Coffee heat rising

Never a Dull Moment

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Ohhhhhh lordie! IS there some reason why there’s never a dull moment around the Funny Farm?

5:00 a.m.: Roll out of the sack. Stumble around. Throw on some clothes, feed the dog preparatory to going out the door by 5:30 for the morning Doggy Walk, which at this time of year needs to be accomplished before the sun comes up.

5:05 a.m.: ARF ARF ARF ARF ARF ARF GROWL ARF ARF SNARGLE GROWL ARF ARF ARF ARF ARF…

ahhhh shee-ut! NOW what?

Stumble out to the kitchen, where Ruby is banging against the back door.

Gerardo’s crew: they’re here to trim the damnable palm trees.

I forgot.

Now we’re stuck here while those guys wrestle with the Job from Hell, in the meantime trashing the swimming pool by tossing filthy palm fronds into the water.

Whenever they leave, I’ll have to call Pool Dude to get him over to clean up that mess. Do I even have his phone number? If so, where is it??????

Oh shitoshitoshitoshit this was NOT how I wanted to start the day!

As long as the back gate is open, collect and haul the garbage out to the alley. Another fine way I would hope not to start a day.

Someone has dragged the communal garbage can wayyyyy down the alley, so hauling this stuff is an annoying hike. I’ll have to ask these guys to haul that trash can back up where it belongs. That’ll be a trick, since they don’t speak English.

Better, probably, to wait till after the trash pickup and drag it back myself.

Trash pickup…ohhhhh sheee-UT if the city employees see my guys dumping stuff in the alley, I’ll get a citation!

Ohhhh well. At least our boys waited until after the July 4 festivities were over. Around here, morons set off fireworks right and left, often catching fire to houses and plantings. My house is surrounded with lots of flammables, so…this is my LEAST favorite holiday.

***

HOLEE mackerel, you’ve never seen a man WORK until you’ve watched a campesino working. What are those men made of?

And they don’t even seem especially fazed…not at a job that would kill me — very likely in a literal sense — if I tried to do it.

Soon as the gents are done, I’ll have to call Pool Dude to come help clean up the mess. Won’t he be pleased?

Mr. and Mrs. Wonderaccount, who live across the street, had their accursed palm trees removed. As I recall, they hired Gerardo’s guys to do that job. Whenever he comes around, I’ll have to ask him how much he’d charge to take the things out.

Hate to kill them…but GAWD they are a nuisance! Especially anywhere near a pool. They don’t cast any shade. They don’t do anything except drop seeds, dried blossoms, and dead fronds…and attract lightning bolts.

Just what everyone needs in their backyard, eh?

Whenever Gerardo comes around, I’ll have to ask him how much he’d charge to take the damn things out. Then have Financial Dude break loose some money for the purpose. I guess.

Meanwhile…too much coffee on an empty stomach. Gotta get some food!

Hotter than a Two-Dollar Cookstove!

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That was my father’s saying. Never heard it from anyone else…some sort of Southernism, I reckon.

It’s only 108 out there, but for some inscrutable reason, it seems hotter than that. I’d have guessed 112, if I hadn’t seen the back-porch thermometer. Wunderground, my fave weather site, claims it’s just 107. And truly NOT humid. Why it feels so damn hot, I dunno…but boyoboy, it sure does!

Wunderground does remark that June was the hottest month on record, but that generalizes around the northern hemisphere, not specifically here in Lovely Uptown Phoenix.

And I’m sorry but I DON’T consider 107 to be extremely hot.

This is amusing, speaking of Wunderground. Alas, they don’t publish a typescript of this squib, so you have to sit through a not-very-entertaining talkathon…but at least you can get an idea of what’s going on.

****

Hmmmm…. Apparently we have an explanation for the weirdness of the hotness: we humans who exist in the sunlit side of the planet just lived through the Earth’s hottest day on record.

Be scared. Be very scared.

 

 

All Fools’ Eve: July 4

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Not even dark yet, and the morons around the ‘Hood are setting off their bang-bangs. This will go on into the night, probably till about 1 a.m. What fine patriotic fun, hm?

My alley wall is festooned with cat’s-claw vines, wonderful fodder for fireworks-inspired spectacles. So, no matter how tired I happen to feel (and lemme tellya: this damn covid bug really wrings you out!!), I have to stay awake and keep an eye on the shrubbery, so as to call the fire dept if a fire gets started out there.

Not a big order, though: even if by some miracle the human could sleep through this evening’s series of explosions, Ruby is terrorized by the racket. Even safely ensconced on the bed, she cowers and cringes and flinches with each crashing BAM! So in addition to keeping alert to the flammable shrubbery, the human has to try to quiet and soothe a terrified little dog.

Some holiday!

You think I exaggerate? Every year someone loses their house to fireworks here. Never fails.

My son is too depressed to get together this evening. That notwithstanding, I do hope some of his friends managed to lure him out. But do not know and will not know until tomorrow.

wait wait…i take that back! He just emailed from his house. Probably just as well…one doesn’t want to be too far from the flammable homestead with all the amateur fireworks shenanigans going on.

***

Blew away part of the afternoon ogling real estate ads. Looking at houses over on the east side of Central Avenue, which would be out of the purview of Tony’s social service empire.

Whaddaya think of this shack?

I believe this is in the general neighborhood of where SDXB and his former wife Donna lived. The other day I happened to drive through that area and realized it’s pretty nice. Well kept, green, pleasantly middle-class.

LOOK at the price!!!!!  {gasp}

And yet…. and yet, I could probably get something similar for my house. The house on State would no doubt go for more, but not enough so to bankrupt me.

It has no pool — which some might say is a good thing. It also has no backyard. They apparently have enlarged the house to such an extent that it occupies most of the lot. Is that even legal???

Still…it’s only 1621 square feet. And mine is 1628. So it’s the same size as my shack.

And there’s NOOOO Romanian Landlord within a hundred yards of the damn place!

On the other side of the canal, east of State and north of Orangewood, there’s this…

It’s only (“only”!!!!) $580,000. Can’t say I’m real impressed with it, but since I can probably get around 500 grand for my house, it would be a little more do-able. Has a pool, for what that’s worth…more like a puddle, actually. Living room effectively clones M’jito’s house.

Here’s one on Desert Park, east of 7th Street… A little bit further north. But I don’t think I can afford the price:  Looks like they’re stilll renovating it. Nice little back porch, plenty of room for Ruby to run around, and no pool! Hmmmm….

And here’s one on Nicolet — the very street where XDXB and his former wife used to live.  Look at the price! and it’s TINY: 2 beds, 2 baths!  And get this: a price INCREASE of 75 grand…for THAT?????<

This one is a little less laughable…until you notice that they’re asking something north of 800 grand! 

Geez! Aint real estate bizarre? I should get a license and go to work with my coreligionist…just for the laughs!

RIP, Charley the Golden Retriever

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CharleyThe white retriever, actually. Charley was a breeder’s fancified version of a golden: a typical furry golden, but with all white hair.

Charley passed on to his furry fathers yesterday. He had a congenital ailment called megaesophagus, and it finally killed him.

That, and age. I believe he was 12 years old, a very long life for such a large and overbred dog. I remember thinking, when M’hijto got him, that he’d probably live about nine years. He outlived Cassie the Corgi and he outlived my guess. So he did pretty well for himself.

What next, I know not. My son is not speaking to me over the phone…partly, I expect because he doesn’t feel up for speaking and partly because during the weekdays he’s on the phone nine hours a day, working out of his home office for an insurance company that, recognizing the enormous savings occasioned by accommodation to the pandemic, announced they were closing their Arizona offices and henceforth everyone would be working from home. So now he manages a crew of insurance adjusters over the phone.

Can you imagine? I can’t…thank goodness I was born 30 years too soon!

Meanwhile, I wonder what the guy will do next, in the canine companion department.

If it were me, I would pause before investing another large pile of dough in an overbred pup.

If you want a certain breed, the local Humane Society has just about any breed your heart desires, at a vastly reduced price. Problem is, you have no idea what’s happened to the dog during its existence, and how it’s likely to behave now. But…that’s where I got Cassie the Corgi, who was just about the best dog I’ve ever had.

***

Meanwhile, speaking of dogs and that which we miss…  Ruby has been on the lookout for Pool Dude since about 7:00 this morning. Nary a sign of him.

It is Monday, right? {checks computer calendar}  Yep. He should’ve been here three hours ago.

Seriously: she knows when it’s Monday. Exactly how she knows escapes me. I don’t unlock the gate (he has a key). I don’t yammer at her that Pool Dude is on the way. She just knows.

The pool needs some attention…like, right now. I did clean out the skimmer basket (chuckablock full of leaves and palm tree debris) and the pump pot basket. But have neither the gear nor the products on hand to refurbish the chemicals, so if he doesn’t show up in a day or so, we’re gonna have a green pool.

So. I guess whenever I finish scribbling this blog post — i.e., right about now — I’m gonna have to get off my duff, trot a bottle of pool water up to the favored Leslie’s store, get it tested, and buy some chemicals for this week’s water-balancing act.

That, o’course, will risk missing the guy, which means I’ll have to re-test the water when I get back.

And in the meantime, I’ll also have to track down some references to a new Pool Dude.

{sigh}

nothin’ else to do with my time, eh?

Hot Hot Hot

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Hotter than the Hubs of Hades, as my father liked to crow. And holeee mackerel, it sure is hot. And humid. Here on the first day of July, August has come early, only without the briefly relieving afternoon rains. As we scribble, come 7:30 in the morning, Wunderground says it’s 88 degrees out there, with a predicted high of 112.

That would be fine, if the air were not wet as a sauna: 15% humidity, which strikes me as a low estimate. August weather has come early, but without the afternoon rain breaks.

Out the door with the Dawg at 5:30 a.m., hoping to dodge the worst of the Doggie Parade.

Wrong!

Everybody else had the same idea: the ‘Hood was overrun with dog-lovers and their pooches. So that meant dodge dodge dodge dodge dodge dodge….AAAAAGH!

Truly: I hate zig-zagging across the street trying to evade nitwits and their “fur-babies.” Some people are dangerously stupid about dogs.

No sign of Wile E. Coyote this morning, though. Probably because so many humans were tromping around, the poor beast had to take cover. Nor was there any sign of my pal Marge, the superannuated hiker. She’s been absent for awhile…I fear she may have reached the point where she’s no longer up for lengthy strolls through the morning heat. T’other day the neighborhood Facebook site went on about her 93rd birthday…she really is an amazing lady.

We walked for an hour through the swampy early-morning heat. By the time we got back, I was too walloped to eat breakfast. Which probably was a good thing, actually. 😀

Meanwhile, over in the tonier precincts of east Phoenix, a  berserk fire is consuming a neighborhood around 40th Street and McDowell. This is close to where my stepsister and her family used to live — on the outer edge of the tony Arcadia district. At first when I saw the news coverage, I thought it was very close to their house. But now I don’t think so.

In fact, it appears that none of the heirs to the parental estate live there any more. Stepsister — a Superior Court judge — and her husband passed away, as did their son. Their daughter finished an MBA, married, and got a fine job with the State of Arizona. Apparently she’s living happily ever after — handsomely relocated to Paradise Valley. Good for her!

That means, then, that even if the house is turning into a pile of cinders, it won’t affect her. Or her brother, if he’s still living.

My father’s new wife’s daughter & hubby had two children: this sharp young lady, and a male offspring who was less incandescent. They sent him to Northern Arizona University — about like sending him to Play-Skool — where he did graduate. But not to much: with a bachelor’s from NAU, he ended up in a career as a delivery truck driver.

But hey! At least he did have a job! They had plenty of money to put in trust for him, and their daughter apparently agreed to look out after him as he proceeded through life. Meanwhile, his sister got an excellent job with the state, married, had kids, and is living happily ever after.

As Ruby and I trudged through the muggy heat, we were serenaded by a cop copter fly-over, by ambulance sirens from Gangbanger’s Way, by traffic roaring across Gangbanger’s and along Conduit of Blight Blvd…ugh! What a place! The Richistans are pretty, and my part of the ‘Hood is blandly pleasant…except for the unholy racket from Conduit of Blight, Main Drag South, and Gangbanger’s.

My thoughts turned to the idea of moving away from this place.

But where?

To Fountain Hills?

All very nice, in a tract-y way. But…it’s right under the flight path of passenger jets flying in to Sky Harbor, one of the busiest airports in the world. The racket from the jet planes would be as bad or worse than Sun City’s noise from Luke Air Force Base. And that, my friends, is bad. When Mr. & Mrs. Fireman were living in Waddell, about the same distance from Luke as Sun City, the racket could be heard inside their home! Sun Citizens complain incessantly about the noise from Luke, and it doesn’t look like the population of Fountain Hills is a lot happier.

Sooo…what’s the difference? Traffic racket or airplane racket? 😀

Sun City is not my Thing: no interest in a ghetto for old folks. Scottsdale by and large is too far from where my son lives. Prescott would be a nice place to live, except it also is too far away. And it snows there. Ditto the Oro Valley, near Tucson.

One option might be a high-rise on North Central Avenue. A new one is going in right across the street from AJ’s, though I think it will be out of my price range. A little further south down Central, though, several of my friends live in an older high-rise amidst the office buildings. They have an awesome view and they’re as centrally located as you can get.

Problem with that, though, is spelled R-u-b-y-t-h-e-C-o-r-g-i….  How exactly one would cope with a dog in a high-rise apartment escapes me. Apparently some people have trained smaller dogs to go in a cat box. That might work with Ruby, if she could be persuaded. But she’s not so young anymore, so that trick might be difficult or impossible to learn. The prospect of schlepping her downstairs in an elevator several times a day does NOT appeal. It could be done…but it would mean you could never leave home for more than an hour or three…and what would you do if she had an “accident” in the elevator???

Heh…  Looks like what it boils down to is either I get rid of the dog (and move to a high-rise apartment) or I stay here and put up with the crime and the reformatory across the street.