We Went Down to the Burning Ring of Fire

Sunday, January 26, 2014

I’ve mentioned, maybe on a daily basis, that we are in the middle of the desert.  From a housekeeping standpoint, I’m sure there are several ways to deal with the ensuing dust that this living arrangement supports.  FOY has chosen to use a street sweeper to sweep down the roads, which are, according to my father who happens to be a retired civil engineer, comprised of “asphalted concrete.”  He does not believe that there is an oil mat on the top, as the roads are very cracked, and in the extreme heat that things around here are exposed to, it would not crack, but self-seal and perhaps make a tarry mess on absolutely everything.  I bring this up because:

  1. This sweeping makes a black dust cloud that rises about 15+ feet and spreads to twice that width.
  2. The dust around here has given me 2+ weeks and counting of mild to moderate asthma.   Every.  Day.  (Yes, I have an inhaler.  No, it’s not wildly effective.)

This, alone, has made me less than a happy camper from time to time, or maybe more often, depending on whom you ask.  So seeing this dust machine poised and ready to wreck havoc on our street, doesn’t really improve my state of being.  I guess folks are happy with this as it makes the roads look “clean.”  I would trade an easy breath of air for alleged road cleanliness.  I appear, once again, to be in the minority.

The street sweeper from Hell.

The street sweeper from Hell.

To follow this up, Craig vacuumed the Hag from one end to the other.  This ritual helps, somewhat, but the dust is still a problem.  Always.  My neighbor complains about it too.  As my Mother would say: “The air is heavy today, and it makes it hard to breath.”  So. True.

In other news, on the daily walk, Craig and I came across this sweet little golf cart.  It is the only new one I have seen so far this year.  All the old ones are still here and are still forces to be reckoned with.  The folks who drive them, are mostly either ex-race car drivers or this was an unfulfilled dream of theirs.  Things with motors are driven with a lead foot.  It pays to be alert when walking.

A never before seen (by me, at least) golf cart.  I think it jumped right out of the pages of Richard Scarry's "Cars and Trucks and Things That Go," and onto the streets of FOY.

A never before seen (by me, at least) golf cart. I think it jumped right out of the pages of Richard Scarry’s “Cars and Trucks and Things That Go,” and onto the streets of FOY.

As it is Sunday, this is the night for outside entertainment to come to FOY.  The guest entertainer was a man from Edmonton, Canada, named Gene Gebo.  He did a tribute to Johnny Cash.  All three of us went.  Craig is not a regular at these events, and was therefore quite surprised at the pushiness of many of the attendees.  There is a certain assertiveness surrounding seating and parking that is prevalent when FOY campers gather.  It seems that folks want to get to where they are going at all costs.   He is not used to this sort of treatment.  Dad and I have seen this before and have learned our place in the FOY pecking order.  We anticipate and stand back when the elephants charge.

The entertainer was pretty good.  Everyone seemed to be tapping their toes and occasionally singing along.  It was one of the better entertainers that have come to FOY.  And, thankfully, there was no talk or singing about death and dying.  That’s a bonus with entertainment around here.

The stage is set for the Johnny Cash tribute.

The stage is set for the Johnny Cash tribute.

"Johnny Cash," of sorts.

“Johnny Cash,” of sorts.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Highlight of the day:  This is my 100th post to you my dear Justin and Kailin!  I wish with all my heart that you were right HERE with us!

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2 Responses to We Went Down to the Burning Ring of Fire

  1. Kailin says:

    Lovely post! We sure miss you 🙂

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