Coffee heat rising

Movin’ Movin’ Movin’….

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LOL! This morning I happened to find myself contemplating my lifetime on the move. In the years since I was born to life on this planet, I have moved house twenty-five times. 

That’s just the places I can remember. Without a doubt, several others occurred when I was too little to know or remember much of anything.

My parents and I lived in…where?

* Richmond, California
* Long Beach, California
* San Francisco, California (several places, several times!)
* Long Beach, California (again, years later)
* Down by the docks near Ras Tanura, Saudi Arabia
* In Ras Tanura (a company town), Saudi Arabia (2 houses)
* Sun City, Arizona
* Tucson, Arizona
* Phoenix, Arizona (several places!)

Jeeeminy! At least 13 or 14 different houses and apartments before I came of age. Then, after I grew up , left my parents’ home, and got married:

* Tucson, Arizona (4 years; 4 different domiciles
* Phoenix, Arizona (my own li’l apartment, ALL MINE!)
* Phoenix, Arizona (first place with hubby)
* Phoenix, Arizona (downtown: gorgeous historic home)
* Phoenix, Arizona (uptown: move to get away from the crime) (har har!)
* Phoenix, Arizona (leave marriage; move into apt.)
* Phoenix, Arizona (move into apt. where boyfriend lived)
* Phoenix, Arizona (escape apt.; buy house)
* Phoenix, Arizona (move to a quieter house, further from main drag)

And here I am. Hmmmmm…. That would be twenty-two different homes — 22 moves!) in one piddly little lifetime.

And that doesn’t count the number of times my mother had to move, following my father, before I was born. Ball-park guess: at least four places. Probably more.

This rumination came about after I had visited a friend and his wife’s home in Scottsdale — in a tony suburb called McCormick Ranch. VERY nice place in a pleasant, upper-middle-class tract that has that low-on-crime look. 😀

But…but…

Well, but… It’s TINY. Small but decent kitchen. One living/dining room. One small master bedroom upstairs. And a guest bedroom/study. Cramped, walled-in patio in place of a real yard.

Still: one could live with that. Ever so much less space to have to clean, right?

Well, but…  It’s WAYYYY far away from my son. He lives in North Central Phoenix, and he ain’t about to move away from his dad’s outpost. Nor is he about to sell his pretty little brick house, within walking distance of the beloved AJ’s Incredible Gourmet Grocery Store, to move to the crassly bourgeois precincts of North Scottsdale.

So. Nope. Ain’t trading my son’s company for a set of steps. 😀

There, of course, is the decisive element. The kid, that is; not the steps.

But even if Young Caligula weren’t living in my present parts, still…I don’t see the prospect of moving as worth the cost. 

As you know, moving house is a financially bracing proposition. And…what would I be getting in exchange for several tens of thousands of dollars?

* Supposedly a better neighborhood. {Though I have yet to see proof of that: North Central, where the Funny Farm resides, is about as good as it gets in the Valley.}

* Proximity to hordes of excellent restaurants in several price ranges. (Uhm...but I rarely eat out, because I prefer my own pretty damn excellent cooking…)

* Relative proximity to Arizona State University. (BFD: I ain’t teachin’ there any more…and I’m not about to go back!)

* Proximity to the Mayo Clinic. (What could be more cheering than living right down the street from your doctor’s offices? :-o)

Ohhhhh well.  Movin’ on (as it were):

***

Last night I had the weirdest dream. 

In this wacky somnolent universe, SDXB  and I had a fight and I stalked out of the house. The setting was right here in the neighborhood, so I marched out onto handsomely paved streets that run past our homes and past our friends’ houses.

That notwithstanding, I wandered into one of the alleys. And there…oh, yah: I got lost. 

Understand: this is even more somnolently wacky, because a) the alleys here run in parallel rows, so you can’t get lost in them — certainly not if you’re even vaguely sober. And I’ve lived here so long that I know the layout of the neighborhood — its yards and its trees and its sidewalks and its alleys and its fences — even more neatly than I know the layout of the back of my hand.

Well. That notwithstanding: in the Dream Universe I can’t find my way home…or even out of the alley that I’ve wandered into.

Stumbling up that alley in a state of weird confusion, I come across two (handsome!!) cops in a cop car. Ohhhhhhboy!!! And hot diggety!

Turns out the neighbors have noticed me roaming up and down the alleys and, all worried, have called the cops. Meanwhile, SDXB has also called them, since I haven’t come back after our squabble.

So the cops and I chat for awhile. They, recognizing a random nut case when they see one, desist from any plan they might have had about running me in. Au contraire, they drive me to SDXB’s house, where he acts all happy to see me and I just sit there obediently.

Eventually the officers give up and go on about their business. SDXB and I take up our lives as usual.

WTF???????

Do I have a clue what that l’il nightmare was about?

Well. No. Other than embroidery of memories from a decade ago. Essentially, it was a re-run of a long-ago episode.

Hafta say: I really doubt that I could find a better neighborhood than this one. Certainly not one that I could afford — or would want to afford. And most certainly not one that’s centrally located.

Yeah.

I like this neighborhood. And love my house. And yes, I very much do want to leave the house to my son.

How exactly to make that happen kinda escapes me. It’s going to depend, I’m afraid, on raw luck + a healthy dose of genetics.

Women in my family — those who didn’t f*ck themselves to death — lived deep into ripe old age. Ninety to ninety-five was typical of those who lived what you and I would think of as “clean” lives: hold the alcohol, hold the promiscuity.

I do drink, no question of it. Though not much lately, because without a car on hand, it’s too much of a PITA to haul bottles of wine or beer back to the house…and you may be sure I’m too much of a cheapskate to have that stuff delivered.

Still: over the decades I surely have swizzled down enough to do me in. No question of it. So far, no symptoms. But we can expect they’ll show up sooner or later.

At any rate and nevertheless, the probability that I’ll live into my late 90s remains high.

And that notwithstanding: I really do want M’Hijito to have this house. Or at least the proceeds from its sale.

So…that kinda militates against moving into an old-folkerie, or into a resort-like condo.

Ugh! Through the Swamp

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Just back from this morning’s Doggy-Walk. HORRIBLE out there: it’s like a damn swamp.

Ohhh well…it cut down the number of merrie dawg-walkers, anyway. Nowhere near as many nitwits who think their dog (and your dog) are basically four-legged kids. Is there a reason people are so stump-dumb stupid?

Anyway,the dog is fed and watered and walked. I have to wait until M’hijito and I get back from the Mayo Clinic before having anything to eat. Which irks the hell out of me.

Not that I’m hungry. But that I regard today’s little diagnostic journey as a waste of time. And gasoline.

Been there. Done this. Over and over and over again. Why do we have to go through it again? 

The Mayodocs have run blood test after blood test after blood test on me, and never have been able to figure out the cause of the crazy-making peripheral neuropathy.

Is there some part of “pre-diabetes” they can’t figure out? Maybe an aspect of “inherited proclivity for diabetic conditions” that’s really, REEEEELY hard to understand?

How can you go through all those years of medical school and come out so damn stupid?

Today we have to traipse out there for ANOTHER pointless goddamn blood test. My son will be here in half an hour to drag me across the Valley for that little adventure. Every time I go out there for yet another goddam blood test, they tell me “Ohhh eeek! you have pre-diabetes!” Ask them what “pre-diabetes” is, and they can’t come up with a satisfactory definition. About the best they can gag out is “well, it means maybe you might be about to develop diabetes. Someday. Maybe.”

No kidding. This is NOT the first time I’ve been through this infinitely annoying hoop-jump.

Last time they went “Ohhh eeek! you have pre-diabetes! — a year or so ago — I went over to Young Dr. Kildare,  my “doctor in the wild” who used to practice right up the road from here.

He went jab jab test test, then called me back in to his office, and announced “No, you do NOT have pre-diabetes. You do not have diabetes. Nothing is wrong with your blood sugar levels.”

Got that? So…I expect this to be another annoying waste of time. And now that YDK has moved to effing Sun City, still more time will be wasted either traipsing halfway to Yuma to get to his office or finding another doctor, explaining all this bullshit, and talking him into re-testing me.

Spent half of yesterday out in Scottsdale, visiting a friend who lives in McCormick Ranch, an upper-middle-class suburban development nestled in expanse after expanse of grassy golf courses.

Nice little place my friend and his wife have out there. Unfortunately (IMHO), “little” is the operative word: it’s tiny. 

Cute, charming, and tiny. 

I suppose an aging couple could get used to it and come to like that aspect, though. Less space to have to keep clean. Less space to have to air-condition.

It’s a little small for my taste, though: I’m spoiled to living in a four-bedroom North Central Phoenix commuter palace. Though I’d love to live in that much tonier and safer Scottsdale district, I sure don’t want to have to downsize that much.

And really…is McCormick Ranch all that much tonier, just because it’s in Fancy-Dan Scottsdale? Really, North Central Phoenix is mighty Fancy-Dan, too. Even though our neighborhood is just a mile or so south of a dangerous slum (Sunnyslope leaves a lot to be desired in the Department of Safety), it still is a district of North Central, not Sunnyslop.

{sniff!) We’re soooo fancy, y’know!!!  😀

My poor father!

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He would have been trying to save the equivalent of something over a million dollars in today’s money.

I doubt if he would have thought of it in those terms. He surely was aware that a hundred grand (his coveted goal) was a lot of money for a working-class guy. But a MILLION BUCKS’ worth? Probably not a concept that would have presented itself to him.

He did it, y’know. No kidding: He stashed a hundred thousand dollars in savings — that was his life’s savings goal — and then quit his job.

Shortly thereafter, the stock market crashed. 

So much for his hundred grand, eh?

Oh well. He went back to work for another couple years and then…soldiered on.

My mother died: the love of his life killed herself with tobacco sticks. He sent me through college. Then he quit his job, figuring at least to live ever after without having to work his a$$ off.

Frankly…I cannot imagine that he would have kept at his savings goal if he had thought of it as the equivalent of a million dollars. It would have been beyond his comprehension. But to tellya the truth, that is what the man accomplished in his lifetime.

He may have intuited that there was no way in Hell he could ever earn & save the inflation-adjusted equivalent of a million bucks. But I doubt if he actually knew it, at least not at a gut level.

I sure hope he didn’t.

That is what it amounted to, y’know. His goal of a hundred grand, by the time he retired, would have equated to just about a million dollars, in the change of his time.

Shhhh! Don’t tell him, though!

7:00 a.m.: The Moron Hour

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Why IS it that every  moron on the planet turns out of their house at 7 in the morning? With their dog, o’course!

Just back from the morning DoggyWalk. Nasty morning: hot, overcast, and wet. Back porch thermometer registers a mere 85 degrees.

Days like this, sometimes rain just coalesces out of the air. Don’t even need clouds to make it rain!

Welp, that doesn’t seem to be happening today…not yet, anyway. Wunderground predicts a 15% chance of rain and just now registers an ambient temperature of 85 degrees. Not very hot. But yeah: damp, that’s for sure.

Ruby never seems fazed by a soggy atmosphere. Maybe the thick furry coat protects her, to some degree from the elements: whether cold and wet or hot and wet.

At this hour, everybody and their little brother, sister,, and grandmother is out tromping around with their dawg. And they just don’t seem to get it that “they just want to pwaaaayyy” doesn’t apply to your dog. No, stupid… my dog just wants to rip their dog’s throat out. 

After you tell them to please keep their dog back and they refuse to do so, they get all peeved when your dog goes in for the kill.

Speaking of dogs, M’hijito bought a puppy yesterday, to replace his beloved old white golden retriever who croaked over a few days ago.

Oh, my, what a little cutie! And the parents were also white retrievers, so this one will grow up to look a lot like the Late, Great Jake.

I should call him — the kid, that is, not the dawg — and see if he’d like me to bring something over for lunch from the AJ’s deli. That would be pleasant…and an excuse to see the new pup. 😉

***

Meanwhile: ugh!  My hip is spavined and hurts like Hell.

Years ago, the Late, Great Dr. Daley — one of the finest GPs ever to walk the surface of the Earth — told me that someday I’d have to get surgery on that hip. Looks like the Someday has arrived.

Just what I need: surgery, and then weeks in the hospital recuperating and going through endless physical therapy. Whee…I can hardly wait.

Could I even walk from AJ’s to M’jito’s just now? Probably: once I get going, the gait seems to move along OK. The problem, I think, would be trapping a bus, getting down to Central & Camelback, and then hiking to the Kid’s place.

Dunno. A guy across the street has taken up the Uber business. I may ask him to drive me down to the store…and maybe for a few extra bucks he could be persuaded to stick around long enough to schlep me from the AJ’s to the Kid’s house.

The Uber thing looks like quite the little Godsend. I’ve only tried it once, but it really was The Business! The guy showed up at my house right away, schlepped me across the city, and then showed up again at the dentist’s office to schlep me home.

Truth to tell, it really may be that Phoenix has turned into enough of a Big City that you could live here without owning a car. M’hijito would like to get rid of mine — apparently he thinks that at 80 I’ve reached such a state of decrepitude I’m not safe to be driving. And I’ll tellya: if I knew for sure that a car would show up when I call for it — and show up in a timely manner — I’d agree with him.

But…well…that is something that I don’t know. Actually, to the contrary: I do know…a cab is not gonna show up on time when you need it. Period. This ain’t San Francisco, folks: this is Phoenix.

And no: dyed-in-the-wool Phoenicians do not ride cabs.

 

BREAK TIME!!!!!!!

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Okay, it’s time for Funny to take a little vacation. 😀

Seriously: I seem to have teetered off the Deep End and begun to write bizarre stuff in these posts. I’ve not been aware of the bizarritude, but when a friend brought a moment of Looney Toons to my attention, I thought…well…EGAD!!!!!

What on earth would lead me to write wack-sh!t posts containing putative suicide threats…that escapes me. I was not aware that quite so many marbles had rolled out my ears.

So…let’s build a little “platform” here from which to clarify matters and intentions, and then let’s have Funny take a li’l vacation.

Here we go…

I. THE PLATFORM

Folks, do know: I am not about to throw myself off the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, to season my chocolate soda with arsenic, or to blow out my brains with my daddy’s pistol.

If I posted something — anything — that could be interpreted as a suicide threat, rest assured: THAT WAS NOT MY INTENTION. 

Nope. No. No way. Not about to exit stage left, now or any time in the foreseeable future.

****

II. The AUTHORIAL WEIRDNESS

Overall, I happen to be contented and upbeat. Happy with my home. Delighted with my  friends. Awed by my son.  Entertained by my doggy pal. Endlessly amazed by the phalanxes of cop helicopters buzzing overhead ( 😀 Another copter is up there as we scribble!)

So: have no fear.

Do bear in mind that I have an eccentric sense of humor, one that easily drags me toward the Dark Side. But that indicates nothing more than that my sense of humor is warped, indeed.

Don’t be scared.

III. A PASSAGE OF PEACE

Okay, while we all calm down, let’s give Funny about Money a rest.

No, Funny is NOT going away. 

We’ll take a break of TWO WEEKS, starting tomorrow, July 16.

This means no narrative posts will appear at Funny-about-money.com between July 16 and July 29. That’s 14 days.

Don’t panic: we’ll be back! But over that two-week period — starting tomorrow — we’ll give it a rest.

  • It does not mean I don’t love you.
  • It does not mean I’m taking Funny down.
  • It does not mean I won’t be back. 

It just means we’re taking a li’l vacation. 

Sorry to do this, but it does look as though we need to cool down a bit. LOL! Especially on a 116-degree day!! 😀

{chortle!} In the Department of Wacksh!t…

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{chortle!!!}  Noooo, I am not taking Funny about Money off the air because some sensitive soul imagines one of its posts is…is…really????…is suicidal. 

No kidding.

The more I study it, the stupider it looks.

Seriously. WHERE in any of the posts that have appeared over the past three weeks is there any hint of suicidal ideation?

Let’s see what topics we’ve had of late..Maybe we can find a meditation on throwing oneself off the Golden Gate Bridge…

Morning in Aridzona.  Okay, here I do say I’d druther drop dead than rot away in an old folks’ home. Hmmmm… Does that lead you to believe I’m getting ready to throw myself off the North Rim of the Grand Canyon?

San Francisco: Take Me Home. A sentimental reminiscence of the time my parents and I lived in S.F. I was in junior high school at the time. Loved it. Not interested in throwing myself off the Bay Bridge.

Reeeel Estate! Sentimental reminiscing on how I loved living in San Francisco.

Hotter than the Hubs and Crazier than a Loon. Blah blah blah about kids and coreligionists I’ve (apparently) annoyed in various inscrutable ways.

On and on…dayum, but I do have other things to do that are more interesting than trying to unravel this silly little mystery. Sorry, folks…but I don’t think anything I’ve posted lately suggests I’ve gone raving suicidal. What IS the matter with people???????

😀