Coffee heat rising

Aging in place

Whew! Hotter than the Hubs!

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Well…no. Maybe not. It’s probably NOT hotter than the hubs of Hades out on the lovely streets of north Phoenix. No…it’s just hot and humid. Light overcast, 93 degrees, 0% chance of rain, 14% humidity….whatEVER! It surely feels hotter than the hubs, to say nothing of sticky-damp.

Not your standard Arizona springtime afternoon, that’s for sure.

Ruby and I strolled into Upper Richistan: the tony, fancy part of the ‘Hood. Ohhh, how we miss “The Ole Guy,” as SDXB used to call him. What a nice man he was!

The Ole Guy and his wife were deep into retirement, living in a handsome upscale home. Every day when SDXB and I would pass his house during our morning stroll, he would be out in front fiddling with something: whittling a piece of wood or repairing a gadget or whatever. We would say hello — sometimes chat a bit — and consider that encounter one of the high points of our daily stroll.

He’s gone now, presumably “late” or else hauled off to an old-folkery. And much missed.

The two of them lived in the more upscale section of the ‘Hood: custom or semi-custom houses, as opposed to our tract shacks. If that house were to come on the market, I’d surely want to look at it…maybe even consider buying it. But…what the hey! I surely couldn’t afford it. So on my part, that would be nothing more than an exercise in curiosity.

Meanwhile, the corner of the ‘Hood just to the south of my neighborhood is undergoing some mad gentrification. Good grief! New roofs, new plastering, new paint jobs, on and on. Dunno why a bunch of residents decided all at once to fancify the place…but if they put any of those houses on the market, you can be sure that antic will jack up our property values (and our taxes) some more.

{chortle!} I do feel exceptionally lucky to have stumbled across this corner of North Central Phoenix, guided here by a savvy Realtor. If I can hang onto this house until I croak over, my son will inherit a very nice asset, one worth more than most houses in this part of the Valley. If my son feels like moving — and likes taking on the care of a swimming pool(!) — he’ll be able to come right on in to this place. If not, though, he can either sell it for more than enough to pay off his own mortgage, or rent it for enough to let him retire!

Either way, it’ll be a nice gift to leave to him. 

Circumnavigating…

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Yea verily: another dog-and-human circumnavigation of our lovely North Central Phoenix ‘hood. This morning no sh!thead was holding forth in the park — too early for him, presumably. Whatever: it was a relief to walk around without having obscenities shouted at me.

A new (presumably) owner is re-renovating the handsome, classic home on the corner of the park and Main Drag Central. That place is gonna be worth about a zillion dollars by the time they get through with it.

Seriously: property values here in the ‘Hood are headed for the stratosphere. By the time M’hijito inherits this house (as I sincerely hope he will), he’ll be able to retire to Tahiti on whatever he can sell it for.

Meanwhile, directly behind that fancfiying house, the lovely green park stretches out in three directions — constrained by the presence of Main Drag Central. I personally wouldn’t want to be that close to MDC…or, for that matter, to a wide-open park that beckons to every pot-headed bum who staggers past. But still: get a little deeper into the neighborhood around it, and it’s pretty fine.

If I manage to stay out of an old-folkerie (big IF!), my son will inherit my house and its ever-inflating value. That will give him a juicy choice: he can either move in here and enjoy its classy construction, its lovely pool, and its outrageously central location; or he can sell it and move…just about anyplace he pleases.

Tahiti presumably would not be his first choice. His dad came from Grand Junction, Colorado, a mining town on the Western Slope which, over the years, has evolved into the largest town in Western Colorado. He has remarked that he’d like to move there…so I can imagine him making his escape to those climes, after his dad and I pass on to our furry fathers.

That, unfortunately for him, is likely to be quite a while. Longevity is a Thing in my family: women who didn’t smoke have lived into their mid-90s…and because they were Christian Scientists, they never saw a doctor or had an immunization, either. I do go to doctors and do take flu shots and tetanus shots and the like, so as long as I manage to stay off the local roads, chances are I’ll live nigh unto 100 years old.

He’s doing OK for himself, though…as a practical matter, he could sell his house and get himself into Grand Junction without undue suffering.

Hmmm… What would I do, if I were him and I inherited a pile of dough at just about the time I was ready to retire with a decent pension & Social Security?

Hmmmm…indeed! Y’know…probably not much. I’ve seen the world, having grown up in the Middle East and traveled all over those environs, Europe, and the United States. Absolutely ZERO interest in any further junketing.

Chances are, I’d simply stay right where I am, invest the money, and let it support me comfortably for the rest of my life. I might even get a job just to keep myself amused. Of course, adjunct teaching jobs are all over the place. A journalistic job would be more fun and more interesting — and a lot less work of the unpaid variety. Whatever…I figure money is for loafing.

GET’em!!!

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Boyoboy, would I love to be able to GET them: the bastards who start blitzing me with phone soliciting around 7 a.m., and on into the morning.

Phone soliciting should be illegal.

Yeah, I know: freedom of speech and all that. Sure… But you can be free of speech at a decent hour of the morning.

Yeah, I know: they’re trying to catch you before you leave for work.

But freedom to hustle people is no excuse for driving the marks nuts. I am so sick of the phone soliciting harassment, I’ve seriously thought of disconnecting the phone service. Who the Hell needs a phone if all it’s going to be used for is to pester you?

Yeah, I know: turn off the phone during periods when you don’t want to be hassled.

But…my son uses that phone to get in touch with me. What if something happens that he needs to get ahold of me RIGHT NOW…and I’ve disconnected all the phones?

The bastards have got you coming and got you going!

***

Gorgeous morning! Sunny and balmy at once. 

Ruby and I circumambulated a route that SDXB and I used to take every day, back when he lived here. Goes through a neighborhood of tidy middle-class homes, probably dating back to the 1960s. All green and grassy and tree-shaded now: a very pretty route to walk in the mornings.

One of our favorite neighbors, The Ole Guy, lived on this route. He would be out puttering in the yard every morning — we would pause and chat with him.

No sign of him today. Probably moved into the Beatitudes when he had to consign his wife to the place, a prison for the decrepit. She refused to go, when he realized she had reached a point where he could no longer take care of her. Finally, it became clear that the only way he could shove her into that place would be to go there with her.

The Beatitudes is a terrifying old-folkerie, one that’s been in Phoenix for years. Sooner or later, most of us who survive into old age will be forced to move into such a place. But oh, my!  The horror!!

Institutional living is not my Thing, that’s for sure. I hated living in the dorms at the university, and you can be sure a prison for old folks isn’t anywhere near as tame as a college dormitory. Sincerely do I hope I will die before I can be carted off to one of those places…but there’s not much hope for that, given the longevity in my family and my own vigorous health.

My father had himself locked up in a similar place, one called Orangewood — now called the Terraces. My mother had refused to go. Upshot: he had to take care of her at home as she lay dying of the cancer brought on by her rabid smoking habit. But the minute she died — frankly, I think that’s no exaggeration — he put the house on the market and signed himself into the old-folks’ prison.

He didn’t mind that lifestyle. Having gone to sea all of his adult life, he was used to crowded, institutional living and bad food.

I, however, would far, FAR rather be dead than locked up in one of those horrid places. And you may be sure that if I have to do so, I will engineer exactly that. No way in Hell am I gonna spend my “golden years” (har har!) in Decrepitude Hell.

For what those places cost, though, I do believe you can hire people to come into your home and babysit you into the Next World. They’re horribly expensive institutions. And really: if you’re not a stroke-induced vegetable — if you can still hobble around your house and bathe yourself and lift a fork to your mouth — you can make exactly that kind of hire.

Well…there are better fates. One could instantly drop dead of a stroke, for example.

Let us hope for that!

Strange Arizona Afternoon

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Saturday. 

Overcast and gray. 

Hot and humid.

Betcha didn’t know Arizona could get humid, eh?

Well…yeah, it sure can. Sometimes even damp enough for rain to congeal out of a clear sky!

That’s not the case just now: it indeed is overcast. Not raining yet, but feels like it sure would like to rain.

Ruby and I circumnavigated the neighborhood before the sky could make up its mind about that. So…gray and dank as it is out there, we at least didn’t get rained on.

This is the kind of day that reminds you of (un)lovely Saudi Arabia. Hot, gray, and dank pretty much described most of the summertime there!  How CAN I say how glad this human is to be back in the United States?!?

It is, though, the kind of day that makes me wish I were still dwelling in the San Francisco Bay Area, whither my mother’s family. My great-grandmother and her daughter — my great-aunt — lived in Berkeley, in a little Frank Lloyd Wright-inspired bungalow. So very pretty!! I do miss it.

But of course I can’t afford to live in the Bay Area…so forget that daydream. 😀

Some days I love living in Arizona. Others, I rather hate it…  Today is not a “love living here” day. 😀

But it’s not a “hate it” day, either. The sky is decorated with fluffy, floating clouds. A pair of black birds march around the back patio. Ruby, having marched all over the ‘Hood, is conkered out at the foot of the bed. A table fan blows tepid air at us. And I’d be asleep if I could be asleep. Which I can’t, not at this time of day.

Just invited my son to dinner, via email… He likely will decline: he’s less than thrilled with running around town after a full day of work. But it was nice to try, eh?

Chances are, too, that’s he’s put in a substantial numbers of work hours: Saturday notwithstanding. But chances are, too, that he’ll have something better to do with a Saturday evening than spend it with his muther. Oh, well: at least he’ll know I’m thinkin’ of him! <3

 

 

April 22, Continued!

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Gerardo the Lawn Dude’s crew just shot out the front gate, headed for their next customer. Good lord! Do those guys ever WORK. 

This house’s yard isn’t even that huge — much of it is occupied by the swimming pool, and another third of it by the paved front patio. It still takes them upwards of an hour (i lose track!) to rake and blower and rake some more and shovel and haul and clean and trim and shovel & haul some more and…on and freakin’ ON! That is not a job I could do even if I were male and healthy enough for it.

Forked over a hundred bucks to them….which is more than their usual fee. But IMHO what they did today was more than their usual ungawdly slug of labor. I sure couldn’t do it. Wouldn‘t do it. They are amazing gents. 

What now, for the rest of the day?

If I had any sense, I’d walk over to the Sprouts (remember: my son having purloined my car, if I can’t get somewhere on foot then I have to hire an Uber driver).

But…well…sense is not my strong suite this morning. Nope

Don’t feel like traipsing around in the heat, and so I ain’t a-gunna. Tomorrow morning I may stroll down to the Albertson’s (same distance, but don’t have to cross 7 lanes of homicidal traffic to get in the front door) and restock the supplies.

And “in the heat” is the operative term: It’s overcast and HOT and muggy out there. Just walking across the yard works up a sweat. The Albertson’s is open at the crack of proverbial dawn, so if I start the hike as soon as the dawg is fed (that IS at the crack of proverbial dawn!), I may be able to get down there and back without an attack of heat prostration.

Hmmmmmm….  When you spend this much time loafing, a lot of weird thoughts cross your mind. One of them, just now, is the idea that not owning that car is saving me so much money that I probably could afford to hire taxicabs to take me everyplace I go and still come out ahead financially.

No kidding.

Hiring someone to drive you hither, thither, and back may not cost as much as owning a car, paying taxes, insurance, and maintenance on it, keeping it filled with gas….paying to park it…hmmm, indeed….

No kidding, indeed: I’ve just about decided not to replace that vehicle at all. Why bother if I can get everyplace I need to go behind hired drivers? Without doubt for less than I’ve been spending on the Dog Chariot!

Within easy walking distance of the Funny Farm — just a few blocks, under a forest of shade trees — is a car rental place. Get in good with those guys, and…well…seriously, there WOULD be no reason to own another car. If they know me, they get paid on time, and they figure I’ll bring their heap back to them, very probably I could snare a vehicle whenever I feel in the mood.

Now, to add to that….  I do have to say that if I were my son and I had an 80-year-old mother, I do not think I’d want her driving around.

That sounds awful, eh?  But frankly, it would worry me.

As you age, your reflexes do slow. You lapse into — let’s admit it — a kind of fuzzy stupor. And you really should not be doing something where your life and the lives of people around you depend on the speed with which you react to the craziness around you.

And on Arizona’s roads? Yes, we are talking about craziness. Drivers around here are quite mad. As in dinga-donga!

Life is dinga-donga, that much is true…but there’s a limit to how much you have to engage it…

April 22

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Ungodly racket from the damn air base, way on the FAR side of Sun City. At least a good 29 miles away: roar roar roar roar ROAR. Don’t understand how people living out there can tolerate it, even for a few hours in the morning.

My mother used to sit on her back patio there in Sun City, serenaded by those blasting plane engines. She would simper over her morning coffee, “Ohhhhh, it’s the sound of fweedom!” 

Right, Mom, I dared not say: It’s the sound of World War III coming your way. 

Oh, well. At least we got Ruby’s doggy-walk out of the way, and before it has started to get hot out there. She’s gone off to the back bedroom, there to loaf. And…I suppose blogging is a form of loafing, too.

The (very sweet!) lady who inherited SDXB’s house by welfare-agency fiat is enjoying a fine predicament: The plumbing under the kitchen sink busted open and flooded the house!

Lordie! WHAT a mess.

So she and a daughter were trying to mop up, and trying to get the City to send a repair crew. One of those fine nightmares that none of us needs, eh?

Before SDXB came along and bought the place for a song, it was owned by some very flakey, very feckless folks who let the place go to rack and ruin. He fixed it up handsomely…and then practically gave it away as he fled our quarrel with Tony the Romanian Landlord.

Actually, he had lobbied me earlier to move out to Sun City. I’d lived there before with my parents, and wasn’t bloody well about to go back. So when things intensified here and I still refused to move out, he just sold up and headed west, leaving me behind.

Whatever excuse you need, eh?

Shortly, the Tony quarrel settled down, and now he and I are actually rather friendly — walked around the park together just the other day.

Must decide what (if anything) to do today. The dawg and I are in full-out Lazy Mode: it’s too damn hot out there to do much hiking, and without a car, I can’t even get to the grocery store without hiking through the heat.

Actually, I can: ask the guy across the street who drives an Uber. But…what? Pay someone to drive me 8 or 10 blocks? Gimme a break!

😀

There’s a corner shopping center much closer, I must admit. But the neighborhood over there is a little shadier: you’re likely to get hustled, and as a woman alone I don’t feel very safe in those conditions.

So…yeah: maybe I should have followed SDXB out to (un)lovely Sun City. But….no. Nope I truly hated living out there with my parents.

Been there.

Done That.

Ain’t doin’ it again.