Coffee heat rising

By Golly! Missed This!!

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Leastwise, I think I did. Just poured a glass of wine, sat back, and logged in to write a post. And…and…

And HERE’S THIS THING! 😀 Apparently it never went online.

So, dear friends and honored foes: The rumination from a few days ago…

****

Is it only driving in Phoenix that I hate? or is it living in Phoenix?

Doggywalk this morning took us past the {former!!!} home of a friend and erstwhile neighbor, now long gone, terrorized out of the neighborhood.

She was a teacher at the local high school. Dunno what he did, but whatever it was, between the two of them they could afford a very nice, LARGE house right across from one of the nicest parks in the city. So presumably they were not living in penury.  Not that it matters…

One day two guys showed up at their front door. The residents answered the doorbell, and the guys barged in. Tied them up and tossed both of them into the tub in an upstairs bathroom. Then proceeded to ransack the house.

Incredibly, they didn’t bother to kill the couple. Eventually, one of the spouses managed to work free of the binding. Got the other one out of the bathtub. Called the cops.

No, the perps were never caught. This IS lovely uptown Sunnyslope, after all. But my friends promptly sold the house and moved away. Where? I dunno. Presumably as far from here as they could afford to get.

Makes me angry every time I drive or walk past the place. And…to walk the dog around the park requires…yes! Walking past the place. Driving to the Albertson’s or the Sprouts or points southwesterly requires…yes! Driving past the place.

And every time I do walk or drive past the place, I can’t help but imagine the terror they must have felt. And I can’t help but think I wish I could afford to move to a home comparable to my own, far far from here.

But…but…where would I go?

* Item: Because we’re officially part of a slum called Sunnyslope (even though ours is what I’d call an upper-middle-class neighborhood), I wouldn’t be able to get into anything comparable without diving deep into my retirement savings…or into debt. Which is to say I can’t afford a place like this in a safer neighborhood.

* Item: My honored son WANTS my house. He has repeatedly asked me (begged me; ordered me) not to sell. And I would very much like him to have it.

*Item: Noooo, I do not KNOW that he realizes the Hood is actually part of Sunnyslope: We could call this Item XXX and counting:

* I do not know if he realizes (any of the above).
* Nor do I know whether he cares (I don’t, much, except when the consequences slap me in the face).
* Nor can I imagine how much the consequences would affect him as opposed to the way they affect me.

*****

Just back from the nearest Leslie’s Pool store. They’re overpriced — many of the supplies there can be had much more cheaply from Home Depot or Lowe’s. However, for your money you get smart, experienced staffers who dispense invaluable advice.

Today, though, even the Leslie’s guy hadn’t a clue.

Out in the shed, I found a floater gadget that seems to be designed for…uhhhhh….something. But what? It’s not a pool tab floater. So…what is it?

So for the helluvit, I took the thing by that store and asked.

Leslie’s Dude allowed as how it appeared to be a pool gadget, yep yep. But WHAT pool gadget? He didn’t know any more than I do.

LOL!

So if I can catch Pool Dude — not an easy trick, as he ghosts in and out without making a sound — I’ll ask him what it is.

****

The brain remains numb, as it has been for weeks and, yea verily, months. I’ve assumed this was a manifestation of looming senility — seriously, some days I can’t remember my name, to say nothing of remembering anything important. But NO!

It develops that the cutely named “brain fog” lingers for months after a fine case of covid.

And we know I had covid last fall: it was diagnosed while I was visiting the ER at the Mayo Clinic. Apparently it takes six to nine months (!!!) to get over this manifestation.

Jayzuz!! No wonder the kid thinks I’m getting senile.

But much more annoying, as covid aftereffects go, is the endless tingling in the hands & feet and the endless ringing in the ears. Truly, truly crazy-making.

Not that I wasn’t already crazy…but really, I didn’t need another excuse to be nuts.

Lawyer, eh? Think again about that…

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LOL! Last time I posted I ruminated on about how easy it would be to find a replacement for my late beloved estate (and miscellaneous other matters…) lawyer, DXH having been a prominent legal eagle here in the Valley of the We-Do-Mean-Sun.

WRONG!

DXH has been retired for so long that all his colleagues have flown the coop, too. Didn’t have a suggestion.

So it was down to the church, that Institution of Old Phoenix that holds forth in ritzy-titzy North Central. If anyone knows lawyers currently in practice, they do.

Well.

No.

They may know someone, but evidently they’re reluctant to make any recommends.

Goddammit.

So now I have no lawyer and I don’t know which way to jump to find one. And because Mike, the beloved and high-powered legal bulldog, was working on the latest iteration of my will, I have no valid will on record!

At least, I probably don’t. Mike may (or may not) have filed our new, revised will before he dropped dead. But no one knows, and I have no clue who to call at the State of Arizona to even ask whether a new will has been filed.

Godlmighty.

At this point, I’m not sure which way to jump. I actually called the County Bar Association to see if they could recommend an estate lawyer. Singularly unhelpful, thankyouverymuch.

I guess maybe the next effort will be to Google “estate planner” and start calling at random.

{gulp!}

That’s not very…reassuring.

Almost Time to Go…

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Heh…perhaps metaphorically, as well as literally.

My head is spinning like a top. No head congestion, so it’s apparently not sinus trouble. And THAT doesn’t bode well.

Headed up into nearby Moon Valley to visit a New Doc, later on today.

Beloved Y0ung Dr. Kildare (YDK) has left the practice of medicine again. This is the second time (far’s I know…).

Tina, my business partner, had introduced me to him. I liked him a lot: he has common sense, a precious rarity among doctors in general practice.

His office was way to Hell and Gone over on the west side: almost an hour’s drive over a hectic freeway. But BFD: the Mayo is way the Hell and Gone over on the east side: another hour’s drive over insane surface streets.

But then YDK’s practice closed. His partners moved a few blocks up the street, but he didn’t go with him. The implication was that he wasn’t invited to go with them: NOT a good sign.

He took over as executive director of a major charity here. Then a few months ago, he returned to the practice of medicine AND came to light just up the road from here: an easy drive.

But now he seems to be gone again. Got a message from this new practice that I’m supposed to see Dr. Humbuggadoodle at 1:15 today.

Y’know…I don’t think I’m asking too much. All I want is a sane doctor who LISTENS to me and who seems to have a brain lodged between his ears.

Meanwhile, my beloved barracuda lawyer died. This was the guy who had been DXH’s law partner for many a year, and was one of the best litigators in the state, if not the Southwest. If not the whole damn country.

So now I’m double-screwed:

  • * No regular doctor
  • * No lawyer

The lawyer issue is pretty easy, what with DXH having spent his whole career with two of the major law firms in the Southwest. But the doctor thing: HOLEE sh!t, what a conundrum.

****

Don’t have to leave for the new Quack’s appointment for another hour. So…here we are.

Head is spinning. This seems to be characteristic of whateverthehell is currently wrong with me. Would prefer not to drive to Young Dr. Kildare’s former office, but I have no choice. Unless I call an Uber (and how much will that cost me?), the only way to get up to Moon Valley is to drive oneself there.

My former Dear Best Friend lived up there. A saga appertains…best not to go into all that! 🙂 Suffice it to say that she, after her husband died, crawled off to some place in the Midwest, whence she came. I know nothing of what has become of her since then…or even, for sure, whether she’s still living.

She was about 10 years ahead of me, so that would make her freakin’ elderly. If she’s still living.

The question is: Am I still living?

Hope so. Because if I’m not, then that means the Afterlife is some kinda nonstop annoying Hell. Sorta like daily life in lovely Uptown America these days.

Huh! Wonder what the deal is with YDK…. This is the second (third?) time he’s dropped out of a very nice job and disappeared into the fog.

I loved YDK and have no desire to start AALLLL OVER with a new doc, who may or may not make me crazy. I need someone who is NOT with the Mayo (and therefore is not influenced by any preconceived opinions written into my charts) and who is smart, well-trained, and insightful.

Don’t ask for much, do I?

😀

Welp. It’s almost time to run out the door. Or rather, drive out the door.

Gawdlmighty, another new doctor. Just what I need: explain myself, explain myself, and explain myself again…it’s a long, long waste of breath.

Sincerely, I do hope this guy is not just another workaday quack, who listens to you with half an ear, dispenses clichéd advice, and leaves you royally pissed off but no better off than when you started.

Welp…off my duff and awwwayyyyy!

 

Gotta Make a Plan….

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…for making a plan.

Yeah. What’s happening here is that enough of my marbles are rolling out my ears that I can barely remember my name, much less all the stuff that has to be done — bills paid, workmen wrangled, vets visited, groceries bought, car maintained…on and on and on.

It’s getting harder and harder to remember — and handle — all the sh!t that has to be done: each day, each week, each month, each year.

Just now the AC Dude showed up at the front door. (Are you kidding, Dude? It’s freakin’ SUNDAY!) I had called a week or so ago to bellyache about the circular spinning attic vent, which was making an annoying noise — right over my bedroom — in the steady wind we were having.

Helle’s Belles! I’d forgotten why I called him. And he couldn’t find any problem with the gadget.

So whatever it was, it ain’t fixed now. Unless it fixed itself.

And here I am on the edge of the pool, with my tingling feet in the cool (not cold!) water.

No. The water is not anything like cool enough to be called “cold,” this being April in lovely uptown Arizona. But still…it’s cool enough to soothe the crazy-making tingling of peripheral neuropathy, my latest fine ailment. Instead of pounding my buzzing fingers on this keyboard, I should have the hands dangling in that water, too.

Fact is, the water is almost warm enough to swim in. Not quite, though. It’s still cool enough to soothe the bzzzzzz in the feet. Which is a godsend.

So…what next?

What next is: GOTTA MAKE A PLAN. And that plan has to cover and cope with all the annoying ditz of daily life here at the Funny Farm, plus managing hired help, wrangling doctors’ appointments, dealing with the Mayo Clinic and its ilk, driving from proverbial pillar to legendary post. Ugh, how I hate all this stuff…under the best of circumstances I’m not fond of running around the Valley and wrestling various tasks. But the way I feel now: ohhhh gawd, just leave me alone!

Realized what i need is a spiral-bound notebook or calendar that can record all this fooling around. That would be easier than trying to keep up with whiteboard notes.

WTF??????

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An afternoon from Hell brought me home, through 40 minutes of cut-throat traffic, to a glass of wine, a wooden rolling chair in front of an uncomfortable desk, and — when I went to sign in to FaM’s dashboard — a frantic warning that Funny’s website has been phished and it was unsafe for me to proceed.

Sumbiche!

Well, here we are anyway, and honi soit qui mal y pense.

What.

A.

Day.

Started out with my son, who has arrogated communications with the Mayo Clinic unto himself, surfacing to emcee an online appointment with my doctor out there. That was actually fairly benign — much more so than I feared. So we chatted with the lovely, brilliant lady doc, mulled over how we can get some legal hoop-jumps done (a task made far more difficult by the recent demise of my beloved lawyer), and generally wasted time.

Speaking of wasting time, a few days ago I was talked into driving way to Hell-and-gone out to the Mayo’s Scottsdale clinic to join a hand-holding group of patients who are coping with the vicissitudes of senility.

Yes. I spent FORTY MINUTES on the road EACH WAY for the privilege of listening to a bunch of duffers reporting that they can’t remember things.

Right.

And yes. That is EIGHTY minutes round-trip, plus an hour of hot-air time. Jayzuz!

***

Meanwhile, my beloved laptop crashed. A service contract with Best Buy, then, landed the contraption in that fine store’s precincts.

This morning, in comes a call from Best Buy telling me the computer is fixed and ready to pick up. So…this afternoon, after some of the other dust has settled, I jump in my car and fight my way through Phoenix’s lovely surface-street traffic, over to Best Buy.

Get parked. Bound into the Store. Get in line. Stand in line stand in line stand in line stand….  Finally get up to the repair desk.

“You called to say my laptop is ready.”

“Huh?“

The guy denied having any clue that the computer was fixed and ready to pick up.

No…kidding.

So I was only slightly furious. Trudge back out to the car. By that point it’s after 4 p.m. Rush hour is in full, rabid swing.

And now here we are: I’m perched at (horrors!) an actual desk typing on an actual desktop computer and…and…grrrrrrrr…and I’m so tired I can hardly think. As you no doubt can guess from the quality of this copy…

Mean-meanwhile: seeking a lawyer for a lawsuit I may have to pursue. More about that later… It doesn’t look promising.

Here’s a fine drawback to gettin’ old: All the professionals and all the business people you’re used to working with have either RETIRED or DIED. Yes. All of them Sooooo… Now you have to try to find new lawyers, new doctors, new car repairmen, new computer techs, new…god help us all, dammit!

GRONK!!

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Not to say “LOL”!

After a day of bopping around town, bouncing from here to the Mayo (halfway to freakin’ Payson) through the tract-house neighborhood where my son’s pals used to live to a thissa and a thatta…really, I don’t even remember!…Finally got home. So, so melodramatically tired.

One of the stops was a grocery store. Another was a Sprouts…which I s’ppose is a grocery store. Into the house with a fistful of eatin’ cheese and a bunch of food for lunch/dinner. Don’t recall what all that was, ’cause I’m too tired to remember it. Schlep and schlep and schlep…finally get home. So, soooo tired: just want to lay down.

Thinking about my mother, middle age coming on her as I reached my early teens.

In California, she took it into her head to become a real estate saleswoman. Quite possibly not one of the wiser choices she could have made.

But I suppose it was no worse than her career in door-to-door Avon Cosmetics sales.

Yah. No kidding. She did love make-up, and so in a weird pre-liberation era way, it made a kinda sense.

Another disaster for my father to laugh at and to mock. 😮

So now she goes out and she gets herself a real estate license. She goes to work for some woman who has befriended her, presumably so she (“friend”) can leave the amateur saleslady sitting on open houses while she — the REAL real estate salesperson — bops about town at will.

Before long, the erstwhile business partner decided…YES!!! THE FUTURE WAS AT THE SALTON SEA!

This boondoggle — a scam that promised to transform a wide spot in the road next to a stinky, stagnant pond in the middle of California’s hottest, most barren desert — led my mother to destroy my father’s new Mercury. When she drove that swell brand-new car through a sandstorm outside of Palm Springs, the wind literally scoured the paint off the hood and front end — all the way down to the bare metal.

You can imagine how impressed my father was. He was going to sea at the time, so by & large wasn’t home to put the eefus on her entrepreneurial efforts.

***

BING BONG!!!!

***

Bing bong? WTF? Who’s out front at three in the afternoon?

Aaaaahhh jeeez! It’s Wonder-Cleaning Lady. Just as I was about to lay my head down on a pillow…

Ugh! I can barely hold my eyes open. Much less figure out where the money I need to pay her is stashed. Or whether I need to go out and cash a check.

So much for that reverie.

BUT…on the subject of little old ladies and Realtor’s licenses…

I’ve taken the reeel estate course that’s supposed to prepare you to pass that exam. I’d need to review it…but it could be done. And…and…

Well: Here’s th’thing:

If I passed the state Realtor’s exam, then in theory I could get a job selling real estate in some local office. Or…FAR more to the point: it would be easy to persuade a local editor that he oughta hire me to cover the real estate beat. And that could be fun.

Truth to tell, I enjoy real estate: find the whole proposition highly entertaining. So I would enjoy interviewing people and tracking down story ideas and writing copy for local and regional rags. In fact, I used to write for a (now defunct) national real-estate magazine, inspiringly titled Real Estate Salesperson, as well as filling up pages of local newspapers with similar maunderings.

*****

And now a day has passed. Apparently in the commotion that accompanies house-cleaning, I forgot to post this squib.

Ohhh well!

The house is clean. I’ve developed a new and highly uncomfortable li’l ailment that’s had me trotting back and forth to the ER. Nothing much is helping it. Already had an appointment with MayoDoc set up for Friday, so that will be an issue to inflict on her. Goodie…life is grand, eh?