Well. It ain’t exactly “gorgeous.” But it’s exceptionally pleasant: a big green park, irrigated lawns in every direction, handsome 1950s and 60s ranch houses punctuated here and there with newer stately mansions. Inviting enough.
The corgi and I set out at dawn to circumnavigate the park and then traipse through the northerly flange that comprises Upper Richistan, the pastures, and a tract of what must once have been a toney suburb.
Drifting northerly, up toward Gangbanger’s Way, we come to the long cul-de-sac where our dear elderly friend and co-hiker used to live. Apparently the house still belongs to her, tho’ she’s gone: nowhere to be seen. As she sank deeper into the sands of Old Age, she was consigned to a “life-care community” — read “nursing home.” Exactly the fate, as she told me many months ago, that she hoped to evade.
I think she must still be living (if being stuck in one of those places can be called “living”), because the house stands there vacant, its furniture (visible through the front windows) still just as she left it.
Her plan was to leave the house to her son, who lives in another state.
Why did she believe he would want it? He doesn’t live in Arizona! She must have thought it would make a good investment for him. He apparently thinks otherwise…but oddly, has not disposed of the place. Months after her disappearance, it stands there vacant. I’m afraid that detail — vacant, not sold — indicates the worst: she’s infirm but not free of these earthly chains. Locked up in some nursing home or old-folkerie. God help her!
The little street makes for a nice neighborhood. But alas, that extends only to the visual aspects. It’s a block south of Gangbanger’s Way, where motorcyclists and hot-rodders roar back and forth into the night. Even where my house is — at least a half-mile away, probably more — the racket is so crazy-making you can’t leave a window open at night.
People get used to that noise. My first apartment stood right on the curb of a hectic main drag called Thomas Road. My mother couldn’t understand how I could bear to live there — whenever she visited, the traffic noise would about drive her bats. But I didn’t even notice it!
So, I imagine that must have been the case for Garnett, too.
Meanwhile, closer to home: Some developer is building a passing huge mansion over in Lower Richistan. It’s unclear to me whether this lumbering (heh!) structure is to comprise two dwellings — i.e., a pair of townhouses — or whether it’s going to be one house. The latter, I think. They’ve got the frame up and have installed most of the fire-proofing. This morning they were applying brickwork and drywall over that.
Won’t the neighbors be thrilled?
In a moment of misguided chumminess