Darth Nino

We expected rain. The forecasts all agreed on that. It was even supposed to be a downpour right around the times we were unloading and assembling scooters, riding for the shelter of the visitor center, and still lasting through the way back to the car when the more lengthy task of disassembly of the scooters and packing them back in the car was to take place.

At least the main attraction of this trip, a tour of Kartchner Caverns, would be relatively dry. And warm, like 70 degrees year around. Plenty nice enough to take the chill off the bones during the nearly 2 hour tour. But still....

We couldn't reschedule. After all, we were going with some friends from out of state, and one adjusts your schedule to theirs, with the limited time they have to join you. Plus, hey, it's Kartchner, and though you no longer need 6 month advance reservations, you still need to make reservations, and this was the day.

We actually considered ourselves lucky in the scheduling. It could have been so much worse. We could haave been doing the northern part of the trip. This last week was all snow snow snow in the "higher elevations." That turned out to be defined as about 4000 feet this week. El Nino, long awaited during our extended drought, was finally arriving. Of course, for Flagstaff that meant about 30 inches over a series of three back-to-back snowstorms in a week. While we weren't heading up that far north, we still were keeping a leery eye on the Oak Creek Canyon area. Our location was about the 4400 feet mark.  So maybe, just maybe, the snow would finally quit late Friday and we could enjoy the rest of our time together there.

We also considered ourselves lucky in our timing. It was nearly dry all the time from the car to the visitor's center, and from the center to the cave entrance. Yes, the ride up was in a covered trolly, meaning plastic sheets like golf carts use that let the breeze and rain in through the gaps where they attached for winter use, but it was still relatively ... OK, it wasn't cozy at all. Satisfied? It was next to freezing until we reached the cave entrance, and it took about 5 minutes for glasses to unfog.

But at least it wasn't pouring.

The tour was marvelous. I highly recommend it.

Of course, by the time we emerged, it was steadily raining. Still not pouring, but steady. And still cold. Windy too.  We spent a bit more time in the center, warming up again while seeing what we didn't have time for before our tour.

It's a fair distance from the last bit of roof shelter of the center to the parking lot. The rain wasn't heavy, but still cold and windy. We were chilling down, and disassembling the scooters just wasn't going quickly enough for anybody. The first one was nearly apart and in the car, with all the car doors open, when the wind suddenly picked up and it started hailing.

OUCH! The pieces were small, but they still hurt, especially driven by that wind: hands, backs, and heads. Holding the jacket up over the head didn't make a bit of difference. Or maybe it did but we were still hurting enough that we couldn't tell. We all agreed to quit working on the scooters and head into our respective cars. In the time that took, hail had blown in through the open hatch and side doors to cover the entire inside of the back of the car. Enough had blown in the front doors to coat the seats and floors and fill up the little indentations in the doors where locks, window controls, and handles were.

When you're sitting on hail because the stuff is still coming down and there's no way you're opening the door and stepping out enough to scrape the stuff off your seat, you quickly wind up with a cold, wet butt. And as the stuff slowly melts after you warm up the car - after, of course, the hail stops and you're only battling snow to finish loading scooters, but the snow doesn't hurt - the whole inside of the car fogs up and stays foggy for about the next hour.

Even after that mostly dries up, you still need to keep the defroster blowing on the windshield, the heater wires working on the back window, and periodically lower and raise side windows to scrape moisture off them. The wiper blades quickly turn into white clubs with a tiny black stripe in the center, valiantly striving to keep the view ahead clear. Plus, your wet butt is still cold. And your wet sleeves. And collar where the stuff dripped off your head.

It's about 8 miles from Kartchner back to the freeway. In that time, the snow changed to large flakes, the ground and bushes turned white, and the road slushed over to the point where 30 mph seemed barely slow enough to be sensible.

You know, kind of like Minnesota driving.

Which we all thought we had gotten away from.

I checked later to see if Benson counted as one of those higher elevations that justified the snowfall. Just 3655 feet. Tucson was a bit lower, and sure enough, the snow changed to rain before we got  that far. It wasn't soon enough to prevent stupidity, though.

Not ours, of course.

While we were doing about 35 on the freeway, we got passed by an idiot who still thought that 65 was just fine, thank you. I mean, that's what the sign says, right? I rather jokingly said to Steve that when we passed him upside down in a ditch up ahead, I was going to laugh at him.

He wasn't actually upside down, though he probably had rolled through that position to land where he did on his side.

And I was too busy staying far enough away from everybody doing about 20 mph now, rubbernecking  emergency vehicles on site and new ones arriving, to actually laugh.

Then.

Surreal

I became a news junkie when I spent 12 to 14 hours daily behind the wheel listening to the good stuff. I mean MPR, of course. Sure, the news was interspersed with a little classical music (the other MPR station: Minnesota has 2) and a bit of political comedy. The comedy was, of course, about the political news.

There are times I wonder what kind of planet I've landed on down here when I watch the local TV morning news. I still try to find the occasional gem, that kernel of real news. Most days it's about a house fire, who shot whom, what stupid thing got said, what event/fundraiser is happening, where traffic is blocked this time, and of course, weather.

I'm used to hearing about weather. Minnesota had some. Other states have been getting a lot lately. But it pretty much doesn't happen down here, or if it does, it happens a bit elsewhere. We live in the west valley, so the rain for the last half year has been in the east valley, or maybe up around Flagstaff.  But El Nino (aka Darth Nino) has blessed us with rain much of the last two days, with promises of more the next two. (For those of you who keep track, 2 days of rain here means a good half inch in the rain gauge. No need to water the new bushes for a week or two now.)

Anyway, two days of rain is enough to drive all other stories off the air, though they did give a brief nod mid program to Powerball hitting $450 million tonight. The headliner breaking news from "The Storm" was that a tree fell over. Somewhere way over in the east valley. Camera crews were on location, showing footage of ... a street somewhere. No tree. No roots in the air. No busted branches. No house damage. Just a street. In the dark.

The next major story was that overnight in the west valley there was a wind gust of OMG! probably 30 mph, enough to blow the thin metal cover off of somebody's backyard patio. Again, news crews were on location. A street was closed for a block, and there were actual debris shots.

Somebody go get a broom, would ya?

The news chopper was up in the air. They found a road where a wash crossed it, full enough that part of the road was actually covered. They hovered while we all watched breathlessly as drivers rolled up, slowed, and drove through with hardly a wake. But something could have happened, yessiree Bob. One car actually did stop and make a u turn. Just in case.

We were promised that because rain was still falling upstream of this spot, something could actually happen here later in the day.

Maybe.

Flagstaff got snow. Cue camera dashcam, time lapse of driving over snowy road getting snowier. Somebody shovel their walk. Oooh, lookie, X-mas lights still up along the streets. Cue 4th run of interview of happy business people who like tourists. Rerun footage from last weekend of kids on sleds who found a bitty hill somewhere. Show kids falling off their sleds on bitty hill. They probably haven't learned how to sled yet. Or maybe they forgot since last year or whenever they had snow before.

Cue traffic map, show what's closed this time because even with sparse 5AM traffic, folks can't drive in it. They're not used to, like, actual weather.

Trader Joe's: Pissed Me Off!

Everything was fine up to that point. Trader Joe's could have gotten themselves a steady, if modest, customer. But the final impression is the one that will follow me, and has lost them a customer. Was it worth it, Trader Joe's?

Let's start with the idea that I had never shopped there before. I had a completely open mind. As long as they had battery carts, I was willing to spend as much time there as needed to check them out. And the first impression was great: There were more than enough carts for the two of us.

Yes, Steve came along shopping. We had gotten a gift card to the store for X-mas. (Much appreciated, and a heartfelt thanks! I know you read this.) So, once the holiday rush passed, time to go check it out, see what we'd both like. We found some great looking avocados, Steve's favorite. The cheese selection was awesome, and we picked out varieties I hadn't seen in years, perhaps not at all, definitely not as good. (I will say the pepper jack has peppers you can actually taste! Yummm.) We found flavors of brats that are intriguing, breads to completely spoil us, and with the remaining balance on the card, found a pair of steaks that were the first things to please our palettes.

So what went wrong? They decided to get greedy.

We shopped carefully, keeping track as we went through the store of how much we were spending and the balance on the card. When it rang up, we had a few pennies left to spend, so we threw on a last impulse item to slightly overshoot the card. I dug a dollar out and handed it to the cashier along with the card.

I expected change back. Only 22c, but still: change. Wouldn't you? What happened instead actually shocked me. The clerk spent the dollar first, then took the balance off the card. So I now have a card to Trader Joe's with a whole 22c on it.

Big whoop.

I think they believe it will bring me back to their store to spend more money.

They are wrong.

Top Of The Mor.... Uh, Year To Ya

First, New Year's Resolutions:






Yup, you got it. But you probably made enough of them for both of us to break, right?

But there's lots of other things which need attention this time of year. For example, there's assembling and sorting financial paperwork for that upcoming inevitable tax filing. Or is it sorting and assembling? Anyway, as it clears out of the file box and goes in a folder crammed on top of a stack up on the top shelf, there's room for the current year's crap.

Among which paperwork, there's a notice that the garbage bill has gone up. And hey, I gotta call them to give them the new bank information for the automatic deduction. My debit card got renewed and they need to know the new expiration date.  Oh, and make the price change in the spreadsheet that keeps track of how much money I don't have this year. Because, you know, different health insurance, new drug coverage, higher electric, higher gas, and way higher Rec Center fees. So far the water price stays the same as long as the usage does. Everything went up except Social Security, which they kept the same under the delusion that lower gasoline prices for folks who don't drive much anymore is an even trade-off.

Then there are the calls to change insurance information to two doctors (so far: the new Docs will get the info as I show up in their offices), my pharmacy, and just for the new year to make all those new appointments for exams and tests. It's called being retired. Now there's time for all that.

Most new years involve undecorating. That's not a biggie this year because we chose not to spend the energy on putting all the stuff up in the first place. There are, however, addresses to change so there's a hope next winter that the cards we send out will actually reach their intended targets. Said changes occur both in a digital and a paper address book as well as a digital list just of whom to send cards to. That tends to change each year. We're at the stage in life where people die on us. (Well, not literally on us, hopefully.) Somebody always moves and doesn't bother saying where. Some people's kids grow up and move away, or just get born so there are new names to add to the cards. Or, we can just keep putting "and family" on the envelope to hide our bewilderment and inability to keep up.

New years also tend to involve leftovers. Yes, I'm talking food. There likely will have been a pot luck or two, a turkey just for us, even a gift card that expands the pantry (and thanks, it was all yummy!). So lots of repacking, rewrapping, rebagging. That increased food supply, as it shrinks, will also supply us with a plethora of dirty dishes cluttering the counter and sinks. Again, some activity is called for. And waistbands need to be expanded, or perhaps shopping for a looser size done, just as soon as the hoards of returners of gifts have cleared the stores and aisles are again passable.

This of course has to be done in deliberate ignorance of the budgeting process that started the whole new year to-do list. That, or with a generous balance available on one's favorite piece of plastic. Deciding which is another item for the list.

Judgment

I find that sometimes I need to be exposed to an idea and think on it a bit before I can decide just what I think about it. Today I heard something in the restaurant conversation that didn't need any thought on my part before reacting. Lest you think I was reacting to my personal feelings towards the speaker, let me just clarify that she was simply repeating a comment by a third party that I have never and will never meet, and only know from one sentence uttered.

The speaker in the restaurant had run into someone from years ago, nearly overlooking him because he had changed so much in the interval she hadn't recognized him. The most dramatic change in his appearance was that he now had curly hair where before it was straight. The comment he had made about it to her was that the change in hair style was the best thing he had ever done.

I immediately realized that when someone comments that a change in hair style is the best thing they have ever done, I am perfectly willing to believe them.

On the contrary, if someone were to say that a hair style change was the worst thing they had ever done, scepticism would rear its head.

Unsubscribed

Somebody sold my email address.

Recently.

Suddenly my spam mailbox became full daily.

I have of course been getting the usual conglomeration of offers of millions of dollars from complete strangers who thought I might fall for their scam if they called me "Beloved". And crude sexual invitations which use enough symbols to escape the filters but not too many to obscure the message have arrived with great consistency for a long time. The product offers for something to increase the size of body parts I do not possess have pretty much dwindled away.

Just before Thanksgiving my inbox started getting flooded. Realtors want to sell my home for me. Auto companies want to sell me their cars. All kinds of products actually on the market were being shilled, though whether by their actual distributors, who can tell? The funny part, if there is one, is that the Black Friday sales offers still haven't stopped. The Christmas shopping offers are just beginning to blanket my mailbox.

Timely, eh? Who spends money to sell stuff with that kind of promptness? Or perhaps more to the point (not knowing exactly how it works) who pays somebody else to advertise for them well after the fact? Somebody is being scammed here, and I suspect it's not me.

The nice thing is that each product ad comes with an "unsubscribe" link. I click it. Yes, I know that some of those simply verify the correctness of the email address. However, the volume of crap is tapering off, although Ugg boots can't seem to get it right. Realtors, banks, and auto dealer ads are going away. I'm finally getting fewer Black Friday ads.

The sex requests are still holding steady, never fear. They don't come with an "unsubscribe" link, and even if they appeared to do so, I would not even give them that much attention.

Delete.

Wrong Century?

I know a woman who reads books, especially Victorian novels, for enjoyment during her retirement. She also says that, reading them, she believes she was born in the wrong century.

She apparently is supremely, blissfully unaware of the irony of that.

Shall I count the ways? Of course! Else what's a posting for?

Let's break it down. She's a woman. In this century, she has human rights. She is not her husband's, father's, or brother's property, but can in fact own property herself. She can leave the house she lives in without a chaperon. She gets medical care, can practice birth control, expects not only to survive childbirth but also to have those children survive childhood, uses antibiotics and anesthesia,  has never needed to worry about smallpox or plague, knows where to access relatively painless dental care and still has teeth. She was employed in a career of her choosing for most of her adult life. She did not have to work through her childhood.

She is retired. She has, firstly,  survived to this age and can anticipate many years ahead of her. She does not need to work somehow until the day she dies. She has at least a modest level of income to support herself with, has had the option of saving money through her working life to make these final years better. Her long life has included decent nutrition from a varied diet from all over the world: locavore is more an ethical choice than an absolute necessity. Her shelter includes comfort, entertainment, music and beauty as well as plumbing, sanitation, and energy. Her retirement residency occurs in a state she has chosen for its mild winter climate, and she has access to easy travel to other parts of her country and the world, including the choice to reside part time in a milder climate to avoid the hot summers found here.

She reads. Books, even. So at some point she was taught how, even taking that education for granted as a female, as was not possible a couple centuries ago. She has had access to literature throughout her life, of many kinds and forms of her own choosing. She has had the leisure time throughout her life to indulge in the luxury of reading for long enough periods to get through not one book but many. She has lived with the permission of her society to exercise her imagination and to value it, though it may never have contributed to her physical survival. All known information is available to her: she can study other geography, other organisms, other cultures, other philosophies, other religious beliefs, other ages, other planets, other galaxies, things both real and unreal.

What on this earth is there to justify feeling wistful about living a few centuries earlier?

Or to put it a bit more bluntly: WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?