your door in minutes. An Uber driver lives right across the street from me! He can be here in seconds, not minutes.

But…but…what does it take to walk from here to most of the fine emporia where I shop and loaf?

A lightrail line runs across Main Drag North, turns south on Main Drag West, swerves southerly toward Central, goes right past my son’s street, and proceeds to a stop in front of the Beloved AJ’s Grocery Palace.

So…uhm….. {ahem!}

Why on earth would I imagine that I want a car, here in the ‘Hood??

Consider: AJ’s is indeed a drive away. BUT…within a ten-minute walk, we have these fine emporia:

  • Albertson’s: a huge supermarket
  • Sprouts: the beloved hippy-dippy peddler of nominally organic chow
  • Walgreen’s: huge drugstore
  • Bookman’s: bookstore, music, whatnot
  • El Rancho: supermarket
  • Fireworks store (!)
  • Post office
  • Doctor’s office
  • Beauty salon
  • Independent pharmacist
  • Veterinarian
  • Coinstar

And on and on and on… there really is little need to drive anywhere. Certainly not on a regular, day-to-day basis.

Do I need a car to get to the Mayo? Yeah: I wouldn’t want to hire a cab or Uber to schlep halfway to Payson. But I sure don’t go out there often. And for that matter, we’re within walking distance of a major regional hospital…I could extend my little self so radically as to take up with a doctor who practices there. (The one I had there moved to $un ¢ity awhile back, having seen the dollar signs on the wall of the new hospital out there….)

But if you’re considering how much it costs to keep a car — taking into account insurance, regular servicing, repairs, gasoline, parking, and whatnot — the tab for maintenance, repairs, taxes, storage, and the stuff so routine that most of us never even think about it anymore very probably comes to more than it would cost to hire Uber or a taxicab to get around town. A LOT more…

Truth to tell, something over 90 percent of the places I go are within walking distance, or within a reasonably priced cab ride.

And given that amazing little factoid, one could argue — quite reasonably — that a person living in this location really has no need for a car. Especially if that person doesn’t commute to a job.

What the heck: not only that, but walking to the destinations around here comes under the heading of good exercise. When the weather is sane — which, believe it or not, is most of the time — you can walk to any of those places without putting yourself out much.

So…frankly, I’m beginning to think more & more that my son did me a favor by absconding with my car. Who needs it???

Re: Paul the Romanian Lover

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Oh! how my parents hated him!!

They hated him for racist reasons — in their minds, Romanian wasn’t quite “white.” But…truth to tell, they were right, only in ways they didn’t understand.

P. had no compunctions about theft. Or about cheating on one’s wife.

First time this came to my attention, he and I had gone to the campus bookstore to buy a semester’s worth of textbooks. He’s wearing a student-looking fake letter jacket…right? You know whereof I speak: leather sleeves, university logo on the jacket’s body.

We’re standing in line with a couple piles of books, when quietly he slides two of them under his jacket and pulls up the zipper.

Uhm…what?

Shortly — after we’ve escaped with $40 worth of textbooks (in those days that was a lot of money: the equivalent of $70 or $80 today), he tells me he does that all the time. It’s one of his ways of funding his education!

Eep! Maybe my parents were right!

Well, I was far from the point where I was ready to admit that possibility.

Time passed. We were in love. La-dee-dah!

Then one night we’re in the sack, chatting post-coitally. And this is when he remarks, admiringly, that his best buddy is f*cking a barmaid that he picked up while the boys were out drinking. He thinks this is a good thing — yea, verily: a brilliant thing on the buddy’s part: because the guy’s wife is some eight months advanced in pregnancy and can’t accommodate him.

No kidding.

His wife. He gets her pregnant. She’s about to deliver his baby. And he can’t wait until she presents him with his son, but feels he must go out and pick up a chippy in a bar NOW by way of getting it off!

And P. thinks that’s just great. Brilliant, if anything!

This — finally! — was enough to get my attention!

Man, when they say “love goes blind at the garden gate,” they ain’t kidding!

It took a night and a day for this to soak in. Once it fully registered with me — that he was demonstrating just what kind of a guy he really was — I tossed him out of my life.

Never regretted it.

He ended up as a university administrator — apparently did fairly well for himself, on the mid-level career level. Would have had lots of access to cute college girls, too, eh?

His career took him to a UC campus in central California. No doubt a nice place to live…and UC would have presented me with any number of appealing job opportunities. As it no doubt presented him with any number of chickadees.

Ahhh, the good ole’ days!

And moving on…

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Okay, so our call to the volunteer group that supposedly will help you get groceries and the like when you’re carless in Gaza: that was a FAIL.

What to do next?

M’hijito has offered to come over and get groceries for me. That is an exceptionally generous offer!!  As we all know, he has other things to do besides run errands for his mutther.

Other options:

  • Hire Wonder-Cleaning-Lady to make grocery-store runs for me. She comes in once a week anyway…maybe she’d be willing, for a little extra $$$, to pick up some things for me on the way here.
  • Try to get one of the grocery stores to deliver. Apparently, some of them will do so.
  • Give up! and hike to the nearest store through the unholy heat, stock up, haul the stuff home through the unholy heat.

If there’s another choice, I sure don’t know what it is. 

GRONK! Another sylvan day in Arizona

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Grrrr!!!  I AIN’T GOIN’!!! No, nope, nooooo way! Not goin’ out in that unholy swampy heat to hike three blocks to a grocery store. The dawg and I can go hungry, by dayum!

Truth to tell, neither of us is about to go hungry. The larder has enough dog & human food to tide us over for several days. After which, we may hope, my present spate of crabbiness will have passed.

Seriously: What DO we need?

* Not dog food: three or four cans lurk in the storage room.
* Not human food. What remains on the shelves may not be the most delicious chow on the planet, but it’s perfectly OK and it’s unspoiled.
* Not wine. We’re on the wagon.
* Not cleaning goods. Everything is in stock.
* Not anything that I can think of, offhand.

And I figure that if you can’t think of it, you must not need it very badly. 😀

Hope that’s true, because I just made up my mind to skip this morning’s planned grocery junket.

Seriously: The weather is REVOLTING this morning. Hot, soggy, hazy, uggh-leee. Probably won’t be any better tomorrow…but if I can put off this hiking trip until tomorrow, maybe I’ll resent it a little less

***

Check this out: Duet: Partners in Health and Aging.  Apparently this is a volunteer group that will send folks out to do your grocery shopping or drive you around the city or whatever.

I’ve tried to reach them: no one answers the phone at their office. Apparently the “group” of volunteers isn’t large enough to man the phones. But…what the hey! Later today, I’ll try again.

If I can foist the annoying errands onto someone else, that will solve a HUGE  part of the problems poised by those idiots at the Mayo Clinic having put the kaibosh on my driver’s license.

There may be some other volunteer organization of this ilk. If today’s effort to get through to Duet fails, I’ll see if anyone else out there is in the free-help biz.

*****  Later ****

Yes…I did get through to someone at Duet.

To avail oneself of their benefits, you have to sign up with them and give them a bunch of private information. And they demand your phone number.

I explained that, because of the outrageous number of nuisance calls I get — day in and day out — I’ve had to block incoming from all but a few area codes.

He just didn’t seem to “get it.” Truly: I don’t think he understood what I was saying:  eight or ten nuisance calls a day naturally leads to one rejecting most incoming calls.

So…I don’t expect to get far with that bunch.

Ohhhh well. The world hasn’t ended yet. Probably won’t, in the near future.

Tryin’to F’geddaboudit….

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Ever have memories that you seriously can NOT shake? You try to put events and stupid stuff behind you, but they just won’t go away.

That’s how I remember my childhood in Saudi Arabia, stumbling miserably through the Ras Tanura Senior Staff School.

It was a K-8 school for Aramco employees of the American variety. After you hit the 9th grade, they sent you back to the US (or to Switzerland), where you finished high school and, if you had something resembling a brain between your ears, either got a job or went on to college.

Growing up in Arabia — in a company town called Ras Tanura — I was the weird little kid.

What made me weird was that I was too damn stupid to understand that — especially as a girl! — I needed to cover up my intellect, pretend I was stupid as a post, and never EVER reveal my passion for science. Especially not for astrophysics.

Those kids in my grade were just so GODDAMN mean, and the teachers weren’t a lot better. In particular, the one I encountered when I hit the 5th grade, a Texas broad named Hatley, was just flat-out cruel. If I was sick of  b-o-o-r-i-n-g school by the end of the 4th grade, in Miss Hatley’s fifth-grade room I quickly learned to hate school — with a deep and abiding loathing.

Every now and again, I find myself musing over that time in my life. Not on purpose: the memories just bubble up like gas in some swamp.

Search the name and its variants on the Web, and a few candidates come up. She definitely existed. She definitely came from Texas. She definitely taught at the Ras Tanura Senior Staff School. But that’s about as much as you learn about her,

Probably just as well: some things, you don’t wanna know too much about!

She was a mean one, I’ll tellya…at least from my point of view. Seriously: she would actually encourage the horrid little brats in her classroom to torment me. I was the class pariah. And whenever an opportunity arose, I was reminded of that, teased about it and tortured over it.

What kind of “teacher” not only tolerates such behavior, but actually eggs it on?

Really, there was no excuse for it. I’d done pretty well in school until I reached her fifth-grade classroom. There was no reason for me to hate going to school. To hate my classmates. And especially to hate my teacher.

But hate is the word for it. I entered her class as a fairly normal kid, if one who wasn’t smart enough to keep her yap shut about what a wannabe brainiac she was. By the middle of that year, I hated school.

* Hated school.
* Hated the idiot teacher.
* Hated the mean little brats in my class.
* Hated the dim-witted, brain-numbing content that passed for subject matter.

Hated everything about it.

And then one day hated the horror of learning that the bitch who had tormented me all the way through the fifth grade was “graduating” with us to become our sixth-grade teacher.

Apparently, my mother figured out, sometime during that hideous fifth-grade year, WHY I had come to hate going to school…why I dreamed up every ailment I could possibly fake to get out of going…why I was so miserable I was passing beyond neurotic to damn near psychotic.

At the end of that school year, she announced that we were going back to the States. My father did NOT  want to come: he was working toward Aramco’s highly paid seniority, and leaving then put the eefus on that goal.

She must have told him that she and I were leaving, whether he came with her or not. He stayed behind for about six months, and then quit his job and joined us in San Francisco. My guess is, he must have reached some kind of lower-level seniority goal at that point, which made him feel he could leave without losing too very much.

It was pretty much in the nick of time, for me. I was so roundly hated by the little darlings at the school that I had no hope of ever making friends out there. And by then I had turned inward and become an odd — even weird — little hermit whose only serious interest in life was astrophysics.

Yeah. I wanted to become an astrophysicist. 😀  You see why the little darlings just loved me no end?

***

Back in San Francisco (at last! ), none of the kids at the school knew I was a weirdo. And apparently, an interest in science was not considered weird there, even for a girl. Well…and by then, I’d learned to keep my mouth shut; that no doubt helped.

 

Soggy Doggy Day

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Wait what? You say the sky is supposed to be blue??? Where DID you get that idea? 😀

Another gray, soggy day. Grayer, even, than the last two days, which have been passing grim.

When you are a corgi, though, you don’t put up with any bellyaching from the Human. So, at Ruby’s behest, it was out the door and off to circumambulate the park, as usual.

And to the Human’s surprise, that worked out pretty well! We did not get rained on. Most of the usual dog-walkers, having more sense than the Human, were hiding out. The cloud cover kept the temperature in the comfortable range. Gee…kinda reminded one of San Francisco.

We probably should go up to the nearby grocer’s and pick up a little more food. But that would require hauling out of our chair and walking around, which is more than the Human feels like fooling with just now. In fact, there’s more than enough chow for both the Human and the Hound to cover the next two or three days.

So…we’ll take our chances.

The hip does hurt, though. A lot: especially if I sit or lay around awhile. What makes it better — other than aspirin — is getting up and walking. But that, of course, is ominously like (gag!) work.

Passed the night in nightmares about living in an old-folkerie. My father, as I may have mentioned in an earlier post, signed himself into one of those. But…he didn’t mind institutional living, having gone to sea all his adult life.

He ran away from home at 17, lied about his age, and weaseled his way into the Coast Guard. From there, it was into the Navy, and after that, a life-long career in the Merchant Marine.

Me, I hate bad food. I hate the sound of the neighbors’ TV, radio, and shower running. I just don’t like living with people. Gimme a dawg as a room-mate, any day.

Ruby is now conkered out on the floor. Looks like tromping around in the sticky, humid heat is a bit hard on her. Hope that’s the issue, and not some ailment.

😮

Speaking of tromping around in the heat, though…  One thing that I’ve discovered, quite handily, through the late series of misadventures is the amazing fact that you don’t really need a car to get around this neighborhood just fine! 

Consider: Within easy walking distance of my house, we have THREE major supermarkets…and that’s if you don’t consider Sprouts a supermarket.

Me, I regard Sprouts as a kind of specialty store. And it’s just three or four blocks down the street.

We also have…

  • a dentist
  • a hair stylist
  • a computer store
  • a Walgreen’s
  • a discount clothing store
  • two major supermarkets
  • a car rental and tire shop
  • a car mechanic’s shop
  • a 24-hour doctor’s office
  • A veterinarian

And on and on…

So, I guess if you’ve just gotta get yourself crippled up, this is the place to do it!