Coffee heat rising

ARF! say we. ARF and ARROOOOO!

So Ruby the Corgi and I are on our way home from our early-evening peregrination of the park when we encounter a wandering neighbor.

“There’s a coyote in the park!” exclaims she, her voice radiant with fear.

No kidding, think I. Y’know, they were here first….

Oh, well. I manage to keep my yap shut, except to thank her for the dire warning.

By and large, coyotes — even the urban variety — are more afraid of you than you are of them. If one approaches you, the correct response is to turn and face the little fella, glare at him, and firmly utter these words: No! Ba-a-a-d dog! BAD dog! GO HOME!!! 

The standard coyote response to this is a horrified look that says, clear as any human language could say it, Good grief! This one’s crazy! Said realization crossing the critter’s mind, your dire enemy turns around and trots away from you.

LOL! But seriously: the presence of our coyote fellow citizens is the reason I carry a large, sturdy walking stick on the doggy-walks. Get smart with me, Fang, and I’ll knock you into the middle of next week!

By and large, though, coyotes are not interested in getting smart with you. They tend (wisely) to be  afraid of humans. And so, nine times out of ten, if they spot you they’ll turn tail and trot off to the wide-open spaces. When walking your dog in our parts, your job (among several) is to keep your eyes open and maintain plenty of space between the wild canid and your pooch.

Remember: They’re more scared of you than you are of them. 😉

Did She Do It On Purpose?

She killed my mother: no question of that. But…did she do it out of stupidity? Or out of malice?

I grew up in Saudi Arabia, where my father worked for ten years as a harbor pilot for ARAMCO, steering tankers and freighters in and out of the port at Ras Tanura. The country was as Third-World as a country could get, a marvelous incubator of toxic disease.

One of those diseases was amoebic dysentery, a gawdawful and potentially fatal infestation with the local germs that lurked in all the food…especially in fruits and vegetables. Anything that we ate had either to be fully cooked (as in cooked to mush!) or soaked in Clorox to disinfect it.

Well. My father worked with a guy who wasn’t too bright, and said guy had a wife who was even less bright.

And she just didn’t get the message about sanitizing ALL the food.

One evening they had us over to their house for dinner. I was in the kitchen watching and playing around — at the time I was about ten or twelve years old. There, I observed that our hostess didn’t bother to sanitize the cabbage she used to make our salad. She even handed me — a little kid! — pieces of this unclean produce, which I scarfed right down.

Fortunately for me, I had pretty strong resistance by that time, after spending nigh unto ten years in the bowels of Hell. But…my mother did not.

She ate that salad, and shortly thereafter came down with a roaring case of amoebic dysentery.

She damn near died of it. Years later, I learned that there was a moment when her doctors thought she very probably would die.

But she didn’t. After weeks in the hospital and then in bed at home, she eventually recovered.

Sort of.

She never really fully recovered. But she went on with her life.

A truncated life.

The upshot of the unholy infection and its ungodly treatment was that some time later she did develop an abdominal cancer.

And yes: that killed her.

Understand: The wives who were brought to Arabia with the men working for the Company were required to sit through a lengthy course in how to prepare food safely, and how otherwise to protect their families from the diseases to which simply living out there would subject us.

That idiot woman knew not to serve up unsanitized produce! Yea, verily: She knew to soak those greens in Clorox and rinse them well before making a salad of them. 

Interestingly, neither her husband nor her young son would eat the stuff. “Don’t like cabbage,” we were told.

I believe she deliberately tried to make us sick.

She could not have not known that the produce had to be mightily sanitized before it could be served to people who were to eat it.

Given that fact, it’s my belief that she purposely served us unsanitized cabbage in the hope that it would sicken us.

And it worked. It sickened my mother enough to do her in, ultimately.

Did she do it on purpose?

Could be. But…on the other hand, there’s an outside chance that she truly didn’t know what she was doing. My father regarded her husband as one of the stupidest men he’d ever met. So…who knows? Maybe they were a matched set. Maybe she really was so stupid that she didn’t bother to sanitize the produce before serving it up to her guests.

Maybe.

Doesn’t matter: Stupid or cunning, the upshot was the same. She killed my mother.

Another Swampy-Dampy Day

The sky is clear. The air is WET and SOGGY out there. Horrible, horrible place. Almost as miserable as (un)lovely Ras Tanura, the Saudi Aramco encampment where we spent ten unholy years on the shore of the Persian Gulf.

Man, do I hate the Arizona desert. If there were any way I could afford it (and…if my son weren’t ensconced here…) I would be SO outta-here!

Ruby and I just came in from the morning dog-and-human constitutional. Ugh! Thought I was gonna melt into the pavement before we got back!

Well…one good thing about it was that there were hardly any other people out there.

Most folks have better sense than to charge out in this kind of sh!tty weather.

Now we’re waiting for the babysitter my son hired to show up. I told him that I am NOT going to opt the daily exercise hike — it’s the only thing that keeps the spavined hip from freezing right up — and so these women either have to show up an hour later than they normally might or they’ll have to wait in their damn car for me.

I did leave the dear lady a note saying we’d soon be back and suggesting she repair to the local supermarket for a nice cup of coffee (they have an awesome coffee bar there!). No sign of her, though.

Awwwwwwwwww…. What a shame, eh?

Whoever was in the house a day or so ago babysitting and puttering ripped off a lot more stuff than I thought. One of the phone’s handsets is gone, as are a few other miscellaneous desk-top items. Plus the entire phone that was in the living-room desk.

Busy folks, eh?

Anyway, now I’ll have to figure out how to get extensions to replace those phones. And that may be a challenge: they were pretty old. I may have to replace ALL the phone handsets. That would be seven of them.

And you don’t even wanna know how much that’s gonna cost.

I sure don’t….

Seriously: it looks like replacing two of them will run around eighty bucks.

No wonder the dear soul wanted to steal mine. 

Hotter Than the Hubs…

Jayzuz, it’s HOT out there!

Actually, it’s not so very hot: it’s kinda humid. In Arizona, humidity makes a warm day feel hotter than a by-gawd. Wunderground says the temp just now is only 94 degrees. Which for an Arizona mid-day is NOT very hot.

We’ve got 25% humidity, though. That’s fairly soggy, as an Arizona day goes.

I grew up in lovely Saudi Arabia: on the shore of the Persian Gulf. Days like this were normal in that garden spot. Seriously: I’ve seen it so humid that rain would start to fall out of a clear blue sky.

Kinda doubt that we’ll see that phenomenon here, though. It just ain’t a-gonna get that humid in lovely uptown Arizona: ever.

Ugh! Ten years of living in Arabia must have been an extended species of torture for my poor mother! She was an Upstate New York girl. There, we’re told, summer temperatures range from upper 70s to the mid-80s. I can’t imagine how she survived in the Hell that was Ras Tanura.

Honestly, today she’d be scared to death, what with the threats of war and actual attacks on the refinery. By this point, though, my father probably would have sent her and me back to the States. Probably wouldn’t have left, himself….he earned a stupefying salary and wouldn’t have been quick to abandon it.

At any rate…a hot, muggy day like this reminds me — if distantly — of those ugly days in Saudi Arabia.

One of the best things my father did for me and my mother was to send us back to the United States three months before he left that living Hell out there. We landed in San Francisco, my mother rented a nice apartment in a compound called Parkmerced, and then put me into an excellent public school. I really did enjoy that place…and given a chance and a choice, I’d go back there in an instant!

What a relief, to get out of the Hell that was the Ras Tanura Senior Staff School. Hell populated by nasty little devils led by morons pretending to be teachers….

I loved living in Parkmerced — one of the few things that made me happy at any time during my childhood. And really: given a chance, I’d go back there right now.

San Francisco! That’s the place!

 

 

Another Swampy-Dampy Day

Yech! Feels like ugly, hot, wet Saudi Arabia out there, where I grew up on the shore of the Persian Gulf. Extraordinarily unpleasant morning for a doggy-walk.

But (ugh!) we’re back. The Human and the Dog are pretty well cooked. Dog is dosed with prednisone. Overdosed, actually: I accidentally gave her a whole pill, when she’s only supposed to get a half. Hope it doesn’t make her sick.

Not many fellow travelers in the park this morning. Understandably: it’s hot, sticky, and ucky out there. Horrible place to live: almost as bad as hideous Saudi Arabia, there by the by the seaside where I grew up. Horrible place!

Feeling on the ragged edge of “I can’t deal with this.” Dunno why…just don’t feel like coping with…anything. Not that there’s much to cope with this morning.

Truly: I hate Arizona.

Where would I rather live?

Mars,  maybe…..  😉

Seriously: San Francisco is where I’d rather be. A thousand times rather be.

It’s where we decamped after my father quit his job in Saudi Arabia and we finally came home. I was sick all the time out there, but that didn’t make much nevermind to the parental units. What finally changed my father’s mind and forced him to take a Stateside job was the amoebic dysentery that struck my mother.

She damn near died of it.

He loved her dearly, and her illness — a direct result of living in an unsanitary Third-World country — was what drove him to quit his spectacularly paying job out there and bring us home. At last. 

After we’d been living in San Francisco for awhile, my father landed a better-paying job, shipping out of Southern California: the land of the stupid and the home of the bourgeois. So it was off to Long Beach, where I’d been born 16 or 17 years before, and where my mother’s dearest friend dwelt.

Awful place! I hated living there. The schools were so backward it felt as though I’d been demoted about two grades. And my dreams of going to school at UC Berkeley went straight down the tube.

Arizona is ten times better….but that ain’t sayin’ much.

Hmmmm….where would I ‘druther be?  Let’s see….

  • San Francisco
  • Berkeley
  • Just about anyplace in the S.F. East Bay
  • New York City
  • Paris
  • London

Heh! Don’t ask much, do I?

Ohhhh well.  Here we are, on the ragged edge of Hell. We ain’t goin’ anywhere. And this is where I’ll be until I die.

Without a doubt.

Evening in the Park

Ruby and her Human just back from the dusk perambulation of the neighborhood park. 😀

Oh, my!  It’s simply impossible not to love the young parents and their little kids over there!  Impossible not to love the teenagers hanging out.

What a wonderful place!

It was sheer, raw luck — and a savvy Realtor — that brought us to the ‘Hood. And I must say: I do feel incredibly lucky to be here.

In the years since SDXB and I moved into this neighborhood, the place has gentrified at a steady pace, property values drifting toward the stratosphere and affluent young professionals moving in with their families. Today it’s a lovely, upper-middle-class neighborhood, one that feels safe and pleasant and happy.

We shall see how long I can hang in here, as I sink into my dotage. But ideally, I’d like to be able to leave this house to M’hijito, so he can move in here if he likes or else sell the place for what will be, in the future, some outrageous price. One way the other, it will redound to his advantage.

And, I expect, to mine…over the years.