The young(ish) couple who bought my neighbor Sally’s house are over there madly renovating. Sounds like a buzz saw — or maybe a floor sander — whirring away.
Hm. While we think of it…let’s go on a li’l doggy walk and poke our nosy schnozz into their business as we stroll by…
****
So we’re ARF! ARF! out the door. Around the park. through the south side of Lower Richistan. Ruby: beside her canid self with doggy joy.
And it’s ROAR! ROAR!! ROAR!!! from Luke Air Force, off to the southwest side of Our Fair City. Holy mackerel, what a racket!
That racket is one of the several reasons you couldn’t pay me to live in Sun City: the melody of jet fighter planes soaring overhead, taking off from an Air Force Base just down the road from one’s backyard. That’s about as far from what I wanna hear over morning coffee and evening cocktails as you can get.
Hilariously, my mother claimed to love it. She would sit on her screened back porch, swill her coffee, and listen to those blasting jets engines as the sun came up.
ohhhh, she would coo. It’s the sound of freedom!
ahhhh…no, Mom. It’s the sound of World War III, comin’ your way….
WHY are humans so fukkin stupid?????
Ohhh well…
The pair who bought the Beloved Sally’s house behind me: nicest neighbors you could hope to have. A yardful of screaming kids: maybe not so much. But only a couple of kids in sight just now…and that makes for a reasonably QUIET occupancy.
They may have bought the place on spec, though. We shall see. I hope they last a good long while. But whatever: for the nonce, they’re about as ideal as you can get.
Secretly, I even enjoy and am happy to have Tony the (Amazing!) Romanian Landlord as a neighbor. Forgodsake don’t tell him, though! Who knows what shenanigans he’ll get up to if he hears that bit of apostasy! 😀
Meanwhile, the young people behind us are busy fancifying Sally’s shack.
* On the one hand, I hope they spiff it up and extract a nice profit from it.
* On the other hand: I rather like that bunch and would be pleased if they hung around a few years.
* On the third hand, soon it will be time for me to move into an old-folkerie or some such horror. And I surely would like either to leave this house to my son as a fine investment or to be able to sell it and add the proceeds to the pile of dough I hope to leave to him.
Please, God: let me exit, stage left before that third exigency comes to pass.
ROOOOARRRR!
Is that another F-15? Or is it Cosmic laughter?