A challenging aspect of this leg of the journey has been the living arrangements. It is difficult enough to stay as a guest for an extended period of time when that person is a friend or family member. The problems are compounded when that person was prior to your visit a complete stranger. Our hostess Jo is a perfectly lovely person and only to be credited for our level of comfort here, still when you boil the matter down to it’s essentials, I am still living under someone else’s roof and need to conform to another person’s foibles and habits. This can never be an entirely comfortable situation. It is difficult to discuss this without seeming ungrateful. Please understand that my observations are not intended as criticism and that any inability to adapt falls squarely in my shoulders. Still, I can’t help but think that the whole experience is a bit like hanging out with someone else’s mother.
There are two doors to every exit in the house. Jo insists on locking each one twice. While an excellent security measure, I find it a bit restrictive, considering that leaving the building requires negotiating with at least four locks. There are only a few sets of keys and it is vitally important to have a set whenever you go anywhere, or be with someone who does. What makes it more vexing is that our respective schedules do not mesh neatly. Jo, being retired, does not see the need to get out of bed before 10 or 11 in the morning . While I admire this arrangement and would adopt similar habits given the choice, I need to be awake by at least 6 am so that I can shower, eat a light breakfast and be dragging equipment through the smell of tater tots by seven. As I write this it is well past one on a Saturday afternoon. I have yet to go outside today because Jo went to bed with the spare keys in her pocket. This also means that by three or for in the afternoon, she is fully awake and chipper, while John and I are tired from performing three shows and only want to rest. We can usually get in an hour of downtime before being asked to help with dinner. It is less that Jo actually needs help (which I am glad to provide) and more that she wants to socialize. Conversations are quite lively if a bit one sided. Topics range from the benefits of a gluten free diet, what lid fits on what container, and the excitement of cooking collard greens for the first time. Meals are usually served at about five thirty ( I usually eat at about 7). Jo is a fairly decent cook, but she has come up with a simple but effective strategy to maximize efficiency. She’ll make a large batch of something, eat a portion of it that day and save the rest. The next day and every subsequent day of the leftovers’ continued existence a new ingredient such as beans or a can of tomatoes will be added. There is a vegetable soup/ stew here that, while not actually bad, seems to retain it’s initial flavor unaltered by any of the later additions. We are both now taking great pains to avoid having any more of it, especially since the discovery of a really good Mexican takeout place, staffed by an exquisitely beautiful and perpetually smiling woman.
Jo wants very much to keep us comfortable and entertained. Unfortunately we have vastly divergent ideas of amusement. While I would like nothing better than to be dropped off in a museum or in one of the surrounding wilderness areas with my sketchpad, Jo wants to include us in her social circle and endless small talk. Her friends are as a rule 20 years older than I, and slightly obsessed with local democratic politics and each other’s respective health problems.
To celebrate the end of our first week of work she arranged a pot luck to be followed by a special treat.
This is how I wound up high in the very last row of the Phoenix Symphony‘s tribute to the Tonys, combating the effects of the heat and altitude sickness by speculating whether or not I was the youngest heterosexual man in the entire audience.
There are two doors to every exit in the house. Jo insists on locking each one twice. While an excellent security measure, I find it a bit restrictive, considering that leaving the building requires negotiating with at least four locks. There are only a few sets of keys and it is vitally important to have a set whenever you go anywhere, or be with someone who does. What makes it more vexing is that our respective schedules do not mesh neatly. Jo, being retired, does not see the need to get out of bed before 10 or 11 in the morning . While I admire this arrangement and would adopt similar habits given the choice, I need to be awake by at least 6 am so that I can shower, eat a light breakfast and be dragging equipment through the smell of tater tots by seven. As I write this it is well past one on a Saturday afternoon. I have yet to go outside today because Jo went to bed with the spare keys in her pocket. This also means that by three or for in the afternoon, she is fully awake and chipper, while John and I are tired from performing three shows and only want to rest. We can usually get in an hour of downtime before being asked to help with dinner. It is less that Jo actually needs help (which I am glad to provide) and more that she wants to socialize. Conversations are quite lively if a bit one sided. Topics range from the benefits of a gluten free diet, what lid fits on what container, and the excitement of cooking collard greens for the first time. Meals are usually served at about five thirty ( I usually eat at about 7). Jo is a fairly decent cook, but she has come up with a simple but effective strategy to maximize efficiency. She’ll make a large batch of something, eat a portion of it that day and save the rest. The next day and every subsequent day of the leftovers’ continued existence a new ingredient such as beans or a can of tomatoes will be added. There is a vegetable soup/ stew here that, while not actually bad, seems to retain it’s initial flavor unaltered by any of the later additions. We are both now taking great pains to avoid having any more of it, especially since the discovery of a really good Mexican takeout place, staffed by an exquisitely beautiful and perpetually smiling woman.
Jo wants very much to keep us comfortable and entertained. Unfortunately we have vastly divergent ideas of amusement. While I would like nothing better than to be dropped off in a museum or in one of the surrounding wilderness areas with my sketchpad, Jo wants to include us in her social circle and endless small talk. Her friends are as a rule 20 years older than I, and slightly obsessed with local democratic politics and each other’s respective health problems.
To celebrate the end of our first week of work she arranged a pot luck to be followed by a special treat.
This is how I wound up high in the very last row of the Phoenix Symphony‘s tribute to the Tonys, combating the effects of the heat and altitude sickness by speculating whether or not I was the youngest heterosexual man in the entire audience.
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