Coffee heat rising

Life in the Desert

YOW!!! Incredible pain!

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Holeee maquerel! This morning as I was puttering around the house, my right hip went out.

As in OUT out…yow!!!! 

I don’t think I’ve ever had anything hurt that much…and I had my baby without anaesthetic because I thought childbirth is supposed to hurt more than one’s periods.

(Hint: it doesn’t.)

Could barely walk, but made it to a phone. Called the Fire Dept rescue crew.

And…of course…by the time they got here the pain was beginning to subside.

They must have thought I was crazy!

Maybe I am crazy…  ?????

They went on their way.

I limped back into the house.

And now here I am walking around with almost NO pain, a little stiffness…and wondering WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT????

Ahhh, here’s a little cookie-frosting: The cops’ copter is circling around to the north.

At this hour — just coming on to  9 a.m. — that can indicate a car accident.

Or — as at all hours in this place — it also can mean a home invasion. Domestic abuse. Kid fell in the pool and is drowning (or already drowned). Car wreck. On and entertainingly on….

Welp…better get up and check that all the doors are locked. Looks like the toast is done, too.

And so, awaaayyyyy!

Beloved Neighborhood, Beloved Neighbors

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The ineffable Josie was out in her front yard, yanking weeds as Ruby and I ambled back home from our morning circumnavigation of the park.

Josie lives in SDXB’s old house. She came up from the daunting slums of South Phoenix — the house purchased by the city and donated to her after the city glommed her property to build an airport runway. (What a place, eh?) I do enjoy Josie: a denizen of an entirely different culture. Hope she hangs around for as many years as I last here. 😀

Meanwhile, neighbors were walking their dogs at the park. The sky is dappled with low-hanging cumulus, incredibly beautiful in the dawn light. Weather is on the high side of warm, humid, a bit sticky. But not really uncomfortable. Yet.

I do love this place.

And do NOT want to be moved out of here. How exactly I’m gonna manage to “age in place” with my son already beginning to lobby to move me to an old-folkerie kinda escapes me.

But…we shall see. I haven’t been legally declared non compos, so I imagine (hope) I’ll be able to stay put until such time as I can barely stumble from the bedroom to the bathroom. Or until I die, whichever comes first.

When I first moved into the ’Hood, back in the Dark Ages, a number of elderly women lived in these houses, on their own. One was right next door to my first house here. No doubt into her 80s, she was a lively character. Every day, she’d be outside blowering and sweeping her patio or fiddling with the yardwork.

I want to be that lively character. 

Now, it’s true: I don’t enjoy yard work. But I can afford to hire people to keep up the property:

* Yard dudes
* Pool dude
* Arborist
* Cleaning lady
* Electrician
* Mechanic…

On and on. So with any luck, I hope to stay put until I die. That would be ideal.

Second best would be to hang in here till I have a stroke and lose track of who and where I am.

And yeah: one can only hope…

Meanwhile: what a GORGEOUS morning. High cumulus glowing white and pearl-gray by the dawn sunlight. Temperature: perfect. Kids and dogs outside playing: moms and dads watering yards and getting ready to fly off to work. Crew of workmen heaving around the new mansion someone is building in Lower Richistan.

Amazing.

Why would anyone ever wanna live anywhere else???

Car? We Don’t Need No Steenking Car!

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LOL! Ever had that thought? The why am I spending 87 gerjillion bucks on this clunk thought? The what a PITA it is, schlepping this contraption in for its regular maintenance thought?

Yeah…..  Lately, I’ve been kinda haunted by that thought.

Main reason is that it has slowly but steadily dawned on me, now that we have a lightrail train cruising up and down Main Drag West and now that a rental car lot has taken up residence in a nearby shopping center and now that (duh!!!) I’ve come to realize I can reach three large grocery stores and a Walgreen’s on foot, none of them more than a ten-minute stroll away…that…yeah…maybe, just MAYBE I don’t need a car. 

Think o’ that!

Seriously: when I need a ride that’s longer than a short dash around the strip malls that surround the’Hood, I can call for an Uber. DAYum! A guy who drives for Uber lives right across the street. Several other Uberites dwell in the immediate neighborhood.

So…umh…WHY am I spending some unholy amount of cash to keep a pile of steel and aluminum sitting in my garage most of the time?

Why am I freakin’ going broke to insure that pile of tinfoil?

For the past couple weeks, the Heap has resided at my son’s house. And…y’know what has happened?

Yeah,

Nothing.

NOTHING horrible has ensued from the absence of a $15,000 pile of sheet metal, bolts, and rubber.

Well. Something HAS happened.

I’ve come to believe that in a city like Phoenix, now that it has installed piles of public transportation up and down almost all of our main drags, there really is NO NEED to own a car! 

Seriously.

From my house, I can walk to not one, not two, but THREE major chain supermarkets: an Albertson’s, an El Rancho, and a Fry’s. Not sufficient? We also have two huge chain drugstores: a Walgreen’s and the one inside the Albertson’s. All these have pharmacies. Three of them sell more groceries than you can dream of.

And with the trains running up and down Main Drag West, I can cruise as far as I please to visit stores, doctors, dentists, and whatnot. For just so much loose change!

Gosh. It’s almost like when we lived in San Francisco: a real city! 

So…I’m thinking get rid of the clunk. Maybe split the sale price with my son, giving half to him as a sales commission. And…call it a day.

We have a rental lot just a couple of blocks up Main Drag west. If I must have a car to drive around, I can go over there and extract one for a day. Same if I feel called to drive up to the Grand Canyon or some such. Why OWN a hole in the ground into which to pour money for the sake of a few rides here and a few rides there?

So…I’m kinda excited about this idea. Haven’t discussed it with M’hijito yet. He being the owner of the male voice here in the famiglia, I think he should have a say in this scheme. But frankly: I suspect he’ll approve. 

Round and Round They Go…

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And where they bite, no one knows. ARF!

Actually, this morning’s junket around the park was uneventful. Quiet. Arfifarious. Ruby declined to try to eat any of our fellow dog-walkers’ companions. (Either that, or the dog-walkers have finally wised up a bit…) Weather was hot, humid, icky — reminiscent of (un)lovely Saudi Arabia.

Mornings like this remind me of oooohhhh how glad I am that I no longer live out there! What a gawdawful place!

Seriously: a swampy morning like this would be S.O.P. over there. Useta be: all summer long we’d wake to water dripping off the eaves as though it had rained half the night…under a clear blue sky. That’s how humid it was: the air SO WET that water would condense out of it and piddle off the eaves like rain.

LOL! Swamp or no, the park is always fun…or at least pleasant. This morning we encountered a handsome young father pushing his obscenely adorable baby along in a carriage. Awwwww! What could be cooler, eh? 

😀

Well. Maybe “cool” wasn’t exactly the term. But he and his urchin were indisputably charming.

Otherwise…what? Well…one “what” is that, as we hiked along a particularly affluent street in Lower Richistan, I was suddenly struck by the resemblance between the upscale section of the Hood and a historic Phoenix district called Palmcroft.

That tract is part of the larger, also highly historic area called Encanto: a place full of gorgeous old houses dating back as far as the 1920s.

Our area is much newer…but here in the 21st century, no one would dast to call it “new.” The houses are edging on to “historic” themselves, many of them very pretty, all of them handsomely maintained. The Young and the Affluent do adore “historic” houses, and they flock in here to buy them…bearing well-stuffed pocketbooks.

This pushes real estate prices up and up and up. I couldn’t even begin to buy a house down near the park — an area that I could easily have afforded a decade or so ago, when I moved in here.

Therein lies a main reason that I want to stay in this house till I croak over: if I can leave the place to my son, he’ll be able to afford to go anywhere he pleases. 

  • Fancy-Dan Scottsdale: no problem
  • Ritzy Paradise Valley: call in the movers!
  • Back to his dad’s home town, Grand Junction, Colorado: off to the scenic upscale(!) hills
  • San Francisco, where each of us privately believes we belong: California, here we come!

You name it, he can be there. Or…he may choose to just stay here and enjoy this handsome upscale tract.

And it is an exceptionally pleasant place to live. Centrally located. Handsomely built. Mature landscaping. Gorgeous park. Adorable kids. And nowadays: an increasingly awesome public transit system.

Seriously: you can live here now without a car. And, incredibly enough, I do! 

Such are one’s thoughts as one’s dog tugs its human around our park. I love it here…my dawg loves it here…we ain’t movin’…isn’t that the cutest li’l kid you ever saw!… I want my kid to get this place, lock stock & barrel…

Trudge Trudge Trudge

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Holeee maquerel! WHAT a day!!!

Trudged from pillar to post and back to pillar. Metaphorically, of course: most of the trudging was done in cars.

My excellent son, Ian the Great, drove me way to Hell and Gone, from one fine Valley Center (the Mayo Clinic in North Phoenix) and through one fine commercial district to another to another (shopping center after shopping center).

And…well…I’ll tellya: I could come to hate living in this place.

Seriously: the honored Valley of the Sun gets more and more like Southern California as each day passes. And yes, I sure as Hell did hate living in Southern California.

Well…at least we racked up the miles on his car, not mine. The Dog Chariot is still at his house, kiped from me a few weeks ago. No: I haven’t gotten around to buying another car, and I haven’t gotten around to leasing one.

And frankly…hang onto your hats, folks…I may not replace the Chariot, not with either a rental or a new purchase.

BECAUSE….hevvin help us!… I’m finding it’s bizarrely true that you may not need to own a car to get around in this city. 

No kidding.

First off, I live in a concentrated, highly commercialized area. Within easy walking distance of the Funny Farm, we have…

* 3 major grocery stores (Albertson’s, Fry’s, Sprouts)
* 1 full-service computer retailing and repair store
* 1 large, major  bookstore
* A car rental business
* 1 veterinarian
* 1 clinic, open for emergencies as well as routine care
* several clothing stores
* a Walgreen’s
* a Basha’s supermarket
* an El Rancho market
* a discount store
* a shoe store

One could no doubt go on and on…that’s as many as I can remember, but there are others.

Next off…the ‘Hood exists at the nexus of public transit in this part of town. Not one, not two, but THREE main drags pass right by my  house. I can walk to a bus or train that will take me anywhere from the ASU West campus in Glendale to the ASU main campus in far-away Tempe. Within six square blocks of my house, I can pick up a bus or train at over half-a-dozen stops! And if I walk another three blocks to the city’s central main drag, I can get on a bus that will take me all the way into the central business district — downtown — and from there into commercial and residential points south.

Which, I suppose, is a way of saying we’re in the middle of everything. 

Good Morning, America! And…

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…DUCK FOR COVER!

LOL! 8:00 in the morning, and you can hear those damn fighter jets from Luke Air Force Base all the way over here in North Central Phoenix! 

What

A

Racket!

Yes, the Sound of Death is no lullabye. That’s for sure.

People who live in Sun City bitch nonstop about the noise from Luke, right up the road from the Old Folks’ Ghetto. That actually creates SDXB’s job out there: as a semi-retired PR guy for the Air Force, he volunteers to staff the phones in the base’s public relations office. Every morning, rafts of Sun Citizens call in to bellyache about the roar from the jet plane exercises.

Hilariously, my mother used to LOVE that racket. She’d sit on her back porch, there in Sun City, and take her morning coffee to the lullaby of F-16s taking off and landing. “It’s the sound of freedom,” she would coo.

There’s a wild-eyed right-winger for you!  😀

By a weird coincidence, my house was built by the same outfit that built out Sun City. And, although it’s designed for more than two people, it bears a weird resemblance to my parents’ Sun City house:

* gray slump-block walls
* aluminum-framed sliding doors and windows
* asphalt shingle roofing
* sloping roofs over attics

Well, at least we have actual garages. Webb apparently felt a place to put a car was unnecessary for an old f*rt…presumably the new residents would be too old to drive, right?

Well. No. Out there, the houses have cheesily built lean-to carports. STEAL THIS CAR! that sign says…. 😀

Actually, what the local thieves used to do was climb on top of the car, reach up to the carport ceiling, and slide open the door to the attic. From there, they’d hop into the attic, walk across the beams to the living-room or kitchen area, saw a hole in that ceiling, and drop down into the house. From there, they’d steal you blind.

Lovely.

Here, my dowdy li’l Sun City-style house does have an actual garage with an actual garage door. 

LOL! If I’d known this subdivision was built by the same outfit that built Sun City, I wouldn’t have bought a house here. Not on a bet.

But that prejudice notwithstanding…it’s not a bad little shack. Not at all. Construction is sturdy. Design is sensible. Lots are large enough to put plenty of space between you and the neighbor. Alleyways are included, and they’re lined with 8-foot-high block walls.

Sun City has no alleys, and no backyard walls. Take your morning coffee in your backyard, and you can watch your neighbor do the same as the jets scream overhead.

They scream overhead here, too…occasionally. But at least they’re far enough away to put some distance between the natives and the racket-makers.

Ugh!! This is gonna be another beautiful day in Arizona: 28 percent humidity under clear (hot!!) skies.

In the Department of Jobs You’re Glad You Don’t Have, Mr. and Mrs Wonderaccount (right across the street) have hired a team of painters to spiff up their shack. I need those guys over here, too. But…well…luring them to my house would require me to get up off my duff. And I ain’t about to do that!