Coffee heat rising

Aging in place

Totally Not in the Mood!

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LOL!  A passel — and we DO mean passel — of annoying chores awaits the Human’s attention this a.m.

How can I count the ways that I don’t wanna…

  • Pick up the kitchen
  • Wash the dishes
  • Make the bed
  • Walk the dog
  • Figure out what’s wrong the the computer this time
  • Drag the garden hose around
  • Wash my hair
  • Clean the bathroom
  • Mess with the pool equipment
  • Figure out why every damn square inch of me hurts!

GAAAAA! Stop the world! I wanna get off! 

The big question of the morning is why do I hurt so damn much? Especially the hips: I can barely hobble around the house. And far’s I can see, there is exactly ZERO reason for that. Other than possibly, maybe sleeping cattywampus during the night, there is no good reason for the ridiculous body to hurt so spectacularly.

Ohhh well. Wonder Cleaning-Lady was kindly here yesterday. Thank the gods and all their minions! This will allow me to crawl back into bed (sans housecleaning chores!), whenever I can work up the strength to stumble up the hall to the bedroom again.

Meanwhile…I sit in a big old leather easy chair, swill coffee, and HURT. And that means the poor li’l dawg will not get her doggy-walk this morning.

On the one hand, I imagine walking a mile or so would loosen up whatever hurts (and hurts and hurts and HURTS), thereby relieving me of whining duty.

But on the other hand: I think not. If moving around were going to ease this pain, it would have done so already. The dawg and I have been up for nigh unto three hours, with the human putzing around in the usual a.m. tasks and frolics. By now, if normal motion were going to stop the pain, it would have done so.

This li’l excruciation actually has been going on since Christmas Day. That’s…what? Ten days or so? If it were gonna get better, it would have.

My son has made off with my car, and so I can’t go to the doctor without discommoding him. And that is a quarrel/guilt trip I do not wish to engage just now. Whenever I work up the energy (if ever???), I’ll need to call the doctor, make an appointment, reserve an Uber or a cab, get myself to the quack’s, rassle with that exchange, get a car to come back to the quack’s office, and get myself back home.

And frankly….that’s just more trouble and more hassle than I can manage just now.

Yeah: this hip thing has been going on since Christmas. According to my little Hypochondriac’s Journal (where I note ailments so I can describe them accurately to the quack), it started on the 25th.

Yup: here on the 25th we find an entry that reads “Spavined my right hip while on dog walk. Hurts like Hell!!!”

uh-HUH…  Merry Christmas to me!

So this has been going on a good 10 days. And “hurts like Hell” is a bit of an understatement…

Well…give it a day or so, and then I’ll have to start doing battle with the Mayo to try to get one of the doctors out there to look at me. That will be an exercise in frustration. And since I can no longer drive, it will be a nightmare effort to get to their office.

Hm. There’s a storefront doctor’s office next to the Albertson’s, just down the block. I’ve been there a couple times for minor stuff. They might see me on short notice. Problem is, I don’t think I can walk that far! So I’ll have to hire someone to drive me six blocks!!

Jayzuz!

STOP THE WORLD!
I WANNA GET OFF!!

*

!!!ringy dingy ringy dingy!!!…..

God Damned phone solicitor!

Phone soliciting should be illegal. 

The bastards who hire prison inmates to pester you on the phone should be arrested and fined out the wazoo. And the prisoners who let themselves  be used that way should have extra time added to their sentences.

Did you know that? A fair number of the S.O.B.’s who jangle your phone several times a day are prison inmates. Phone hustling is a prison industry. Phone s0liciting businesses go into the slams and hire inmates at a fraction of the going wage to call you on the phone and pester you.

Yeah: your taxpayer dollars at work!

How Lucky Can Ya Get?

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Really: just exactly how lucky CAN some little old lady get? 

The Cleaning Lady from Heaven just trotted out the front door — very likely en route to her next house. That woman works like a horse. Oh hell: make that like a Clydesdale. You’ve never seen anyone who does so much work at such high quality in such a short time. It’s 2:00 p.m. — and you can be sure she’s on her way to another house. That would be her third house of the day.

I do know she does the WonderAccountants’ house on the same day she does mine. So…no, I cannot be sure she goes to a third work site. But wouldn’t be surprised.

Finding this splendid woman was about the best thing that’s happened to me…at least in my adult life. She really is amazing, and what she charges is the going rate: the same amount other house-cleaners in North Central Phoenix charge.

Yesterday I spavined my back — don’t ask how. Today it hurts so much I can barely hobble around the house. NO WAY could I have cleaned this house — vacuumed, dusted, scoured, scrubbed, polished, changed sheets, and on and on. No matter how much ibuprofen I gulped down!

Wonder Cleaning Lady saves me from my self…and my decrepitude. Bless her!!

Congregate Living???

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Jeez. Here’s an update on the latest hoodlum fiasco in downtown Phoenix. Horrors!

I almost bought a condo right across the street from this happening. Very nice apartment, centrally located, excellent public transportation, right down the street from two major regional hospitals, and no further from my son’s house than this place is. If I’d gone ahead with that plan, I’d have been right in the middle of that mess.

Fortunately, I had better sense. On reflection, I saw that…

* The place was a hive: you’d be living right on top of the neighbors. And right underneath them. And right next-door to them. The noise would be constant.

* You had to park your car in a public garage. Likely it wouldn’t last long there…

* If they let me keep Ruby the Corgi, chances are that wouldn’t have lasted long, either. She does bark. And bark. And bark. Every time she heard someone coming up a hallway or banging around in their kitchen, you can be sure she’d want the world to know about it.

* Far as I could tell, it was a LONG way from any grocery or drug stores. Here, we have three major supermarkets and a Walgreen’s within easy walking distance.

….and, apparently, you’d be at risk of getting shot! 😮

Wrangling a four-bedroom house with a yard and a pool is no picnic: it does make the prospect of a nice high-rise apartment look pretty good. But boyoboy! Am I glad I decided against making that move.

The hired help here probably costs no more than the overhead in one of those fancy high-rises would. I have to pay Pool Dude, Gerardo the Marvelous Lawn Dude, and Luz the Ineffable Cleaning Lady. But none of them is breaking me up in business. And together they maintain the house handsomely, so I hardly lift a finger to take care of the place.

Now that I’m getting older (and older…and older…), I worry that I won’t be able to stay in a free-standing house much longer. But…but…why? Whence that worry?

It costs no more to hire people to come in and take care of the place than it would cost me to live in some holding pen for the elderly — probably less, come to think of it. My father moved into one of those places, and they took everything he got from the sale of his nice two-bedroom home in Sun City…and then some. He had a little left to will to me…but one helluva lot less than he would have had if he’d stayed in his sweet little house.

That’s what I figure: with the house paid off, living here doesn’t cost that much, even with the pay for the pool guy, the yard guys, the cleaning lady, and the various occasional repairmen. And barring a major catastrophe, I should be able to hire someone to come in and babysit me as I journey toward decrepitude.

And, with any luck at all (pray for a lightning bolt…), I’ll be able to leave this house, lock, stock, and paid-off barrel, to my son.

Reel Estate…

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Good lord! Looking at the local real estate ads is like watching a horror movie! 😮  Prices have hit the stratosphere and are headed into orbit.

Here’s an aging tract house in my son’s neighborhood, nothing special: $389,000. What the hell do they think it’s made of???? And…have they ever heard of “taste”?  That orange and black in the bedroom: eeeek!!! Wait wait! check out the blood-red bedroom!!!

Zillow thinks my son’s house is presently worth $498,000!!!

Let’s see what the prices are here in the ‘Hood…

One house for sale, right on a truly gawdawful main drag: 3 bedrooms, $420,000. And…1300 square feet; doesn’t even have a pool. WTF???  Here’s one up for auction(???!!!): it’s the same model as mine, $477,000. 

Wow!

Now we begin to ask, am I going to be able to stay in my home? Because the taxes are gonna go into the stratosphere.

That’s what happened in Southern California when real estate prices went berserk. I had a cousin — an elderly woman who had lived in the same place for-freaking-ever — who lost her home because she couldn’t afford the taxes.

THIS is not good.

Oh, jeez! Here’s one right up the street from me…matter of fact, it seems to be the same model as mine: $635,000!!!!!!

Uhm…I may not be able to pay the taxes, either….

 

Wow!!

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Life in lovely downtown Phoenix…  This little adventure occurred right across the road from where I was gonna live. Yeah: just a few years ago, I almost bought an apartment just across the street from this spot.

What a place!!

Fortunately, I decided the price was too high for what the condos offered. And that the location would be too noisy. All very urban, y’know.

It was a conundrum, for sure.

I didn’t want to move to Sun City, where my parents held forth after my father retired, and where SDXB went. Old folks’ mausoleums aren’t my speed, alas.

We have our own little adventures, here in this middling in-town section of North Central Avenue. But so far nothing that dramatic! And certainly we have fewer incidents per month or per year than other centrally located districts do.

Honest t’Gawd, this place gets more and more like Southern California as the days trundle by. But really: I’m past the age where I feel any enthusiasm for packing up a house and moving into a new shack and finding new places for all the junk and unpacking box after box and stocking shelf after shelf. Ugh!

So I sit here and listen to the melody of gunshots — off in the distance, so far — and watch the kids play and…loaf. 

Outta There!

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Hmmm… Sounds like the cops must have chased off the legions of delinquents, drunks, and morons who inhabit Main Drag North at this hour of a weekend evening. The Roar ROAR ROAR that we normally enjoy at this time of night has suddenly ceased. So…presumably the gendarmes went after the roaring idiots.

It’s the kind of stupid stuff that makes Sun City look good. To the extent that a mausoleum can look good, I suppose.

{chortle!}  Actually, the racket from Main Drag North was one of the reasons SDXB took off for Sun City. He likes to sleep with his windows open..not, indeed, the ideal arrangement in a neighborhood bounded by drag-race tracks.

I, being a female type, keep my doors and windows shut and solidly locked at night.

BANG!

Charming. Another backfire…or fire-cracker…or gunshot.

At any rate…suddenly dead quiet emanates from the ‘Hood’s northern border. So presumably la policia have come awake.

Come a holiday, every moron in the city is outside shooting off their bang-bangs. That turns New Year’s, the Fourth of July, Christmas, Labor Day, MLK Day, Memorial Day…and on and on and on…into noise-making nuisances.

This is one of the reasons SDXB took out for Sun City. When you live in a mausoleum, you don’t have quite the noise problem that you get on the fringe of a slum.

That notwithstanding, I ain’t movin’ to Senility Central. Just close the damn bedroom windows!!