Local calls now require dialing the area code, should it become necessary to even call number as close as next door neighbor’s, whose name, after seven and a half years of close proximity, I still do not know.

Greater possibility exists however, of recognizing courteous father who replaced pane of glass after patio umbrella blew through bedroom window at fifty miles an hour, and whose face appeared unexpectedly when I was still attired in nightshirt.

March of Civilization continues backward and I reflect that at current pace, as evinced by necessity of dialing ten digits instead of six, we will soon be in need of crank phone mounted on wall, and nasal-voiced operator singing Pennsylvania Six Five Oh, Oh, Oh. This will be followed closely by use of Dear little Carrier Pigeons for communications.

Pigeons ubiquitous, and have hopes of not going to great expense acquiring fleet for personal use. Fear that neither large wooden phone on wall, nor Pigeon will fit neatly in purse when leaving House on errands, and that pigeons likely to make mess on contents of handbag.

(Las Vegas decrees dealing with increased population difficult to follow.)

Contrast to anonymous, yet friendly next-door neighbor, arrives in the shape of landscaper who maintains yard of vacant property across street. Young man stands in street shouting obscenities to sky about mysterious annoyances which obstruct his performance of duties.

This intemperate behavior exhibited over several weeks. Consider calling authorities, but as shouting appears to be extent of his hostilities, I emulate Bad Samaritan and ignore him.

Feel that recommending Anger Management classes would not be well received and remain ensconced safely at home.

(Cherished belief that Working with Nature denotes peaceful and gentle nature, now defunct.)

Vibrations from aggressive gardener perhaps pervades house, as new owner requests Brandon’s help in unloading refrigerator from truck. Wife has thrown kitchen knife at him and house is in uproar.

Brandon did not get Wife’s side of story, and can only tell him that if, for example, Husband has agreed that she Looks Fat, he probably deserved it. Hope that Motherly Lesson to Brandon will be remembered before similar incident takes place in his own marriage.

(Suburbia far from dull.)

Take dear Sugar Baby on hike to Mountain. Wistfully recall former residences when hiking was within short walk of home, but now entails driving minimum twenty minutes. Mountain is home to hermit who has lived on desert mountain for more than eight years. Cardboard sign updating his life is posted on stick halfway up slope, but was not on view today.

(Query: Does isolated home in tent among rocks and dirt prohibit Hermit updating followers on Facebook or Twitter? Much more convenient for the sympathetic and interested Sometime-Hiker.)

Horses and Riders come up behind Sugar and I, one rider singing lustily. Riders dressed in cowboy gear, but do not appear to be in posse, or herding Cattle. Cattle in residential areas very scarce, whereas barbecues, tacos, and steaks, are not. Pick up branch of dried Joshua wood riddled with many symmetrical holes, and plan spending spree with Big Money I will make from turning piece of wood into earring holder.

Arrive home very stiff and sore, and dear Brandon reminds me again that Nothing Good ever came from exercise or broccoli.