Thursday, July 15, 2010

Walkability

A year ago BFF and I moved into a smaller and cheaper (rented) house, just downhill and a little south of a place where we’d lived for three years, half that time shared with Daughter Two. We’d liked that house and loved the neighborhood. Not so much here, though, down in the flats. We’ve decided to move again.

Two goals: less money and better location. We’d gotten spoiled having a great little grocery next door, cafes and taverns, book and hardware store, dry cleaner, boutique video, and coffeehouses galore, all along a shady not-too busy street. I recently discovered something called the “Walkability Index.” Our former house would have rated about 90. The one where we're living now? 25?

Money is the other thing. Now that retirement is only a couple of years away, we want to salt away all we can for our move down south. An apartment the size of our current house, even condo-quality, would save us a bundle.  The calculus goes something like this:  three months of savings here and now equal two months retirement rent in Guanajuato, or wherever.

Walkability--isn't that a great concept?  A neighborhood that pulls you outside.  We're craigslisting places near the central business district of our neighborhood, within easy strolling distance of an urban park with musicians and water features, public library, my fine gym, excellent movie theater and coffee houses, the best Mexican restaurant in town, sushi and other bars and clubs, plus acceptance for the many homeless around here who offer a bracing dose of "there but for the grace of God."

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

What a Way To Go

As a consequence of
A troublesome bout of
Lower back pain—
Intimation of mortality—
I’ve recently begun imagining myself,
And it’s gotten so it’s hardly a stretch,
Retired, you know...

Read the rest of this poem at That Oughta See Us Out blog.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Lloyd or Floyd?

In the beginning I thought the neighbor’s name was Lloyd but BFF insisted it was Floyd. Now we compromise and call him Oyd, and not just between ourselves. On the occasions when the man is due a shout out, we swallow the beginning of the name but end it firmly. This innocent social deception has been going on way too long for us to comfortably ask Oyd again what his name is.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Il Teatro Pescatore – Part 2 - Pinball Becomes Carpo


A flying fish with the face of Groucho Marx? Giant clam shells dripping pearls from a pirate's booty? Head of a goldfish swollen a thousand times its natural size? What creatures we are to have such creations spring from our minds, eyes and hands!

Read the rest of this post at Il Teatro Pescatore blog.

Thursday, May 20, 2010