Water Wars In Our Organic Garden In The Middle Of The City

Lake Oroville California

 To have enough water for the vegetable garden the front yard is in dire straits. The gardeners have nothing to cut but to rake up debris that collects out front, mainly from the neighbors next door who think our place is their place for trash. It's not enough for them to have left Israel as their personal umping ground, now they want to trash America, specifically our property. Anyway,  as much as I try to conserve water there is only so much you can do with four people in the house plus guests and all the laundry it entails.

 We are fortunate, for this August has been cooler, as a whole, than most Augusts in the past where temperatures have soared over a hundred--day after day. Most of August, to date and for the rest of the predicted month are in the eighties to low nineties. That's great for us, especially with everyone watching the water use. Everyone that is but the Iranian Muslims next door. They have the greenest lawn on the block, a water sucking green both front and back.

I don't know what it is with them, they fly an Iranian flag on days, I'm guessing, are special for Iranians but not the American flag on our important flag flying days. In fact that don't fly Old Glory period.  I don't care if you fly a flag or not, but to fly one of a country that hates us, well that's a bit much. It's all a bit strange. There here in America with a newborn and act like its Tehran. 

And the price of water, gad, don't ask. It's on a tier level. You suck up so much water and then it goes to another price range. Once you hit the end of that tier, it goes into the stratosphere in price.  We've hit the second tier now and then because it ain't hard to do. The problem is there is no feasible way of seeing how much water you've used. The meter is in a hole in the ground and even after lifting the slab of cement covering it, what exactly is the reading?  I have no clue, except to be careful with the water.

So while we watch the drops, our Muslim Brotherhood next door lets it fly through the air cast by sprinklers that run all night. There lawn is lush and green as a Japanese golf course while ours looks more like dirt than grass. There is one thing though, unless Muslims eat grass they ain't eating near as well as we are from our Organic Garden In The Middle of the City. And we fly Old Glory, not some goddamn rag-head mop on a stick.

We've Got A Jew Problem On One Side & A Muslim Problem On The Other

Us in the Middle

Jews to left of us

Muslims to the right of us.

It's a weird kind of set up. Jews from Israel bought the house on one side of us. The next thing that happens is our neighbor on the other side of us for fifty years up and died. In moved a Muslim family from Iran. They both speak their native tongue.

The Jews like to argue in their backyard in Hebrew. Loud and clear so that no one has a problem knowing their at it again. They don't worry, they're the only Jews around for four houses at best on either side. Hispanics live next to them on the other side that you only hear the sound of children playing and birthday parties. Really wonderful to hear in the neighborhood--I think, families having fun with kids doing what kids do is music in the night.

But even with the laughter of children, the Jews go outside to smoke cigarettes and scream at each other in a language that is guttural. Like chewing rocks, the words come out in a crushing avalanche of hate. Their rage  ascends like a holocaust to a long lost god. It's a daily affair with the Jews that when they come home from work to pleasure themselves they hurl angry screams at each other.

The Muslims are another story. They don't scream at each other very much. Once in a great while, but what family doesn't at some point when shit hits the fan. They do though have other quirks. At first we were both friendly with each other. I introduced myself, they did as well, but though I invited them into our home, they haven't. Worse, they left me to stand at the front door without opening it. I had brought them produce from our garden. When they came knocking on our door, I let them in showed them our house, took them outside where they fell in love with the garden, commented on it quite a bit. So, when I saw them go into their house one day shortly after, and knew they were home, I knocked on their door just as they did on ours. They left me standing there with organic grapes freshly picked, and choice clusters at that. I could hear activity inside and so knocked again a bit louder. Nothing. It was loud enough to let them know someone was at the door. After some time, and feeling embarrassed, I left to walk across the street to really wonderful neighbors, the wife Czechoslovakian, her husband Filipino and knocked. They opened with smiles and gratitude for the wonderful grapes locally grown and pleasantries passed about what was going on with their kids and the hood. Wonderful people.

Then one day I saw the Muslim husband when I was watering the front and said, hello. He did as well, asking how we were. I told him fine and that I had grapes for him if he liked, that I had knocked at his door a few days ago but apparently to busy to answer.

"If I want something from you, I will let you know," he answered.

I got the picture. He found out we are gay with the tour of our home. Muslims from Iran, even the college educated, are profoundly homophobic. And it works for me, we smile, nod our heads if pressed to acknowledge one another and that's it.

"No grapes for you Jihad warrior."

Here's another thing. The Muslim mother, they had a child after this, complained to me about the chickens making noise disturbed her Jihad terrorist brat from his nap. I have five hens in the very back of the property next to the alley. Much further from their house than what the law allows. They are well maintained and do make a clucking sound in the morning but they are hens and don't crow. They make a call many times, not all times, after laying an egg or startled for some reason. I told her there wasn't much I could do, but I would try. They complained to our gardener that he made too much noise. Not their gardener, our gardener and he asked if he could come on another day, I said not if he wanted to keep the job, he gardens the front on Fridays and both theirs and our gardener show up just hours apart on the same day.

Okay, two can play the game. I complained about the brat when he went into screaming fits in their backyard. I complained loud, over the fence so everyone could hear it. No fucking knocking because they don't answer, I do but they don't. And that's another thing. The next time their Jihad ass show up at the door, I'm not answering either. They don't complain to me anymore and they don't knock on the door.

Mike, across the street and two houses up hates them. They fly an Iranian flag, not an American flag. In fact, they turn out all the lights on Halloween even though they are home. Cheap fuckers too apparently.

And the Jews? Lazy is one term that comes to mind. Anytime an ad paper falls on their driveway, they toss it on our property. And now they are putting their trash barrels in front of our garage in the alley so they don't have to pick up the fucking trash that falls after the trucks come and empty them. They are in for a surprise. One more time of that shit and I'm hauling their fucking trash containers down the alley to some distant house. Let's see if that shit happens again.

If it is war these fucking Middle Easterners want then so be it. The rainbow colors don't run anymore.
 

E.R. Eye Opener

Wally's supra-pubic catheter had clogged last night. He was breathing fast and was in a cold sweat that soaked the bed sheets, it was about three in the morning and when I checked him, noticed the urinary bag had blood in it with little else. It should be about half way full or more with urine at that time in the morning. I did the procedure they showed me to do at the urologist office but the catheter still wouldn't drain. We needed to take him to emergency since Urgent Care wasn't open.
 
Getting in was a snap, there were only a few people and this was a Saturday night during a full moon. A special full moon at that since it is called a Super Moon being it is the closest it will get to earth for a while. That was good fortune, if you can call going to the E.R. fortunate.

The nurse we had was Asian with a thick accent. It's okay by me but she had difficulty with English. Like the word soiled. She wanted a rectal temperature of Wally and his weight. Okay but Wally has dementia and there was no scale for people in wheelchairs. I said, "Wally has soiled himself as they began to put him on a gurney.
"What?" she asked.
"When we were getting him in the car, Wally soiled himself, you need to clean him if you're taking a rectal."
"What do you mean soiled himself."
"You know, he's messed his Depends."
"What?"
"He took a shit in his pants. You know, shit? He's crapped in his underwear."
"Please sit down, we will take care of this. What is your relationship to the patient?"
"We're married."
"Your his brother?"
"No, we are married to each other."

Now she has discovered Wally's poop and of course it is dropping out because she had his nappy pulled down and some of his shit is now on the floor. "We need towels," she announces.

"We have to clean him before we can take his temperature."

"No kidding," I'm saying under my breath. 

"Get the gurney with the scale," she says.

Wally is stood up again and they have to clean the old gurney and the floor, meanwhile Wally is in pain and having difficulty standing. One of the assistance tells him to stand up, another Asian.
I say, "Wally has dementia, he's doing the best he can."
"Stand. Mr. Wallace, do you understand me? Stand up."
"Wally has dementia and is doing the best he can. He's in pain."
 "We'll handle this. What's your relationship to the patient?"
"We're married."
"Your his son?"
I gave up. "Look you have to hold him, he can't do it by himself. He has dementia."
The idiot turns to the Asian nurse and says, "He won't respond."
I go over and hold up Wally while Stan, our caregiver cleans him and the medical staff watch. It's easier that way and fortunately they stayed out of the way until we're done with their job.

Put him on the gurney. That takes a while because they don't know how to put up the sides and once they're up find out it can't weigh Wally because the batteries for that are dead.

Here we are in an E.R. dealing with people with poor English skills and equipment not maintained. Finally they ask me his weight, which I told them at the beginning.
"You are a good son," the Asian nurse told me.
So much for the hard fought battle for equality in marriage. We aren't husband and husband, we are son and father.

The E.R. doctor was from India. He was good too, competent and very versed at English. Wally came home after a catheter was inserted in his penis. He has antibiotics to take and we need to make an appointment on Monday to have the supra-pubic catheter replaced and have him checked. 

It's a bit frightening though when you think what could happen if you're having a heart attack or can't respond and your spouse is a sister,  mother, son or father and the staff wants to weigh you first.