My Year Among the Sunflowers (Month 3)

September’s theme: Oh, Wilbur. You’re killing me.

Sunflower living in September started with my first taste of a holiday here. It was as expected. Visitors, 10 people to a house, even more California license plates, motorcycles and all the toys, and campers and cars throughout. All said and done, it wasn’t intolerable, probably because I knew it was temporary. But now I have a preview of the holidays to come. I’ll never get used to Thanksgiving in Tucson. People come from places afar to go swimming and hiking and do summery things. My first 50 years of life didn’t include a summertime Thanksgiving.

I’ve finished ordering things. I know my neighbors have to be happy about that. I was like a delivery depot here for a while. But I’m through spending money. On things. But I had to have them. Basics that most people have, that were ruined in my previous debacles.

I still struggle with mail here. The street name should’ve been Wishing upon a Star that you can get trash service, mail service, or anybody to find you. When did delivering mail become so difficult? It seems like a pretty easy job. Trash pickup, even simpler. Our society is just doomed if we can’t even figure this out.

The rains have been fantastic and everything is so lush and green here. I took a right off the highway exit one Saturday and ended up at Dove Mountain. It was a gorgeous drive (signs they’re coming, of course with the “Phase Two Closeout” signs), and peaceful at 6am. And the neighborhood landscaping really is beautiful. Just can’t think too deeply about the extra irrigation lurking beneath the surface.

Neither the rain nor the extra irrigation stops the Sunflowers from watering. In the middle of the still-100-degree day. Watering. Watering cacti. Cacti! This is not an exaggeration. Not a a day goes by….

So, from what I’ve gathered after two months, the average Sunflower day goes like this:

1. 5am - walkers and patio doors opening and closing to feed the birds and such

2. 6am - walkers

3. 7am - head to the daycare

4. 8am - 12pm - the people who cater to the old folk in the mornings come and go

5. 8am - 12pm - the leaf-blowing

6. 12pm - off to lunch?

7. 1pm - back from lunch?

8. 1pm - the afternoon (hottest point of the day for the least efficiency possible) watering, driveway doings, and leaf-blowing

9. 1-5 - the people who cater to the old folk in the afternoons come and go

10. 5-6 - the still working arrive home and water and leaf-blow from the day’s dust and maybe walk or wash a car or fire up a motorcycle for an evening ride

11. Then, at dusk, right when things get peaceful and they seem to be ready for bed, Wilbur turns on his outside Halogen or LED (whichever is brighter) floodlights, goes to bed and leaves them on all night.

Yes, the Wilbur Conflict continues: My landlord came to town and filled out the formal HOA complaint form for the powers-that-be. I installed blackout film on the windows, so I now live in a cave. Sleeping past 5am in Tucson is next to impossible, but now I can’t get out of bed even at 8am. ‘Course, I need to give myself a break there, I’m making up for 38 days of no sleep. (I exaggerate the “no” for dramatic effect.) I have a sleep mask, but it blurs my vision and I needz my vision for work.

From the 12th to the 30th, Wilbur, after being asked and told 8 times and sent 2 letters from the HOA only turned his lights on (all night) seven times. My suspicions were right from the beginning. When I googled to find out what kind of person lived behind me and lived for the asshole game, I found a Facebook page with lots of these sorts of posts. Always the way. What an absolute 76-year-old tool.

I’ve tried it all. This was my last demographic. Yes, it’s partially me and my intolerance for common decency, but it’s mostly my curse. I’ve tried city folk, country folk, old folk, young folk, university folk, suburb folk, just any folk, and the one who behaves the worst? That’s who finds me. I believe there is no place in this world where I won’t be found by a freak.

I don’t know if there’s a place remote enough for me in the US. I read this 2021 article about Elsie Eiler in her Town of One in Nebraska and cried and cried. Why does she get all the luck?