lifestyle

Arizona – the good, the bad and the ugly

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A fantastic trip to the land of Saguaro (suh–gwahr-oh – a pronunciation botched so many times –  I’m flushed as I write), dynamic red rock parks and canyons. The most important question to judge a successful vacation  is  – would you go back? The answer is a very emphatic yes. I’m counting the days (pennies first) until I gloriously return.

Now the review. The good – the climate was amazing (we came back to -30, so in hindsight it was bloody tropical) although it was cool in the morning by afternoon it was time to  slip on the shorts and flip flops only to replace them when the sun went down with a sweater and pants (still didn’t stop people from using a hot tub). The Phoenix area was awesome,  especially the free hiking (suh–gwahr-oh national park in Tucson charges twenty-five bucks to hike and the state parks charge seven). So many trails in great condition although a bit rocky and busy (do not go on weekends). But most importantly – the people were fantastic. Everyone we met was so nice and friendly, you’d think you were in Canada. We soon found out nobody is from Arizona – met a dude from Bellingham and another person from Billings and many from Minnesota.

The bad.  It was much more expensive than I remember (except gas). Wine prices were the same as in Canada  but in American dollars. A nice bottle of La Crema from California was twenty bucks at Trevor’s (I bow to your greatness wonderful wine store mecca). It’s the same price here but thirty percent more expensive in the Canyon State. Food wasn’t cheap either. We didn’t go out for any evening meals, but lunch was a consistent one hundred US although we did have drinks with every meal. One luxury dining experience was at a wonderful  cocktail bar called Parlay where the bill was well over a hundred US. However,  I got many excellent drink ideas and I’ve never had a mezcal cocktail (ok more than “a” cocktail – it was happy hour after all). But even going to Safeway and grabbing a few food items like chicken wings (they were massive) eggs, bread, coffee and greens was fifty or sixty bucks US  (ok and maybe wine and beer a few times). I just remember the States as food and booze cheap, but not anymore, I guess.

The ugly.   Some of the highways were very dirty, especially the Interstates (I learnt to stay off them). Garbage everywhere. Another ugly – it was so hard to recycle. Accommodations had no recycling bins. Not in the rooms, or outside with the garbage containers. I saw one recycling bin in Sedona but if we hadn’t stumbled on it, our many dead soldiers would’ve been lost on the battlefield. We also had car rental issues (holy extra charges Batman) and at one AirBnB, if I heard the “five star stay” one more time, I was going to puke – property developers (the same group wanted me to copy and paste a review they prepared, really!). But developers are everywhere like blood sucking mosquitos.

The state is wonderful from the red rocks of Sedona (the  brightest stars ever) to the desert of Tucson and the rugged parks of Phoenix. However,  next time we will  drive our own car and fill it with cheap gas.

The Struggle

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While sitting in my very comfortable and safe  backyard I was thinking about human struggles. Doesn’t everybody struggle? Isn’t this the human condition? Aren’t we always fighting some internal issue?

I look across the street and I see three adults and two children, basically two families, living in a two-bedroom main floor apartment. They are probably paying an inflated and unreasonable price for the place (greedy landlords are sweeping my city). I also see them working like dogs. The blue car man leaves his house at six a.m. and doesn’t come back until six p.m. The silver car person drops her kid off at day care at seven and isn’t home until the evening. Ditto with the other red car adult. They are working too many hours while living in expensive and cramped conditions. Financial struggle for everyone except the landlord.

Then there’s another young couple living next door to the financial struggle. They are out walking every day for hours. One day I saw a very expensive treadmill delivered to their house. I’ve also seen food delivery perhaps one too many times (again due to working too many hours). He works in IT, so he sits  in front of a screen all day. She also has a sedentary job in the health sector (I’ve met them a few times). Jobs with eight hours of little or no movement. One can guess their struggle. A difficult problem for everyone in our desk trapped culture.

Then I think about my minor struggle with a little too much wine on a Friday night. I am very, very lucky and I am thankful  everyday – I don’t have financial struggles – so lucky to get a mortgage when the price of housing was low. I don’t have weight issues because I can afford to eat good quality food. I also have lots of time to go for walks in the woods or around my neighbourhood or take my bike for a spin or run whenever the conditions are ripe. Yes, I am so lucky. I have one struggle, but it could be so much worse.

However, it’s all about how you deal with the struggle, right? Buddhists tell you life is a struggle, and the reason why we struggle is impermanence – shit happens outside your control. Hence the reason to live in the now – accept the now. Fredrick Douglass, the American slavery abolitionist: “If there is no struggle, there is no progress.” Or my favourite by Lucretius, the Roman poet, “Life is one long struggle in the dark.” Now, ain’t that the truth.

It’s all about how you deal with the struggle. Is it negative? Enough to draw you down into the pits of despair and leave you groping in the dark for anything solid and familiar. Or do you rise above the struggle and stand a top a mountain and shout – everything is fine and become so much wiser rising above the challenges life brings.  Or how about just accepting the fact we all struggle, it’s not a big deal. Accept it and move on. Don’t we just finish one struggle only to have another bounce up? I have no idea. But right now, I have to take my empties back to the bottle depot and go weigh myself.

What? You can’t help a guy out.

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A troubling incident happened a few days ago.  I was brain dead from lingering wine excess (no excuse, pal), waiting for my best mate outside the smoothie store – a health jab after the debauchery. To kill time and shake the cobwebs, I took a stroll around the little strip mall near the purée fruit boutique when this fellow walked up and said,  “Hey pal I’m struggling. Can you help me buy a pair of work boots?”

Now the dude wasn’t down and out looking. Not in the stereo-typical sense (no needle hanging from his arm). He was in good shape, tanned and covered in impressive and expensive ink. He’d obviously spent a considerable amount of time outside. He looked like a construction dude.  Of course, with my numb and stupid brain, I said, “Sorry pal I don’t have any cash.” Truth. I didn’t and haven’t carried actual cash since the early two thousands.

After rejecting the dude, I just walked away.  Right after me he asked another guy, and crickets. I got home and slammed my head on the table. Bang, bang. What was I thinking?  I should’ve walked up to the guy and said, “Hey,  let’s go inside and I’ll buy you some boots.” How expensive can they be? A couple of hundred bucks? I’m not a rich guy but I can surely afford to help some dude out. Isn’t this my social responsibility?

My best mate, wouldn’t bat an eye;  she would’ve walked into the store and either bought his boots outright or at least bought a gift card to help the man out (the voucher idea came right after my bruised forehead). She is the same person who would make sandwiches in the evening and then ride her bike to work and hand them out to those who needed them. I’d take half of her humanity.

A few days after the incident (ironically), I came across an article about Simone Weil, the French philosopher, mystic and all-round super-humanitarian. A woman who as a child refused to eat sugar in support of soldiers soaking in the stinking trenches of World War One. She even fought in the Spanish Civil war even though she was short-sighted and couldn’t shoot.  And what I can’t give up a hundred bucks to help some guy. Geeze, I spend that on Costco steaks. I’m sure I could’ve given up some luxury (and many I have) to help a man who’s just trying to get ahead. I’m so sorry Simone, I let you down.

The universe tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Dude, you live a great life, and you have so much. You couldn’t help some guy who needed shoes? How grateful are you? How much do you care about humanity (you sure profess it’s greatness)?” The universe just tossed me a ball, an easy shot and I let the ball bounce behind me – game over. Thankfully, the universe is forgiving. I’ve taken this as a lesson.  I can still win the match. I won’t ever miss an easy opportunity when a ball lands in my court.

Burning Down the House

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The greatest  gift to give a teenager (so they say) is teaching them how to cook. The obvious benefit is an option from throwing bad food in a microwave.  Another is precious time away from a screen and spending gleeful hours with a potential filled young person. You can make a difference. Ok, so I got that off a parenting website, “Teenage Monsters.”

Anyway, my niece came over a while back and together we made carbonara and Caesar salad  with homemade bread. The only problem with the carbonara is while cooking the pancetta, it got very smoky in the house. Our fire alarm started screaming like a banshee. Now we have a security system, meaning when the alarm goes off, we usually get a call from the company and if they can’t reach us, hotline to emergency services.

Weirdly,  I didn’t get a call or notice on my phone.  We kept looking out the window while waving towels over the alarm – not sure if the fire department was called or not. All our doors and windows were open, even though it was below freezing.  Every fan blasting on max. Then we heard sirens blaring with lights a- flashing.  The big red trucks stopped in front of our house. Curtains open, nosy eyes, chins a-wagging with,  Hey look they have an alarm system, the idiots.

My niece ever the brave one,  ran for cover shouting: “Don’t tell them I’m here.”  “What?” I said. “They’re firemen, not cops. And you watch too much TV.”  Ok this has potential for learning lesson number two, but before I could take her outside she ran, tail between her legs,  flying  down the  basement stairs.

Left alone, I went outside in my slippers and wool socks and explained to the very understanding firemen:

“Sorry, we were making carbonara and cooking the bacon (not sure they’d know pancetta), but then boom too much smoke. I musta missed the call from our security company. I am really sorry.”

“You used bacon? Not they way I make it.  I use pancetta,” said the fireman, smirking.

“Yea, next time I’ll use pancetta. Maybe that’s the problem.”

“Dinner was saved?” asked the fireman.

“Yep.”

“Then all is good. You’re safe and so is dinner. That’s all that matters.”

“Again, I’m so sorry.”

“Not a problem,” said the very understanding high-res man, “better a nice chat on the sidewalk then pulling bodies out.” (Ok he didn’t really say that, but)

I turned and walked  back into our pancetta lingering freezing cold house.  I checked my phone. The alarm company called but I didn’t hear the ring (curse you fruit company). I want to go over to the firehall and cook them dinner with my niece out of appreciation.

A few weeks later, however,  I got a letter from the fire department. Your first alarm is free. After that five hundred bucks for the second call and then a thousand for the third. My first thought, Do I really need an alarm? Second thought, maybe we’ll order carbonara and I’ll teach my niece how to pay with my credit card. Oh wait, that’s a lesson she knows very well.

Apple Sucks

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“De phone, de phone has arrived.”  The fruit company announces. We leave early, thinking maybe grab some lunch and then a movie after I pick up my new phone. I bought it online the night before, so all I have to do is walk in and pick it up. I get to the fruit store and say, “I know I’m early, but can I grab my phone?” As I open the email and actually read the stupid thing, I notice at the bottom: “Please bring photo ID.” Well, shiver me timbers. I didn’t read the whole email, surprise, surprise. Now, in my defence it was about the twentieth email they sent me. “Shit,” I say to the nice fruit representative, “I have a photo of my ID on my old fruit phone.  Nope. Government ID only, sorry,” she says with a half-jerked smile. Yep gotta watch tiny retail people with a little bit of power and a rule. They will shit all over you and who wouldn’t when your wage doesn’t cover rent.

I phone my car passenger and explain the situation. I walk with the pace of an Olympian to the car.  Then Mr. Impatient gets a golden idea, “Well. I can probably drive home, grab my wallet and be back before my passenger even gets down the stairs to the underground parking.” You sad sorry moron. When will you learn? I get in the car, fly out of the garage and zoom down the causeway.  I get a call, “Hey where are you?” “Yea, sorry I’m halfway home. Meet me at the fruit store in twenty.”  The line dies. I can feel the  sardonic smirk down the highway between us. I get half-way home when I remember, I don’t have my keys, so I can’t get into the house without throwing the barbeque through the window.

I call back, but before I even speak, “You don’t have your keys, numbskull. You gave them to me this morning. Remember? I don’t want the pocket bulge you said. ” “That’s right, I say.” Passenger says,  “Ok, meet me in front of the drugstore. No better yet, meet me in in front of the bank.” “Ok,” I say, but am I really listening? I get to the drug store. I call. “Where are you?” “In front of the bank like I told you.” “Oh shit.” I scoot around the drug store and drive over to the bank. I see the passenger’s  head, shaking with disgust and then while sliding into the car, “Do you want me to drive? You seem a little tense.”

We drive home, get my wallet, and go back into the phone store. I gingerly put my Government ID on the counter. We wait. Dude tries to sell me shit I don’t need. Thanks. I walk out of the store new phone in pocket, bulging like square fruit in a round tree.

I go home. So many passwords to renew and new fruit wants to use my face for ID. Nah, Apple doesn’t suck – you do.

Sober thoughts

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Alcohol free zone - Stock Image - C008/3255 - Science Photo LibraryI don’t go to AA (alcoholics anonymous) although I have considered the option more than once. Who doesn’t during that morning after when your head feels like soccer ball batted around by Liverpool? I also think it’s a great organization that’s saved millions of lives. However, I do like to go “dry” several times a year. A plight that’s been particularly hard recently.

On a monthly dry surge, I ran into a few problems in places that sell alcohol. I get it. Restaurants and bars make a lot of money from booze and in these pandemic times, they need all the extra cash they can get. A reason why I always tip twenty-five percent. At least. (Even if I know my salad was just dragged across the floor.)

Recently, I went out for dinner at a popular pizza chain. A pleasant server came to the table and asked if anyone wanted something to drink. One person ordered a very over-priced glass of wine (I get it. Money. Pandemic.). Another asked for a something and coke. The daily special. Reasonable price if you don’t mind drinking alcohol, you could start your truck with. When it was my turn, I asked, “Do you have any alcohol-free beer?”  The poor server looked at me as thought I just got off the Martian shuttle. I ordered a diet soda.

The next night we went to a bar in the hotel where we were staying. This time I ordered a virgin Caesar – Clamato juice (Ok who came up with this? Some dude is sitting on a sunny patio, drinking tomato juice when an epiphany sounds, “You know what this drink needs? Clam juice.”), tabasco, spices and rimmed with salt.  The drink is also garnished with salad on a stick. This one, had a pickle, spicy green bean and celery. Now, the virgin, of course, means no vodka. With one of these sexless babies on the table you fly right under the sloppy, slurring radar, no one has a clue you’re sober.

However, my second drink was a bit of a scare. I ordered a soda with ice and lime. The thought here was a mock vodka and soda – the calorie conscious drink of the year. But the server brought the drink in a massive cup, super big gulp size. Not very inconspicuous. One look at this drink and, “Hey buddy maybe you need a meeting.”

Now, yea you’re right. I shouldn’t give a shit what other people think. And really, I don’t. But perhaps owners, bartenders and servers should have a bit of sensitivity. If a person orders a non-alcoholic drink. There’s a reason. Not only for health reasons, but the a sober person doesn’t want to be excluded from the excitement of vomiting, slurred words and a million “I love you, man.” Owners, managers, it’s not a big deal to have an alcohol free beer. Even Mexico has an NA beer. And that’s saying something.

NB: This Naked Mind is also a wonderful resource for quitting or slowing down alcohol use.

 

COVID Clampdown in Banff

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So we’re sitting around watching some predictable and boring show on Netflix when I say, “Hey I can get us into the Rimrock for a hundred and sixty a night.” Now the Rimrock is a very posh hotel in Banff,  Alberta – warm bathrobes, slippers and a chocolate on the pillow. (I’m sure they’ve junked all those amenities due to COVID. Who sneezed on the chocolate? Perspiration on the robe? I’m surprised you don’t have to bring your own sheets.) I recheck the price. It’s in American dollars, so one sixty is like a million Canadian. The plan is sinking faster than a Rocky Mountain boulder in Lake Vermilion.

I check again. A small condo at the place we love (Rocky Mountain Resorts) with a separate entrance, fireplace and kitchen is on for a reduced price of one twenty in the Queen’s dollars. A pop up, “Type snowday for a twenty percent discount.” Whooohoo!  A hundred bucks a night and we can bring the little dog and our own food. Yes please. The poor town is suffering due to COVID.  It’s my patriotic duty to help, right? Let the snowday begin.

Now the only rub is I’m in the middle of my “Dryuary” (no booze for the month – my Christamas liver is close to pickled) and I’ve never and I mean NEVER sat in front of a fire (condo or otherwise) without a glass of wine, single malt or beer.  Never. It’ll be a challenge but I’m up for it (for the sake of the town, right?). The next morning we pack up our gear and hit the road. Little dog is in the back seat panting and doing her, “We there yet? We there yet? It’s so hot back here. We there yet?” This lasts the entire hour and a half drive. You’d think she hadn’t had a drink in a month.

Arrival and lunch at our favourite bakery (Wild Flour). We eat in our vehicle while overlooking the frozen Bow River. Breathtaking. Up to this point no contact except to grab lunch and walk it to the car. The town is so dead I feel sorry for all the business owners and employees. Masks everywhere. No mask. No service. Very strict here in the Canadian wilds.

We get to the hotel. Check in is quick. It’s Tuesday at two in the afternoon. Quiet time indeed. We get to the room. Take care of some business and we go for a walk. Normally we use the road behind the hotel. But the town’s had a major snow storm and every ten minutes a gravel truck filled with snow zooms past us. I’m afeared for the little dog. One slip and she’s a new pair kid’s slippers at the Rimrock. I pick her up and dash home.

At home after I get the fire going, I prepare some lovely charcuterie for a session by the fire. Another first.  I’ve NEVER eaten cheese, cured meat, baguette, pickles and fig jam without a nice glass of vino. I’m starting to sweat. Tea. I make some tea. It goes very well with the cheeseboard. Relax. I can do this. Time to break some traditions. New associations. Chamomile and charcuterie.

We hike the next day. Not a single soul on the trail. Well except for a lonely male elk. Midweek – excellent for social distancing. The COVID clampdown is great – barely no contact. We eat inside or order take out. The suite has it’s own entrance so no contact with people in the hall. I consider the gym but I walk and hike instead. The trails are calm and quiet. It’s not only midweek but winter so the vacation spot is nearly dead. In summer you have to step over people to get anywhere. The best part? Who knew that chamomile and cured meat is a match made in sobriety.

The Mall Walk

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Let me describe the weather. It’s brutally cold. So cold cat’s ears fall off. So cold that in thirty minutes your nose turns black if left naked. So cold our city hit number nine on the list of coldest places on the planet. Right up there with the frozen Northern tundra and Vostok Station, Antarctica. Polar bear and penguin weather. And what do you do on frigid days? You walk the mall, but  you must go early. Before the teen hoards wake up and hound their mothers to zip outside, risk frostbite while warming the mini-van and drive them to the mall.

We got there early. The stores weren’t even open and parking was only a twenty-five metre Olympic sprint to the main door. The mall does retain a special magic in early morning especially during the holidays. Lovely to look at the empty Santa workshop (without lines of snot dripping adolescent munchkins)  or enjoy Valentine hearts plastered everywhere like a kindergarten classroom. Even the security dudes don’t give you a second thought because they’re more interested in their morning cup of java.

Today however, I was shocked. After we walked around (5438 steps to be precise) I looked into the food court after ordering my ham and eggs and my jaw smacked the short-lived clean floor below me. Look! A retired dude. Oh my, a happy group of retired women.  Another group of grey haired men.  Look a retired couple. Oh shit that’s us. But we don’t look like the others hanging around the vaccinated eating area, right? I zip to a mirror. Hard to tell in toque and mask. Phew!

Then another slap to the head. Look it’s all the retired people who can’t afford to go to Phoenix or Palm Springs. We are included although even if we had the cash I’m not so sure we’d go with all the restrictions and the global virus disaster. Nope we are happy sitting here in minus thirty-seven freezing our asses off and bingeing Netflix. Who am I kidding? Time to grab the little dog and …

Now would I rather be walking among the California palms or skidding on ice patches? Would I rather be sipping a local California Chardonnay or sitting in front of my TV watching the allied attack on Italy? Would I rather be sucking air cold enough to freeze my lungs solid or constantly worried that I might not make it home. I don’t know but there’s always next year, right? (Didn’t I say this last year?) Hopefully the decision in twelve months will be, do I wear my mask because it’s retro cool?

Side story

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Free picture: book, eyeglasses, geography, product ...So I’m reading this article and it’s about a women who spent time in Paris jotting down notes and observations about people who get on and off the bus – a woman runs to catch a bus and finally does at an intersection- Why was she late? Where was she going? What is her side story? Or about this guy who’s rapidly texting. Is he breaking up with someone or is he making dinner plans? We don’t know. We make side stories about our observations. Sometimes good. Sometimes naught.

A kid runs to catch a train in New York. He has a basketball under his arm and as he stands in the doorway, the door bops back and forth unable to close. The passengers look at the kid in anger. “Just let the fucking door close,” they say with darting, laser eyes. About thirty seconds later a woman hobbling with her cane comes up to the door and smiles at the boy. He lets her pass and then walks on the train. The door closes and the train moves on. Now without the side story – his grandmother, aunt or whomever with mobility problems perceive the kid as a nuisance. Without our sense of compassion, he’s just a little puke slowing the train down.

I was thinking on my run this morning, that before we make horrible judgments about people we should find out or at least consider what is causing people to react in certain ways. The homeless guy asking for change is not a drug addict or a thief who’s too lazy to get a job. Maybe he’s incapable of working because of a physical or mental disability. Maybe he‘s living on the streets even though he has a part time job because he can’t afford rent and the rules at the shelter do not coordinate with his job needs so he’s forced to live on the streets.

Just as this was passing through my endorphin riddled brain this morning,  I passed a guy, saying, “Good Morning,” as I do everyone. A little further on, my brain said, “You know this dude.” I’m sure I’ve see him before, but a long long time ago. The last time I saw him he wasn’t in good shape. He was suffering from a few rounds of cancer therapy. I did my turn and I was going to engage him on the way back. “Hey aren’t you that guy who had two large dogs? I haven’t seen you here for ages, literally years. You’re looking really good.” Yep I had the whole conversation mapped out in my head. By the time I made my way around the pond, he was gone. I lost a golden opportunity.

Now, I’m left to my imagination. Two years ago he flew down to Mexico and met up with a faith healer. The man was magical, sending his cancer into remission and the last few years he’s been working at his old job as dispatcher for a delivery company. He loves the work, but it’s very busy especially now as it’s leading up to Christmas. He has two children who live in the city and he sees them quite regularly. The dogs are fine but old and they don’t want to walk any more. Plus he’s getting to old to manage them on his walks.

Of course I made this up. I have no idea what his side story is, but rather than think negatively, I choose an optimistic side story. And like mama says, “If you haven’t got anything nice to say, shut the fuck up.” Mama has a way with words.

The pot is boiling

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Rotational Axis of Planet Earth May Shift If More People ...I don’t know what is going on with the world. Craziness is running rampant.  This dangerous insanity has crossed my path a few times. It’s not only local lunacy, but, every time I turn on the television some person is yelling, punching  and/or scaring the shit out of people. The world is spinning off its axis and I’m close to jumping off.

Over the past eighteen months I’ve had a couple of scary run ins with very very angry males. In one case a guy driving a Prius with California plates literally chased me across a park threatening to “take me out,” all because I said, “In this country we stop for pedestrians” (I’m really tired of people speeding through our child infested neighbourhood). Hindsight, walk away no matter how many kids get hurt.

In another case as I was carefully driving through a construction zone when some dude started frantically honking and pounding on his steering wheel behind me, smoke billowing from every orifice on his body (late for work?).   I flipped him the bird (yes, big mistake in hindsight), after which he tried to run me off the road. This dude was so angry he followed me to a highway some twenty minutes from the initial incident where he tried to run me off the road on a very busy highway.

I was pretty shaken up after the altercations and I have to say I’m not totally innocent in either situation, but these two guys really took anger to another level. The reasons why these two totally lost it are numerous – mental health issues, not taking medication (my first thought) or they could’ve just lost their jobs or relationships, not uncommon in our economically unstable times.  

However now that I have time to reflect, I’m thinking, “What is going on with the world?” It’s just not the two anger ridden dudes I’ve run across, it’s people throwing rocks at our Prime Minister on the campaign trail. People screaming and yelling at people working in retail stores. It’s this whole vein of anger and hostility that’s running through  society. It was never like this (or maybe we never heard about it).

What are the causes? Is social media setting people on fire? These horrible media groups divide society into groups that refuse to find any common ground.  Is the loss of our manners and respect for others because we hunt people down on social media (troll), scream and yell at them because they can hide behind a computer screen? Keyboard anger spilling out into the streets of driving and shopping.

Or is it about COVID where people are tired, frustrated and angry because they have to stay inside ?  Are groups tired because the government keeps telling people what to do – don’t go here, wear a mask, get vaccinated?  It doesn’t matter what the government says, I won’t do it, some protest. To make the problem worse we have government restrictions that have  flip flopped more times than a pancake during a rodeo breakfast.

We are on a very dangerous course and I don’t see how it will change. The right and the left are dug in so deep, you can only see the tops of their heads in the sand. The pot is starting to boil and soon it’ll start overflowing with very scalding results.  As for my part, I must get my “Zen” on and as hard as it is to  temper myself, I will follow Michelle and, “Take the high road.” Or maybe it’s time to get out of the city and escape to the country.