Coffee heat rising

Aging in place

Another Day, Another…????

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GORGEOUS morning. Sky is clear, if a little fuzzy. Ever-so-slightly fuzzed-up dawn sunlight glows down into the back patio. Temperature is cool and soft…. Just wanna take the dawg and go for a walk.

Actually, what I want to do is finish this mugful of coffee and go back to bed. Preternaturally sleepy this morning…for reasons unknown. Slept well last night: no excuse for feeling like I’ve been up for the past 12 or 14 hours.

‘Tother thing I’d like to do is stroll across the street and ask our excellent new Uber driver if he’d like to Uber me to my favorite grocery store — some miles on into town. But that does seem like more trouble than it’s worth.

The theft of my car (by an honored family member…/eyeroll/ ) means I have to walk everyplace I need to go: to the grocery stores, to the veterinarian, to the Walgreen’s, to the…on and on and endlessly, painfully on.

In theory, I could walk to the nearby Albertson’s, Sprouts, or El Rancho. It’s a gorgeous morning, a perfect day for walking a couple miles.

But…I spavined a foot, and truth to tell, it hurts just to walk around the house. Sure don’t want to take a chance on getting a mile or so from home and finding, all of a sudden, that I can’t put any weight on that paw.

My son stole my bike, too: so that obviates bicycling to the store. In that department: thinking about buying another one from the second-hand store up the road, and then asking said neighbor to store it in his garage or backyard. Problem there, of course, is that any time I need to use it, I’ll have to roust him out of the house and retrieve the thing from him. If he’s not home, I ain’t goin’ anywhere.

*****

{chortle!}

JUST got sat down in the front patio and it’s

BRRRRRRRBLAAASSSTTTTBRRRRRRR!

Neighbor’s yard guy out there with his weed-whacker.

One should know better, right? What on earth would make me imagine I should be allowed to enjoy a gorgeous, cool, sunny morning? How stupid of me, eh?

So…Dog and Human are back in the house, barricaded in behind heavy steel doors, closed tight.

Y’know, this is when (& where) I need SDXB in his (former) abode a block up the street. He would keep my bike at his house, no question of it. He’d probably keep it some place where I get at it even if he weren’t at home. So at least I’d have been able to get to the grocery store this morning.

How stupid IS this stuff, anyway?

It’s looking more and more like SDXB was dead right about moving to Sun City — where the Younger Generation cannot follow you. That makes it about 110% more difficult for them to try to run your life.

Really, I do appreciate the many, many things M’Hijito does for me. But that appreciation fades at the line where I get told what to do and when to do it, told what not to do, dragged to doctors I don’t like…on and on.

Nothing that I need to do this morning is gonna get done, because while confined to the house I have no way to get those things done. Well…no practical way. Yes, I could walk a mile each way to a grocery store, there and back, dragging a roller cart to haul my purchases. But…well…not right this minute, eh?

If I hadn’t already spent several years in Sun City when my parents were out there, I’d be out there with SDXB right now. But…

My goodness, how I detested living in that place!!

The attitude might be different now that I’m an old bat, not a college kid. But even still…it would be hard to shake off those negative feelings, and even harder to force myself, like my mother, to pretend I like the roar of fighter jets blasting overhead from dawn to noon. Horrid!!!!!

It’s so much better here on the north end of North Central Avenue. Gotta find a way to stay here, have what I want, and not be pushed around….

Why Didn’t I….?

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Ever find yourself wondering What the dickens was the matter with me that I didn’t {do X, Y, or Z} instead of the stupid thing I did do? 

Afraid that’s not a rare occasion for Funny. Honest to Gawd. I’ve done and said the stupidest things over the years…when if I’d kept my mouth shut at the time — even for a few minutes, to say nothing of a few days — things would have turned out much for the better.

Case in point: My father & his bitch wife.  If, that time when they came mincing up to me and said “ohhhh we want your permission to get married,” instead of uttering a slack-jawed “well, o’course!” (while thinking these idiots are grown adults: why do they imagine they need their kid’s permission to get married?), I had said “Are you kidding? You’re sixty-some years old, not sixteen years old. You don’t need my permission to do anything,” things might have turned out a lot better for them.

Why?  

Well, this is just a guess. And that guess is: if they had stopped and thought about whether they really wanted to marry, rather than getting a kid’s imprimatur, they might have thought twice about it. Or who knows? even three times… They might have slowed down enough to give themselves several weeks or, better yet, a couple of months or three before they waltzed into marriage.

A marriage that turned out to be flickin’ miserable. The LAST thing those two needed to do was get married.

Living in sin would have been infinitely preferable: at least they wouldn’t have had to navigate courts and laws to get un-hitched.

Simply proceeding as girlfriend and boyfriend — keeping their own apartments at the old-folkerie but acting as grand friends — would have more than infinitely preferably. Then they would have no hitching to un-do.

Like all of us, I’ve occasionally made spectacular mistakes. Some of those have had less than sterling results.

The upshot of these adventures, over the years, has been one crucial rule of thumb:

When in doubt, don’t. 

Sounds glib, but it ain’t. Seriously: if you’re not sure about some decision you’re about to make, don’t proceed with it. 

STOP!!!

Stop and wait. Nine times out of ten, you will indeed have time to wait long enough to think things through; maybe to discuss with a trusted friend or advisor, or just to put it all off until your head clears.

And that, my friends, is what you most need to do before making any key decision.

Time to Move Along?

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Things have started to happen….things that suggest it’s time to move along.

To start with, apparently some employee at the corner Albertson’s supermarket took it into their head that I’ve been shoplifting from that store.

Uh..noooo….  Got better things to steal than groceries and cheap junk. How exactly that happened escapes me. Either someone who is Not My Friend told management there that I’m a thief, or someone who looks like me has been ripping off the place. One way or the other: that lets out the largest and best-stocked supermarket in the neighborhood as a shopping venue for me.

Another large supermarket resides to the north of the Funny Farm, about the same distance away. It’s in a seedier neighborhood, though: I’m not very comfortable walking around up there.

This leaves as the only viable nearby grocery store a large Sprouts.

It’ll do…though I’m less than fond of Sprouts. It’s not as well stocked as the Albertson’s or the Safeway…and I’ve had some seriously creepy experiences in that store’s parking lot.

Sooo…I dunno. Now I’m starting to think maybe I should move away from here. 

But where?

Down to my son’s neighborhood?  It’s a pretty, older, and quaint little district. Houses were built before there was such a thing as air-conditioning, and so they’re hot in the summer and cold in the winter. And their power bills are hot, all right: sizzling hot. Crime level is relatively high, too.

On the other hand, his place is an easy walk to the beloved AJ’s Fancy-Dan gourmet supermarket. In more affordable realms, it’s also fairly close to a Fry’s market.

Still… another reason to stay in my present parts is the veterinarian. Within easy walking distance, we have what appears to be an excellent vet — I have yet to find a reason to complain, anyway. And his office is close enough that, if forced to it, I actually can carry Ruby down there.

Reasons to exit, stage left?

Well, we have a few of those, and their number is growing. The a$$-hole who has taken to raiding my front patio and stealing my hummingbird feeders, for example. He has won: all the surviving bird feeders have been moved to the back yard. Those that haven’t been thoroughly washed and put away in closets, that is.

Tony’s rentals, of course, remain a bit of a nuisance. He’s simmered down quite a bit, though. The other day he was actually friendly to me, and he’s moved the delinquents out of the house across the street. So that really is no longer much of an issue.

The racket from the ambulances and fire engines racing around the nearby hospitals: yeah. Still there. Not much of an issue for me: I’ve grown accustomed to their melody and am no longer bothered by it. Frankly, I’d rather hear an ambulance siren than the roar of a war jet blasting overhead…any day. And in Sun City you get that latter melody, all right…every day..

Really: Sun City is just not my style. I detested living there with my parents, and you can be sure I don’t wanna go back now that I’m in my dotage.

S000…not knowing which way to jump just now, I reckon the best bet is not to jump at all. And we shall see what we shall see…

Seven Kinds o’ Hell

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Yech!!!!!!!  It’s lightly over-cast this afternoon and a chilly 85 degrees on the back porch. Mildly humid. And that translates, in Arizona lingo, to hotter than Hell. 

Seriously: it’s a freakin’ sauna out there. Just got back from a hike to and around my favorite local stores. And when we say “hike,” we ain’t kiddin’. I’d say the total came to a good three miles. At least. Down to the ‘Hood’s south border, past the church, downward ever downward to Main Drag South. Through the shopping center parking lot, around and around and around the HUGE supermarket. Finally out the door. Northerly northerly northerly back up to our part of the ‘Hood. Through the church parking lot. Past the apartments where my mother once wanted me to rent, northerly northerly northerly…finally reaching our street. Hiking, hiking, hiking…oh my GAWD!  

Hot? Lemme tellya hot.

About to faint by the time we reach our street, hiking easterly easterly until AT LAST we reach our north-south access road. Northerly northerly northerly, past houses with beautiful young kids playing in the yards <3, past the fine young neighbors’ places, up to the WonderAccountants’ place: straight across the street from the Funny Farm.

Damn near pass out as we reach the front door. Wrestle with two deadbolts. FINALLY get into the (mercifully!!!) air-conditioned house.

Ruby is waiting. She seems OK…uhm…I think. But the Human isn’t: the Human is about to fukkin’ die of heat exhaustion.

Stagger into the kitchen. Fill up a wine glass with ice and…and…oh what the Hell! pour a slug of white wine over it. Serve up half a can of dawg food. Turn on every fan in the room and collapse in front of one of them thar fans.

Thinking how much I miss San Francisco. How much I miss my relatives’ place in Berkeley. Why, dear God, WHY do I live in this Hell?

Oh. Because my son is here!

And oh: because I can’t afford to live in Berkeley. Or Sausalito. Or Richmond. Or most certainly not San Francisco. All the places I came from. All places I imagine I belong.

My gawd, I hate Arizona. Especially at this time of (the overheated!!) year. And this time of year — April — will extend through the end of September. Six richly hate-worthy months. 

What. A. Horrible. Place.

Wow! What Luck….

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Y’know…Amazon is saving my tail. Seriously: without the comprehensive delivery service that outfit provides, I would be in the old-folkerie by now.

Without a car — as you know, my son contrived to have mine taken away from me — there’s no way I could contrive to get groceries, to take the dog to the vet, or…helle’s belles, just to survive at all in our car-centric society.

Just ordered a case of canned food for Ruby the Corgi. Six count: that’s about 12 days’ worth. Price is outrageous (that’s for sure!). However…the price of owning a car exceeds outrageous, by the time you add up the gasoline and the regular service and the repairs. I’d have to buy dog food anyway — not at Amazon prices, but if you figure Amazon is keeping that car out of my garage, overall the cost probably evens out. That is, what I’m not spending on the car, I’m freeing up to have stuff delivered to my door.

And that is keeping me in my home.

How much longer that will hold forth remains to be seen.

I’m not going to be able to live here much longer, I’m afraid. By this point in his life, my father had moved himself into an old-folkerie, where he lived miserably ever after. (Not the institution’s fault: he stupidly married a woman he met there, little understanding that he could not replace my mother with some broad he met in the dining hall.) Personally, I loathe hate and despise communal living, and I sincerely hope I die before I reach the point that I can’t stay in my home.

But that’s not likely. Women in my family who didn’t smoke and didn’t drink routinely lived into their late 90s. And none of them were locked up in institutions…no, I take that back: one aunt was institutionalized by her son.

I’m sure I’ll end up in a prison for old folks, myself. There’s really no other practical way to care for me if I really do live into my late dotage. My son can’t take off his job to babysit me, and there are no other relatives who could help care for me. Horrible prospect.

But the really horrible part of it is that those places take everything you have. If I have to go into one of those jails, NOTHING will be left for my son. My savings, the value of my home…it all will be gone. And I want my son to have those things.

It may be best to arrange an early exit. How exactly one does that in a pain-free way escapes me…but clearly, finding the exit door by natural means ain’t pain-free, either. Ideally, one would like to just go to sleep and not wake up. But I don’t see how to engineer that in any sane or reliable way, nor does it appear likely to happen in the natural course of events.

There’s gotta be a way…now’s the time to engage those PhD-level research skills!

Where Are Ya Gonna Go?

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So the question of the day is…AM I gonna stay here, in my middle-upscale house in moderately affluent North Phoenix? Or am I gonna sell the house and move into some dreary old-folkerie?

Once again, this morning some sh!thead vandalized a hummingbird feeder in front.

REALLY??? You seriously have nothing to do but sneak onto a neighbor’s front porch and dork with her bird feeders?

Sheee-ut!  What IS the matter with people?

I love my home and I love my neighborhood — by and large love my neighbors, too — and I do NOT want to move into a holding pen for old folks waiting to die.

Yeah, I know: I’m an old folk myself, and yes, I’m just sittin’ here waiting to die, myself. But at least I’m doing those things on MY terms, not according to some institution’s rules.

Speaking of the’Hood, my GAWD, what a gorgeous day! And how do I not want to sit on a 5’x12′ balcony overlooking a parking lot while I sip my morning coffee? Nooooo thankee!

And ohhhh, that little dog! Sitting there with her funny corgi ears upright, soaking in the splendid morning…why would one live where one could not enjoy corgi company?

LOL! What an outrageously gorgeous day!  I should get off my duff, walk over to the Sprouts, and load up on some more edible loot.

But y’know, I’m just too plug-lazy! Seriously: right this moment I can’t work up any enthusiasm for springing to my feet and hiking over to the store. Or for calling the Uber-driving neighbor and putting him up to schlepping me over there.

No. The important order of the day is to loaf. Loafing, loafing, serious loafing!

And y’know: we now have a mechanism that makes that important chore possible. It’s called AMAZON. 😀  Truth to tell, I don’t have to trudge or to taxi to a grocery store or a drugstore. All I have to do is call up Amazon on the laptop, pick out whatever loot I desire, and have it delivered to my front door.

Amazon — seriously — has saved my tail when it comes to living in my home through my dotage. Time after time, now, they’ve sent stuff to me that I would have had to hire a cab to buy, or that I probably couldn’t have found in any store anywhere near my house, here in (un)lovely North Phoenix. Hardly a week goes by anymore that I don’t order something from Amazon.

So the question is: “Where are you gonna go”?  

And the answer is: Right here. 

I’m gonna stay right here in my shack until I keel over face-first, dead as the proverbial doornail. Until that day, if I need someone to help me day-to-day, I’ll hire someone to come in to the house.

Matter of fact, it develops that Wonder Cleaning-Lady has done that in the past. So…I may even be able to hire her! No one new to get used to…no poor soul having to figure out my eccentricities…what could be better?