What I'd RATHER

Next month it'll be two years since I returned to Albuquerque. Though my increasing deafness helps, I'm not adapting to the cheek-by-jowl urban lifestyle

I spent the first year in the Smirket Room. At the time, the east-side tenants (it's a rental) came and went at 1:30 & 5:30 a.m. Often, particularly on Friday & Saturdays, they'd linger over a song on the truck stereo before going inside. They liked it loud; the rest of the neighborhood could enjoy it too.

The guys spent a lot of time carrying small packages to and from cars that came and went, while two young women met a different vehicle out front every hour or so. There were always a lot of people coming & going with their belongings in plastic bags (Just in from the desert, are yuh?). But, you know, for the most part they were quiet and didn't ask to borrow money.

One of the main projects was installing the security cameras. 

West Side

East Side

For awhile Phoebe was picking up an unusual number of nails in her tires. It was a lesson in what happens when you complain about peoples' dogs barking all day & night. Consideration never crossed their mind; it was revenge.

Eventually we renovated "the office." With sound-deadening foam in the windows, my increasing deafness and the oxygen concentrator as a source of white

 

noise, we've almost drowned out the sound of the crotch-rockets and hot rods.

The Office

 When we first arrived in '76, Albuquerque's population was 250,000; the 2023 estimate is 955,000. Albuquerque has more Walmarts per-capita than any other U.S. city. I suggest there's a corollary between with the loud vehicles; it's an aesthetic, donchyuhknow?

The bucket-list phase is a thing of the past. The Seychelles, etc., are no longer on the table. Now, a trip to the library (on a good day) requires a day of recovery. 

I'm reading Horizon by Barry Lopez. Barry visited 82 countries and wrote a bunch of books about his travels. Horizon was his last; a combination memoir-autobiography in which he -- more than usual -- shares  his opinions and wee-hours-of-the-night ruminations. He died of cancer in 2020 at age 72; the same age as me.

Besides enjoying his writing and the armchair travel, I read his and other peoples' books like Horizon for clues about what I might be doing instead of reading. 

Here's a bit of supportive evidence. You'll note it doesn't mention sleeping.