Life far from freeways, Starbucks, malls, and other benefits/distractions
So I linked to (yet another) article about small houses. Which led Joel to link back to me and also to a very funny blog about people who actually live in the things. Which reminded me of tidy-up celebrity Marie Kondo (because you have to be mega-tidy to survive small-house living).
Which reminds me that, now that I’m living in normal-sized houses again, it’s time for another perspective in tiny-house living.
Been a little quiet lately, I know. Partly this is to do with the protracted deathwatch for Robbie. He’s 14 and hasn’t been in good health for a long time. His “doggie Alzheimers” gives him anxiety attacks that increasingly override his pharmacopia of meds. He’s got bad legs that look like they shouldn’t hold him up (but somehow do). Now add a hacking cough of mystery origin. But he’s still happy, hungry, and eager to go for walks. Never mind that he spends more time sniffing and peeing than actually walking. So hard to know what to do or when…
… not in this getup, anyhow. T minus 49 minutes to wasp nuking. No, I’m not sitting around roasting inside all that gear. That was just a trial run for the selfie.
This just appeared on a corner of my house. Seemingly overnight. I don’t have any wasp killer or any way to get some in the next day or two. Don’t have a weed-sprayer attachment for the hose, either, which I understand you can use to deliver either pesticides or detergent water. I want these ugly little suckers gone. Wonder what would happen if I went out at dawn or twilight when they’re less active and — from a respectable distance — directed a hard jet of water at them from the hose? Would I end up regretting that?
No, that’s not the answer to life, the universe, and everything (+50). That’s how hot it got here yesterday. It’s cooler this morning but managing to be gray, dry, muggy, and threatening all at once. We are under something called a “Red Flag Fire Weather Warning,” which I’ve never heard of before. Usually our weather maps are more greenish. Never seen this orangey-purply stuff before.
Though theoretically there’s a Craigslist covering my area, most of the activity on it is hours away. So I never pay any attention to it. But I got to looking at Hondas, Toyotas & such yesterday and found one newer-model Honda way, way, way too cheap with no explanation at all. Except there were some cuss marks (&^5$#) in the headline, clearly indicating some sort of story. I emailed the woman (supposed woman, but who knows), who responded with a tragic account about how the car was in perfect shape but it belonged to her recently killed son (cut down…
I walked to town and back. It’s six weeks today since I broke my ankle and I can hear my nurse friends yelling, “Too soon! Too soon!” But all is well.
I’m wearing a rigid clamshell brace that holds my ankle more securely side-to-side than the fracture boot did while still letting my foot flex. Last week I had a neighbor drop me in town for an experimental walk home. Though the ankle “talked” to me a bit coming up the last slope, walking was glorious.
Lord, I’ve missed this! Nothing helps me feel more healthy, sane, alive, and creative than walking.
Appears I’ll be doing a lot more of it, too. Want to or not.
Today is the 800th anniversary of the signing sealing of the Magna Carta. Good article on things we mostly don’t know about it and why it still matters.
ADDED: Here’s Bovard’s take on it. (Never trust a king, even after you think you’ve beaten him.)
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I’m sort of getting used to having neither a functional vehicle nor functional legs. There are still moments I want to weep. Like on Friday when a mechanic told me the Xterra was all fixed, running perfectly, even got the service-engine light to go out — and I got in it, found the light back on, and had to limp back home after driving the mere half mile to town.
The good news is that I haven’t gone stark bonkers.
The even better news is that Ava hasn’t. That’s what I dreaded most when I learned that in addition to having a non-working ankle I had a non-working (or at least unsafe) vehicle and was going to be housebound for some unknown time.
Xterra’s in the shop today. Well, not a shop, per se. It’s under a shade-tree mechanic’s carport. Well, not a mechanic, per se. He’s actually the guy who cuts my lawn. But he also buys old beater cars, restores, and sells them. So I’m figuring he knows what he’s doing. Works cheap, too. And one thing’s for sure: he’s not going to robotically tell me, “Well, the computer code says …” like the other two mechanics who’ve had their mitts on my precious transport. But I worry. The idle’s been getting rougher and rougher. Dying at stop signs sometimes. Then…
