Home sweet home
A little over a month ago, we decided we were living a little too far away from my place of employment. We were spending a little too much on gasoline each month and wasting a little too much time sitting in freeway traffic. My wife was getting a little tired of spending a little less than four hours on the road each weekday. In short, we were getting a little sick of wasting our lives commuting.
To be honest, we were also getting a little tired of living in a little parsonage next to a little church in a little town located a little north of nowhere. Granted, we were more than a little grateful that we had the option of camping out at the parsonage at a time when we had little other choice. That occurred a little less than two years ago when my former employer found itself a little short of funds and a little long on staff. After the layoff, we moved a little more toward the northern part of California and were grateful to be a little closer to both my wife’s family and my own parents. The timing was more than a little auspicious, as our niece had just popped out a little one and we wanted to be able to see a her a little more often than just on Christmas and her birthday. It all worked out, except for the little fact that I didn’t have a job up here. It took a little too long for me to remedy that situation, which involved a little too much travel to southern California for interviews as well as a little too much debiting of our little bank account.
When I was finally hired, it was for a temporary position that was slated to end in a little less than ten months and also paid a little less than I had been earning previously. Nevertheless, I was more than a little relieved to be working again. In a little while, I found myself promoted to a “permanent” position, although there is still the little matter of passing my probationary period, on which I have a little more than nine months to go. As luck would have it, our governor gave state employees a little gift of a (very) little raise that will take effect next month. We are more than a little appreciative of the many little blessings that have been bestowed upon us in the last little while.
Among those blessings is our new place of residence, which we have officially dubbed The Little House. Originally built as in-law quarters, it sits behind the main house, which is occupied by the family to whom we pay rent on a monthly basis. Our little corner of paradise consists of a bedroom and another room that serves as kitchen and living room. There is also a little bathroom tucked a little inside the front doorway. We have a little couch (courtesy of the owners) that affords my wife and I a little less room than we need to sit comfortably, particularly at time like, say, now, when we are each wailing away at our little laptop computers. There is too little room for both of us to use a mouse, so we entered into a little compromise under which I sit a little to the left of my wife and use the little touchpad mouse on the keyboard. Oh, and we also have a little patio just outside the back door that has just enough room for a little chair.
Abby and Rufus
Oreo, our resident kitty
On the upside, our 600 square foot little piece of air conditioned heaven costs us a little less than an apartment in an urban complex filled with a little too many noisy neighbors. Here we have peace and quiet, that is, except when the owner’s dogs decide to bark all night, an event which occurs a little too often. He raises Yorkshire terriers and sells the puppies for a little less than three months of rent payments. I think people are more than a little crazy to pay that kind of price for a dog when there are so many cute canines sitting in the city animal shelter and waiting to be taken home for the price of getting them vaccinated. At any rate, we’ve become more than a little fond of the critters, even as we feel a little bad that they’re being treated like factories for creating more little ones. But money makes the world go ‘round, does it not?
Why did the chicken cross the road? Damned if I know!
We live just a little outside of Sacramento in an area that looks a little like somewhere out in the country. Across the street is a little flock of chickens that cluck and coo to their heart’s content while they are lorded over by a couple of roosters who are a little too sure (cocksure?) that they own the neighborhood and therefore needn’t be concerned about their little habit of cock-a-doodle-dooing any time they please, like say, a little before two in the morning. Oh, and there is also a pair of peacocks a little way down the road who come a-visiting every now and then, often with their brood of little ones following behind. As anyone who has ever visited Casa de Fruta on the Pacheco Pass Road between the Bay Area and the Central Valley knows, the male peacock loves to preen and show off its fancy feathers. What we didn’t know, however, is that peacocks have quite a little set of vocal cords on them. When they decide to screech, the blood-curdling yowl can only be described as a little like a call for help uttered by a cat being raped.
In our short time here, we have come to appreciate the many murals, sculptures and old signs that are found throughout Sacramento. I present a few of our discoveries here for your amusement.
Probably my favorite downtown Sacramento mural. This is a satire of a 19th century painting, “Sunday Morning in the Mines,” by Charles Christian Nahl. The original, without benefit of the 3-D effect of people climbing out of (into?) the painting, is on display here in town at the Crocker Art Museum. This mural is painted high on a building, with the man at the bottom (yellow jacket) appearing to stand on the top of a billboard.
So, yes, I am a fan of 3-D effects. We drive by this mural every day and I still can’t get over how real it looks. The cat is a nice touch!
William Leung mural in the run-down Del Paso Heights/Haginwood neighborhood of Sacramento. For the text of the Tim Kahl poem above the center of the mural, click here.
Old Canada Dry sign, 16th Street in North Sacramento.
So, what comes next? Reno, that’s what! We have three trips to that ramblin’, gamblin’, broken-down town scheduled for this summer, one each in June, July and August. The first of these little jaunts is scheduled for this Friday. I can hardly wait to hit the video poker machines road!
Daffodils, Howe Avenue, Sacramento