Most visitors to Las Vegas will dart between casinos on the Strip and maybe see what lies beyond the Strip, into the actual, real-life city of Las Vegas, but they may never know the supermarkets Las Vegans shop at, the Walmarts they visit, the businesses they work at each day. Not everyone in Las Vegas works on the Strip or for casino corporations.
The tourist's view of Las Vegas depends solely on where they've been and where they might go the next time they come here. The view from various points on the Strip is expansive, but all of Las Vegas itself can only be truly known by its residents. I am one and so is my family.
When we were tourists here, we had that exact mindset. We had to go here, we had to go there. Even when we were in Las Vegas to seek work for Dad, we still dashed. We, and then Mom and Dad, slowed down only long enough to figure out where we were going to live. And now that we live in Las Vegas, this city, this valley, this desert expands even more than we had thought possible. We thought that as tourists, we had covered a great percentage of Las Vegas. We had seen it, we had played it, we had experienced it. As residents, I don't think we've covered even one percent of what Las Vegas offers, but that doesn't cause despair because now we have time. We don't have to go back to Southern California after a few days here. We live here. We are here for good.
We're now month-old residents (we arrived on Friday, September 14), and the frenetic zigzag of moving has mostly faded, save for still decorating sections or our mobile home. I still have to get a bookcase, a lamp, and a reading chair for my room, and some kind of couch and lamp for where my TV, DVD player, VCR, and sizable DVD collection is, in a separate room for all of it, next to Meridith's room. I haven't found what I want yet, but all that is workable. It takes time, but we have that now. And being settled in, so much more of the city is possible to explore now.
Take Sam's Town, on Boulder Highway, which is only 5-7 minutes away by car, and is therefore our neighborhood casino. We went there for the first time in our second week as residents. On our first day in Las Vegas, that Friday, Dad had gotten back from the bank with cash to tip the movers that had helped move all our stuff in. And this was after a four-hour drive, starting at 7 a.m., from Santa Clarita to Las Vegas, with stops in Barstow and Baker on the way, with two dogs and two birds in the car. Mom and Meridith and I had been chatting with the movers while we were out, and one of them mentioned players' cards that you can get for free at casinos all throughout Las Vegas, on and off the Strip. I'd heard about them, but was unsure because even if it was free, wouldn't they pressure you to play more? I don't mean having the card would pressure you, but the casino itself. Wouldn't there be some kind of hidden charges later on? A former co-worker of Meridith's in the cafeteria kitchen at La Mesa Junior High is a heavy-enough gambler that she's gotten so much comped in Las Vegas, including hotel rooms, meals and shows, and she has cards to so many casinos. But even so, aren't those cards for people like that woman? Doesn't seem like they'd be for us. The mover said he has a few and he uses them for discounts at buffets, restaurants, and other things. I still wasn't sure.
In our second week, we went to Sam's Town to get one of those players' cards, called B Connected, since Sam's Town is one of many Boyd Gaming casinos. We went to the B Connected desk and Dad got his card, but I didn't get one, because I still didn't feel comfortable about it. Then we went to the Mystic Falls area to watch the water-and-laser show they have in the evenings, and I loved it. I loved the animatronic animals, the lasers showing images on the rocks, the loud music, everything. I felt very comfortable here right away, feeling that this could become a regular haunt for me. Yet when we walked through the rest of the casino that night, past the blackjack and roulette tables, I was a little overwhelmed by it. Not because I didn't like what I was seeing, but it just felt strange. Was I really here? Do I really live nearby? Is all this actually available to me whenever I want? When you've spent five years trying to get here, it takes a little time to believe that you're here, and you don't have to leave the next day.
At South Point last week, where we went to Steak and Shake for the first time since Florida, I saw on the digital billboard on our way out that the Century movie theater there was showing a few classic movies. Gone with the Wind was the first on October 10, and then I was stunned: The next movie to be shown was....Mary Poppins! I couldn't believe it. But more than that, I needed tickets! I needed to go to see my favorite movie on a bigger screen with bigger sound!
The next day, I found out that Gone with the Wind and Mary Poppins were part of a five-film series put on by Cinemark, called the Cinemark Classic Series. And even better for me was that one of the participating theaters was Century 18 at Sam's Town. Of course I needed to go, but I debated when to go. It was showing at 2 and 7 p.m., on October 17. Yesterday. The 7 p.m. showing meant that Dad could drive me there, or me and Meridith if she wanted to go too, but we'd get out at 9:30. Far too late to do anything else, since Dad works the next day, and we're residents, not tourists.
The 2 p.m. showing had more possibility. Sure Meridith and I would have to walk to Sam's Town, but at least the scenery is more interesting here than it ever was in Santa Clarita. We could either walk the front end, passing Taco Bell, Fresh and Easy and other stores along the way, or the back end, taking a right after we walk out of one of the gates at the front of our neighborhood, across from the clubhouse. There's more dirt and empty land on that route, but still interesting to see, plus less traffic and therefore safer. Most important was the weather, the temperature. If it was going to be 91, it would be taxing on us. But in the 80s would be better, and I found out it would be 83 on the Wednesday that we would go.
And then Meridith remembered that each ticket stub from the movie theater is good for a free game of bowling at the 56-lane bowling alley downstairs at Sam's Town. So we could go see Mary Poppins and then go bowling! What a way to spend a Wednesday afternoon!
So fast forward to late yesterday morning. Meridith and then Mom looked at the Sam's Town website to be reminded of what kind of eats they offered there, and Mom suggested maybe the Firelight Buffet at lunchtime. Two Saturdays ago, we went to the breakfast buffet there. My rule of thumb about a breakfast buffet is that if there are grits, it's ok by me. And it was. It also happened to be the second day of the Age of Chivalry Renaissance Festival at Silver Bowl Park, near our home, since the festival's regular location was undergoing refurbishing and new construction. At the table behind us were a troubadour with a guitar, a court jester, and a large woman who looked like she'd work at one of the pubs in olden times. They were all dressed in full costume, even the court jester with the crazy hat. But what made the morning most delightful was that because all three were performing at the festival, the troubadour, in order to warm up before it was time to go, strolled through the dining areas, strumming his guitar, and singing. Find me this anywhere else. Find me any other city where people are totally unafraid to be themselves, to live their lives out loud if they so desire. San Francisco may be one, but don't they spend most of their time worrying about rent?
A few minutes before 11:30, we set out for Sam's Town. Meridith asked which way I wanted to go, and I asked her which way she wanted to go. Automatic impasse, but then, not really, because in our first full week, we both turned left after we walked out of one of the gates, walked down that sidewalk, made another left, and walked all the way down to the intersection that has a Rebel gas station on the left, a Terrible's gas station/McDonald's combination on the right, a 7-11 right in front of you, and a shopping center to the right of that. We walked to see what was further down from our immediate area, and found that Fresh and Easy, in 91-degree weather, which is not as comfortable as I thought it would be, mainly because there was no wind. Just a blazing sun at the end of summer.
So we turned right out of the gate. In the past four weeks, we've driven wide roads, wider than I ever saw in Southern California and even Florida, but I've never actually seen them. When we walked to what we found was Fresh and Easy that first time, I was looking at what was in front of me, directly ahead, not the road itself. I never looked down, never noticed the lanes, the ease of the cars moving from lane to lane, or turning at the intersection. I was just amazed that all this was mine, that I could do with it whatever I wanted, within legal reason of course.
Walking that long sidewalk to a nearby intersection and then crossing the street to the sidewalk on the other side for more shade, I was in awe of this road. It was so wide. Even without having a car right now, I know I can drive these roads. I can make those turns, I can change lanes, I can make u-turns. Just don't ask me to parallel park, because I would like to go through the rest of my life without ever doing that. I believe in parking in a regular space, and then pulling out, aiming the car at whatever exit I need, and driving away. I want it that simple.
Meridith reminded me that the entire population of Nevada, a little less than three million, is less than the population of Los Angeles. No wonder we have museums devoted to city and state history. No wonder people seem more relaxed here. We have time. We can do whatever we want. We can take each day and steer it wherever we feel like going. Time is never an enemy here because we use it all up. Casinos open all the time are proof of that.
It took us 43 minutes to walk from our development to Sam's Town. And in that time, I finally knew where I was going, because the weekend before, when Dad drove the same way we were walking, Meridith and I studied every inch of it to figure out how to get there and what would be the best way. It turns out that the only difference between walking the front way and the back way is that you have to cross two streets on the back way to get to Sam's Town, whereas with the front way, you only have to cross once. Both are the same distance.
When we drove those roads in our first week, having to go to the Walmart Supercenter across from Sam's Town to get a few things, or going further out just to see what was around, I only knew that when I saw the post office next to the Terrible's gas station, we were getting closer to home. I hung onto that because I didn't know any of the other roads around us, or how to get to the Smith's on Sahara which is in the same shopping center as a branch of the Las Vegas Athletic Club, Capriotti's sandwich shop, and a counter-service Chinese restaurant whose name I keep forgetting. I think, with how much I read about Las Vegas in the five years before we finally arrived, and reading all the issues of The Henderson Press up until we moved, that I expected to know everything right away, know where I was, know where I wanted to be often. That was definitely an egregious assumption. But now, four weeks later, these streets and sidewalks have gone from intimidating to comfortable. I know more about my area, I know where the streets away from it goes. I'm not yet sure how to get back here from anywhere in Henderson, but I'll get there. I almost know how to get back here from the Strip. I've seen it many times.
It's like any neighborhood in Las Vegas is suspicious of you when you move in, not yielding an inch, making you prove yourself, that you're not going to be moving in the next few months, that you're here to make a life for yourself. And then when it senses your honorable intentions, it shows you just a little more, and then the next week, more still. That's what it felt like, but I'm relieved my neighborhood has finally opened up to me, that I know where I am, who I am here, and how I want it to be. So far, it's working well.
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Rain in Las Vegas
Back in late June, on their way back to Santa Clarita from Las Vegas, Mom and Dad encountered a flash flood in Baker, the first time they had ever seen one. Jagged staffs of lightning flashed all over, sometimes close enough to them, and while waiting it out in the parking lot of the Grewal Travel Center, which is situated right at the edge of Baker before you enter the Mojave Desert, the rain from the sudden storm creeped up the tires of the PT Cruiser, halfway up. Mom told us that she was frightened, and I had no reason to believe otherwise. I would not want to be in such a situation with so much open desert in front of me and all that water gushing through. There is always the chance that when it rains, flash floods could very well happen in Las Vegas, and they have over the decades, most recently on September 11, with a few million dollars of damage, and dramatic images, such as one taken in a Kmart parking lot, where a woman was nearly swept away by the floodwaters, had it not been for a man grabbing onto her, and her holding onto a tree there. Not a big tree, but strong enough to keep her steady.
Today, we went to the nearby Southern Nevada Health District office for Meridith to get her health card so that she can finally begin working soon in a school cafeteria, as she's wanted. The day before yesterday, I submitted my application to begin the process of becoming a campus security monitor on a middle school campus. In Santa Clarita, the position was called "campus supervisor," but here, it's "campus security monitor," which works for me. Gives me a stronger title.
After Meridith got the card, we drove around for a while, into desert that we had no idea was filling up with houses, new developments, new ideas, really. There's a technical high school that offers many different disciplines, including culinary, and even has a cafe open, which looks like it's for students to test out their skills and have people come in to try out those skills. Then we got further and further out, looking at a direct view of the Strip that was nearly overwhelming to me. I've seen the Strip from so many locations, so many angles, and have even gone past the back end of it, which is how residents get around if they're in the area. But that view, like tall soldiers standing even taller in the desert, it gave me a great sense of civic pride. And yet, I couldn't bask in that entirely because approaching the Strip, and what we saw further out, were storm clouds. We could see it raining in the higher altitudes, and that's the first thing I noticed: You can see rain a lot more clearly in the desert. You know when it's coming, and you know what you have to do. You can't be sure of the exact time it's coming, but it's coming.
I fully understand now why Mom hated being caught in Baker like that. As I was walking Tigger and Kitty in our semi-gated rock-and-pebble-laden backyard (it's only gated on one side, and we want to get a gate for the other side so Kitty can finally sit in the sunshine if she wants), I saw in the distance, over a section of our wooden fence, lightning flashing near the Luxor. I don't think I've ever seen lightning like that before in my life, not even in Florida. The worst that happened to me when I was little was fireworks going off at EPCOT Center at Walt Disney World when we were getting our annual passes renewed, and Mom was holding my left hand, so with my right, I used my stuffed bunny blanket (the small blanket had a bunny head on top of it) to try to block out the noise by holding it against my right ear, and pressing my left ear against Mom. I hated that.
At this very moment, as I type this, thunder just rumbled and the rain is coming down harder than it did last night. Lightning just flashed and the thunder responded yet again. And then the sky opened up to rain that I never heard even in Southern California. Oh, it was hard enough, but it was never steady like this. A steady, hard rain. And of course, now it's settling down a bit only to likely roar back again either a little later or later today. With the storm clouds darkening early yesterday evening, we went back home after looking at those developments further out in the desert, and even reaching Nellis Air Force Base pretty quickly in North Las Vegas, because we didn't want to take any risks. We didn't want to be caught in any storm, especially not with the PT Cruiser, which has gone through enough as it is. Plus, this being our first Vegas storm, it was best to wait it out if it was going to happen that night, except it has happened now, and probably in the morning, which is predicted to have a 70% chance of showers and thunderstorms. I hope Dad drives more carefully in the morning than he usually does when we're out with him. It's not worth taking any chances. I hope the weather doesn't turn into flash floods like it was before we got here (we arrived a mere three days after those flash floods), but you've got to be cautious here no matter what.
I wouldn't mind rain if it didn't come with the thunder and lightning. But that lightning is unnerving. This is the first time I've seen such angry lightning. Las Vegas does things big here in the desert, including the lightning, which I know is no creation of the Strip, but it fits in with what's constantly available here.
Now it's quiet again, like the rain and thunder and lightning never happened. However, I have noticed that rain does last longer here, particularly because the desert does not know what to do with rain, hence those recent flash floods. The ground, the dirt, the sand, the rocks, the pebbles, all of it has been baked so hot by the sun this past summer and in other summers as well that it has become so tight, so as not to take in any water at all. It just sits on the surface. Little pockets of the desert can take it, like how, when we water the tree in our backyard, that water disappears quickly, but not overall. I can go to my room right now, turn the blinds, and look out at rain on the street (by the way, my room is right next to one of the speed bumps in the neighborhood, but the cars driving by in the early morning don't wake me), and see it slick, with a slight river of water snaking its way to the rocks and pebbles under my window. I don't think it'll be gone by morning, what with more rain expected, but being that this will be over by Friday morning, it should be gone by that afternoon, sucked up by those parts of the desert that know what to do with it. Maybe a little more greenery because of it.
Two weeks ago, we were talking about where else we could have moved to. Mom said that she had thought about Seattle, amidst many other possible cities, but all of that rain, nine months out of the year. We easily handled afternoon rain in Florida, but I don't think we could have endured all of that. I considered it too, before even knowing that Mom had thought about it, and it seems like a nice city, but after seeing this storm, hearing that rain coming down, battering our mobile home, I can't deal with that nine months out of the year. I'm not sure I would even be able to get used to it, because I also need sunshine. I was born in Florida, after all. It's what I'm used to. I like rain once in a while, but I prefer my desert dry. This was a little bit harrowing, and I hope that's what the weatherman on channel 13 meant by there being rain this morning, because this is technically the morning. But if there must be more, I hope it's less forceful than this.
Today, we went to the nearby Southern Nevada Health District office for Meridith to get her health card so that she can finally begin working soon in a school cafeteria, as she's wanted. The day before yesterday, I submitted my application to begin the process of becoming a campus security monitor on a middle school campus. In Santa Clarita, the position was called "campus supervisor," but here, it's "campus security monitor," which works for me. Gives me a stronger title.
After Meridith got the card, we drove around for a while, into desert that we had no idea was filling up with houses, new developments, new ideas, really. There's a technical high school that offers many different disciplines, including culinary, and even has a cafe open, which looks like it's for students to test out their skills and have people come in to try out those skills. Then we got further and further out, looking at a direct view of the Strip that was nearly overwhelming to me. I've seen the Strip from so many locations, so many angles, and have even gone past the back end of it, which is how residents get around if they're in the area. But that view, like tall soldiers standing even taller in the desert, it gave me a great sense of civic pride. And yet, I couldn't bask in that entirely because approaching the Strip, and what we saw further out, were storm clouds. We could see it raining in the higher altitudes, and that's the first thing I noticed: You can see rain a lot more clearly in the desert. You know when it's coming, and you know what you have to do. You can't be sure of the exact time it's coming, but it's coming.
I fully understand now why Mom hated being caught in Baker like that. As I was walking Tigger and Kitty in our semi-gated rock-and-pebble-laden backyard (it's only gated on one side, and we want to get a gate for the other side so Kitty can finally sit in the sunshine if she wants), I saw in the distance, over a section of our wooden fence, lightning flashing near the Luxor. I don't think I've ever seen lightning like that before in my life, not even in Florida. The worst that happened to me when I was little was fireworks going off at EPCOT Center at Walt Disney World when we were getting our annual passes renewed, and Mom was holding my left hand, so with my right, I used my stuffed bunny blanket (the small blanket had a bunny head on top of it) to try to block out the noise by holding it against my right ear, and pressing my left ear against Mom. I hated that.
At this very moment, as I type this, thunder just rumbled and the rain is coming down harder than it did last night. Lightning just flashed and the thunder responded yet again. And then the sky opened up to rain that I never heard even in Southern California. Oh, it was hard enough, but it was never steady like this. A steady, hard rain. And of course, now it's settling down a bit only to likely roar back again either a little later or later today. With the storm clouds darkening early yesterday evening, we went back home after looking at those developments further out in the desert, and even reaching Nellis Air Force Base pretty quickly in North Las Vegas, because we didn't want to take any risks. We didn't want to be caught in any storm, especially not with the PT Cruiser, which has gone through enough as it is. Plus, this being our first Vegas storm, it was best to wait it out if it was going to happen that night, except it has happened now, and probably in the morning, which is predicted to have a 70% chance of showers and thunderstorms. I hope Dad drives more carefully in the morning than he usually does when we're out with him. It's not worth taking any chances. I hope the weather doesn't turn into flash floods like it was before we got here (we arrived a mere three days after those flash floods), but you've got to be cautious here no matter what.
I wouldn't mind rain if it didn't come with the thunder and lightning. But that lightning is unnerving. This is the first time I've seen such angry lightning. Las Vegas does things big here in the desert, including the lightning, which I know is no creation of the Strip, but it fits in with what's constantly available here.
Now it's quiet again, like the rain and thunder and lightning never happened. However, I have noticed that rain does last longer here, particularly because the desert does not know what to do with rain, hence those recent flash floods. The ground, the dirt, the sand, the rocks, the pebbles, all of it has been baked so hot by the sun this past summer and in other summers as well that it has become so tight, so as not to take in any water at all. It just sits on the surface. Little pockets of the desert can take it, like how, when we water the tree in our backyard, that water disappears quickly, but not overall. I can go to my room right now, turn the blinds, and look out at rain on the street (by the way, my room is right next to one of the speed bumps in the neighborhood, but the cars driving by in the early morning don't wake me), and see it slick, with a slight river of water snaking its way to the rocks and pebbles under my window. I don't think it'll be gone by morning, what with more rain expected, but being that this will be over by Friday morning, it should be gone by that afternoon, sucked up by those parts of the desert that know what to do with it. Maybe a little more greenery because of it.
Two weeks ago, we were talking about where else we could have moved to. Mom said that she had thought about Seattle, amidst many other possible cities, but all of that rain, nine months out of the year. We easily handled afternoon rain in Florida, but I don't think we could have endured all of that. I considered it too, before even knowing that Mom had thought about it, and it seems like a nice city, but after seeing this storm, hearing that rain coming down, battering our mobile home, I can't deal with that nine months out of the year. I'm not sure I would even be able to get used to it, because I also need sunshine. I was born in Florida, after all. It's what I'm used to. I like rain once in a while, but I prefer my desert dry. This was a little bit harrowing, and I hope that's what the weatherman on channel 13 meant by there being rain this morning, because this is technically the morning. But if there must be more, I hope it's less forceful than this.
Monday, October 8, 2012
Former Presidents, the Painting, the Backpacker and the Banana All Lead to This
Logically, after three weeks of radio silence (the three weeks that we have been residents of Las Vegas), I should begin with the night before our move, sleeping on the floor, the entire house empty, and then the next morning, driving from Santa Clarita to Las Vegas, stopping in Barstow and Baker on the way, and, four hours later, reaching our new home, our mobile home.
But I can't. Not yet. I've an image I can't get out of my mind, and I need to write about it. However, it begins with something solved, the reason why, whenever I have a reasonable stretch of time, I log onto Amazon and watch 'The Stormy Present,' the episode of The West Wing that has President Bartlet, Former President Newman (James Cromwell), and Former Acting President Walken (John Goodman), flying to the funeral of President Lassiter, who, it seems to me, served eight years before Bartlet took office. Lassiter's presidential library is in Costa Mesa, California, and so we get these views of gardens, vines wrapped around poles, very pleasant, and very sad. I watch it all the time to absorb that atmosphere, to think about what it must be like for a former president to have his entire life and political career encapsulated in a library, a museum, a place for people to come and examine his life, however he, the library director, and other staff members, want the public to examine it. There are two books about post-presidential lives, one called Second Acts: Presidential Lives and Legacies after the White House by Mark K. Updegrove, and the other called After the White House: Former Presidents as Private Citizens by Max J. Skidmore. I donated these two books to our future mobile home park, sending them along with Mom and Dad on what would be their final trip to Las Vegas as tourists, to cement our arrangements in moving here, to be sure that they were still holding property for us. It's a rental; no more dealing with a house, but just the same, we wanted to be absolutely sure that everything was ready, that we wouldn't have to stay somewhere else in the meantime. That would have been too much with two dogs and two birds in tow, as it was on the day we moved, September 14th, by the way.
I think I read Second Acts many years ago, but I need to reread it because yet again, I have an idea for another novel. I want to see where this one goes because there are two presidential history books I want to write, but this one can really get me into the area I want to be in. This spark began on Saturday, when we went to Colleen's, a consignment store in Henderson. (By the way, as a resident of Southern Nevada now, Henderson feels a lot more vast, a lot more spread out. It's good to visit, to pass through on the way to see Lake Las Vegas, as we also did on that same Saturday, or to visit Boulder City, but I'm glad we ended up where we are, surrounded by apartment complexes, another mobile home park nearby, and businesses all around.) We walked around, looking at bookcases and wooden wall units for living rooms, and dining room tables, and chairs, and recliners, and everything else that was being sold "as-is," "All Sales Final."
On the far back wall, way back, directly across from the front door, I saw a painting of a courtyard, with columns and vines and flowers, a small sliver of a lake showing, and a quiet, elegant white house pressed against the right side of the painting. I stared at it for a few minutes. Then I showed the painting to Mom, stayed a few minutes more after she left to look around some more, went back to Mom and Dad and Meridith to look at everything else the store had, then went back to the painting. What did it mean to me? Was it the presidential library aspect of that West Wing episode I was thinking of? Could this courtyard portrayed in this painting be part of a presidential library? Would any former president want something like this, so peaceful and unencumbered by who he once was?
Toward the end of our walkaround, Mom found a side table for $18 that she wants to put in a section of our home that needs something there. I'm not sure if she means next to the laundry room or somewhere in the hallway that leads to my room and Meridith's room, but her wanting that side table spurred me on. I went back to that painting, took it off the wall, and carried it back to where we all had been sitting. It was $38. Helen, who was a great help to us, did the figuring and the total, with 8.1% Clark County sales tax (worlds better than the 9.8475858757% sales tax prevalent in Los Angeles County), was $41. I didn't hesitate for a second in giving Helen my debit card. I needed this painting. It was mine.
Either later today, after Dad gets home from work, or during the week (he works from 7:15 a.m., I think, to 2 p.m.), we're going back to that Colleen's location to pick up the end table and the painting, since we couldn't take it with us right then because neither could fit in the trunk with all four of us in the car, still the PT Cruiser by the way, which Dad will soon trade in for another car.
Once I have the painting, I'll take a picture and post it here. I'm not sure yet where to hang it, since Mom likes it too. It may be best suited for the living room, and I'll be able to see it whenever I want, to probably study it even more closely than I already have.
The painting was only the beginning, though. Last night, at Smith's, which is our home supermarket (they have everything we need every week and the Kroger brand is excellent in cereal, yogurt, bottled water, and so many other things), Dad got ham, American cheese, olive loaf, head cheese, and Buffalo Monterey Jack cheese (for Meridith), and while that was going on, I went back to the produce section to get a slicing tomato for my daily salads. I had already gotten bananas, but I knew also that I needed to get a bag of Kroger spinach, which also has never steered me wrong in these three weeks, and I don't expect it to in the years to come.
I was examining the tomatoes, looking for the one with the least bumps or anything else on it, and a backpacker went to the bananas, the section right in front of me, took a small banana off a bunch, and presumably walked to the register. He had this look of grim confidence on his face. He looked like he didn't mind being alone, as he must be for days, maybe even weeks at a time. I wanted to know where he was going. Was he going to walk part of the way, get to the road where he knew the traffic was consistent, and hitchhike? Or was he heading for the Greyhound bus station on Fremont Street? Was he traveling the country? Did he have a destination?
I can't forget the vibe that came off of him, that utter self-sufficiency, like he knew to be wary of people, to rely on them insofar as conversation or brief company, but never placing his life in their hands. And I realized, watching him walk away, what I wanted to do: I want to write a novel about a former president. I want to research what Truman did, what Eisenhower did, what all the others did after they left office. How did they feel? Were they relieved? Did they miss having that power? Did they seek to keep people's attention on them or were they satisfied with relative obscurity? I want to know all of this, and then I want to tie it into what I think will be a story about a somewhat dissatisfied former president. Not so much dissatisfied with not being in power anymore, but not having been able to really do what he set out to do as president, what he was so passionate about that was lost in the screaming jet engine of the presidency. I'm not sure what that is yet, but it's part of what drives him in this novel, and I'm also going to research the cost of presidential libraries, wondering if the courtyard that's in my painting could actually be part of a presidential library. I'm also thinking of doing something with that house in that painting as part of this novel. Just yesterday alone, I devoured The Conviction of Richard Nixon: The Untold Story of the Frost/Nixon Interviews by James Reston, Jr. It shows that not only do I need to dive deeply into my passions and stay there, but I need to see where this goes. Fictional presidents have always fascinated me as much as the real ones. Now I need to explore what I can possibly do with my own creation.
But I can't. Not yet. I've an image I can't get out of my mind, and I need to write about it. However, it begins with something solved, the reason why, whenever I have a reasonable stretch of time, I log onto Amazon and watch 'The Stormy Present,' the episode of The West Wing that has President Bartlet, Former President Newman (James Cromwell), and Former Acting President Walken (John Goodman), flying to the funeral of President Lassiter, who, it seems to me, served eight years before Bartlet took office. Lassiter's presidential library is in Costa Mesa, California, and so we get these views of gardens, vines wrapped around poles, very pleasant, and very sad. I watch it all the time to absorb that atmosphere, to think about what it must be like for a former president to have his entire life and political career encapsulated in a library, a museum, a place for people to come and examine his life, however he, the library director, and other staff members, want the public to examine it. There are two books about post-presidential lives, one called Second Acts: Presidential Lives and Legacies after the White House by Mark K. Updegrove, and the other called After the White House: Former Presidents as Private Citizens by Max J. Skidmore. I donated these two books to our future mobile home park, sending them along with Mom and Dad on what would be their final trip to Las Vegas as tourists, to cement our arrangements in moving here, to be sure that they were still holding property for us. It's a rental; no more dealing with a house, but just the same, we wanted to be absolutely sure that everything was ready, that we wouldn't have to stay somewhere else in the meantime. That would have been too much with two dogs and two birds in tow, as it was on the day we moved, September 14th, by the way.
I think I read Second Acts many years ago, but I need to reread it because yet again, I have an idea for another novel. I want to see where this one goes because there are two presidential history books I want to write, but this one can really get me into the area I want to be in. This spark began on Saturday, when we went to Colleen's, a consignment store in Henderson. (By the way, as a resident of Southern Nevada now, Henderson feels a lot more vast, a lot more spread out. It's good to visit, to pass through on the way to see Lake Las Vegas, as we also did on that same Saturday, or to visit Boulder City, but I'm glad we ended up where we are, surrounded by apartment complexes, another mobile home park nearby, and businesses all around.) We walked around, looking at bookcases and wooden wall units for living rooms, and dining room tables, and chairs, and recliners, and everything else that was being sold "as-is," "All Sales Final."
On the far back wall, way back, directly across from the front door, I saw a painting of a courtyard, with columns and vines and flowers, a small sliver of a lake showing, and a quiet, elegant white house pressed against the right side of the painting. I stared at it for a few minutes. Then I showed the painting to Mom, stayed a few minutes more after she left to look around some more, went back to Mom and Dad and Meridith to look at everything else the store had, then went back to the painting. What did it mean to me? Was it the presidential library aspect of that West Wing episode I was thinking of? Could this courtyard portrayed in this painting be part of a presidential library? Would any former president want something like this, so peaceful and unencumbered by who he once was?
Toward the end of our walkaround, Mom found a side table for $18 that she wants to put in a section of our home that needs something there. I'm not sure if she means next to the laundry room or somewhere in the hallway that leads to my room and Meridith's room, but her wanting that side table spurred me on. I went back to that painting, took it off the wall, and carried it back to where we all had been sitting. It was $38. Helen, who was a great help to us, did the figuring and the total, with 8.1% Clark County sales tax (worlds better than the 9.8475858757% sales tax prevalent in Los Angeles County), was $41. I didn't hesitate for a second in giving Helen my debit card. I needed this painting. It was mine.
Either later today, after Dad gets home from work, or during the week (he works from 7:15 a.m., I think, to 2 p.m.), we're going back to that Colleen's location to pick up the end table and the painting, since we couldn't take it with us right then because neither could fit in the trunk with all four of us in the car, still the PT Cruiser by the way, which Dad will soon trade in for another car.
Once I have the painting, I'll take a picture and post it here. I'm not sure yet where to hang it, since Mom likes it too. It may be best suited for the living room, and I'll be able to see it whenever I want, to probably study it even more closely than I already have.
The painting was only the beginning, though. Last night, at Smith's, which is our home supermarket (they have everything we need every week and the Kroger brand is excellent in cereal, yogurt, bottled water, and so many other things), Dad got ham, American cheese, olive loaf, head cheese, and Buffalo Monterey Jack cheese (for Meridith), and while that was going on, I went back to the produce section to get a slicing tomato for my daily salads. I had already gotten bananas, but I knew also that I needed to get a bag of Kroger spinach, which also has never steered me wrong in these three weeks, and I don't expect it to in the years to come.
I was examining the tomatoes, looking for the one with the least bumps or anything else on it, and a backpacker went to the bananas, the section right in front of me, took a small banana off a bunch, and presumably walked to the register. He had this look of grim confidence on his face. He looked like he didn't mind being alone, as he must be for days, maybe even weeks at a time. I wanted to know where he was going. Was he going to walk part of the way, get to the road where he knew the traffic was consistent, and hitchhike? Or was he heading for the Greyhound bus station on Fremont Street? Was he traveling the country? Did he have a destination?
I can't forget the vibe that came off of him, that utter self-sufficiency, like he knew to be wary of people, to rely on them insofar as conversation or brief company, but never placing his life in their hands. And I realized, watching him walk away, what I wanted to do: I want to write a novel about a former president. I want to research what Truman did, what Eisenhower did, what all the others did after they left office. How did they feel? Were they relieved? Did they miss having that power? Did they seek to keep people's attention on them or were they satisfied with relative obscurity? I want to know all of this, and then I want to tie it into what I think will be a story about a somewhat dissatisfied former president. Not so much dissatisfied with not being in power anymore, but not having been able to really do what he set out to do as president, what he was so passionate about that was lost in the screaming jet engine of the presidency. I'm not sure what that is yet, but it's part of what drives him in this novel, and I'm also going to research the cost of presidential libraries, wondering if the courtyard that's in my painting could actually be part of a presidential library. I'm also thinking of doing something with that house in that painting as part of this novel. Just yesterday alone, I devoured The Conviction of Richard Nixon: The Untold Story of the Frost/Nixon Interviews by James Reston, Jr. It shows that not only do I need to dive deeply into my passions and stay there, but I need to see where this goes. Fictional presidents have always fascinated me as much as the real ones. Now I need to explore what I can possibly do with my own creation.
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
I Did It!
My goal of reading what became 85 issues of The Henderson Press online (as the months went on) before we move is complete....the day before the latest issue comes out.
I'll read all 5,432 issues of Henderson Home News (published from 1951 to 2009) from the Henderson Libraries website at my leisure. No rush on those.
Now back to our scheduled preparations for moving. See you after I get to Las Vegas!
I'll read all 5,432 issues of Henderson Home News (published from 1951 to 2009) from the Henderson Libraries website at my leisure. No rush on those.
Now back to our scheduled preparations for moving. See you after I get to Las Vegas!
The Wednesday Before a New Beginning
I thought I'd finish 10 Items or Less and watch all of King of California tonight, after the final shave and shower in Santa Clarita. I thought that tomorrow, when the movers come, I would unplug everything then, and watch them haul out my widescreen TV while I put all the necessary connectors for my DVD player to my TV and my VCR to my TV in a food storage bag, and then find a box for my two heavy-duty DVD binders, since I wanted to hold onto those until the very last minute because I wanted to watch those movies.
It's apparent that I haven't moved in eight years. None of that was ever possible. My 10 Items or Less DVD went back into its slot in one of my DVD binders, I unplugged my TV, my DVD player, and my VCR, and the DirecTV satellite boxes were taken to the post office in prepaid boxes sent by the company, and mailed. Dad didn't want to deal with their bullshit anymore, and where would we have found the time today to watch something anyway? Speaking of that, when Dad was on the phone yesterday asking for the service to be discontinued on Thursday (they discontinued it today instead, despite Dad saying repeatedly that he wanted it done on Thursday), I've no idea why he had to give our new address in Las Vegas, but the guy on the phone mistakenly thought he wanted those feeds right then, and for the rest of the day and into the late night, we got all the local Las Vegas channels, able to watch the news, to hear all the stories about the valley being flooded yesterday from torrential rains, which look even more torrential in the desert than they would in Florida without a hurricane. I finally got to know more about the current state of my home city without having to wait until we got there, save for this morning, before I went to bed, when I found that they had discontinued the service in the living room, but left the other boxes untouched because those were on a different satellite. Nevertheless, no more Dallas Raines and no more George Pennacchio on KABC 7 in L.A. became one of the best things about this move!
Yeah. Time for TV and time for two final movies in Santa Clarita. Sure. That was going to happen. Not with sweeping the patio of dead pine needles for the final time. Speaking of which, I've been sweeping dead pine needles from the patio for eight years and guess what happened today? They trimmed that pine tree, including shearing off some of the branches from which those dead pine needles fell. However, I see that as a good sign. Time to move on.
I also had to pack up the rest of my room, including my stuffed animals (which have in its ranks two Baloos and two King Louies from The Jungle Book, each a small and large size, assorted other DVDs (such as The Magic School Bus: The Complete Series, which I forgot to pack last night), and of course cords I need, such as the one I use to connect my MP3 player to the computer. Also my Johnny Carson and Zen Page-a-Day calendars, and I've forgotten what else, because it feels like we've done 72 hours worth of work in one day. I've also been cleaning most of our furniture with some spray we have under the sink so they look presentable when we get there and the movers bring them in. Best to leave the dust in Southern California than to bring it along to Las Vegas.
And I have only two issues left to read before I've read every single issue of The Henderson Press, except for Vol. 3, No. 32, which didn't download. It said "No File" the two times I downloaded it, so someone at The Henderson Press forgot to make sure the file was available to download. No matter, though, because by late tonight (depending on how much I still have to do tonight in cleaning furniture and whatever else needs to be done), I'll have reached my goal of reading every issue before we move. I'm not making any goal for the 5,432 issues available of Henderson Home News from 1951-2009 on the Henderson Libraries website. I'm going to read those at my leisure. After all, I've got decades to spend in Southern Nevada now!
I'm not sure when Internet service is going to be disconnected tomorrow, or if the main computer is going into a box or the trunk of our PT Cruiser when we leave early Friday morning (I think Dad will put it in the trunk. It's best to have it available right away), either 6:30 or 7 in order to get there by the early afternoon to meet the movers at our mobile home park. But chances are this is my last entry from Santa Clarita. The next one you see will be from Las Vegas, and I'll try to recount the four-hour drive home and moving in as best I can because I realized today, after that box had been sealed up, that I packed away all my composition books. Gee, I really could have used one for all that's coming up.
The only change on this trip is that I think we're going to skip Primm. If Enterprise or CarMax had accepted our aging PT Cruiser and we were driving to Las Vegas in a rental, I would have wanted to stop at the Fashion Outlets of Las Vegas there, on the California/Nevada border. But driving long distances in the PT Cruiser requires concerted prayer and loud chanting in the hope that it'll get us to where we need to go. Yet, Dad was at our mechanic yesterday while he checked over everything and adjusted whatever had to be adjusted and he's confident that we'll get to Las Vegas safely. I think we will. Plus, we'll briefly stop in Baker at the Grewal Travel Center rest stop, my favorite there, for the final time, and it'll probably be a little after 9 when we get there, so I'm sure it'll only be in the mid-80s by then. The high in Baker on Friday is going to be 102, but we'll be long gone by the time the temperature gets there.
And as for Las Vegas, a high of 91 and a low of 75 on Friday. Easy, welcoming weather. There's a lot to move into our new home so that's better for us. Better than the possibility that there once was of moving during the summer before that job didn't pan out for Dad. His new principal has been very understanding in it taking some time for us to get there. On Tuesday, he'll go to the school district offices to sign more papers, and then on Wednesday, he'll start at his new middle school. Not long after, it'll be time for me to pursue the job I want as a full-time middle school campus supervisor, once again tying into my love of school campuses, their pervasive peace, that is if you're not one of the students or the administration, because those front offices are busy enough as it is with so much to do on any given day.
So this is where I stop for now, anticipating lots more to write once our Internet service is installed, along with CenturyLink Prism, which will let us watch our shows on any DVR in the house, the first time we've ever had this. Plus, we're also getting Boomerang in our channel lineup, so I can record Popeye whenever it's on. Oh, and yesterday, when the DirecTV boxes were unplugged, the main one in the living room, the one that recorded everything, had Harry and Tonto and Neil Simon's I Ought to Be in Pictures on it, among other things. I have Harry and Tonto on DVD, but I liked to have it on the Tivo for a while in case I wanted to watch it again or fast-forward to my favorite parts while I was in the living room. Losing I Ought to Be in Pictures was momentarily disappointing, because it's not on DVD, and VHS copies of it are very pricey on Amazon Marketplace. But it aired on Fox Movie Channel, which we had as a free preview two months ago on DirecTV, and it's one of the channels we get through CenturyLink Prism. When it comes on again, I'm recording it and not letting go until it comes to DVD. According to the channel website, it's going to air on Wednesday, September 26, nearly two weeks after our arrival in Las Vegas. Our cable system will be well in progress by then, and I will have that movie back.
Ok, that's probably it. Here I go, finally heading home. First the movers and then the drive. And a lot more stories to tell to really fill up this blog again, a lot to see, a lot to know. And I want to see and know it all.
It's apparent that I haven't moved in eight years. None of that was ever possible. My 10 Items or Less DVD went back into its slot in one of my DVD binders, I unplugged my TV, my DVD player, and my VCR, and the DirecTV satellite boxes were taken to the post office in prepaid boxes sent by the company, and mailed. Dad didn't want to deal with their bullshit anymore, and where would we have found the time today to watch something anyway? Speaking of that, when Dad was on the phone yesterday asking for the service to be discontinued on Thursday (they discontinued it today instead, despite Dad saying repeatedly that he wanted it done on Thursday), I've no idea why he had to give our new address in Las Vegas, but the guy on the phone mistakenly thought he wanted those feeds right then, and for the rest of the day and into the late night, we got all the local Las Vegas channels, able to watch the news, to hear all the stories about the valley being flooded yesterday from torrential rains, which look even more torrential in the desert than they would in Florida without a hurricane. I finally got to know more about the current state of my home city without having to wait until we got there, save for this morning, before I went to bed, when I found that they had discontinued the service in the living room, but left the other boxes untouched because those were on a different satellite. Nevertheless, no more Dallas Raines and no more George Pennacchio on KABC 7 in L.A. became one of the best things about this move!
Yeah. Time for TV and time for two final movies in Santa Clarita. Sure. That was going to happen. Not with sweeping the patio of dead pine needles for the final time. Speaking of which, I've been sweeping dead pine needles from the patio for eight years and guess what happened today? They trimmed that pine tree, including shearing off some of the branches from which those dead pine needles fell. However, I see that as a good sign. Time to move on.
I also had to pack up the rest of my room, including my stuffed animals (which have in its ranks two Baloos and two King Louies from The Jungle Book, each a small and large size, assorted other DVDs (such as The Magic School Bus: The Complete Series, which I forgot to pack last night), and of course cords I need, such as the one I use to connect my MP3 player to the computer. Also my Johnny Carson and Zen Page-a-Day calendars, and I've forgotten what else, because it feels like we've done 72 hours worth of work in one day. I've also been cleaning most of our furniture with some spray we have under the sink so they look presentable when we get there and the movers bring them in. Best to leave the dust in Southern California than to bring it along to Las Vegas.
And I have only two issues left to read before I've read every single issue of The Henderson Press, except for Vol. 3, No. 32, which didn't download. It said "No File" the two times I downloaded it, so someone at The Henderson Press forgot to make sure the file was available to download. No matter, though, because by late tonight (depending on how much I still have to do tonight in cleaning furniture and whatever else needs to be done), I'll have reached my goal of reading every issue before we move. I'm not making any goal for the 5,432 issues available of Henderson Home News from 1951-2009 on the Henderson Libraries website. I'm going to read those at my leisure. After all, I've got decades to spend in Southern Nevada now!
I'm not sure when Internet service is going to be disconnected tomorrow, or if the main computer is going into a box or the trunk of our PT Cruiser when we leave early Friday morning (I think Dad will put it in the trunk. It's best to have it available right away), either 6:30 or 7 in order to get there by the early afternoon to meet the movers at our mobile home park. But chances are this is my last entry from Santa Clarita. The next one you see will be from Las Vegas, and I'll try to recount the four-hour drive home and moving in as best I can because I realized today, after that box had been sealed up, that I packed away all my composition books. Gee, I really could have used one for all that's coming up.
The only change on this trip is that I think we're going to skip Primm. If Enterprise or CarMax had accepted our aging PT Cruiser and we were driving to Las Vegas in a rental, I would have wanted to stop at the Fashion Outlets of Las Vegas there, on the California/Nevada border. But driving long distances in the PT Cruiser requires concerted prayer and loud chanting in the hope that it'll get us to where we need to go. Yet, Dad was at our mechanic yesterday while he checked over everything and adjusted whatever had to be adjusted and he's confident that we'll get to Las Vegas safely. I think we will. Plus, we'll briefly stop in Baker at the Grewal Travel Center rest stop, my favorite there, for the final time, and it'll probably be a little after 9 when we get there, so I'm sure it'll only be in the mid-80s by then. The high in Baker on Friday is going to be 102, but we'll be long gone by the time the temperature gets there.
And as for Las Vegas, a high of 91 and a low of 75 on Friday. Easy, welcoming weather. There's a lot to move into our new home so that's better for us. Better than the possibility that there once was of moving during the summer before that job didn't pan out for Dad. His new principal has been very understanding in it taking some time for us to get there. On Tuesday, he'll go to the school district offices to sign more papers, and then on Wednesday, he'll start at his new middle school. Not long after, it'll be time for me to pursue the job I want as a full-time middle school campus supervisor, once again tying into my love of school campuses, their pervasive peace, that is if you're not one of the students or the administration, because those front offices are busy enough as it is with so much to do on any given day.
So this is where I stop for now, anticipating lots more to write once our Internet service is installed, along with CenturyLink Prism, which will let us watch our shows on any DVR in the house, the first time we've ever had this. Plus, we're also getting Boomerang in our channel lineup, so I can record Popeye whenever it's on. Oh, and yesterday, when the DirecTV boxes were unplugged, the main one in the living room, the one that recorded everything, had Harry and Tonto and Neil Simon's I Ought to Be in Pictures on it, among other things. I have Harry and Tonto on DVD, but I liked to have it on the Tivo for a while in case I wanted to watch it again or fast-forward to my favorite parts while I was in the living room. Losing I Ought to Be in Pictures was momentarily disappointing, because it's not on DVD, and VHS copies of it are very pricey on Amazon Marketplace. But it aired on Fox Movie Channel, which we had as a free preview two months ago on DirecTV, and it's one of the channels we get through CenturyLink Prism. When it comes on again, I'm recording it and not letting go until it comes to DVD. According to the channel website, it's going to air on Wednesday, September 26, nearly two weeks after our arrival in Las Vegas. Our cable system will be well in progress by then, and I will have that movie back.
Ok, that's probably it. Here I go, finally heading home. First the movers and then the drive. And a lot more stories to tell to really fill up this blog again, a lot to see, a lot to know. And I want to see and know it all.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Las Vegas Phone Number History (Or Lack Of)
Before my TV and DVD player are unplugged on Thursday and hauled away by the movers who will meet us at our new home early Friday afternoon to move everything in, I was planning to watch Lucky You (mostly crappy script, but one of the great movies about Las Vegas because it gets the actual feel of the city right and not how Hollywood usually sees it), Swing Vote (for the election season), and The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (symbolic of a new adventure in my life) again. I watched some of Lucky You before the week started, but I can easily watch Swing Vote and The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy after we're settled in our new home and everything's hooked up again, including cable service with CenturyLink, which offers the ability to watch recorded shows on any TV in the house. That's going to be a godsend.
Anyway, instead of those movies, I watched most of 10 Items or Less, starring Morgan Freeman and Paz Vega, early this morning, to remind myself that I have to get used to finding good people all the time in Las Vegas, which is hard to imagine at first after nine years in Santa Clarita. Most of them in Las Vegas anyway, but the majority leans toward goodness, because living in Las Vegas, you're in the desert and you have to make your life work. People are more real there.
While I watched Him (Freeman) walk into Archie's Ranch Market in Carson to do research for a role as a supermarket manager that he hasn't committed to yet, I saw the pay phone that he uses to call someone to pick him up after the production assistant (Jonah Hill) for the movie doesn't come back after dropping him off an hour before, and my mind wandered to the news the day before that we got our new phone number. I've memorized it, just like I have our new address after changing many magazine subscription addresses.
After revealing our new phone number, Dad said that it had been out of service for three years, and I perked up at that piece of news. Once in Las Vegas, I want to know absolutely everything about my home city. I want to explore every inch of it, along with Henderson, Boulder City, Summerlin, and North Las Vegas, as well as the rest of Nevada. I don't necessarily want to become one of the foremost authorities on Las Vegas and Nevada; I just want to know enough for myself, that wherever I go, when I drive by various casinos, I know their histories, that when I walk through downtown Henderson and downtown Boulder City, I know how long those buildings have been there and what the lobby of the Boulder Dam Hotel in Boulder City looked like decades before, also knowing that Clark Gable and Carole Lombard once stayed there.
I wish I could know the same about our new phone number. Three years out of service before it was given to us. Who had it? Was it a business? Was it a resident? Was it a transient resident who had had enough of the city and moved east or back to California or maybe Arizona or New Mexico? Was it a resident who died of old age or died in middle age and their family took care of the arrangements to release the phone number? Or did the number just float briefly from place to place during those three years before settling down on us? I like to imagine that it was a resident who eventually tired of the city, who left room for us. Something like that. I know that I won't ever know the history of our new phone number, but the speculation to come out of it, those potential stories, are endlessly interesting.
Anyway, instead of those movies, I watched most of 10 Items or Less, starring Morgan Freeman and Paz Vega, early this morning, to remind myself that I have to get used to finding good people all the time in Las Vegas, which is hard to imagine at first after nine years in Santa Clarita. Most of them in Las Vegas anyway, but the majority leans toward goodness, because living in Las Vegas, you're in the desert and you have to make your life work. People are more real there.
While I watched Him (Freeman) walk into Archie's Ranch Market in Carson to do research for a role as a supermarket manager that he hasn't committed to yet, I saw the pay phone that he uses to call someone to pick him up after the production assistant (Jonah Hill) for the movie doesn't come back after dropping him off an hour before, and my mind wandered to the news the day before that we got our new phone number. I've memorized it, just like I have our new address after changing many magazine subscription addresses.
After revealing our new phone number, Dad said that it had been out of service for three years, and I perked up at that piece of news. Once in Las Vegas, I want to know absolutely everything about my home city. I want to explore every inch of it, along with Henderson, Boulder City, Summerlin, and North Las Vegas, as well as the rest of Nevada. I don't necessarily want to become one of the foremost authorities on Las Vegas and Nevada; I just want to know enough for myself, that wherever I go, when I drive by various casinos, I know their histories, that when I walk through downtown Henderson and downtown Boulder City, I know how long those buildings have been there and what the lobby of the Boulder Dam Hotel in Boulder City looked like decades before, also knowing that Clark Gable and Carole Lombard once stayed there.
I wish I could know the same about our new phone number. Three years out of service before it was given to us. Who had it? Was it a business? Was it a resident? Was it a transient resident who had had enough of the city and moved east or back to California or maybe Arizona or New Mexico? Was it a resident who died of old age or died in middle age and their family took care of the arrangements to release the phone number? Or did the number just float briefly from place to place during those three years before settling down on us? I like to imagine that it was a resident who eventually tired of the city, who left room for us. Something like that. I know that I won't ever know the history of our new phone number, but the speculation to come out of it, those potential stories, are endlessly interesting.
Genetic Nose Hair
When you're preparing to move, and you're deciding what to throw out and what to pack, you discover a lot. You discover books you forgot you even had, magazine issues that you didn't read, but want to keep so you can later on (such as The New Yorker's Science Fiction issue from a few months ago, and their Food issue from last year), and DVDs to put with other DVDs in a huge binder in order to watch later, but not necessarily to keep (such as Blackthorn, starring Sam Shepard, one of my heroes).
It's preparation for a new life, new experiences, new discoveries. Surprising new discoveries.
Late last week, I noticed a nose hair hanging further down than usual from my nose. I could tuck it back in a bit so it wouldn't be so bothersome, but at the first opportunity, it always sprang back out. I had to do something about it. I had to cut it.
I went into my parents' bathroom during the night, into Monday, and got the scissors that are kept for such a task. I expected to only eventually aim the scissors correctly enough while looking in the mirror in order to clip the sucker. I had to sit down after I clipped the lone nose hair and looked up my nose. I was stunned by what I found.
I know that I'm going to get older. Everyone does. I know that my body will gradually change with every year. It happens to everyone. I didn't expect to find so soon the sheer breadth of nose hair I have in each nostril.
When my late paternal grandfather, and my paternal grandmother, used to visit, I'd always sit in the middle of the front of their car, with Dad next to me on the right, my grandfather driving on the left, and Mom, Meridith, and my grandmother in the back. While my grandfather weaved through traffic like a madman, defied the logic of wearing a seatbelt (he absolutely refused to wear one and we never said anything about it, because that's who he was), and told jokes, most of which were racist, I looked at him and noticed his nose hairs, how they seemed to be reaching out beyond his nose. Not that they were disorganized, since he seemed to clip them when necessary, but it looked like they were planning to invade at the first possible moment that no one, or me, was looking. I was younger, so I didn't think much about it beyond being amazed at how one nose could have so much nose hair.
Now here I am, 28 years old, and I have what my grandfather had, what my father has too. It's the least to worry about in a family line that's pretty much uneventful. All my ancestors died of old age, ranging from the 80s to the 90s. I'd like to go beyond that.
So I have to clip my nose hairs more often. That's fine. I'll do it. For now, though, I'm still surprised at seeing this change right now. Whatever happens in my body in the years to come, I'm not so concerned because I know my genetic line has always been stable. No family members with cancer in the past. Nothing that threatens one's health early on. Only an impending invasion of nose hairs on the world. But the battle is always easily won.
It's preparation for a new life, new experiences, new discoveries. Surprising new discoveries.
Late last week, I noticed a nose hair hanging further down than usual from my nose. I could tuck it back in a bit so it wouldn't be so bothersome, but at the first opportunity, it always sprang back out. I had to do something about it. I had to cut it.
I went into my parents' bathroom during the night, into Monday, and got the scissors that are kept for such a task. I expected to only eventually aim the scissors correctly enough while looking in the mirror in order to clip the sucker. I had to sit down after I clipped the lone nose hair and looked up my nose. I was stunned by what I found.
I know that I'm going to get older. Everyone does. I know that my body will gradually change with every year. It happens to everyone. I didn't expect to find so soon the sheer breadth of nose hair I have in each nostril.
When my late paternal grandfather, and my paternal grandmother, used to visit, I'd always sit in the middle of the front of their car, with Dad next to me on the right, my grandfather driving on the left, and Mom, Meridith, and my grandmother in the back. While my grandfather weaved through traffic like a madman, defied the logic of wearing a seatbelt (he absolutely refused to wear one and we never said anything about it, because that's who he was), and told jokes, most of which were racist, I looked at him and noticed his nose hairs, how they seemed to be reaching out beyond his nose. Not that they were disorganized, since he seemed to clip them when necessary, but it looked like they were planning to invade at the first possible moment that no one, or me, was looking. I was younger, so I didn't think much about it beyond being amazed at how one nose could have so much nose hair.
Now here I am, 28 years old, and I have what my grandfather had, what my father has too. It's the least to worry about in a family line that's pretty much uneventful. All my ancestors died of old age, ranging from the 80s to the 90s. I'd like to go beyond that.
So I have to clip my nose hairs more often. That's fine. I'll do it. For now, though, I'm still surprised at seeing this change right now. Whatever happens in my body in the years to come, I'm not so concerned because I know my genetic line has always been stable. No family members with cancer in the past. Nothing that threatens one's health early on. Only an impending invasion of nose hairs on the world. But the battle is always easily won.
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