Leastwise, I think I did. Just poured a glass of wine, sat back, and logged in to write a post. And…and…
And HERE’S THIS THING! 😀 Apparently it never went online.
So, dear friends and honored foes: The rumination from a few days ago…
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Is it only driving in Phoenix that I hate? or is it living in Phoenix?
Doggywalk this morning took us past the {former!!!} home of a friend and erstwhile neighbor, now long gone, terrorized out of the neighborhood.
She was a teacher at the local high school. Dunno what he did, but whatever it was, between the two of them they could afford a very nice, LARGE house right across from one of the nicest parks in the city. So presumably they were not living in penury. Not that it matters…
One day two guys showed up at their front door. The residents answered the doorbell, and the guys barged in. Tied them up and tossed both of them into the tub in an upstairs bathroom. Then proceeded to ransack the house.
Incredibly, they didn’t bother to kill the couple. Eventually, one of the spouses managed to work free of the binding. Got the other one out of the bathtub. Called the cops.
No, the perps were never caught. This IS lovely uptown Sunnyslope, after all. But my friends promptly sold the house and moved away. Where? I dunno. Presumably as far from here as they could afford to get.
Makes me angry every time I drive or walk past the place. And…to walk the dog around the park requires…yes! Walking past the place. Driving to the Albertson’s or the Sprouts or points southwesterly requires…yes! Driving past the place.
And every time I do walk or drive past the place, I can’t help but imagine the terror they must have felt. And I can’t help but think I wish I could afford to move to a home comparable to my own, far far from here.
But…but…where would I go?
* Item: Because we’re officially part of a slum called Sunnyslope (even though ours is what I’d call an upper-middle-class neighborhood), I wouldn’t be able to get into anything comparable without diving deep into my retirement savings…or into debt. Which is to say I can’t afford a place like this in a safer neighborhood.
* Item: My honored son WANTS my house. He has repeatedly asked me (begged me; ordered me) not to sell. And I would very much like him to have it.
*Item: Noooo, I do not KNOW that he realizes the Hood is actually part of Sunnyslope: We could call this Item XXX and counting:
* I do not know if he realizes (any of the above).
* Nor do I know whether he cares (I don’t, much, except when the consequences slap me in the face).
* Nor can I imagine how much the consequences would affect him as opposed to the way they affect me.
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Just back from the nearest Leslie’s Pool store. They’re overpriced — many of the supplies there can be had much more cheaply from Home Depot or Lowe’s. However, for your money you get smart, experienced staffers who dispense invaluable advice.
Today, though, even the Leslie’s guy hadn’t a clue.
Out in the shed, I found a floater gadget that seems to be designed for…uhhhhh….something. But what? It’s not a pool tab floater. So…what is it?
So for the helluvit, I took the thing by that store and asked.
Leslie’s Dude allowed as how it appeared to be a pool gadget, yep yep. But WHAT pool gadget? He didn’t know any more than I do.
LOL!
So if I can catch Pool Dude — not an easy trick, as he ghosts in and out without making a sound — I’ll ask him what it is.
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The brain remains numb, as it has been for weeks and, yea verily, months. I’ve assumed this was a manifestation of looming senility — seriously, some days I can’t remember my name, to say nothing of remembering anything important. But NO!
It develops that the cutely named “brain fog” lingers for months after a fine case of covid.
And we know I had covid last fall: it was diagnosed while I was visiting the ER at the Mayo Clinic. Apparently it takes six to nine months (!!!) to get over this manifestation.
Jayzuz!! No wonder the kid thinks I’m getting senile.
But much more annoying, as covid aftereffects go, is the endless tingling in the hands & feet and the endless ringing in the ears. Truly, truly crazy-making.
Not that I wasn’t already crazy…but really, I didn’t need another excuse to be nuts.