Coffee heat rising

Life in the Desert

E-freakin’ NUFF

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Hey there, Sprouts management: lissen up!

I quit!!!!! Those weekly, biweekly, even triweekly trips to the beloved neighborhood Sprouts?

DONE!

GONE!!

NO FREAKIN’ MORE!!!!

This afternoon’s gamut-run marked THE LAST TIME, absolutely positively THE last time I will shop in the Sprouts just down the street from my house.

NEVER….

fukkin’

AGAIN

You cannot go into or come out of that store without being hustled by panhandlers.

And y’know what?

As a woman alone, the LAST effin’ thing I want, as I head home from the grocery store, is to be hustled by panhandlers.

Some of whom are bloody aggressive.

Today was it. I am simply NOT GOING INTO the Sprouts at 19th Avenue and Northern, ever again. And NOT COMING out of the Sprouts at 19th and Northern, ever again.

No. No way. No how. Never fukkin’ ever again.

*********************
LOL!!
*********************

Quite the li’l hissy-fit, eh?

I’m good at that. 😀

Well…one does hafta say that the constant hustle from the panhandlers at our neighborhood stores is…well…a bit of a nuisance. 😀

Across the street from the Sprouts et al., the Albertson’s has hired a full-time, armed (!!) guard to stand out in front and chase off the pests. That is, I’ll say, the main reason I shop there. Otherwise, I’d never go into the shopping center at all.

But the time is fast approaching when a ten-minute saving on the drive will not be worth the hassle of shopping in those stores.

Then what???

I will say, the main reason I still live in town — that is, in the central parts of the city — is to be close to routine shopping…to avoid the endless annoying drives.

***

My friend VickyC lives in a beautiful old — as in “seriously, elegantly antique” — house in the historic mid-town district. I’d love to have that place!

{ahem!} But maybe not love so much the burglars, the sex perverts, the constant airline noise, the police and ambulance sirens, the traffic noise, the… Aggghhh!

Too bad those districts can’t be a) safer and b) quieter! 😀

We used to live in that area. Never again!

You shouldn’t HAVE to own a live-in German shepherd and keep a pistol stored under the sofa cushions to feel safe in your home.

“The Sound of Freedom”…

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Yeah. This morning the weather conditions are perfect: we’re being serenaded nonstop by the “Sound of Freedom,” as my mother used to put it while she perched on her back porch over morning coffee.

Noooo, muther, I used to think. That’s the sound of World War III, comin’ our way.

It never seemed to register with her that those fighter jets weren’t up there for pretty. They weren’t up there to amuse the locals.

They were up there to practice blowing civilization back to the Cave Man Era.

They’ve been blasting away all morning. They start as dawn cracks.

It’s almost 8:30, and we’re still getting ROOOOOAAAAARRRRRR ROOOOAAAARRR ROOOARRR from the air base near Sun City — a good 20 miles away. The racket whams through your solid block walls: there’s no escaping it.

{oh, this is nice: WordPress refuses to insert a link. Check it out: https://www.azcentral.com/story/news/local/glendale/2019/05/17/late-night-f-35-flights-luke-air-force-base-common-during-summer-months/3694405002/}

Really, if my son weren’t here I wouldn’t live in the Valley on a bet.

Dunno, though, where you’d go to escape. Anyplace within 40 or 50 miles is gonna be shuddering with jet engine noise. And the racket no doubt is with us forever…at least for our foreseeable lifetime.

Yea, verily… If my son weren’t here, you can be sure I’d be somewhere else. WHERE else, though, remains a bit of a mystery. Might have to move out of the state. Tibet, maybe???

***

Speaking of morning rackets:

yappa whine
yappa whine
yappa yappa yappa yappa
yap yap WHINE!

Get off duff. Put computer down. Let the dog out.

Let more noise in: rrrrooooarrrr roarrrrrr rrrooaaar…

Any question why the Old Bat is a crabby harridan?

****

LOL! Where could one go that would be quieter?

In theory, the ranch should be, if only it were still accessible to its former owners. But…it’s not.

The ranch sits on the edge of the Mogollon Rim, overlooking the Valley. The West Valley, where Luke Air Force Base reigns noisily supreme. So you’re not gonna get away from much airplane racket up there.

That notwithstanding… {sigh}… I do so miss the ranch. It was beautiful.

Wonder what Ruby would make of a cow? Probably not much, before one of them booted her into the middle of next year.

A ranch dawg, she ain’t! 😀

R-O-O-O-O-A-A-A-A-R-R-R-R

Tryin’ Again…

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Believe we’ve lost several posts since the last time I was here scribbling. And…well…I am NOT in the mood for struggling with the Internet just now.

So let’s freakin’ start over.

Today is Sunday, March 16.

It’s 3:40 in the afternoon. A rather stuffy and damp afternoon, one with high clouds lurking overhead.

Ruby and I are just back from circumnavigating the park. Enjoyed watching teams of young people playing soccer and volleyball. Nice way to spend time…

Contemplated the potential joys of inhabiting some other neighborhood.

My cousin lives in an outlying suburb called Fountain Hills. A little higher in elevation, it’s a bit cooler than the more central parts of the Valley. It’s practically within walking distance of the Mayo Clinic.

Would I like to live there?

I might, if my cousin were just a shade friendlier. For reasons I cannot imagine, she visibly dislikes me. Dunno what on earth I did to piss her off permanently, but she’s openly hostile to me whenever we’re within hollering distance. So…that does nothing to encourage me to move to the far northeast side of the Valley.

How about Sun City?  Way to Hell and gone on the west side?

Ugh! Nothing feels more repellent to me than the Old Folks’ Ghetto. Make that the Whitey-White Old Folks’ Ghetto.

My mother loved the place after she and my father came to light there. But…I never could see the charm to its visual and social monotony.

How about back down into the historic central part of the city?

Well. Yeah: I did like living there. Thirty years ago… However…today? Maybe not so much.

Social-stratum-wise, it’s about the same: a popular destination for the young, the affluent, and the upwardly mobile. But…but….

First off, it’s noisy. The upscale neighborhoods are bordered by large, incredibly busy commuter roads. So every morning and every evening you get roar roar roar from seven-lane roads that don’t let you turn left. A major regional hospital occupies a large corner to the north, and another one stands to the southeast: ambulances shriek past at all hours of the day and night. And Sky Harbor Airport calls jet plane traffic to the south and east, roar roar roar roar roar — also at all hours of the day and night.

So…even though it’s a pretty and a historically interesting neighborhood, it’s less than perfectly ideal. Especially given the crime rate, which is pretty breathtaking.

Not that we don’t have a healthy crime rate up here in Sunnyslop. But with only one regional hospital we do get lots less siren music.

Ohhhhh my…. WHERE would I go if I could escape from lovely uptown Phoenix?

Hm.

Just about noplace in Arizona. It’s much of a sameness, all across the state…when you come right down to it. Loved living on the ranch, but it probably wouldn’t be safe for an old lady: at this age, you need to be closer to medical and social services than thirty miles out in the middle of nowhere.

So…. {sigh}…  I’m probably about in an ideal location, given my age, my health, and my social status. I do like it here, even though there are places I’d like better.

La Maya and La Bethulia have moved to the area around Monterey, California. It is beautiful there. And cold. And foggy. And expensive. No way in Hell could I afford to live there.

SDXB’s relatives live in Seattle. It also is quite lovely. And a bit too expensive for my budget.

I do love New Mexico. But…I don’t know anyone there, and at this age you may be sure I don’t wanna start all over.

Back to the San Francisco Bay Area? All my relatives in those  parts are long gone, left for the Other World many a year ago. No longer knowing anyone there and without a job there, I can’t imagine much of any point in moving back.

So I feel like I’m kinda stuck here, trapped by inertia. There’s noplace else to go to that makes sense, and I sure don’t wanna work hard enough to create any such place.

Arizona: Garden spot. I guess.

And Speakin’ of Colder Than a By-Gawd…

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😀  What an insane afternoon!

We’re back from the late-day perambulation of the park. EGAD, but it’s cold out there! Overcast, windy, and…well.. more than “crisp.” Colder than a by-gawd, as my father would have said.

Ruby has patrolled the neighborhood streets and inspected the park. Clouds have blown up during the time we wandered about: it’s dark gray out there now.

Wunderground predicts an 84% chance of rain…I’d say that’s a conservative estimate. Supposedly 52 degrees out in the backyard just now…but again: I’d say, “conservative estimate.”

We’ve managed to repair to the Funny Farm, and Ruby has taken up her position at the foot of the bed.

…. uhhh….

Well, no: She’s taken up her position at the chow bowl, having rousted the human and demanded a pile of Dawg Food.

😀

{sigh}. I hope the stuff races through her forthwith, so we can get her out into the backyard before it starts to rain. Which will happen…soon, I imagine.

Well…what if?

What if we lived in Fountain Hills, a suburban locale I covet?

It would be colder there than it is here. And no doubt windier.

What if we still lived downtown, in the antique and very classy central-city neighborhoods?

‘Twould be no warmer there than it is here, but a WHOLE lot noisier. We’re comin’ on to rush hour, so would be serenaded with traffic noise and ambulance sirens and fire-engine sirens and…gaaaaaaahhhh!

On the other hand, we’d be closer to M’hijito’s house, so it would be easier for us to pester him. 😀  😀  😀

How’s about Sun City, the garden spot where my parents took up residence for their retirement?

Well…they STILL hate “minorities” out there, even after all these years. A friend of mine — a fella of the dusky persuasion — bought a place in Sun City. He was hounded out in less than six months.

Though I myself am of the paler persuasion, you couldn’t pay me to move out there. What awful people!

So…here we are, Ruby the Corgi and I, loafing on a bed in lovely North Central Phoenix. Ruby has enchanted a number of the locals, having strolled around the park and cutied them into submission. The skies have clabbered up and turned threateningly gray. Ruby, unconcerned, snoozes. I scribble.

What can  we say? Other than arf!

Renovations

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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?

Can’t Go Home Again…

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Remembering Berkeley: wish I was still there. Or could go back.

Gree and Gertrude — my mother’s grandmother and aunt — lived into their late 90s…problem-free. Partly because they were tee-totaling Christian Scientists and so never were challenged by a doctor. But I suspect more likely because they lived on a rather steep hill in Berkeley. Gertrude had to walk up that hill five days a week to board the train for San Francisco, where she worked at Crocker-Anglo National Bank. Gree walked up there every day or two to visit the charming little neighborhood grocery store. She would also mount a steep concrete staircase and then climb a steep paved road to get to her grandson Berwick’s place.

Steady up- and downhill walking. Hardly any place they went was on the flat.

Hereabouts, there’s hardly any place you can go that isn’t on the flat. There are a couple of so-called “mountain parks” — we’d call those breathtaking heights “hills” — and a ritzy-titzy neighborhood built on gently rolling terrain below one of those alleged “mountains.” But most populated parts of the Valley are decidedly un-hilly.

Gree and Gertrude’s neighborhood was a hill. Hereabouts, for me to get to rolling terrain, I’d have to drive 20 minutes (one-way!) through homicidal traffic. There: it was right outside the front door.

So basically what was happening: to go about their ordinary daily routines, they had to indulge in some hefty gymnastics. Up a steep hill to reach the grocery store; then down a steep hill. Up a set of concrete steps to reach another hillside road. Up that road to get to their kids’ house. And o’course, on the other side of the Bay just about any place you chose to venture in the city was going to take up you up and down an incline.

It was such a pretty place, Berkeley. I really do miss it.

My father decided that nothing would do but what he had to retire to Sun City, Arizona. Not a bad move, exactly: real estate prices were cheap enough that he could quit his job early, and once we’d been in the state for a year, my tuition at the University of Arizona was next to nil. My mother, after a brain-banging hard upbringing and a challenging adulthood, could accommodate herself to just about anything. She thought the place was just too, too wonderful.

How you could imagine that about flat, monochromatic, mono-ethnic Sun City escapes me. But whatever rings your bell, I guess. How you could imagine the University of Arizona was any match, for your Phi Beta Kappa kid, to Cal Berkeley (or any of the California universities) escapes me. I was set to go to Berkeley, but ohhh mirabilis! Ended up in Tucson. My father, not even having graduated from high school, had no clue what this meant for me career-wise. Nor, I suppose, did he care.

Because, after all, what was a woman’s career? To marry, bear children, cook, and clean house. Yeah.

I very much doubt he understood what difference a college degree would make for me — to say nothing of a graduate degree or two. Because after all…what was I gonna do? Become a secretary somewhere: that was about the highest and best use of your National Honor Society girl child’s little brain.

So, that’s what I see, what I remember when I visit Sun City. As you can imagine, it’s about the last place on this planet where I wanna live.

In an instant, I’d go back to Berkeley, if I could afford it. But of course, I can’t. Not even my father could afford it, on his handsome Merchant Mariner’s salary.

So here we are in lovely Arizona: Southern California redux seasoned with too damn much heat and a handsome dose of public stupidity. What a place!