Coffee heat rising

Arrghh! Home Sweet Home?

Just get yourself settled into the sack. Toss doggy’s Indian blanket atop the human’s bedding. Turn the fan on to get the bedroom air circulating. Pooch has claimed a patch of real estate at the foot of the mattress. Climb under your own covers…

…and…  Yeah.

RRR..rrr…oOAOarrr…rrrrrrr!

Cop copter circling over the roof. Again.

These cop chases have become so commonplace that one barely notices them.

Well. Except insofar as you know you damn well better notice them, at least to the extent of locking all the doors and windows and being sure the phone is on the nightstand next to the bed and fully functioning. Might be good to have the pistol next to the phone, too….

Occasionally I think the hound and I should move to some quieter part of the Valley, where we’re less likely to be buzzed by cops chasing perps.

But…but…where would that be? 

The crime levels in the lovely Valley of the Sun seem to be pretty constant, wherever you are. I think some walled condo developments tend to repel the rampaging perps. But by and large, wherever you are, you’re gonna have cops’ copters buzzing your house and criminals bouncing around the place.

***

Hmmmm… Our fellas have roamed off. Either they caught the perps forthwith, or whoever they were chasing got away.

Naturally, Ruby t..a..a..a..k…e..s  her fine time to do her Thing.

Hurry up, Ruby! 

sniff sniff sniff sniff…

RUUBEEE! 

RROAOARRR  They’re b-a-a-c-k!

sniff sniff sniff sniff…

GAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!

Finally Ruby does her job and we dart back inside the house, having missed an encounter with a fleeing burglar.

Lock the doors. Retreat to the bedroom.

Whyagain, are we living in this garden spot?????

Traipsing to Pretoria….

Hot, wet morning!

Out the door as dawn cracked, wherewith to take an exercise walk before it gets unbearably hot.

“Gets”???? Seriously?

Ohhhh well. 

It was down to the Albertson’s shopping center, wherein (I imagined) to visit the shopping-lot doctor’s office and tell the staff to QUIT CALLING ME ON THE PHONE, DAMMIT!!!!!!!

Three guesses:

* They weren’t open
* They weren’t open
* Or, they weren’t open

Right. Nine a.m. of a mid-week day, and no one was there.

Brilliant white cumulus clouds climb through a radiant blue sky. They seem to be growing, thickening. Presumably we’ll get some rain this afternoon.

Passed the PILES of cheap apartments along Main Drag West. Years ago, incredibly, my mother wanted me to rent a place in those dumps. They were no worse, really, than they are now. And no better. Not a place where you’d want to live. Especially not if you were a 20-something college kid.

Well. Post-college kid. I’d finished the B.A. and was lurking, trying to decide what to do next.

One thing I did NOT want to do was continue my career as a phone-answering receptionist, working for something less than almost nothin’. 😀

In any event, I cannot even BEGIN to imagine why those dumps, even when they were 30 years newer, would have been a desirable place for a young woman to live. Chez Pitz!

What on earth was my mother thinking???? 

Now and again, I imagine I really ought to sell the Dog Palace and move either out into the suburbs or deeper into town. Rationality soon catches up, though: it’s expensive as hell to sell your house, buy another one, and move. Plus I love my house and I ain’t a-gunna move away from here.

So. There!

Handsome young black man, loafing in the covered bus stop. Ohhhh you gorgeous critter! Smile. He smiles back. He’s plainly stoned.

Damn.

Proceed northward, ever northward, along Main Drag West. This, to avoid being followed into the ‘Hood.

Mercifully, I’m now tooooo old to appeal to any man: young, old, black, white, purple, stoned or straight…. Thank goodness! 

After enough distance is passed, dodge into the ‘Hood. Come upon a fine young father, busily installing a basketball hoop for his preschool-age kid. Adorable! Despite its surroundings, our neighborhood still DOES have a lot to recommend it.

DO I want to stay here, now and evermore?

Well….I’m so ambiguous as to whether the answer is probably “yeah….” I incline to operate on the “When in Doubt, Don’t” principle. If you’re not dead sure that XXX is what you want to do, then don’t do XXX.

duh! Why does that not seem obvious?

And yet….when ambiguity lurks, it surely isn’t obvious.

If you don’t know how well the real estate will hold its value…

If you don’t know whether those slum apartments will continue to go downhill, or whether the Yup set will discover them and turn them into high-rent urban campgrounds…

If you don’t know whether your health is gonna hold out as you roam deeper into decrepitude…

If you don’t know if your son would like to inherit your shack, after you finally do croak over…

Well, Helle’s belles: then YOU DON’T KNOW. 

Personally, I’m averse to making any kind of decision or move when I don’t know. Knowing what I’m doing: that’s what I do. But sometimes, that’s just not possible.

{sigh}

Lock It Down!!!!!

Arghhhh!  I have GOT to get special training on not answering the door, on not speaking to strangers, and on uttering the sound N-N-N-N-O-O-O-O!

Crimineee! The crooks are storming me from all directions.

Did I tell you about the Tree Dudes?

A crew of guys showed up at the front door saying they were here to trim the overgrown eucalyptus-like monster in the west yard.

Uhhhh….ooohkayyyyyy……

{huh?  Did I hire these guys??}

So they bang around and thud around, getting ready to assassinate my huge west-side tree, the one that keeps the air-conditioning bills down on that side of the house

About then, my son calls on the phone. I tell him what’s up. He says GET RID OF THEM!

So I end up having to toss that bunch out in the cold (or rather, the heat), just as they’re gearing their saws to chop down everything in sight.

Good riddance to that bunch.

Here’s the problem with Old Age: you can’t remember what you did ten minutes ago, much less a day or three ago!

I cannot remember whether I agreed to hire these guys to prune that gigantic tree. My son says I did not. Just in time does he say that: minutes to spare before they started to assassinate my trees. And my bank account.

My neighbor has (I think) a camera by her front door. She does NOT answer the door, no matter who’s out there. If she can see an image of someone she’s willing to talk to, she’ll open up. Otherwise, you and your fellow scam artists can stand there till the snow falls.

I think I’m going to install one of those. Hers allows her to see who’s out there without having to open the door. I can do that, too, by looking out through a window…but that allows the “guest” to see me, too. In Terri’s case, she can see who’s out there, but they can’t tell whether anyone’s home. So they can ring the doorbell to their idiot heart’s content, get nowhere, and let Terri go out in the back yard until the ring-fest ends.

We seem to get more and more hustlers showing up at the door, trying to peddle this junk or faze that scam past you. So…a way to see who’s out there without them seeing me would be MOST welcome. 

Back at the Ranch…in the nick of time

GAAAAAHHHH!  Go ahead: just try to sit down while the coffee steeps!

Hah. we say to that. Hardy-har-har!

Comin’ on to 8:00 of a VERY soggy morning. Thunder rolling. Clouds lurking. RRRR-O-O-A-A-R!!!! Just made it back in the house from this morning’s doggy-walk….

How can I count the ways…?

Seriously, this is one weird morning. We’re right at 8:00 a.m. and it’s so dark out there you’d guess it was around 6:00. Water all over the back porch: it must have rained during the night, ’cause it missed us while Ruby and I were traipsing around the ‘Hood.

Somebody’s burglar or fire alarm was wailing away…they must be out of town. Or all dead, presumably murdered by their alarm’s visitor. WEEE-UUU WEEE-UUU WEEE-UUU WEEE-UUU WEEE-UUU !!!! What a racket! 

Inside our house, we can’t hear that serenade, though. Just the KER-BOOOOOOOM! of the present thunderstorm.

Man! It’s really roaring away out there! Wunderground predicts a high of 86 with a 98%chance of precip. That would seem to translate to HOT AND WET. 

Uh oh. Lawn blower racket. 

Puuuleeeze, Gawd! TELL me that’s not Gerardo’s boys banging around the yard!!!!!

Nope: they’re across the street, lucky guys. Thanks, God!

How would you like to be trying to mow and blower up a 1/4-acre yard as the sky is roaring at you? Sometimes even the most crabby-making days look just fine compared to someone else’s fine day….

Movin’ On…if it can be called moving…

LOL! Okay, so the magnificent stabs of pain that visited the lame hip a little earlier today have pretty well settled down. What kicked it up, I have NO idea.

Nor do have I a clue what made it settle down. All I know just now is that at the moment it hurts, but it sure doesn’t hurt like it did.

Don’t get any optimistic ideas that “doesn’t hurt like it did” means it’s gonna go away. Because that ain’t how this thing has been working. Yeah: it comes and goes. It’ll hurt like Hell. Then for no obvious reason the pain will recede: not gone, but tolerable. Then a few hours later — again for no obvious reason: hurts like Hell again.

No clue what makes it flare up. No clue what makes it settle down. All I know is that it comes and goes. But never…ever…goes AWAY.

Well..what ELSE I know is…

* I’m tired of hurting
*I’m tired of listening to my ears whistling
* I’m tired of my yard being a mess because it hurts too much to clean things up
* I’m tired of my house being a mess because it hurts too much to drag stuff around.
* I’m tired of looking at the dorked up dining-room chair cushions, a mess because it hurts too much to take the chairs apart and try to fix said mess
* I’m damn tired of knowing that when I get up from this chair it’s gonna hurt like Hell

STOP THE WORLD! I WANNA GET OFF!!

{Chortle!} Actually, stopping the world may not help. We’re told that the accursed peripheral neuropathy can persist for weeks, if not months. Ohhhhhh well…..

Giddy-up!

Two days later and, incredibly, we’re STILL on the wagon!

Who would’ve predicted it, eh?

Now, I ain’t a-gunna say that I don’t miss a nice beer right about now — come 4:20 in the afternoon. But neither am I gunna say that I’ll keel over in a faint without it.

The crazy-making peripheral neuropathy continues, though I could (maybe) persuade myself that it’s a little milder just now. For that to be credible, that milder-ing would have to continue for several days or weeks, and get more obvious as the time passes. So…about all we can say about that is time will tell. 

Meanwhile, I’ve come to think that if I’m going to be able to stay in my home as I age and not end up in one of those horrible warehouses for old people, I’ve got to get 100% sober and stay that way. That is to say, I’ve gotta quit drinking, and I’ve gotta quit drinking NOW.

So far, that’s not been very difficult. But…heh!!  It’s only been a few hours…

It needs to become not a few hours. Not a few days. But a few weeks.

And then a few months. And months and months… And then…yep: years. 

VidelicetI’ve gotta get off the sauce and STAY off the sauce. Now and evermore.

We shall see, soon enough, whether that’s even remotely possible…