My three-week attempt to pretend as if I belong here in paradise, AKA Scottsdale, Arizona, is coming to a close. In a few days, I’ll be making the trek back to Oregon. In other words, voluntarily turning myself in to begin my sentence in the gray cold rain prison known as the Willamette Valley. I’m spending a lot of time staring into blue sky, hoping I won’t forget what it looks and feels like when I’m trudging through sleet to get into the grocery store without slipping.
Other than the weather, I don’t know what my new life as a housed person is going to look like. I have the keys to my new apartment, but I haven’t seen it yet. Nor have I spent time in my new town, other than one drive-by. I have a feeling my bleeding liberal heart will not be welcomed by most of the town folk. I just hope when they see my “No Kings” window stickers, they don’t choose me for the Lottery.
Maybe I’ll like it there in my new town. Maybe I’ll decide I love the cold gray drizzly skies after all, that sunshine and blue skies are for babies and wimps. I met people in Portland who said they loved the gray drizzle. I looked at them as if they were curious misguided members of an exotic species. They were never from the Willamette Valley. That should tell you something.
Maybe I’ll spend a month in the tub, assuming my new place has hot water. I have no idea if it has a tub. That wasn’t on my dealbreaker list. The only dealbreakers I stipulated were no cockroaches and no bedbugs. The property manager assured me the apartment complex had neither. I believe her about cockroaches. Like me, they don’t tend to favor cold climates. Bedbugs, on the other hand, will live anywhere there is a live human host. I guess an animal will do if starvation is imminent, but humans are the staple of the bedbut diet, not to mention the scourge of multifamily housing.
Speaking of getting bitten, mosquitoes. Not surprising they like it here. Sprinklers plus shady grass equals delicious mud puddles that never evaporate. Plus there are two or three good sized ponds, small lakes, you could call them, full of turgid brown water. A few fountains and aerators do a haphazard job of mud mixing, but I’m sure if I were a mosquito looking for a nice place to dump my eggs, this is heaven. Divots of standing water abound.
I won’t have to miss the mud. I’m sure there will be plenty where I’m going. But I will miss the intense blue sky and the sun glittering on the lakes. I’ll miss the little dog, who constantly makes me laugh, even when she’s being an annoying manipulative pill. I’ll miss the leafy trees and colorful flowers. I’ll miss the huge marble-surfaced kitchen island, twice as bigger in square footage as my minivan. I’ll miss the stainless steel fridge that generously dispenses not just water but also ice cubes and crushed ice. I’ll miss the skylights that glow at night with light from the full moon.
I’m sadder by the minute when I think of leaving Arizona. It’s likely I won’t be back.