Coffee heat rising

Such Good Pay…

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Ah, yes. I remember it well: My mother landing a job at the business office of the apartment development where we lived in San Francisco: Park Merced. It was a pretty place to live — even a beautiful place: upper-middle class, with handsome, modernistic high-rise apartments and sweet little garden apartments. Priced on the high side of San Francisco’s ever-pricey middle range. My father agreed to let us live there while he went back to sea, pretty much as a reward to my mother for spending ten years in the Hell-hole that was Saudi Arabia.

He was a cheapskate of the first water, though. Resented having to spend any of his (truly!) hard-earned cash on much of anything. And so, though I never heard them arguing about it (they didn’t argue in front of the brat), I’m sure he objected to the cost of the rent there.

No doubt feeling guilty (if not bored), my mother took a job in the development’s rental office, as a receptionist.

She earned $300 a month…and was downright awed! “Such good pay for a woman!” she crowed.

My father was less impressed. As a sea captain, he earned a living wage and then some. There really was no need for her to go to work, and the peanuts they paid her made little or no difference to our living standard. That, in general, was true of what most women were paid, back in the Day.

But y’know…this afternoon I had cause to reflect that even today I would have serious trouble living on what I could earn, with a Ph.D., a string of published books, and a track record of university-level academic jobs.

I happened to peruse real estate ads in our neighborhood. And…

hooooleee shee-ut!

Prices have gone through the proverbial roof!

The first place I bought here, about a block to the north and a block to the west of the present Funny Farm, cost a hundred grand. That amount equaled the my father’s lifetime goal for the savings he figured he would need to retire on. Just for the house alone!

  • Not for a car.
  • Not for living expenses.
  • Not for taxes.
  • Not for locking myself away in a nursing home when I get too decrepit to take care of myself.

My house is now paid off, over my financial advisor’s objections. And I think there’s enough left in savings to support me until they cart me off to a nursing home.

But…

But…….

Meanwhile, the alleged value of this house has gone SOOOO high that frankly, I’m not sure I can pay the taxes on it. Real estate prices have Californicated madly. Realtor.com thinks my house is worth $528,700. Redfin begs to differ, pegging the reasonable price at $629,873.

You understand: I paid an even $100,000 to get into this neighborhood — in a house that is the same model as this one. And thought that was ridiculous. It’s less than 1900 square feet. It’s magnificently crime-ridden, thanks to the slums just to the north of us. And if you give a damn about your  kids’ education — and would just as soon not have them tripping over a dead body on way into the local school (yes!!) — you would put your kid in a private or parochial school.

And supposedly this place is worth almost SIX TIMES what I paid for it????

SDXB moved to Sun City partly to get away from Tony the Romanian Landlord (a threat who lived right next-door to him at the time), but partly to escape the soaring property taxes in this area.

Prices have shot up over in Sun City, too, but not into the stratosphere….largely, I think, because most people in our generation don’t relish living in a ghetto for old folks. Plus it’s pretty remote from the central part of the city, where those things that are of interest in these parts take place.

If in fact this house is worth what the real estate sites claim, when I croak over my son will inherit assets totaling well over a million dollars. And that doesn’t count the value of his house. Or the amount his dad will leave him.

If he sells both places, he can move to Colorado and live like a king — secretly, he’d like to retire to Grand Junction, whence his grandparents came. He not only will get the value of my house and his, he also will get whatever remains in my investment accounts. Plus whatever his dad leaves him.

{chortle!} The kid will be a freakin’ millionaire.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean what it used to. It may not mean very much, come to think of it. But…better than a hit on the head, I guess.

Real estate values in Grand Junction aren’t much less than they are here. In fact, some of them by comparison are outright crazy. Right: to live out in the middle of fu**in’ nowhere!

Come to think of it, though…. Given a choice between Sun City and Grand Junction, I’d take Grand Junction any day.

Mercifully, that is not I choice I have to make. Not at the time being, anyway.

*****

July 4 Kaput

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Gosh. A whole post was almost done here, dated July 4. And…egad! Apparently I never published it.

Out it goes.

Far as I recall, it wasn’t a truly horrible evening. Often July 4 is truly horrible here, with idiots setting off their bang-bangs way-y-y into the night.

The reason for this: Our honored civic leaders, in their Passionate Patriotism, legalized fireworks in Arizona, undoing a years-long ban on sales of the damn things. Of course, people used to smuggle them in across the Mexican border and over from neighboring states…but not every numbskull and his mentally retarded brother, sister and cat glommed the damn things every Fourth of July. Now, everybody can get them —  any kind of them — and so nitwits blast them off all over the city and the state. So we get BAM BAM BAM BAM WEEEEEEEUUUUUUUU  BAM BAM all. night. long.

Understand. It’s not that I hate fireworks. We had a friend — now a late friend — who used to get a license to shoot the things off. He would throw an annual party, and he had professionals who knew what they were doing fill the air over his neighborhood with lights and noise. That was fun. And it was OK, because the fireworks were overseen safely, and because his Paradise Valley home was not surrounded by flammable trees and grasses.

The people who put on that show DID know what they were doing. They weren’t putting people’s homes and yards and pets at risk.

What I hate is fireworks in the hands of flaming morons.

And that’s what we have now.

Last night I ended up standing on the street all evening, keeping an eye on the doings in the alley. To my amazement, two young gentlemen who have taken up residence across the street came out and kept me company!

Can you imagine?

I sure can’t. At any rate, we ended up socializing for the better part of an hour. After the loony toons settled down, we went back into our respective palaces, and that was that.

LOL! Truth to tell, I seriously did consider putting the dog in the car and heading out to the desert, there to camp until dawn. That was NOT the way I wanted to spend the night, but it sounded a lot better than dodging nitwits all evening.

But for a change, not too much nitwittery went on, at least not in the immediate vicinity. Probably, I think, because those two guys were standing out there.

Well, not too much nitwittery except for the drunk driving. Lushes killed one person and injured two on the accursed freeway up the road. Honestly.

It makes Sun City look good…if only that place weren’t such a mausoleum.

At any rate, today we’re back to normal: Hotter than the hubs of Hades. Just now we’re down to a chilly 111 degrees, according to Wunderground. And yea verily: that’s exactly what the thermometer on the back porch reads.

Pool Dude — the guy I hired to come around and take care of the Hole in the Ground Into Which to Pour Money — has about paid for himself in sheer labor savings. The damned pool is sparkling clean: not a sheet of green to be seen anywhere. He’s expensive, but IMHO paying for his service beats leaving the thing empty.

Because, after all, there is no “empty” with a swimming pool. It doesn’t have a drain that you leave open, like a bathtub. If you don’t actively keep it drained, it hosts a puddle in which to grow algae and breed mosquitoes. My next-door neighbor does that.

Other Daughter, who lives in the next house down from that neighbor, leaves her windows open at night. (Don’t ask!!) Result: the mosquitoes got into her house, chewed her up, and gave her a raving case of encephalitis. She almost died. For a while, the doctors thought that even if she survived, she would never walk again.

She’s one tough lady, though. Not only did she live through it, but yea verily, she’s trotting all over the ‘Hood again.

At any rate, this particular stupidity means, for me: keep the doors and windows closed. Keep screens on all the doors and windows. Do not leave a door open for the dog to come and go at will.

Isn’t having to make allowances for neighbors’ idiocy fun?

To my mind, this was the beauty of the ranch: living out in the boondocks, two or three miles from the nearest neighbor, meant you were pretty much out of reach of the idiot neighbors’ frolics.

Another Unholy Day in Lovely Arizona

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Jeez. Ninety degrees in the shade, overcast, and raining.

Well. Sprinkling: more like threatening rain.

But the overall effect is Hotter’n The Hubs of Hades.

This is the way Arabia was most of the summer. Here, we only get a few days of it. There, we got three months of it.

How my father and his colleagues were able to work outdoors down on those docks escapes me. What a HORRIBLE way to make a living!

He subjected himself to it because he figured that between the more-than-decent pay and the fact that ARAMCO covered the cost of housing and transportation, he’d be able to retire about 10 years early.

And he did. Unfortunately, not bein’ the most sophisticated guy on the planet, he didn’t understand about inflation. So after he had “retired” (so he thought) and moved to Sun City, he had to go back to work. Ugh!

At least he was shipping out of Long Beach, not piloting tankers around Ras Tanura’s sauna-like harbor.

We didn’t have real air-conditioning out there. The company provided a kind of makeshift evaporative cooling: They pumped cold water through underground pipes that traversed the camp and came up into each home, where a whole-house blower would blast air over the relatively cool pipes and then into the house. This would work well if you were close to where the water came in to the housing tract. We, however, were not. 😀

Wouldncha know, eh?

My mother, who grew up in upstate New York and then later in Berkeley, California, suffered vocally in the heat. Me, I knew nothing any different, so most of the time it didn’t bother me.

But there on the shore of the Persian Gulf, the air was SOOO HUMID that it could rain out of a clear blue sky. You’d wake up in the morning — especially in the summers — to see water dripping off the eaves as though it had rained during the night. No…it had not rained.

We have no fake rain here this morning…but still. The air is thick.

Took Ruby for her morning perambulation around the park. What a zoo that place is when everybody and their little brother are out there tromping around — most of them walking dogs. It really is a nuisance to have to make your way around a dog every ten yards. I swear.

Often literally swear. The idiots who simper “ohhhh don’t worry! They just want to plaaaayyyy” are the ones that drive me craziest. That was a favorite line when they would bounce up to the German shepherd. Nooo, dear Moron. My dog doesn’t want to playyy with your dog. She wants to rip your dog’s throat out. 

Anyhow, this place is alarmingly like Ras Tanura this morning — weather-wise. Wunderground predicts a high of 106 today. Humidity is 54%. Chance of rain: 12%.

Garden spot…

Balmy Summer Day(s) in Arizona

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Tuesday: A hot, damp day in June

Sooo…yeah. Come late afternoon, I go to throw a little chow on the grill.

DayUM, but it seems kinda warm out there.

Check the back porch thermometer. Ayup: 115 degrees.

In. The. Shade.

Well…really, I didn’t need to toss the shrimp on the grill, did I? All that was necessary was to set them on a plate out in the sun for a few minutes.

LOL!

Stumble outside. Retrieve shrimp.

Incredibly, the damn things are done unto perfection. They’ve been on the grill for…ohhh…about two minutes on each side.

It worked. That’s all that matters. I guess.

***

Vast banks of white clouds are piling up to the north.

Cool OFF, little grill, so we can close you and toss your cover over you, because pretty quick now we can be sure it’s gonna rain like Hell.

Why, in the name o’ God, would anyone want to live in this place?

The nerve — the NERVE, I say — of my parents to drag me here when my father saw a chance to quit his hated job and “retire” to this gawdawful venue!

***

Friday…Another Day: Absolutely Positively NOT Another Dollar…

Lost track of time…probably because the brain fried.

One o’clock in the afternoon:

108 in the shade of the back porch

Rented a PO box for all the sh!t that comes in (and goes out)

Contemplating my mother’s “career” as a real estate agent; thinking holeee sheee-ut

Contemplating my mother’s “career” as a Wife and Mother: Thank you, God for delaying my birth into the mid-20th century

Sitting in the air-conditioned living room, sweating like a pig.

Do pigs sweat? Why? Dogs don’t sweat. Cats don’t. On the other hand…horses do.

Cruised around North Central Phoenix this morning & early afternoon, ogling real estate.

Do I want to become a Realtor?

My mother tried that. Flopped.

Unholy flop. You have to be a lot more dedicated, a lot more hard-working, and a lot smarter than I am to succeed in that game.

Especially when it is as GAWDAWFUL HOT as it is today.

Pushing 110 in the generously ventilated shade of the back porch.

The nerve — the NERVE, I say — of my parents to drag me here when my father saw a chance to quit his hated job and “retire” to this gawdawful venue!

Damn! Whatever possessed the man?

*****

Tempus Fidgets
and
Now it’s 6:20 p.m.

HOTTER THAN THE HUBS in the backyard! It’s 111 degrees in the shade. Five percent chance of rain.

(Does boiling water qualify as “rain”?)

A couple of peakèd-looking cumulus clouds lurk to the north — way north of the Valley, it appears. So the alleged chance looks mighty remote.

Ruby is conkered out on the bed. Good thing we managed to get in our DoggyWalk along about dawn this morning. No chance we’d be able to go out this evening. The sidewalks are too hot for her to walk on now, but even after dark, when the concrete will cool some, the asphalt roadways will be WAYYY to hot for her dainty paws.

***

Saturday
5:00 a.m.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Annoyances of the 21st Century: Beeping goddamn phones.

The land line — which remains much easier for me to use than an accursed cell phone — has to be kept charged up. This is because its handsets are battery-operated, just to add another hassle to daily life.

To accomplish this, you have to set the handset on a base unit, which has a charger. When you do that,it “reminds” you…by going BEEP! about every five minutes after it’s fully charged.

Profoundly annoying!

*******

Sunday
Mid-afternoon

Almost got a nap in...til the damned phone rang. Friend/erstwhile client on his way over. He wants to hire(?) me to help with his latest book.

ohhhhkaaayyyy…

Outta the sack. Throw on some rags. Go out front to find irrigation hasn’t come on. Plants are frying. Neighbor across the street is out puttering in the 110-degree heat.

This is the spouse of the formerly beloved neighbor who for reasons unknown has cut me off. Flat.

Yes: She will not speak to me! If I call, she hangs up. If I go to the door, she won’t answer.

Why?

I. Have.NO. idea.

Ohhhh well. We already knew I’m not a nice lady. Apparently I’m even MORE not-nice than we thought.

Hotter than the hubs of Hades out there.

*******

Client/Friend in. Client/Friend out the door. He left several chapters of his new manuscript, a rumination on the way political and social power has shifted over the past century. I’m looking forward to reading it.

Evening rolls in. Put the BBQ away: cover it to repel the coming rain.

Ten after 7 at night: 103° and overcast.

Should go swimming. Why, after all, do I have this swimming pool???

But nay: it’s just too, too HOT. A hundred and three degrees with gray skies — thickened by wet-looking clouds. Ugh! What a place!

Hotter than the Hubs!

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The morning clock has not hit 6:30. The hound and I have just returned from circumnavigating the park, dodging this dog and that idiot through 92-degree heat enhanced by 33% humidity. Hotter than the Hubs of Hades.

That, mercifully, kept some of the park’s Dog Parade traffic down. So I didn’t have to drag Ruby out of any fights. That’s something, anyway.

WHY are people soooo stupid about their dogs? If I have to hear “ohhh, they just wanna pwaaayyyy” one more time, I’m gonna set my dog loose on their effin’ fur-baby.

It’s not your kid, stupid! It’s a DOG! A highly evolved wolf. It doesn’t wanna pway. It wants to kill. Idiot!

It’s so hot and wet out there, it almost feels like lovely Saudi Arabia, down by the shore of the Persian Gulf.

Ahhhh yes. Where the humidity would be dripping off the eaves like rain when you got up in the morning. Where rain could start falling out of a clear blue sky. Lovely.

Usually I try to get out of the house by 5;30, before the dog parade gets into full swing. But we missed it by ten or fifteen minutes — plus in this heat the dog-lovers probably are leaving their homes a little early, too, trying to get out before the serious warmth comes up. The park wasn’t yet completely overrun, but still we had to keep to the sidewalk to avoid confrontation.

Bunch of soccer players were out there practicing. It’s always a hoot to watch those guys. How they can charge around the way they do in this heat: that escapes me.

Better get up and jump in the pool to cool off. And so…urk! Awaaayyyy!

{sob!) Bye-bye, Amazon!

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For several years, I’ve loved Amazon deliveries. A bit pricey, but the convenience of having this excellent retailer drop everything at your door can NOT be beat.

But today undid all those years of superb service. Not through any fault of Amazon, but because the ‘Hood is…well…a ‘Hood. Once or twice in the past packages that supposedly were delivered haven’t shown up. But I haven’t thought much about it: they’re cheap and I’m busy.

But today, for cryin’ out loud!

I ordered a stupid little metal sprinkler. Not expensive — yea, verily, pretty cheap. But for that very reason, it was NOT something I wanted to traipse across the city to get from Home Depot or Lowe’s.

Off to dinner with M’Hijito this evening. When I get back, here’s an email from Amazon with a photo showing exactly where their delivery person placed the package. Exactly where she or he should have placed it: good job.

Problem is: no such package appeared out there.

Translation: one of the local porch pirates must have stolen it.

One of our techie neighbors set up some cameras with which he actually recorded a thief FOLLOWING an Amazon truck, stopping where each delivery was made, jumping out, running up to the door, grabbing the package, and running back to her car with it.

I should have known better, then, than to pay Amazon to send something I could’ve picked up at the local Home Depot. But ohhhhh no! I just had to save a half-hour or 45 minutes of driving time and stand-in-line time.

Dumb, huh?

Welp. It’s not Amazon’s fault. But I can’t afford to pay for things I never receive (supposedly they’re crediting my account with a refund…we’ll see!). And when I need something, I need it NOW, not after it’s been delivered and stolen and then I’ve had to drive to a store to get it. Might as well go direct to the store: hold the time to order it; hold the theft aggravation; hold the time to report the theft to Amazon.

Too bad: Amazon has been an enormous convenience. But when convenience turns to frustration…what’re ya gonna do?

Lancaster, PA, USA – December 15, 2017: Two Amazon Prime brown boxes package delivered at a residential home front door.