Coffee heat rising

funny

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Roaaaarrrrrrr!

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Gosh, what a…classically Arizona winter day. How strange, how weird, how…funny.

Coming on to 10:30 of an early November morning. Ruby and I go out front to oversee The Property. Yeah: get Gerardo to fix this. Get him to trim that. Admire the other plant. Loaf, loaf, and loaf…

The sky is deep gray, coated in thick, non-raining clouds. This makes for a strangely beautiful morning, hard to understand why. But one supposes “why” doesn’t matter, eh?

Off in the distance, a steady RROAARRRR rumbles up toward the ‘Hood from the southeast side. It’s the song of the the commercial airlines taking off and landing at Sky Harbor Airport.

Living closer to that place — where my stepsister’s house was, for example — would be even more annoying than living in Sun City, where one is blasted from dawn to dusk by jet fighters roaring in and out of Luke Air Force Base. Purely by accident, I happened to stumble into my present neighborhood: staidly middle-class, centrally located in spades, and far enough from the local noise-makers to be relatively quiet.

Seriously: I am so pleased with this house that I absolutely positively do NOT move out of here when I reach a stage of such decrepitude that I need a baby sitter.

And really: considering how much it costs to live in an old-folkerie (the place where my father retired took all the proceeds from the sale of a very nice suburban house, and then pretty much cleaned out his savings accounts), it does seem to me that rather than move into a retirement “home” (snort!!), you might be better off to hire staff to come in and care for you in your present, paid-off manse. Especially if you manage to die in a timely way.

Seriously — sorry, I realize Americans are scared of talking about Death, but do get over it! ‘Cause we ain’t a-gunna get away from it!

Just as seriously, it strikes me that with the roof over your head paid for, you could be better served by your own hired folks than you would be living in one of those old-folks’ prisons.

Luz — Cleaning Lady from Heaven — remarked at one point that she’d had a job like that.

So I’m gonna ask her who she worked for, what she did, and how much she got paid. Learn who to hire and where to find them when you reach the point where you really can’t care for yourself, reliably and safely. Then start looking around, talking with employers, and figuring out how to get such a person on the private payroll.

***

Ahhh, what a nice little neighborhood, indeed. The WonderAccountants — who live straight across the street from the Funny Farm — just installed a new set of exterior windows. They apparently called the same guys who installed mine several years ago, and it looks like they selected the same model of windows, or one very much like mine.

They put up classy wrought-iron fake shutters on either side of each window, far more sophisticated than anything I could dream up… And now the front of their house REALLY looks nice. They should be amply pleased with the result.

They say that double-paned windows save you a bundle on AC and heating bills. Couldn’t prove it by me: I’d say the monthly power bills are about the same as they were before I replaced my single-panes.

Still, a double-paned window would be a bit more hassle to break into, so that would up your security level. And a perp would have to make a fair amount of noise to cut or break out such a window, thereby alerting you in plenty of time to dodge out a back door and run off down the street.

***

{sigh} I love this neighborhood. I love the neighbors. And I love my house. GOT to find ways to stay here until I croak over.

The prospect of being locked up in one of those holding pens for old folks fills me with horror. Honestly, I would rather be dead. (No: I’m not contemplating suicide anytime soon, so please don’t panic.)

But y’know….life is short. We only have around 70 or 80 years in this sylvan vale. So why spend any part of it in misery, just because you’re getting on toward the end of the road? Locking up a person in a holding pen to await the end is forcing that person to spend the last part of her or his life in misery.

How, really, is that the right thing to do?

Would it not be better…would it not be morally preferable…to hire someone to come in to your home and care for you until you totter over into the grave? Or at least until you fully and permanently lose consciousness?

That’s no easy job — caring, not tottering, that is. My father worked like an animal caring for my mother in the last dreadful weeks of her tobacco-poisoned life. But…well…he did her a magnificent service.

I watched him die in the old-folkerie where he banished himself….and to tell you the truth, his best friend there did himself a favor when he took a pistol and blew out his own brains.

My father found the guy’s corpse.

What a horror! But…why not make it possible for a person who knows Death is on its way and knows insurmountable suffering will accompany it…why not make it possible to choose your own exit door?

*** *** *** 

Darkness has fallen
Dog has frolicked
Human is pooped

*** *** *** 

And here we are, once again, loafing in an easy chair by the breeze of an electric fan and the light of an elegant old electric lamp.

😀

What a day!!! One depressing thought after another. One depressing predicament to cope with after another.

Ohhhhh well.

Tomorrow’s another day. Uhm… I hope…

wooo-OOOO-ooo Argha!

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Dog and human return from circumnavigating the ‘Hood and its park. Pick up the Funny Farm. Fix breakfast (of sorts). Chow down…

…and…

woooo-OOOOOO-ooooo wooo wooo! 

The Song of the Yard Dude!

DAYUM! So much for loafing outside over coffee, eh?

Look out the window to see where our guys are. No sign of Gerardo. Ungodly racket, no Yard Dude.

Closer inspection reveals that the racket is coming from across the street: some guy is blowering up the neighbor’s yard.

{sigh} That’s good…i guess… At least I don’t have to come up with the cash to pay my guy today.

Yet.

It’s a gray, gloomy day, threatening rain. Not an occasion when I personally would want to be frolicking with yard work…but thanks to the ineffable Gerardo, i don’t hafta do that anymore! 😀

Unduly sleepy. Don’t know why. Want to go back to bed.

And THAT, dear reader, is an iron-clad 12-karat way to get Gerardo and his boys to show up at the house. Right now!

 

 

Roar…Roar…Roaaaarrrr….

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Argha! Another cop helicopter, whirling around over the neighborhood to the north of us. At least, for a change, this one is not hovering right over the house. /eyeroll/

The ‘Hood isn’t exactly Crime Central, but neither is it a place of sweetness and tranquility. We reside on the southern edge of a suburb called Sunnyslope, which is Crime Central, swarming with drug dealers, delinquents, burglars…and even the occasional murderer.

This fine circumstance brings us cops. And cops. And more cops. Many of them riding in noisy, buzzy helicopters. Dare to go to bed, dare to go to sleep, and you’ll bring on the serenade: BRRRRooooaaarrrrrrrr…

Reassuring in that it lets you know the policia are on the job. Un-reassuring in that it lets you know they’re chasing some sh!thead around your neighborhood.

Get up. Walk through the house. Check that all the doors are locked. Turn on the outside porch lights, the better for the cops to chase their prey.

These regularly recurring events lead me to regularly reconsider whether I want to stay here.

Do I want to move back out to Sun City?

Ugh, no!

Okayyy…. Do I want to move down into the neighborhood where M’hijito lives? 

Hm. Those houses are 20+ years older than these, poorly insulated, expensive to run. Right in the middle of everything, which is cool in some ways — you can walk to the spectacular AJ’s fancy-Dan grocery store from his house. But at what cost?

> Noise
> More Noise
> Still More Noise
> Traffic
> Traffic
> Still More Traffic
> Astronomical utility bills
> Higher property taxes
> Insane water bills
> Bums sleeping in your yard…

Naaaahhhh…. Ain’t goin’ there!

The Valley does offer other suburbs and other neighborhoods that are a little less…active, shall we say. Fountain Hills, for example. Moon Valley. Sun City: inactive to the point of stasis. But is that really worth spending thousands of dollars on selling the shack, buying another one somewhere else, and moving?

I think not. 

Soggy Doggy Day

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{glub!} Rain, rain, and more rain, pouring down from a lovely pearlescent gray sky. Dawg and Human are stuck in the house. From faraway Luke Air Force Base, we’re serenaded by the constant roar of fighter jets, practicing their take-offs and landings. Birds outside the back door squabble. The pool system kicks on: seems to be working OK.

Way, waaayyy too wet to take Her Dogship for her morning doggy-walk. Too wet for the Human to poke her own schnozz out the front door. Or the back door. Or the side door.

We’re trapped!

Carless in Gaza as we are here, now that M’Hijito has kiped my car, we have no way of even getting to the grocery store.

Well. That’s wrong: we could impose on the Uber driver who lives across the street. Wouldn’t he be pleased?

Or we could walk through the rain and the puddles, getting home good & wet and good & cold. Naaaaahhhh…

We could pester M’Hijito to take us to the store, since this predicament is his doing. That would interrupt the work he does for his employer….hmmmm…. Why do I suspect it might be better to swim on over to the grocery store all by my little self?

But weirdly: WHAT a beautiful day. 

Actually, when you live in Arizona, you think clouds are so rare and so exotic that whenever they lurk overhead, you fall into a trance of awe. 😀  It is, one must admit, a strange kinda place for human habitation. Made stranger by the presence of humans… 😉

Yuch! Another Tuesday

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HORRORS. Today is Tuesday. 

That means this evening is soaked up and f**ked up by the endlessly annoying weekly physical therapy session.

hup hup jump jump roll roll hup hup groan moan hate hate HATE. Boyoboy, do I hate the physical therapy sideshows. 

Not that they hurt. They don’t, especially. But that they are…

  • boring
  • pointless
  • useless (they do nothing for the pain: all that works there is time)
  • endlessly reminiscent of the annoying PE classes that used to aggravate me no end in junior high and high school
  • time suck for my son, who ends up sitting around there for two hours waiting for them to release me
  • and a fukkin waste of time

What is working on the injured limb is
a) the passage of time; and
b) careful, steady, NORMAL use of the joint in walking, sitting, climbing, and whatnot.

For those two obvious, very stupid reasons, the time waste feels even MORE annoying than it normally would

Hmmmm… Almost 6:20. No sign of my excellent son. Maybe I have the wrong day?

One can only hope.

Let us traipse to the back room and look at the old-fashioned paper wall calendar…

****

Hmmm…uh huh! I have that we were supposed to be there at 5:30.

It’s 5:23 now: so saith the MacBook. Maybe it was that Mijito was to pick me up at 5;30. That would get us to Nuisance Central a little before 6:00 p.m.

Call.
Get the Kid.
And yeah: that speculation was…sorta in the ball park.

The enormous value of a healthy offspring is that the critter retains its marbles as you slide deeper and deeper into senility!

😀

Summer Storm-time

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1:40 p.m.
November 18, 2025…still!

Fine freshet of an Arizona afternoon storm is y-rollin’ in. kerBOOM!  Thunder growls angrily in from the west. The sky has turned ash gray as clouds gallop ahead of the wind. Ruby the Corgi loafs on the bed, gazing out the window…apparently unfazed.

What un-fine timing. Tonight M’ijito is dragging me to the brain-banging booooring physical therapy studio, there to blow away another two hours going hup-hup-hup-hup-hup-hup-hup-hup-…..to amazingly little avail.

Ugh. If I’ve got to waste my time, I’d rather waste it loafing with Ruby.

Ohhhhh, well. It gets one out of the house. I guess. And presumably onto the rain-soaked streets…

Meanwhile, the pain is sloooooowwwleeee easing off, about an atom’s width at a time. Eventually it will go away. Then with any luck the ludicrous physical therapy antics will also go away.

The other evening I got SO frustrated with the mindless, pointless hup-hup-hupping that I sneaked out of the gym and ran off down the street. M’jito had gone off someplace (no doubt even more bored than his muther was), so I contrived to slip out and trot away without getting caught.

You can be sure he won’t let that happen again, eh?

Already it’s seemed a strangely long day. It’s only about a quarter to two. yet if feels like we ought to be rounding on 5:00 or 6:00 p.m. Why? Probably the thick cloud cover: the sky is a uniform dark gray, so you can’t estimate the time (not on a bet) by studying the height and angle of the sun.  And lookee there! It’s raining again!

How do I not want to drive through the rain, in the dark, for the privilege of a pointless hup-hup-hup session?  ARRRGH!  Let me count the pointless ways!