There’s no doubt about it. Virtual farming is much easier on an old body than the real-life version. A session clearing the space for my intended vegetable patch, despite frequent smoke breaks, left me slightly exhausted. But the real consequences weren’t felt until the next morning. My poor legs. I have to suppress a groan every time I sit down. Yes, there’s likewise no doubt that I need to get more physical exercise.

My planned patch is just behind Blackie’s house so she sat and watched my every move. Her fondness for digging definitely means I have to locate my turf outside the limits set by her chain. Those limits are also well known by Egypt2 who has been visiting more frequently, to Blackie’s intense disapproval. I may not understand canine vocabulary but Blackie definitely knows the meaning of “hush!”. It’s a command totally ignored when Egypt2 comes to call and, with typical feline wit, Egypt2  knows just how close she can get to Blackie and still be out of range, seems to delight in teasing the poor doggie.

I hope she doesn’t also tease me by using my little farm for a litter box.

Well, I made sure to stash enough tobacco for the duration but beer is being rationed despite trips to Chinatown where it can always be had for less money than the best sales price anywhere else.

Roll on, April Fool’s Day.

Spring fever, Aries madness?  Whatever, it’s in full swing, having been understandably dampened by medical events last year.  It’s only being held in check by the usual scarcity of funds in the final days of a month.  Just as well, gives me the chance to ponder some of the ideas bubbling around in my dizzy head.

One thing, long overdue, is an upgrade of my sound equipment.  After all, I no longer have to carry it with me all the time and don’t hang out with drug-hungry friends who would steal it given the slightest chance.  And I do spend almost as much time with my little Sony FM as I do with the DS, although usually simultaneously.

When I’m home I listen to one of the two Public Radio stations from nine in the morning until four in the afternoon, resume again at six with Marketplace.  Not that I’m particularly interested in financial news, I just like listening to Kai Ryssdal.  And I hear the various half-hour shows that follow with my favorite definitely Left, Right and Center, mostly because of the inimitable Arianna Huffington.  Whenever the moderator says “Arianna is away today”, my interest level takes a nosedive.  I finish up with the final hour from BBC news.

One station then goes to classical orchestral music, the other to jazz.  I’m just not much interested in either anymore although perhaps with the planned headphones upgrade I might stick around for the orchestral music occasionally instead of only when it’s Mahler.  I’ve already done some comparison shopping for the headphones, am leaning toward ones from Koss.  And maybe I’ll surrender and get a CD player, too.  I do have a few treasured ones stashed away with a friend and it would be good to hear them again.  The budget requirements for DS games should prevent any major acquisitions of CDs, a reason I’ve been reluctant to get one again.  It was different when I had to carry everything since that necessarily enforced a limit.

I saw my Lawyer Friend recently downtown and she remarked about how odd it was to see me without a backpack.  Indeed.  And when I get up from the chair at the Hamilton computer, I still automatically reach for the bag.  What a Pavlovian puppy.

Well, the Landlady should’ve gone with the caring gardens fellows because the one she did call has still not shown up.  It stirred husband into action, though.  He even put in some tomato plants.  I’m going to copy my rune farmer and create a little real-life vegetable patch next week, hope I can find seeds for mainland turnips.  If not, I’ll ask Felix to send some.  You can’t buy those things anywhere here and I do miss the greens especially.

I love the walk across campus from the express bus stop to Hamilton, even now when the place is so deserted.  I may not be too happy about Spring Break ending at home but I’ll be glad to see it gone at UH.  Bring back the eye candy!

I walk through the secluded grove on my trip to the library and again going back to the bus stop, but I haven’t seen Lady Grey.  One of her children came running down to the wall one morning when he spotted me arriving, evidently still remembering the days when my arrival meant the delivery of breakfast.  I’ll have to take along a can of the stuff for old times sake, although judging from the size of him, he hasn’t had any shortage of provisions.

Yes, let’s get rid of Spring Break … and by all means, bring on payday.

A long-time reader wrote that she never would have guessed the Tales would become so “domestic”.  Well believe me, neither did I.  But it looks like the domestic framework will be continuing for some time.  A letter came from DHSS confirming that the Medicaid subsidy program has been re-authorized.  The big surprise is that the approval is valid until January 2009!  On my own, I was rarely able to get more than three months approval which meant returning to their office in the second month having yet again filled out the lengthy application form.  This time I only had to sign a paper authorizing Blue Water to act on my behalf.  And act they surely did.

For three days we were invaded by a small army with a flotilla of very loud machines and we now have the smoothest road in the entire valley. The resurfacing project was long overdue since it was Pothole Heaven, but what a mess it was for the neighborhood. And it was really, really strange to see the place with so few cars around on the final day when everyone had to move their vehicles to a temporary parking lot at the bottom of the road.

The Landlady will be, I am certain, most pleased to see the end of Spring Break on Monday but I have to admit I’m quite enjoying having the lads around all the time, much moreso than I expected. Yesterday Handsome Son bounced around the house more than he usually does in an entire week’s time. No complaints, no complaints at all.

No complaints about some splendid new orchid plants Husband brought home, either. The largest is about three feet tall but the real winner is a white one, almost as tall, the most beautiful flower I’ve ever seen. They add much pleasure to my front porch sessions. I’m looking forward to arriving home today to see what has happened with the front garden. The Landlady lost patience with Husband’s sporadic attention to the main garden and called in someone to do something about it. She should’ve got the “we enjoy caring gardens” fellows.

I was, as I’ve said, pleased the bank doesn’t charge a fee when the balance of the account drops below fifty, wasn’t so pleased to discover they won’t let you take the balance below twenty. Ooops. I was counting on that last twenty to get me through the month. Oh well, four more games to the chopping block. Doesn’t really matter, since I still only play Rune Factory.

I discover that the Harvest Moon game I bought is a variant and the original Harvest Moon is now available. It looks more like Rune, minus the caves and monsters. Definitely on my payday shopping list. Rune Factory II was, I see from the web, released in Japan in January but I can’t find any news of an American release date.

I was pondering why that game continues to provide so much pleasure. I think it satisfies something very basic in me, although I’m not sure just what to call it. Whatever, it was first aroused by Swiss Family Robinson, by far my favorite book of childhood. I couldn’t guess how many times I re-read that book, no doubt have spent more time with it than with my Rune farmer. Well, at least thus far, but I’m still racking up the Rune hours.

“Stupid!” “Stupid!” “No, you’re stupid.”  That’s the boys favorite insult.  Heaven knows it could be worse but then they are keenly aware of how far they can go before Auntie stomps on them, managed to get themselves banished to the garage for awhile yesterday afternoon.  That was mainly Sister’s fault.  She recently and unwisely bought them plastic dart pistols.  The darts are evidently so soft that not even a direct hit actually hurts, but an ill-fated shot could still put out an eye.  The most annoying thing about them is the loud clacking noise they make when fired.  Sister should at least have laid down a rule that they could not be used inside the house but then she almost never takes any disciplinary action.  That’s left to Auntie and Uncle, and they frequently disgree about when and how severe a reaction is justified.  That disagreement was the origin of one of their worst spats.

I interrupted one slam fest earlier this week by walking through the room and asking, “are we going to get through Spring Break without murder?”  That got a laugh from both of them and brought a cease fire, at least for a little while.

The twelve-year-old is innocently flirtatious in the manner of so many local boys, a trait which sometimes carries into young manhood.  The Sleeptalker is the biggest and most charming flirt I’ve ever met, was from the first moment I laid eyes on him.  I do miss that rascal, use my “first star I see” wish every night to wish to see him again.  I really doubt he is happy in Minnesota, although I hope I’m wrong, but he probably hasn’t got any way to return here even if he wanted to.

Well, baseball games are sometimes rained out.  I’ve been rained in this week.  No one is complaining, it was badly needed.  It hadn’t rained all month and water hoses appeared in gardens for the first time since I’ve lived there.  The Husband was especially fretful because he’d just put in some new plants along the front garden fence.  For a few days he watered them with a large watering can, just like my rune farmer, but he gave up and brought out the hose.  I wish my farmer could do likewise.

The Husband is very fond of plants, has a large collection mostly in big pots along one side of the house and in the planter box which stretches the length of the driveway, which was built just after I arrived there.  All ornamental plants including some truly beautiful orchids, but the Landlady told me he once grew vegetables in the main garden.  Why did he quit?  Lazy, she said.  Like son, like father, I guess.

I created something of a sensation recently when I brought home some okra I’d found in a Chinatown veggie market, and he proudly told me he had planted some of the seeds.  I hope it works.  Okra fresh from the garden would indeed be a treat.

The Landlady has been trying to persuade me to join them for a week in Vegas this summer.  I firmly decline, don’t like that place at all and hope never again to set foot in it.  If I had some money to burn I wouldn’t mind a week in Reno but really there’s nowhere on the mainland I want to see enough to justify that ghastly plane trip.

Just leave me alone with my Steel Reserve and my rune farmer.  He’s in his sixth incarnation now, just finished the main plot line again but hasn’t yet succumbed to marriage despite a number of obviously willing candidates.  He’s really more fond of a young poet but I guess the game writers didn’t consider same-sex marriage.  What a shame.

Behind the bus stop, atop the high bank of the stream, is a wonderful house almost hidden in its densely green, jungle-like setting.  Yesterday I met the woman who lives there.  She is truly a Grand Dame, and I mean that as the highest possible compliment.  Snowy-white hair, simply and elegantly styled, dressed similarly in simple and fine style.  She has lived there since the Fifties, when there were only four houses in the area [!].  The place was built by a hotel as a “country” retreat, later was bought by an artist who added a separate studio building, then acquired by the current owner and her (I assume, late)  husband who was a physician.  She said at her age she just didn’t know what was going to happen to the place.  I suppose there are no children or grandchildren.  A shame, since it would  be a splendid legacy.  It certainly was a treat, meeting her.

Well, since receiving the boon of being able to have beer at home my bar-going has dwindled almost to nonexistence.  But then my favorite haunt is gone.  I thought the Cove Bar had closed for renovation but, no, it’s gone.  Surprising, since the owner also has a cafe there at the Food Court with a branch of it downtown, but supposedly the Cove was his biggest moneymaker.  I keep an eye out for one of the regulars to see if they know what has happened to our favorite bartender.  She is a great one with a very faithful following so I’m sure she had no trouble finding another spot.  I just wish I knew where.

I’ve given up the campus bar despite missing the cute bartenders and the lovely Newcastle Brown.  It’s just too silly to spend four times on beer what I’d spend for the same amount at home (and Steel Reserve is every bit as good as Newcastle).  But I still allow myself one visit a week to the seedy Gold Gate Lounge.

My favorite bartender there has the unlikely name, Sonja.  When she told me,  it immediately raised memories of “Sun Valley Serenade”, Glenn Miller and the bubbly Sonja Henie.  How annoyed I got at that woman in my early teens when I was struggling to learn iceskating.  I soon realized that it was essential to demand fairly new, very strong shoeskates if my ankles were not to just collapse on their sides.  Eventually I was able to go round and round the rink without falling on my butt,  or at least not too often.  But of course I never managed the effortless grace of Ms Henie and couldn’t help resenting her a bit.

Speaking of resenting, the Husband slightly irked me this morning.  I only use a little electric candle as a light in my room, not liking the overhead fixture at all.  This morning he made a big show of walking in and turning off the candle.  I was tempted to point out that I pay enough rent to justify keeping the damned thing on 24 hours if I like, but of course I didn’t, just let a “good heavens” escape my lips.  I had planned on turning it off myself once I finished a tricky moment in my farmer’s life.  Oh well.

I was eating dinner, looking out the window, when I saw one of the women from the Toothbrusher’s house cross the street to talk to the Husband who was in the driveway.  I teased the Landlady that some woman was after her husband.  She looked out of the window and shrugged.  “Aren’t you jealous?”  “No,” she said, “go for it.”  Ha!  I thought that if she knew about me recently admiring his smooth skin she might well say “you can have my husband but keep your paws off my son.” 

Well, I am quite sure I’ll never get either, but I do think Handsome Son is gay.  She may have a problem with it but will undoubtedly handle it well.  I’m not so certain about Papa.  He may well take the absurd but too common position of seeing it as an affront to his own manhood.  I’m sure my own father would not have reacted that way but then I never forced him to acknowledge it, one of the few sensible things I did in my relationship with those two.

The Landlady was in the mood yesterday to talk about all three of her children, grilled me yet again on Washington State which now seems his most likely destination in the fall.  I couldn’t guess about Seattle but am sure Spokane, where he’d be going, is as safe as Honolulu, maybe even moreso.  She nevertheless frets about it along with, understandably, the some $25,000 a year it will cost to send him there.

Although I said I was sure he’d be the first to tell me it’s none of my business, and rightfully so, I did agree with her that Older Son needs to get a job, any job.  It’s just not good for a man his age to sit around the house every day, all things provided even including use of her car and free gasoline.  “He’s lazy,” she sighed, but seems reluctant to apply any stronger pressure on him.

Daughter wants to be a model, isn’t much interested in finishing high school, much less going to college.  She’s a very pretty girl but it’s an awfully crowded field and I indeed agreed that she should first finish school, especially since she only has one year to go.

I’ve never been immersed in so complex a social situation before and do enjoy it, even if I sometimes feel I’m walking through a minefield.

By late Sunday afternoon, the boys are always bored and rowdy, so neither I nor the Landlady are much looking forward to the two-week Spring Break which begins on Monday, not to mention the endless weeks of summer.  Sister took them to the Philippines for six weeks last year but I doubt she can afford that expedition again this soon.  If I had the money I’d buy the tickets for them, especially if they’d take the Old Lady with them.

She has been a major nuisance this week.  When she’s not sleeping she’s either in la-la land with her invisible visitors or else moaning for something to eat or drink.  “She’s being a real pain in the butt,” I said yesterday as I was fleeing out for a smoke.  “For a woman her age to be sobbing over a glass of orange juice is just ridiculous.”  “She’s crazy,” the Landlady said.  Indeed she is.  She should be grateful she has a roof, bed and someone to provide her with food and care instead of acting like a spoiled brat.

Speaking of those critters, there was a major punch-up outside Farrington High School one afternoon this week.  A young man came strutting into the bus stop area, said to another fellow, “you looking for a dust-up.”  Fists started flying and friends on both sides started swinging, too, spilling out into the street and blocking traffic in both directions, the girls egging it on from the sidelines.  School security came running, the cops showed up, there was even briefly a helicopter hovering overhead.  In many places on the mainland knives or even guns would have come out, but these lads limited themselves to punching and kicking.  It was still rather frightening, though, how quickly order can degenerate into mob madness.  What a piece of work is man.

Good morning, Kalihi Uka, I think as I begin my day on the front porch.  It’s very much an early-to-bed, early-to-rise neighborhood, our house and the Toothbrusher’s house the first to stir (although he doesn’t actually put in an appearance until at least an hour later).  There are often weekend afternoon gatherings, especially at the Samoan house, but evening events are very rare.

One of my favorite morning sights is a small white van from up the street.  Its sides are neatly lettered with a sign giving the name of the gardening service and includes, in quotes, “we enjoy caring gardens”.  Well, who wouldn’t enjoy a caring garden.  In my experience gardens have demanded far more caring than they ever gave.

At our house the Landlady makes her final lockdown inspection at about nine in the evening, isn’t keen on anyone opening a door afterwards.  So I’m careful to have my last smoke of the day well in advance of her rounds.  Sister and the boys have settled into their nest in the front room by then, anyway, and I wouldn’t want to disturb them.  Doesn’t bother me.  I’ve always heard that the older you get, the less sleep you need.  I’ve long thought I must be an exception but seem to have finally reached that stage.  I’m almost always in bed by ten but often wake a couple of hours later and spend some time with my farmer, repeat that cycle until dawn.

The Old Lady evidently thought she was dying at about three this morning, complained loudly about not being able to breathe, then shouted the Lord’s Prayer.  The Lord must have said we don’t need that up here, you just stay where you are because she subsided and went back to demanding food.  This morning it was bologna, egg and tomato on a roll.  As usual, she got very annoyed when no one got out of bed to fill her order.

Nothing at all is known about her past and I pass on anything of interest I hear from her conversations with her endless parade of invisible visitors.  Remarks about her evidently no-good husband are often amusing, my favorite being “get the fuck out of here and get a job!”  I’m pretty sure she’s originally from the South because, although she doesn’t have a strong accent she does use certain phrases and says some words in ways that definitely suggest a Southern origin (like “hongry” for “hungry”, one of her most-used words).

She almost always remains in her bed except for when being taken in a wheelchair for her thrice-weekly treatments.  But now and then she does get up and wander around.  It was wonderfully funny one afternoon when she walked into the front room.  The boys went instantly silent and looked totally amazed.  One recent afternoon she strolled into my room, sat on the bed beside me, reached back and touched my leg and said “get out of my bed”.  Well really, Madame.  The Landlady came running and escorted her back to her room but I understood what she’d meant when I first arrived there and she said that if anyone bothered me, I should lock the door.  If the Old Lady made a habit of such visits I would do just that.

Her shenanigans this morning got Blackie all stirred up so we did indeed get the day off to a raucous start.  Blackie is such a sweet, funny dog.  When I deliver her beloved treats in the late afternoon, she gobbles them down and then spends a long time diligently searching to make sure she hadn’t missed any.  The odds of that happening are in the order of those for an asteroid hitting Honolulu, I’d guess.

We often have extended conversations although I confess I haven’t the slightest idea what we are saying.  She seems to delight in my attempts to copy her huge repertoire of sounds and if I don’t reproduce it with sufficient accuracy she repeats it exactly.  Who would have thought I’d end up at this age with a canine voice coach?

Good thing I listen to the radio, otherwise I wouldn’t have known that in order to get the upcoming government handout I have to file an income tax return, even though I don’t owe any and am not legally obliged to file. Strange, but I suppose it’s the most efficient way to compile the list of names and addresses for the bonanza. For $300 I can fill out a form, yes I can.

I finally successfully completed another government form, this one online, telling SocSec to switch my monthly payment to direct deposit. I was stymied for a month because it required a number which appears on the actual check so I had to wait until the next one arrived to get that number. I would have thought the sacred SocSec number itself would have sufficed, but what do I know.

Yes, I do have a bank account. Very early on the Landlady dragged me to her bank to open an account after having first taken me to get a Hawaii State ID card. I hadn’t had a bank account since the early 90′s and no valid ID since my passport expired at about the same time, so both moves were wise ones and that bank account was very useful in coping with those accumulated pension checks. They got a wrong first impression of me from that largesse and I’ve been surprised in more recent times that they don’t charge a fee when the account drops below $50. That’s certainly unlike most banking experiences I’ve had in the past.

Now I have to contact Aetna to get the smaller pension payment switched and can end an Era of waiting anxiously each month for the postman to arrive.

The Husband would be very much surprised, I’m sure, if he knew the effect he was having on me this morning. He was wearing a light gray sweatsuit, standing in my doorway complaining about what his doctor says is growing arthritis in the back of the neck and right side. He kept lifting up his sweatshirt to show me the pained area. Such smooth skin. I squelched the notion of suggesting massage. Lead us not into temptation, at least not with the Landlady’s long-time spouse.

I wondered when the plans were announced if I’d live long enough to visit the new Nordstrom store. Well, it finally opened yesterday, so if I survive another hour or so, I shall have a look at it. Somehow I doubt the outcome will be the same as I wonder if I’ll survive to ride the ballyhooed train. I will be surprised, if so.

I usually stay at home on Sundays, mainly because of the sparse Sunday bus schedules, but I did go out this week, headed to the mall and Game Stop. I should’ve stayed at home.

My first impressions of Final Fantasy XII are anything but favorable. It’s the first of the series to use the touch screen and it does so almost exclusively. I find it frustratingly inaccurate in controlling characters, especially in groups. And since the main unit is a team of four, that’s almost always.

In what is a true revolution for this kind of game, the action is simultaneous, no more stately system of alternating turns, telling your characters what to do (or not do). It all goes on at once. This is, I admit, far more realistic but they’ll have to drag this oldtimer kicking and screaming into the New Method. I’m stuck very early in the game with a big fracas involving my team and four summoned esper allies against four meanies (and one of them is especially mean). The only condition for victory is that the leader of my team stay alive until the end. No matter how many times I tell him to stay in the rear ranks, the idiot runs forward and gets the diddley beaten out of him. I spend so much time telling him to get back to where was told to be that everyone else is more or less left to their own devices and aren’t very successful at it. With the usual method it would be a breeze. Sigh. I tried numerous times the first day and have tried at least once every day since, always end up seeing END OF GAME and saying to hell with it, returning to my farmer.

He’s in his fifth incarnation. Farmer No. 4′s wife gave him donuts every morning which I guess is an improvement over corn-on-the-cob and can be sold for more money, not that he needs it. He has bought everything the incognito-prince-travelling-salesman has to offer, can’t further enlarge his house and has more barns full of animals than he has time to care for. The only real addition after the evil Sechs Empire is sent packing (I love the name) are some exotic flowers and herbs that take a very long time to grow. They all take a full season just to turn from sown seeds to seedlings and one seems to take a year to blossom. That’s the one needed to propose to the young lady who gave him the house and field in the first place but so far I haven’t had the patience to wait that long.

So I don’t think I’ll be buying any more DS games until Rune Factory II arrives, although I’m tempted by one whose packaging suggests it is a direct copycat. The young man at the shop asked if I wanted to reserve anything and I said no, but I’d be willing to pay a bonus for an advance copy of Rune Factory II. He laughed and said I wasn’t the only one. I guess I’m not alone in the fan club for Natsume’s delightful creation.

I’ve just come from the doctor’s office, couldn’t persuade him to drop any of the pills I’ve been taking for a year. Oh well, I guess they’re working. Pity the poor taxpayers who get the pharmacy bills.

Oy, what a Saturday, ten separate bus journies, scouring the town for fame and fortune.  Well, for a bit of money anyway.  After about an hour at the State Library I went to the mailbox place.  The SocSec check was there, so on to the mall and bank … but … the bank couldn’t cash it.  It was dated for the THIRD!  How very peculiar.  If SocSec has a new policy of not issuing checks with a weekend date, they certainly haven’t announced it.  Well, the Mail Lady hadn’t finished sorting the mail when she came across that check so I went back there to see if the smaller pension check had also arrived.  No luck, late again, second month in a row.  Again most peculiar, after years of having been reliably on time.

So two more buses to the check cashing place where I hoped they’d either not notice the premature date or cash it anyway.  They did, and I went immediately to the shop next door for cigarettes.  The lady there noted it had been a long time since I’d been in, told me it was good to see me when I was leaving.  I should go to that shop on my way home from visits to Chinatown but by then I’m usually wanting to just stay on the bus until the transfer point for the trip to the hills.

Then on a bus yet again, back to Chinatown to celebrate at the Gold Gate Lounge.

Yes, it was indeed a very silly Saturday but then I guess like that old dude said, all’s well that ….