Coffee heat rising

Traipsing to Pretoria….

Hot, wet morning!

Out the door as dawn cracked, wherewith to take an exercise walk before it gets unbearably hot.

“Gets”???? Seriously?

Ohhhh well. 

It was down to the Albertson’s shopping center, wherein (I imagined) to visit the shopping-lot doctor’s office and tell the staff to QUIT CALLING ME ON THE PHONE, DAMMIT!!!!!!!

Three guesses:

* They weren’t open
* They weren’t open
* Or, they weren’t open

Right. Nine a.m. of a mid-week day, and no one was there.

Brilliant white cumulus clouds climb through a radiant blue sky. They seem to be growing, thickening. Presumably we’ll get some rain this afternoon.

Passed the PILES of cheap apartments along Main Drag West. Years ago, incredibly, my mother wanted me to rent a place in those dumps. They were no worse, really, than they are now. And no better. Not a place where you’d want to live. Especially not if you were a 20-something college kid.

Well. Post-college kid. I’d finished the B.A. and was lurking, trying to decide what to do next.

One thing I did NOT want to do was continue my career as a phone-answering receptionist, working for something less than almost nothin’. 😀

In any event, I cannot even BEGIN to imagine why those dumps, even when they were 30 years newer, would have been a desirable place for a young woman to live. Chez Pitz!

What on earth was my mother thinking???? 

Now and again, I imagine I really ought to sell the Dog Palace and move either out into the suburbs or deeper into town. Rationality soon catches up, though: it’s expensive as hell to sell your house, buy another one, and move. Plus I love my house and I ain’t a-gunna move away from here.

So. There!

Handsome young black man, loafing in the covered bus stop. Ohhhh you gorgeous critter! Smile. He smiles back. He’s plainly stoned.

Damn.

Proceed northward, ever northward, along Main Drag West. This, to avoid being followed into the ‘Hood.

Mercifully, I’m now tooooo old to appeal to any man: young, old, black, white, purple, stoned or straight…. Thank goodness! 

After enough distance is passed, dodge into the ‘Hood. Come upon a fine young father, busily installing a basketball hoop for his preschool-age kid. Adorable! Despite its surroundings, our neighborhood still DOES have a lot to recommend it.

DO I want to stay here, now and evermore?

Well….I’m so ambiguous as to whether the answer is probably “yeah….” I incline to operate on the “When in Doubt, Don’t” principle. If you’re not dead sure that XXX is what you want to do, then don’t do XXX.

duh! Why does that not seem obvious?

And yet….when ambiguity lurks, it surely isn’t obvious.

If you don’t know how well the real estate will hold its value…

If you don’t know whether those slum apartments will continue to go downhill, or whether the Yup set will discover them and turn them into high-rent urban campgrounds…

If you don’t know whether your health is gonna hold out as you roam deeper into decrepitude…

If you don’t know if your son would like to inherit your shack, after you finally do croak over…

Well, Helle’s belles: then YOU DON’T KNOW. 

Personally, I’m averse to making any kind of decision or move when I don’t know. Knowing what I’m doing: that’s what I do. But sometimes, that’s just not possible.

{sigh}

How Much Longer, Lord?

😀  That’s not a moan of despair. That’s an honest question to His Godship. 

How much longer, dear Lord, am I likely to live? And if Your answer to that is “forever and aye…or at least longer than another two weeks,” then the next question is how much longer am I going to be able to live on my own?

And THAT’S the Biggie. 

I just hate, loathe, and despise congregate living. 

In college, I lived in the dorms at the University of Arizona.

Absolutely miserable, stinking experience. My roommate and I were finally able to escape, with the help of her aunt.

Back in the Day, female students were considered too feeble to care for themselves on their own, so if you were a girl at the UofA and you weren’t living at home, you were REQUIRED to live in the (gawdawful!) dorms. My friend and I persuaded her aunt, who lived in the same town where the university held forth, to tell the campus authorities that we were going to live with her, in her home.

The minute approval of that fake arrangement came down, Roomie and I raced out and rented an apartment.

Best thing either of us did in the whole four years we spent in (un)lovely Tucson.

This is the thing: I LOATHE INSTITUTIONAL LIVING!

See what I mean?

I HATE LIVING IN CONGREGATE HOMES. I DO NOT WANT TO LIVE IN A HIGH-RISE FULL OF OLD FOLKS. 

Or full of any folks at all.

I wanna stay right here in my house, with my dog and my backyard birds and my swimming pool and my yard guy and my cleaning lady until DAMMIT until I die!

And I don’t think that’s an unreasonable request.

But good luck fazing it past the Larger Society.

The Mayo bastards have nullified my driver’s license, for no other reason than my age. This means I have to walk to grocery stores or else hire a cab to get to a grocery store. And that presents a HUGE problem.

First off, I can’t impose on my son to drive me from pillar to post from now until I croak over (which, given the family history, will probably be another five to ten years). So that means I have to hire a driver to get…literally anywhere. This morning — it’s pouring rain just now — I really do need to get down to the supermarket and then across the street from that to the local drugstore and then all the way back up to my house.

Even if it weren’t overcast and raining, this would be a trick, here in my dotage. That’s a long walk. Make it “long walk x 2,” since we’re talkin’ round trip here.

So…the silly-sounding hypothetical question at the top of this post now takes on some significance. Rather dreadful significance…because if I live as long as other nonsmokers in my family, I’m likely to outlive my ability to do things like walk to the grocery store.

The societally planned future for the likes of me is that I will eventually be forced to sell my home and use the proceeds plus my life savings to buy my way into a holding pen for the elderly. There I will live out my days in tedium, eating bad chow out of cans and boxes, keeping my yap shut, and doing what I’m told to do.

That is NOT the way I want to live. And surely it’s not the way I want to wrap up my life.

I do not think it should be unreasonable for an elder to be allowed to live in their own home in their own peace and quiet with their own little dog and their own array of favorite foods.

See what I mean?

Probably not. The meaning is this: to my mind, it would be FAR better for one’s life to end after a reasonable time than to be forced to live for years in miserable conditions. No matter how classy those conditions: miserable is miserable. 

And no! That ain’t how I wanna live.

True enough: For the last few months or couple of years, I may not be able to get by alone. But we don’t KNOW that’s likely to be true. My aunt and great-grandmother lived into their late 90s, in their home and without a babysitter to watch them every minute.

So the question is…how do I maximize the probability of that happening for me, too?  And if it can be made to happen, how do I contrive to live safely in my own home, with my own canine sidekick and my own cooking and my own rocking chair and my own shower and my own washer and dryer and my own….everything???

One of the factors that will allow me to stay here at the Funny Farm much longer than used to be possible is today’s Uber. Plus the freakin’ Internet.

An Uber driver — one of them lives catty-corner across the street — plus a computer connection make it possible to order just about everything you need. Online. Without arguing with some moron on the other end of a phone line. I can get my Ubering neighbor to drop by the supermarket as he’s cruising around, and when he surfaces with a couple bags full of necessities, fork over enough to pay for the goods and give him a decent gratuity. And believe me: THAT guy is worth it!

Another factor, of course, is Amazon. God Bless That Outfit! Seriously: absent fresh groceries, you can order 90% of what you need online, and have it dropped at your front door. And that is HUGE.

So….I think that with a few changes in day-to-day habits, I should be able to extend the time I can stay in my home by months, if not years.

Ruby-Dooo!!! EEEEEEK!

Went to call the Ruby-doo this afternoon, by way of feeding her and then loafing on the back patio, and…

and…

and she was GONE!!!!!

As in GONE gone!

Searched all through the house. Searched the yards. Called and called and CALLED…. Noooo Ruby!

OOOOhhhh sheee-ut!

I just about fainted dead away. She must have managed to get outside without my noticing her escape. Right?

Called and searched and searched and called and called and searched and...and…eventually, along she comes, ambling up to the front door.

HOLEEE maquerel!

How she got out, I do not know. More to the point, how she made her way back, I cannot imagine! In this garden spot, once a house pet takes off outdoors, that is a GONE CRITTER.

Seriously: I really thought I would never see her again.

She must not have wandered far, because it only took her a few minutes to resurface.

Terrifying. Freakin’ terrifying!!!!!

How on earth could I have done anything SO STUPID and SO CARELESS as to have left her outside in the front patio?????  And then let her slip out through the gate!

WAKE UP, LADY!!!!!!!

After this, I’ll have to be one whole helluva lot more careful.

Feels like an absolute miracle that she didn’t set out for Tucson. And that she came back when she was called. GOOD DOG, LI’L RUBY!!!!

Glub!

Rain all night, letting up  by light of day.

We still have high clouds, and the pavements are all soaking wet. But…it looks suspiciously like whatever this is will blow away.

Hmmm….  Reading the local news leads me to think I ought to blow away, myself. Good GAWD, has this place LosAngelized!

Cops shoot a sh!thead who was spraying the streets with bullets in our old neighborhood. This incident began in front of the Basha’s and Safeway stores where I used to do all my grocery shopping. Sixteenth Street and I-10 is right down the road from the first apartment I rented in Phoenix.

Phoenix “braces for fiscal challenges”: read “expect still higher taxes!”

Do I really wanna keep living here???

Hm.

Offhand, I can’t see anything better that I can afford. Scottsdale is outta my price range, by a long shot. Tempe, Mesa, Chandler: not my style. Sun City/Youngtown: been there, done that, ain’t doin’ it again. Other towns around the state: Boondock living is decidedly not my style.

Even when we had the ranch, up on the Mogollon Rim, we would drive into the city to do the shopping.

{sigh} I guess gunshots, stick-ups, and burglars are just part of Life in the Big City.

Sometimes I do find myself wondering, though: who needs it?

 

 

Gray Day Redux

Another spectacularly, tropically rainy gray day. Weirdly beautiful. Ruby and I would be out traipsing through the ‘Hood if I could move my hip without eliciting a shriek of pain.

Alas, I can’t. So…instead, we loaf upon the bed, gazing out the big bedroom windows onto the cloudy skies and the burbling pool.

Dayum! If I didn’t hurt so much, I’d be out there paddling around in the drink.

Truth to tell, though, I’m afraid that if I got into the pool, I might not be able to climb out by myself. Would need to have a phone out there, to dial 911 if I couldn’t haul myself upright. And…

How do I not WANT to call 911 to drag me out of the drink? Let me count the ways….

My GAWD does this thing ever HURT!!! And there seems to be no position in which it hurts less.

***

The Haunts of the day take the form of memories of Saudi Arabia, where I grew up on the shore of the Persian Gulf.

My gawd! What a hellish place!

Even as a little kid, I think, I realized how horrible it was.

Well…that’s not quite the whole story. For me, as a kid resident of (un)lovely Ras Tanura, the horribleness was embellished by the fact that I was a weird little kid, whose eccentricity brought down on her all pure nastiness that grade-school children are capable of coughing up.

GOD, but those brats were monsters. And boyoboy, did they pour the hate on the weird little girl who imagined she wanted to grow up to be an astronomer. You just can’t even picture what nasty little horrors those junior Ras Tanura expats were. Evil, evil brats.

Now, in old age, one wonders where the moron teachers were. How come the idiot who ran the 2nd grade didn’t put a muffler on her little darlins’ mouths? How come the bitch who ran the 4th grade couldn’t bring herself to behave like a decent human being? How come my parents had to take me out of the school in the 5th grade so I could/would address the academic work and get through a whole day without collapsing into a nervous pile?

How did I hate that school? Let me count the ways.

And yes: the problem was the school and its monster brats and its idiot teachers. As soon as we got back to the States, I dived into the sixth grade in a San Francisco public school.   And weirdly, I did just fine there.

More than just fine, as a matter of fact. I thrived. In the California public schools, I hit the National Honor Society. And my performance excelled to such a degree that I started at the university at the end of the 11th grade — skipping my senior year in high school.

Must’ve been because I was a crazy nut case, right?

Oh well. Think about something else, f’r godsake!  

Clouds.

Rain.

Overgrown hedge.

Strange orange flowers.

Funny little dawg.

Sooooooo glad to be as far on the other side of the globe from Saudi Arabia as it is possible to get!

😀  😮  😀

And Another Evening at the Gym

The plug I just posted, a few minutes ago, covered yesterday’s antics. 😀

Now we have today’s…   Which includes, as its high point, this week’s junket to the physical therapist.

Can’t complain about these safaris. After all…

* The therapists are beyond awesome. They clearly know what they’re doing (and then some!). So an evening spent exercising with them and being massaged by them and on & on DOES produce a marked improvement in the pain.

…a-n-n-d…WordPress just deleted about 3/4 of this post. It’s getting late and I am NOT up for trying to remember and rewrite that stuff. And so…

…awayyyy!