Coffee heat rising

aging

Round and Round We Go….

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Whatever it is, it…

…doesn’t work
…has to be done over again
…needs a technician to deal with it
…needs my son to wrangle the technician
…is gonna cost an arm and a leg and another arm!

Air-Conditioning Dude just climbed down from damn near an hour on the roof. M’hijito was struggling to get away from his job so he could come down here and wrangle…but…apparently that was not feasible. No sign of the kid, no word from his precincts…oh damn. And now AC Dude needs to move along.

AC Dude is waiting in his truck for the kid to show up. He did say he had some paperwork he needs to do…but after that?????

We also had Plumber Dude in the wings: no sign of him.

Y’know…it looks like my dotage has caught up with me. Seriously: I just no longer can ride herd on workmen and doctors and lawyers and veterinarians and thisses and thattas.

Earlier today, I was thinking…hmmm…. Maybe it’s time for me to sell this house and move into an apartment.

Not fond of apartment living, frankly — been there, done that, and done it and done it and done it and…don’t wanna do it again. But it does have its advantages:

* The landlord deals with repairs and workmen
* Someone else has to be home to intercept those worthies
* Most of the infrastructure repairs are covered by the rent
* You don’t have to hang around all day to meet and greet said workmen

******

At any rate, my Excellent Son arrived soon to wrangle the beloved AC Dude. 😀  Seriously, both men rank among The Best, far’s I’m concerned.

Dear Son knew exactly what to describe to our guy. Bless’im! You don’t even wanna KNOW what I might have said to the fella.

Thanks to the clear instructions, though, AC Dude quickly grasped the problem and in less than an hour, had the thing fixed.

What a job, though! All told, from arrival to exit, it did take him darn a good hour of rassling around.

Y’know, this is one good reason — maybe THE best reason — for me not to sell this house and move into an apartment or some sort of old-folkerie. M’hijito should get this house. It’s just the ticket for him: roomy and handsomely renovated and smack in the middle of a passing tony neighborhood and within walking distance of the lightrail (which will drop you off right in front of the beloved AJ’s Overpriced Grocery Store…) and within walking distance of three major supermarkets. Really….we need to see that he gets the place when I shuffle on down the road.

***

And along those lines, recently I learned that the old folks’ prison called The Beatitudes  — just a few miles straight down Main Drag West from my house, and within easy walking distance of M’Hijito’s place — will send people to your home to babysit you!

That is to say: I may be able to get one-on-one oversight, food prep, some drivings-around, and whatnot without having to sign over my freedom to one of those awful jails for the elderly!

Whether they charge a lot more to come to your home and ride herd on you than they do to put you up in old-folks’ prison is yet to be discovered. My father had to fork over everything he got from the sale of his handsome little house in Sun City to get into the gawdawful old-folks’ jail where he consigned himself. So I imagine this supposed service will be similarly pricey.

But if the cost is the same…any day I’d druther be able to stay in my own home than have to move into a noisy, stinky, annoying zoo for the elderly. So: that issue moves to the front burner. It would be hugely reassuring to know I could hire out my end-of-life care, rather than having to move into a “facility.”

Ugh. What a society we live in!

Surely the End Is in Sight

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So, so sick. One can only hope this comes to an end fairly soon.

Not that I’m in any hurry to shuffle off this infamous mortal coil…but…dayum this old-age stuff hurts!

Need to find a way to get down to the nursing home/old-age factory, there to talk with the operators and figure out how to arrange to get myself in there when the time comes (which, I fear, is nigh…) and how to pay for it.

Horrors.

First horror: I truly detest institutional living. Hated every goddam minute of living in the college dorms. And now it looks like I’m going to have to end my life in exactly that kind of setting.

Yeah: hating every goddam minute of every goddam day.

Next horror: those places take everything you have in exchange for baby-sitting you into the Next World. And I do NOT want to have to fork over all the money my father left me and all of my own savings plus the value of this house for the privilege of being baby-sat into the Next World. I want that inheritance to go to my son, not to some baby-sitting factory.

As I mentioned a few posts back, Wonder Cleaning-Lady apparently spent some time coming into infirm people’s homes and baby-sitting them. Next time I see her, I’ll have to ask her about that, and where she worked.

It would be ideal if I could hire someone to come in and baby-sit me, at least during the day and at least until I’m a lot closer to the finish line. But it’s unclear to me whether that’s possible and, if so, how much it would cost.

Everything you have: that’s how much it’ll cost. Dontcha just  know?

And no, my son is in no position to chauffeur me into the Next World. He has a JOB. Can you imagine???

And it’s a pretty demanding job: his nose is on the proverbial grindstone all day, every day…and then some. So…somehow I’ve got to find some way get cared for without wrecking his life. And preferably without making me any more miserable than absolutely necessary.

So…I have no idea how to handle this. Asked down at the church, figuring social service work is a large part of a cleric’s job. They didn’t have a clue.

What would help a lot would be if I would just keel over dead, with a minimum of hassle and pain. Flop down on the living-room floor and be done with it.

BUT…we have this little problem of the dog. If I fell off the cliff into the Next World, she would be left here alone, with no one to feed her and care for her. And since nobody gives a damn whether I live or die, she might not survive until someone noticed.

I guess I could find a new home for her now. But gosh, I don’t wanna do it. Just now she’s my only companion and, frankly, about my only friend. If I give her to someone else, I really will be all alone.

All alone in an institutional setting. Doesn’t that sound jolly?

Hiking to Pretoria…

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Well…to Dogtoria, actually. Ruby and I just got back from a seemingly endless trek around the’Hood, not only all over the interior regions but up and down the east and south main drags. Traipsing traipsing traipsing.

Neither of the two lawyers I’d consider engaging were in their offices…not surprising, considering that this is a Sunday. 😀 Tomorrow I must take off into the urban wilderness and see if either of these guys will talk with me. Not about anything drastic…just quotidian stuff like copyright and ownership deeds and such-like.

At this point, I want to review  my will, to be sure that M’hijito  will get everything I’d like him to have after I croak over. That would be…everything I have. And that’s a fair amount, actually: investments, real estate, on and on and on. I want this stuff to transfer smoothly to him, without any hassle.

And with my beloved long-time lawyer consigned to the Other World (how dare he croak over!), we need to get a new attorney in place and set to go for M’hijito with a minimum of headaches and tax problems.

Tomorrow I’ll call Dear Ex-Husband (in his heyday one of the top corporate lawyers in the region) and see if he can aim me at someone who will get everything firmly and smoothly in place.

Meanwhile… Yes: the ‘Hood…  

The piles of apartments to the west of our environs are…mmmm….possibly not going in the direction one would like. They’re getting old. Rents must have come down, one surmises: the apparent quality of the residents (as seen from afar) is nothing like what it used to be.

So that puts the ‘Hood right on the border of a slummifying district.

And that makes this ‘Hoodie right nervous.

Seriously: I don’t like the look of it, and I kinda think I should sell the shack and move into a more credibly stable neighborhood, one likely to hold its value until after the Kid inherits his share of it. But before doing that, I need to make sure M’jihito’s interests are already protected.

Oh well.  We shall see. Eventually. 

Gosh!

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LOL! As dawn cracks, WordPress is bloody well NOT ABOUT to let me into Funny about Money. The system is set up to recognize me, and so I haven’t had to memorize the password…and I’ll be damned if I can find a clue to it. Usually I tape the things to the computer’s case, but this one…apparently not.

/eyeroll/  /exclamation point/

Well. For unknown reasons, the thing changed its mind. NOOOO idea why, but now it has let me in.  So let us scribble as fast as we can scribble, because for all we know this may be the world’s last FaM post.

Sick as a dawg. My son is also too sick to drag me out to the Mayo, wherein reside our quacks. It looks suspiciously like we are, coincidentally, both enjoying the Family Disease — diabetes. He’s much sicker than I am, for the nonce, though presumably this thing will also get worse for me, since it has started back up later.

Before there was such a thing as insulin, relatives of my mother croaked over from this disease. That’s how she got to California: the New York grandparents, who had her custody, died or became too overwhelmed to care for a kid, so she was shipped off to the famously roguish California relatives.

I expect M’hijito and I will survive it, at least for a few years, but only by dint of jabbing ourselves with shots every time we turn around.

What fun, eh?

Being twice my son’s age, I personally am ready to shuffle off this mortal coil — although I would prefer to do so with a minimum of pain and suffering. That doesn’t look like a likely prospect…ohhhh well!

And speaking of x as y, it’s colder than a by-gawd out there. Well…for Arizona it is. 😀 A bone-chilling 52 degrees.

This morning I’ll have to trek around — on foot, through the cold, since those bastards at the Mayo Clinic have decommissioned my driver’s license and my son has confiscated my car — to try to find a nearby doc who can test me for diabetes, thereby confirming my suspicion. If I’m right, at least maybe they can offer some treatment to ease the crazy-making symptoms.

If not…well…  I’m 80 years old: past time to go. So I don’t expect I’ll object too much to whatever I have to do to accelerate that process.

Can you imagine being that superannuated? Who would guess I’d ever reach this ripe old age?!?

LOL! I don’t expect it’s that huge a surprise, though. Women in my family who survived childbirth and cancer have lived well into their 90s. In fact…I believe my great-grandmother and her strait-laced daughter (that one decidedly not my grandmother…) were both 98 when they died.

On the other hand, those two women lived on the side of a steep hill in Berkeley, California. To get to the grocery store or to the stop where the aunt caught the train to her job in San Francisco, they had to walk up that hill. So that meant they got steady, regular exercise almost every day.

We do have some hills I could perambulate — but they’re in the Phoenix Mountain Park. After a couple of hair-raising experiences with some very shady, very scary sh!theads out there, I will NOT go on those trails by myself anymore. Used to hike there almost every day, but now I just don’t feel safe up there alone. And…who do you know who wants to spend two hours a day driving to and hiking around the local mountain park with some old bat?

So Ruby and I walk around the neighborhood, which unfortunately is 100 percent on the flat. That’s better than nothing, I guess…but frankly, I doubt if it’s adding more than about 6 hours to my total lifespan.

***

rrrroooaaarrr rrrrr rrrr roooaarrr roar roar…

NOW what?

Hmmmm… Appears to be the merry song of a weed-whacker. Check out front: no sign of Gerardo and the boys.

What a racket! Not even eight in the morning…grrrrrr!

Oh well. Just be glad you don’t have to make your living running a weed-whacker, eh? In the cold. Just as the sun is rising.

Actually, SDXB used to spring to life at exactly that time: sunrise. But…it was back when he lived here in the ‘Hood. Now he’s out in Sun City — assuming he’s still living. When last heard from, he was on his last paws.

Google him…and you can’t find a mention of the guy. His relatives must have contrived to take any links to him off the Internet — one presumes so, because a search for his name used to bring up a whole slew of links. He was a multi-award-winning investigative reporter…so his name was all over the regional publications and even in some national ones.

Stupid stuff, eh?

Y’know, the houses here in the ‘Hood were built by the same developer who built out Sun City. And my parents took up residence in that balmy burg, after my father retired. That’s how I ended up in lovely Arizona: my father dragged me here a year before I graduated from high school and dropped me in the University of Arizona. He thought the idea of a whole community where kids were not allowed was the most brilliant concept ever designed by the human brain.

No. He did NOT like kids. Never did figure out how my mother managed to persuade him to let her have me. Whatever: no more urchins were allowed in that household.

Anyway: it’s almost weird how much these houses look like Sun City houses. The neighborhood itself, in its overall design, is different from S.C., but the dinky little houses are very much like the little slump-block shacks out there. Oh, waitaminit, though: we have actual garages here. In S.C., you got a one-car carport, and that was it. 

Because after all, what retired couple needs more than one car, eh? And what burglar would be bothered with ripping off old people, eh?

Actually, the burglars loved the carports. The idiot developer installed an opening to the attic in the ceiling over the carport. Very convenient! If you were a burglar, you’d come along after everyone had turned off their lights, climb up on the car’s roof, slide open the attic entrance, and climb on in. Once inside, you’d wend your way over the beams to the area of the living room or kitchen, saw a hole in the ceiling drywall, and drop down into the house!

And voilà! While the superannuated residents snoozed, you’d make yourself to home. And make off with all the money and jewelry you could find.

LOL! The flimsy, stupidly designed construction is one of about a jillion reasons you couldn’t pay me to live out there.

She said: living in a flimsy, stupidly designed house, eh?

Well…, the construction quality here is notably better. Houses are sturdily built. Garages have actual doors, things that you can close and lock. Alleys run behind the rows of houses, providing a place to put your garbage where the city can pick it up. Backyards are surrounded by six- to eight-foot concrete block walls, making it harder for the burglars to come in the back door. (In Sun City: no walls for the likes of you, chucklehead! If any fences exist, they’re low wire numbers designed to keep your Chihuahua in.)

We’re still in a tract of look-alike houses, but…at least they’re better built houses.

Welp…speaking of our garden spot, I’d better get off my duff and take the Hound for a walk, before it gets much later. And so…arf!! awayyy!

Summer Storm-time

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1:40 p.m.
November 18, 2025…still!

Fine freshet of an Arizona afternoon storm is y-rollin’ in. kerBOOM!  Thunder growls angrily in from the west. The sky has turned ash gray as clouds gallop ahead of the wind. Ruby the Corgi loafs on the bed, gazing out the window…apparently unfazed.

What un-fine timing. Tonight M’ijito is dragging me to the brain-banging booooring physical therapy studio, there to blow away another two hours going hup-hup-hup-hup-hup-hup-hup-hup-…..to amazingly little avail.

Ugh. If I’ve got to waste my time, I’d rather waste it loafing with Ruby.

Ohhhhh, well. It gets one out of the house. I guess. And presumably onto the rain-soaked streets…

Meanwhile, the pain is sloooooowwwleeee easing off, about an atom’s width at a time. Eventually it will go away. Then with any luck the ludicrous physical therapy antics will also go away.

The other evening I got SO frustrated with the mindless, pointless hup-hup-hupping that I sneaked out of the gym and ran off down the street. M’jito had gone off someplace (no doubt even more bored than his muther was), so I contrived to slip out and trot away without getting caught.

You can be sure he won’t let that happen again, eh?

Already it’s seemed a strangely long day. It’s only about a quarter to two. yet if feels like we ought to be rounding on 5:00 or 6:00 p.m. Why? Probably the thick cloud cover: the sky is a uniform dark gray, so you can’t estimate the time (not on a bet) by studying the height and angle of the sun.  And lookee there! It’s raining again!

How do I not want to drive through the rain, in the dark, for the privilege of a pointless hup-hup-hup session?  ARRRGH!  Let me count the pointless ways!

Go Ahead: Just TRY to Put Your Feet Up and Relax!

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Feed the dog • Pick up the dishes, and • put them in the dishwasher •  Pour the coffee • Lock the back screen door and • open the kitchen door to let in some cool, clean(ish) air • Find the computer • Peruse the latest news • Check Wunderground’s (unremarkable) weather prediction for the day • Settle into an easy chair to swill coffee and…

…and you get RRRRROOOOAAAAAARRRRRRR!!!!!

Ayup! Another Cop Copter chase.

They’re zooming around just to the north of us — about four or six blocks, I’d say.

Jayzuz! There is never a fukkin’ dull moment around this place!!!!

Well. That’s not fair. Ruby and I circumnavigated the park as dawn cracked this morning. Except for one idiot who deliberately tried to run us down in his car (no mistaking the deliberate part), it was quiet. No cops around there, either, to see the charging commuter.

Ugh! Makes Sun City look good!

Well. No…hafta take that back. IMHO, nothing makes Sun City look good. A dreary mausoleum a pleasant place to live does not make.

Yesterday the neighbors had a grand birthday party for their pre-teen kids. What fun! A joyous mob of them running around the street, which had been closed off for the festivities.

Why on earth would you want to live someplace where that couldn’t happen??