Welcome Rain

It already has been a pretty good monsoon season with decent rainfall. Now we are getting even more, and it's quite late in the season.

Here are some snaps of San Simeon with grey skies and drizzle.

My thanks to Judy's greed for the blog. I'm always happy to remind her that she and Ray did buy their retirement house in Tucson. All they need do now is retire.

Should I mention that the swimming pool temperature is well over ninety degrees? Probably not.

C'mon down. We'll leave the lights on.

Agamemnon in Vegas

Agamemnon at Gila Bend, the turn-off
from I-8 for the Peenix bypass to I-10,
with one of the two jet fighters
that stand guard at its municipal airport.

Agamemnon Jetson's greatest achievement to date, his longest excursion (leaving aside being dragged behind a U-Haul truck; see Haulin' U-Haul, or, the Laughlin Ride) and his greatest payload (if we ignore hauling paving bricks; see 500 Bricks & 600 lbs. of Sand) is three nights in Vegas.

The adventure began innocuously enough. My sister Irene was flying from Seattle to Las Vegas on Monday bringing our two cousins from Hungary, Laci and Judit whom I had never met before, in order to drive them to the Grand Canyon on Tuesday. They would return to Seattle on Wednesday.

I was invited to meet them somewhere along the way.

On the Vulture Mine Road, outside of
Wickenburg,  Shari's and my favorite shortcut.
Monday's monsoon washed it out,
so I had to drive through
Peenix on the drive back.

Innocuous until one looks at a map. I decided against any attempt to rendezvous at the Grand Canyon. I decided against flying to Vegas — tickets are too expensive, flying is a hassle, and it's only about seven hours driving time, which I love.  Irene was renting a car for the ten-hour return drive between Vegas and the Canyon, so all I had to take was myself. It was a job for the nimble Agamemnon.

The distances added up, but neither my sister nor I had factored in the budget, subcompact car she had rented (rated less comfortable than Agamemnon) or that she was its only insured driver.  I insisted upon taking Agamemnon to the Grand Canyon.

Four grown adults in a tiny car flying at Arizona freeway speeds (75 m.p.h. limit) on a day with predictions of 90% chance of rain. Cool.

Joshua Scenic Drive, AZ, on US 93
between Wickenburg and Wikieup.
Wikieup marks one edge of
the saguaro's habitat.

Our hotel in Vegas.

You know the joke, "How do you fit four elephants into a VW beetle? Two in the front and two in the back." It wasn't that bad at all, but Smoke Ganesha, our trusty Ford Explorer, would have been more comfortable and quieter.

Three nights in Vegas, some 1,450 miles (over 2,300 km.), and a total of about twenty-four hours on the road, burning gas at the ridiculously cheap rate of over 40 m.p.g., Agamemnon served us well. I patted its dashboard repeatedly in appreciation.

The heavy monsoon rains that caused so much flooding in Peenix and Tucson (see Monsoon Stories from Monday) also fell in Vegas. The weather was moving west, so the rain was scheduled to hit the Grand Canyon on Tuesday, the one day my sister and cousins had to make the ten-hour drive.

US 93 lookout over the Colorado River.

Hoover Dam.

We set out from Vegas at six in the morning. It had stopped raining, so my sister and I decided to stop at the nearby Hoover Dam. My thought was to let our cousins take pictures of something. My fear was that the Canyon would be socked in so badly that the only clouds would be visible. (That would have made one heck of a story, like standing on a beach watching underwater submarine racing.)

We saw the dam and Lake Mead at its lowest level since the dam was completed. A little farther along the way, we even saw the Colorado River from US 93 as it winds through the Mojave Desert from Vegas to Kingman.

Agamemnon at the Grand Canyon Visitors Center.

The weather held out until we turned north from I-40 towards the Park entrance to the south rim. We were headed towards some very dark, menacing clouds. Sure enough, it started raining just as we pulled up at the entrance.

We sheltered in the Visitors Center until the rain eased up a bit. My sister and cousins were more prepared than I. They had brought hooded jackets and an umbrella. (Well, they had flown down from Seattle.) I encouraged them to walk through the drizzle to the nearby look-out and see what could be seen.

Five or ten minutes later, the rain eased up even more and I ventured out myself. The Canyon was staggeringly beautiful.

The pleasure that Laci and Judit got from witnessing some of the world's most stunning and famous scenery made it all worth while. Actually, making connection with family from my mother's side, walking the Vegas strip together, and chatting for a day and a half in Hungarian all made my adventure wonderful. The miles just flew by.

Judit and Laci at Yaki Point.

On our way back from the Canyon, we decided to gas up and have something to eat at Williams. ("Vilmos", said Laci, citing the Hungarian equivalent name.) As if God was reminding us how specially She had treated us, it rained heavily the entire time we were in Williams. I had images of having to drive petite Agamemnon carrying four adults past the dense spray and splash of huge trucks hydroplaning at freeway speeds. But by the time Irene paid the restaurant tab and we got back onto I-40, the rain had stopped and the road was already dry.

We arrived back in Vegas after nightfall to see the full moon rising. At five the next morning, I set out to return to Tucson, arriving at twelve-thirty. Agamemnon and I are good buddies.

"Agamemnon in Vegas." You may ask, "What about Las Vegas itself?" That's another story.

Monsoon Stories from Monday

The heavy monsoon rains in the Southwest this last Monday made national news and prompted family and friends to inquire whether we were alright. Yes, we are, but not without some stories. Probably everyone in the Southwest has stories.

Our major story is four days suffering internet withdrawal due to the loss of our telephone connection. More on that in the It-Takes-a-CenturyLink post below, postscript 4.

The broken pieces might make a nice feature in Coat Hanger Valley.

Major damage at our portion of the San Simeon ranch was limited to one of our three large Oaxacan clay pots, blown over by the wind.

Actually, this had happened several years before. When we brought it home, I just stood it up and stuck an old century plant agave shoot in it. I figured I could stabilize it with earth and rocks inside later, as I had the other two identical pots we had set up in the backyard.

One should not underestimate the power of wind in the Sonoran Desert. The thin skeleton of the agave shoot was enough to catch the wind one night and knock the pot over. When we found it in the morning, we were devastated. Shari had painstakingly collected the pieces, glued and caulked them together, and we set it up again. I loaded dirt and rocks inside, then planted the old agave stalk inside.

It held up that way a long time, but I noticed the gaps in the repaired breaks were getting disturbingly wider and wider. Until Monday's monsoon when the repairs failed and the pot resumed its former, fragmented configuration.

Caught in the act at the
Stratosphere, Sin City.

The origin of our third story from San Simeon and Monday's monsoon lies with the idiots who laid out our backyard. It's a large area paved with concrete and brick that slopes towards the house. When it rains heavily, it floods inside through two back doors.

One should not underestimate the power of rain in the Sonoran Desert. For some reason, they too often build houses here with little regard for monsoon rain. My theory is that the long periods of sunny weather addles their critical thinking.

I had caulked strips of wood to the concrete outside the two vulnerable doors to serve as dams. Even so, when it rains heavily, I enjoy taking our shop-broom and sweeping water in the rain. The heavy rains usually last maybe ten or twenty minutes. I also had installed a two inch drain pipe that can handle the rest.

Shari, with her bad back, swept water for three hours on Monday.

Moi?  With psychic premonition, I skipped town on Sunday for Las Vegas and enjoyed the much more gentle Mojave Desert monsoon rain on Monday, leaving Shari at home to deal with flooding and the phone outage. I should add that she was happy to see me on Wednesday.

Barrel Cactus Flower

It's a deep red with hints of orange and pink. It's so bright, it pulls your eye. It is the flower of a barrel cactus.

I walked the dogs down the street and saw this by the side of the road. I had to come back and take the snap.

There are lots of amazing flowers in the Sonoran Desert. Many bloom a second time during the monsoon rains. But there is something haunting about the color of a barrel cactus flower, something that a photo cannot capture.

It-Takes-A-CenturyLink, or Para Continuar en Español, Oprime el Nueve

Time Toilet

Recently, Bill Maher did a thing on "New Rules" about being afraid less of "Big Government" and more of big business. The jokes were inspired by a customer's hellish experience trying to cancel a Comcast service. See, for example, the NPR article.  Although Comcast backpedalled by claiming that was not its corporate culture, it is. Which was the point of Maher's jokes and social commentary.

My nemesis is CenturyLink, so named because of the time it takes to get something done.

Last year I asked customer service to drop the first house line and make the second line our sole phone number. You have no idea how confusing that was to the phone company.  Three times I spent a half a day calling, being cut-off, calling, being given another number, assurances, conflicting information, providing my phone number (repeatedly in the same call) and listening to "Para Español, oprime el nueve." It doesn't help that each time you get a different rep, so what one guy tells you becomes irrelevant as soon as you hang up. Of course, that's by design. It-Takes-a-CenturyLink has a random rotation system.

It took two months to drop a house line. I'm not making this stuff up.

I recently got a form letter from CenturyLink explaining that I can upgrade my internet speed. I'm skeptical. Last year and again this year I called the good folks at It-Takes-a-CenturyLink asking whether I could get higher speed.  "No. In your area [no optic cable line] 1.5 Mps is the max." Mind you, I called customer service and technical support to get the same answer: not available on my street. So the letter surprised me.

What the heck, I'll call again. Identify my phone number (which I had already punched in for the computer voice, "Para Español, oprime el nueve.") mailing address, last 4-digits of my SSN, a number where I could be reached [?! Don't they have caller ID?] -- one goes through this routine with each new rep, regardless -- and customer service says I can get 20 Mps and technical support tells me I can get 40 Mps.

"How? What's changed?"

"You need a VDSL modem/router."

"Is this new technology?" The tech support guy was speechless. Turns out VDSL has been out for years and years.  It's old technology.

I sign up for 20 Mps.  I bought my VDSL modem/router at Best Buy so I wouldn't have to wait. After all, CenturyLink has to only flip a switch.  I bought the identical modem/router -- identical down to the logos -- that CenturyLink will sell or lease to me, but at least someone else gets some markup out of it. Plus I don't have to wait. But I am up against Big Business.

I have to wait for It-Takes-a-CenturyLink to UPS me a modem/router. "I already have one. It's the same modem/router."

"No, we have to send you one."

"Can you check with your supervisor?"

"I just did. There's no way in the system to turn it off.  Just send it back to us."

Yeah, with institutional incompetence like CenturyLink, I can trust that I won't have to call again to take the charge off my bill.

"Since I already have the required modem/router, when can higher speed be switched on my line?" In eight days, was the answer.  It was scheduled for the end of the business day on Friday. There was nothing I could do. The system assumes you are waiting for a UPS delivery, so it makes you wait for no reason. Plus by scheduling it just before the weekend, the customer is assured of a nice conversation with India.

Then there was the rep in India (I couldn't make out which Indian language was chattering in the background, but the lunchroom conversation was so loud that I could barely make out the rep's voice) who couldn't -- actually, wouldn't -- help me set up my new router because I had an order pending. "Yes, but this modem/router is good for lower speeds, isn't it?" The Indian rep agreed, but hung up.

What the heck, I'll call again. Identify my telephone number which I had already punched in for the computer voice, ("Thank you for calling CenturyLink. Para continuer en Español, oprime el nueve.") mailing address, last 4-digits of my SSN, a telephone number where I could be reached -- one goes through this routine with each new rep one has to talk with, and there are lots of them -- and the third Indian rep helps me set up the modem/router.

You know, we pay these guys over $200 a month. The only competition it has is Cox (doesn't serve our street), Comcast (bad reviews), and Dish (horrible reviews). Oddly enough, they are all priced pretty much the same, if you can get beyond the "bundles" and five-page itemization that not even the company's billing folks can explain.

This is the private enterprise, free market system that Republican hacks, tea-baggers and Ayn Rand worship. I say we need a lot more regulation and a lot more anti-trust litigation.

Well, I'm supposed to get 20 Mps after five this evening. Be still my heart.

Post Script — Nothing Doing

Of course, it didn't happen. No VDSL double circuits available was the explanation. So CenturyLink is behind the times (again that time metaphor), selling stuff it doesn't have, and its left hand doesn't know what the right hand is doing. But their reps, generally very nice people, are trained to give happy answers that mean nothing.

Post Script 2 — India, Boise & the "Held Order" Dept.

Over the weekend, the reps in India and the one tech-support rep I managed to talk with all suggested I call on Monday during business hours. I'm getting better at calling. No point sitting holding the phone; I make breakfast and eat it as I wait.  Para continuer en Español, oprime el nueve.

At first, the nice rep (in Boise?) tells me that the order can't be completed because I don't have the correct modem. That's a new one. I assure her that I do and encourage her to keep checking.

It takes about a quarter of an hour as I listen to It-Takes-A-CenturyLink recordings encouraging me to upgrade to 40Mbs and assuring me that my phone call is important. A couple of times the nice rep interrupts the recordings to assure me that she was still working on it. "Hello. Mr. P___, are you still there?" Well, yes. (What did she think, or is it typical that callers give up and hang up, or was she hoping?)

Finally a new voice comes on. It's a lot less cheery, but a lot more informative. She's obviously not in sales. She is one of those people who actually knows, actually does the work, and you hardly ever get to talk to. My order is in the "Held Order" department. She confirms that what is missing is a double VDSL circuit in the phone company box that's across the street from San Simeon, by the Mormon graveyard. A work order has been placed, but it might take a month.

Well, that's better news than what I was told last year and earlier this year when the blame was put on the lack of a fiber-optic line in the street.

Milagro de milagros, my phone company bill drops when I get more expensive service. Makes no sense, but then, have you ever tried to understand a phone company bill? So I think to myself, why don't I call customer service and get a bill reduction now.

This is where it gets funny. The nice man tells me that my order is completed. (This is what's fun about calling It-Takes-A-CentutyLink: every time a new person and a new story.)

I say he doesn't know what he is talking about. The order is not completed. He gets a little defensive. When I tell him I already have a modem, and I've already had to return one It-Takes-A-CenturyLink sent me by UPS, he says the rep who told me It-Takes-A-CenturyLink had to send me a modem didn't know what he was taking about. You tell me. Is this funny or what?

He says I can put in a new order and it would be completed on the 13th at the latest. Okay. I bite. Now I have two orders. What could possibly go wrong?

Post Script 3 — the 13th; Is it Christmas Yet?

What can go wrong is reality. Despite some feint hope in my psyche, the 13th came and passed without the higher speed upgrade. It's like the promises of Advent unfulfilled at Christmas. [A tip o' the hat to Randy whose new blog has inspired me this morning.]

It-Takes-A-CenturyLink trains reps to say things to make the customer feel good and the company look good. Calls are recorded to make sure reps authoritatively maintain appearances.

The "Held Order" department is much closer to the people who actually do the work. Its telephone number is a precious resource because the folks there actually have a pretty good idea of what's going on locally.

For fun, I call the general support numbers to needle and waste the reps' time. It can provide lots of amusement because you always get a nice new rep who is eager to help and authoritatively tells you a novel story. "Is there anything else I can help you with?" they obligatorily and cheerily ask after they have been unable to help with anything.

For reality, I call the "Held Order" number where I'm told maybe by this month-end some tech will be sent out to the phone company box down the block to install a VDSL double circuit. The information is not much more satisfying, but it is closer to reality. When It-Takes-A-CenturyLink advertises the availability of higher speed DSL, the job of installing the necessary circuits is less important. Appearances matter, not reality.

Megacorporation X also promotes
what's not now -- like,
"your check is in the mail ® "

Yesterday we saw a phone company truck parked by the subject, under-equipped phone company box. Shucks. The truck had Xfinity painted all over it. (Where do these corporations get their names? Why do they pay money to get them? Why do they keep changing them? How do you pronounce "Xfinity"? Not like I care.) Xfinity, if I understand advertise-speak correctly, is Comcast, which is another mega-corporation determined to rule whatever ("X") is everything (infinity).

Not the promised truck. So much for a few seconds of feint faith.

You think I should give the It-Takes-A-CenturyLink reps the phone number for the "Held Order" department? Nah. That would ruin the fun.

Post Script 4 — Monsoon & Mid-September

A couple of weeks ago Shari fielded a call from CenturyLink to advise that the additional VDSL circuits will be installed mid-September. By now, I'm not waiting so eagerly, but I also suspect that it will be done.


By now, it's Shari's turn to get livid with the phone company. Monday's monsoon rain caused our phone line and that of at least one neighbor to go dead. That night, the lines were restored. Tuesday morning, ours was down. I was in Vegas until Wednesday (another story) so Shari had to call to schedule a repair guy to come out. Thursday was the earliest, which schedule evoked Shari's anger and threats to switch to another phone company. (Which one? There's little choice between Tweedledee and Tweedledum.) Thursday morning before 12:30 it was.

She was going through internet withdrawal. It didn't help that the rep said that on the phone company end, the line appeared to be working. If the number was dialed, the caller got a ring. If the problem was in the house, we get to pay for the repair.

I got home around noon on Wednesday and my fears proved founded. Shari hadn't picked up the phone, and that was because it was down. My experiences, as chronicled and suggested in this expanding post, and going back over a year, in fact, allowed me to be a bit philosophical. I allowed Shari to pick up the irate-customer baton.

No one showed up in the morning. At 12:30, Shari used our clamshell cell phone to call customer service. As I listened sympathetically, she waded through the para continuar en Español, oprime el nueve and similar digital recordings before reaching a rep who paged the guy who actually does the work. New ETA: 2:30. They are busy. Around 3:15 and almost fit to be tied, Shari calls again. This time the rep is in Manila. That's in the Philippines.

While she is struggling to get the Manila rep to page the repairman, the land-line phone rang. I picked up the phone. It was the repairman. Line is fixed. For the previous couple of hours he'd been working on the box down the street. He noted that the box was scheduled for the VDSL upgrade next week, but he replaced the to-be-upgraded part — with some difficulty, he explained.

So that's why I have some confidence that we might get high speed internet, as advertised and promised in late July.

But, to be honest, I am finding that I have more sympathy for the phone company. Monday's rain caused a lot of outages and I'm grateful they fixed our line as quickly as they did. I enjoyed and took advantage of my time without phone and internet. I'm also relieved that it's fixed.

Post Script 5 — High Speed & Scottish Vote

Well, yesterday, Thursday September 18, 2014, was a big day. Not only did the Scots vote to remain within the U.K. and continue the confusion among "British", "English" and "United Kingdomonians", but we got our high speed DSL connection. Laughing with glee and amazement, we watched web pages flash into existence. Our Roku box downloaded programs with a previously mythical four-out-of-four dot quality. Our previous high was three dots, but usually we received at two-dot quality.

Uploading is still a bit slow, but hey, it's not a perfect world.

Raise the Baja Arizona Tricolor (Garden Shade - Three)

What a way to celebrate Bastille Day! Hoisting the Baja Arizona tricolor (sand-brown, sand-brown & sand-brown)!

Shari is our Betsy Ross. She finished a day's worth of sewing in the morning. By afternoon, the second and third stripes were mounted and all three colors are now billowing in the wind.

Now all we need is to sing the Baja Arizona anthem each morning at sunrise. Is it "La Cucaracha"?

The flag I refer to, of course, is a very large one that flies flatly, tethered at both ends, as shade over the three garden beds.

The shade is spectacular — even in the cloudy, overcast days of the monsoon season. There is a feeling of relief underneath, yet no shortage of wonderfully diffused sunlight.

The flag is tethered with scores of
"S"-shaped curtain pins holding
grommets to eye-hooks.

We're hopeful the lush green plants will appreciate our modifications to the Sonoran Desert environment.

Now our attention turns towards a patio seating area within the east side of the garden. It's a place to sit under the shade of a palo verde tree
and contemplate the environment.

Shari wants to plant grapes and have the vines trained on an overhead trellis. Whoa boy!  More post-hole digging!

Garden Shade

Shari puts the final touches on the first, middle sheet of
shade cloth. There will be two more sheets.

Morning gardening

It seems to me that pretty much everything in the desert appreciates a little shade, so an integral part of any vegetable garden is shade.

Shade fabric is a popular item here in Tucson. Trouble is, so are wind gusts.

The first of three sheets is up. Shari folded and sewed each six-foot wide end, reinforcing it with cotton twill, then hammered in ten rivet-like grommets on each end. Meanwhile, your author strung seven lines of rope east-west across the length and the fabric is tucked north-south over and under the ropes.

Hog wire serves as a sturdy and movable frame for the
scarlet runner beans.

We had a nice windy rain storm last night. Four of us sat in front of our house, under the eves, watching the spectacle, feeling the heavy raindrops on our legs, smelling the humid air, and watching sheets and bolts of lightning over town. It was a feast for all of the senses; way better than anything TV can offer.

We watched the single length of shade fabric billowing in the wind, barely held by the rope matrix. The fabric and its grommets held.

Today, Shari is working on the next two sheets. They will be tucked over-and-under in an opposite pattern to the middle sheet, which hopefully will make the rope matrix more secure.

In the meantime, Shari is turning the desert green. Shari has a touch for growing basil. Basil loves heat and sun. How she got it to grow on overcast, chilly Whidbey Island is beyond me. She has three kinds flourishing here. Their flavor is very pungent.

They say that about food grown in the desert. It has
intense flavor. You get less product because of the intense climate, but it's way more concentrated.

The scarlet runner beans are beginning to run. Shari started the seedings in pots in the backyard where there's shade. Transplanted into the garden, they struggled from shock and sun. Now they are reaching and climbing up the hog wire frame.

Melons and cucumbers are also thriving. We've been eating and giving away cherry tomatoes. The little peach and loquat trees are hanging in there as we set up trellises to train their branches to create an espalier.

I wonder if they have slugs in the Sonoran Desert. They were our nemesis on Whidbey. Here it may be grasshoppers.

FOOTNOTE:  Shari's 4,000+ sq.ft. garden on Whidbey Island:

Three varieties of apple on an espalier

Four levels of terraces.

Looking up towards the house

Grape vines grown from sticks; cuttings from
autumn pruning at the local vineyard near Langley.