Coffee heat rising

Idle essays

Beerless in Gaza…

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Well, that was one of the weirder junkets I’ve made in the past few years. 😀

It went like this:

* Out the door
* Wander up Main Drag West past the Prod church
* Stroll on through the Albertson’s, planning to buy…
*…to buy?
*…to buy WHAT?
*How’s about picking up a six-pack of beer?
* Bah! Too much bother to carry home
* Exit Albertson’s, empty-handed
* Stroll around shopping center
* See exactly nothing of interest
* Walk back to Main Drag West toward the house
* Pass Prod church again
* Enjoy kids playing outside in their yards
* Hike up toward the Funny Farm
* Arrive back at the Funny Farm
* Shouldn’t I have bought a six-pack of beer?
* Bah! What on earth for? I’m gonna hike six blocks, then  turn around and hike six blocks back home, to buy…to buy…what? A bottle of beer?

I’m crazy. but I’m not THAT crazy. 😀

Seriously: It was a pleasant short hike on a beautiful afternoon, to buy…NOTHING. 

Yet there was something strangely pleasing about having gotten out of the house, strolled a half-mile down to the store, strolled another half-mile home, and spent NOTHING on anything! 

Meanwhile, there in the yards we have kids playing, grown-ups puttering, pooches frolicking, soft wind blowing…what a perfect afternoon!

This, I need to do more often!

Ruminations on Ruination

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Egad! Get up and close that damn back door…NOW!

Seriously: the Dawg and the Human just sat down to take in the morning slack — coffee mug in hand, computer atop lap — and it dawns on the Human: Do not sit there with the back door hanging open, dammit!!!  Nay verily, not even if the screen door is closed and locked.

‘Cause, as we know, any clown and his/her little brother can kick or yank that screen open.

Sounds paranoid, eh? But I do hafta say: it feels more and more unsafe to me, living here in lovely Arizona. Especially in its (un)lovely cities.

Day or two ago, a Tucson woman was murdered at her home, apparently by a nut case. So…sitting around your house or patio taking in the morning air is decidedly NOT advised. Surely not around here.

So many of our fellow citizens are off the rails here in this crazy-making 21st Century — and it’s so easy for them (and us) to stock up on firearms — that really: You’d be nuts to loaf in your family room with the back door hanging open.

I never used to feel especially unsafe in my home, certainly not in the daylight hours. But lately that has changed…and I don’t think the change is a function of age.

No. It’s a function of the steadily growing insanity and violence around us. Not that humans haven’t always been crazy…but really, it does seem a lot more pronounced than it was, say, 20 or 30 years ago.

Sometimes I think I should move out of uptown Phoenix — surely the suburbs would be safer. When I mentioned that to a cop during the great home invasion adventure, he remarked that there aren’t any places in the Phoenix metropolitan area that can be regarded as safe.

Really…when you re-read the post I put up at Funny after that little adventure, you hafta ask yourself: Why am I still living here???

What the HELL is the matter with me that I haven’t moved somewhere else? Somewhere far, far from here! Really: this house should have been on the market the next day after that episode…

But…but…WHERE would I go that’s any better?

Sun City, that fine mausoleum on the west side? 

Well, no: this kind of stuff happens out there. My mother lived in white-lipped terror all the time she and my father owned their Sun City manse. And I’m not interested in living in a ghetto for the aged and the cranky. No, thanks.

A box in the sky? One of the high-rise apartments along Central Avenue or in Scottsdale?

Well…I’ve lived in such a place. And…no thanks. Don’t wanna do that again. I’m just not in to communal living.

No communal living, eh? Well, then: how about back out to the ranch, just outside the wide spot in the road called Yarnell? Right up on the Rim…cool weather, lots of cows and sheep, plenty of room for the burglars to spread out comfortably?

Hm. Yeah, I did love the ranch. BUT: we didn’t live there 24/7. It was more of a weekend retreat for us. And y’know: I don’t think I would want to live out in the middle of nowhere 24/7. Besides, if a burglar/rapist/murderer can visit you in your city subdivision, what’s to keep him from visiting you on your remote ranch?

Basically…where there be humans, you be not safe.

Yeah: I’m afraid that’s a fact.

Or, alternatively:  I’m afraid. That’s a fact.

😀

 

 

Back Online! And Chariot-Free

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Hallelujah! Funny appears to be back online. Why, when, where? No idea. At any rate, we’ll soon see if this post goes up.

Meanwhile, our li’l world is toddling off to Hell on a handcart. (Can you toddle on a rolling thing?) Everybody that I know, just about, is sick as a dawg.

(Why are dogs thought to be sick, anyway?)

The purloined car is permanently gone. The Mayo/driver’s license issue is, I think (but am not sure) is still up in the proverbial air. I do have another doctor who says the Mayo doc is ridiculous and there’s no reason I can’t be driving…but truth to tell, I don’t feel much like barging into battle over the issue.

As more time passes, I find (more & more) that, given where I live and given the commerce all around here, I really don’t NEED a car to get by just fine. More than just fine, really.

Everything I need or crave, day-to-day, is available within easy walking distance. And for the stuff that’s not right around the corner, an Uber driver lives straight across the street!

Matter of fact, I’ve learned that at least half-a-dozen Uber drivers live right here in the ‘Hood. So as a practical matter, it really is true that you don’t need a car to live in this part of town, comfortably and conveniently.

That is a HUGE money suck that goes away forthwith! Riding on the lightrail, the busses, and the local Uber autos costs a tiny fraction of what owning a car costs. I’m now thinking I’m not going to bother to try to extract my license from those idiots at the Mayo or to retrieve my car from my son’s garage.

If he gives the car back or reimburses me for it, I’ll sell it and bank about 10 grand. That will buy a whole lotta Uber rides, eh?

Gosh. It’s almost like living in San Francisco. When my mother and I lived there, waaayyy back in the day, my father’s swell Oldsmobile remained parked in the apartment’s underground garage whenever he was off at work (he went to sea and was gone for weeks at a time). The only time my mother and I got that car out was to drive to Berkeley: there to visit the relatives. Most of the time, we rode the trains and busses. Or walked.

This, interestingly, changes the tenor of life in Phoenix.

Until recently, living here was more like living in Southern California than anything: hot, traffic-ridden, bourgeois, boring. But as commerce builds up and it becomes more feasible to get around on foot, it feels more like living in San Francisco, where you don’t bother with a car unless you have a long drive to make.

And y’know….since there’s a car rental place about three blocks from here, I may just get rid of the Dog Chariot altogether. Why own a hole in the pavement into which to pour money when someone else can own and maintain the thing, and you can rent one whenever you feel so inclined?

Egad! Who’d’ve Thunk it?

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Woo HOOO!  I’m IN!!

Yeah: Seriously, I thought there was NO WAY I could get back into Funny about Money, not without hauling the laptop over to the computer guys and begging them to fix it.

But mysteriously: here we are! 

At least I think so… We’ll find out when we try t…JANGLE JANGLE JANGLE!!!!!

Another goddamn nuisance phone call! From area code 160

Where the Hell is 160???

WTF: INDIA?

DAMN these pests.

Honest to Gawd! Sometimes (more and more oftentimes…) I think it’s not worth it to have a phone. Certainly not a land line.

Y’know, a cell phone that you can leave in your car so you don’t hear it when every moron and scam artist on the planet jangles you up?  Ohh-kayyyy…. But these days, a land line is just too much of a hub of scams to make it worth paying for the thing.

Especially when you’re ailing. Like now. It’s…

HURT HURT HURT HURT HURT HURT HURT….

Ohhh gawd,, do I hurt! 

My right hip is mightily spavined, And it’s not getting better. Every day is the same as the last: nonstop hurting. Can barely dodder around the house.

So…dammit! If it doesn’t get better within the next week, it’s BACK out to the accursed Mayo Clinic: there, presumably to sign up for surgery on the damn thing. Just what I need to make life perfect!

Huh! India: area code 160. 😀  By now, wouldn’tcha think I’d have enough sense not to pick up the phone for a caller whose number I don’t recognize?

Just too much a creature of the 1950s, I guess.

Really, I do need to come into the 21st Century!  I haven’t…because I haven’t wanted to. Too much hassle, too many headaches, too little return on investment in hassle. But…pretty soon I’m gonna hafta.

Dammit.

 

The Plague of Passwords

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Godlmighty, am I ever sick & tired of password hoop-jumps set up for you to navigate at every goddamn website. Yeah: Including the ones you own.

FaM used to recognize my computer when I surfaced over here No more! Now I’ve got to look up a stupid password and type it in — carefully — to access my own damn website.

Yeah, I know: all for my protection. Right. A sappy little-old-lady’s blog must be protected from the Forces of Evil. Mmm hmmm….

Seems like every site you go to these days demands that you enter a damn password. And it can’t be just one stupid password. Every site demands something different — some unique combination of characters.

Maybe it’s time for me to find some new pastime: one that doesn’t entail getting online.

I suppose what I’m getting tired of is the world of humanity as it has evolved. And yeah: it does seem to get more and more tiresome with each passing year. And yeah: if I could go out on the desert, set up camp in a cave, and live out the rest of my life there, I’d probably do exactly that. But I can’t…I’d need a password to get into the cave!

Tromping, Endlessly Tromping…

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For reasons unknown to The Olde Bat, this afternoon my right hip is spavined. And Boy! Does it hurt! 

No idea why: don’t recall slipping or tripping or sleeping cattywampus. All I know is…I can barely hubble up the damn sidewalk!

Needed to make a grocery-store run this afternoon. The Albertson’s is close: only a few blocks down the road. But man! By the time I got there, scooped up a bag of loot, and headed out of the store, it felt like I’d traipsed halfway to China and back. And I still had to get home!

Finally made it…after seemingly endless limping and limping and limping and limping… Whew! 

So here we are, hunkered in out of the rain (water hasn’t started falling out of the sky yet, but it soon will), chowing down in the company of the Hound, and thinking it will be tomorrow morning before we hobble into the kitchen to load up the dishwasher.

Hmmm…  Here we have news of some monster Gmail hack. Helle’s Belles, I don’t even know what they’re talking about, much less understand what to do about it. Afraid I”m gonna have to shut down all my google mail accounts. And that’ll be the end of that.

{sigh} No question of it: I’ve come unstuck in time. And so I no longer live in our society, with our contemporaries. Not only can I not follow this kinda kee-rap, I don’t want to. That, I think, is the operative feature: I just no longer want to hassle with whatever new monster headache is rolling up the pike.

Y’know what I’d like to do? 

Go way to hell back into the boondocks and buy our ranch back from whoever has it in their grimey hands now. Shut down everything in the flickin’ city. Pack up the car and the clothes and the riding boots and the little dawg and MOVE BACK into the FLICKIN’ MIDDLE OF NOWHERE.

Yes.

The Middle of Nowhere looks better and better with each passing day.

* You don’t need a password to get into your mail, because your mail lands in a tin box on a stake at the entry to your ranch.

* You don’t need to hike half your life with a bag of groceries, because you drive into the next town up the road to get to the store.

* You don’t have to keep up with the latest brain-banging technology, because in reality you’re living in the late 19th Century.

* You don’t have to deal with a crazy-making Mayo Clinic staff or a berserk solo practitioner, because there are no damn doctors out there in the middle of nowhere.

* You do not have to cope with a swimming pool that will have to be cleaned (again!!!) tomorrow morning after tonight’s pending storms, because no one in their right mind would have a pool on a ranch in the middle of Wonderful Nowhere.

* You don’t have to figure out how to drag your dawg to the vet, because the only vets out there deal with cows, not corgis.

Gawd spare me, Lord!