Arrow targets lottery flashing floods, Volvos and haircuts
A shrieking Saturday morning ALERT interrupted sleepy bliss on Saturday morning. Heavy rain meant that Flash Flooding was occurring or was imminent. People in a risk area were ordered to move to high ground (or shelter in place) — and “do not call 911 unless you are having an emergency”. Luckily, our new home, unlike the old one, is not at risk of either fire or flood. But this was a LOT of rain. Our street was flooded, the 101 Freeway was closed for several hours and our standard routes into town were impassable. And, rain is forecast for the next several days..
“Days?” Nazy asked. “Didn’t we move here for the sunshine?”
“Sunshine on my shoulders..”
“Aren’t we in the middle of a drought? What is this?”
“The rainy season, Nazy, it’s the rainy season.” I replied. “And rain is falling from the sky like lies from the ‘presidental’ mouth.” I thought.
“I even heard thunder last night, Dan.” Nazy continued.
“Unheard of!” I exclaimed somewhat oxymoronically.
Melika and the Santa Barbara grandchildren set up a ‘tent’ inside their house to have fun and ride out the storm.
“Annoyed?”
“More like livid. ‘Who’s kid is this?’ He shouted at me. I gave him $20 and grabbed the tickets.”
“Maybe we’ll win.” Nazy replied optimistically.
“Of course.” I replied. “Fat chance,” I thought.
We’ve had a lot of fun scratching off the tickets — and, so far, we’ve won $5 and a free ticket.
“But I hope we don’t win the jackpot, Nazy.” I interjected.
“Why?”
“It’s illegal for children to gamble. If they find out that Arrow bought the tickets, they’ll confiscate the winnings.”
“But you paid.”
“But Arrow choose.”
“You worry about the strangest things.”
This week, we had booked a visit to the Volvo service center in San Luis Obispo (SLO). Geographic expert readers know that SLO is not close to Santa Barbara, so why were we on the Chumash Highway that morning?
Well… it’s simple. There is no Volvo dealer in Santa Barbara. But, we got such a great deal on the car that we didn’t worry about the trifling challenges of non-local service. We’ve since learned that ‘trifling’ is an inappropriate adjective. Our dealer, in Thousand Oaks, about 40 minutes away, has closed. The alternative, SLO, is about 2 hours away. And when we got there…
“… it will take the rest of the day.”
“The rest of the day?” I replied. “That sucks,” I thought.
“But I made an appointment,” Nazy interjected. “You said it would be ‘quick’.”
“We won’t even start for 3 hours. It’s lunch time,” the ‘service’ center rep countered.
“I’ll buy your mechanic a hamburger and he can start now.” I replied.
“You should have called back to confirm your appointment,” the rep countered.
“You said …” Nazy replied in futility.
Unwilling to sacrifice the entire day, we drove home — happy that we had ‘showed them’, but wondering whether we’d have to drive to Oregon the next time.
As noted during last week’s letter, Tiger continues to enjoy his swimming class. But, his long hair was causing problems. When he put his head above the water, his hair fell over his eyes and, when brushing it out of the way, he lost his rhythm. Dylan, his teacher, solved the problem by getting him to wear a swim cap. He even explained that Michael Phelps wore a cap. It didn’t make Tiger happy. So, one Sunday I was chatting with him..
“… tomorrow we go swimming. You looked really cool with your swim hat last time.”
Tiger looked at me, jumped up and ran to his Dad. “I need a haircut,” he announced.
Tom, his Dad, is one of the founders of a mattress company (Lull). While Tiger was getting his hair trimmed, I was perusing the reading material which, like that in most barber shops, was a little out-of-date. (It was a 1961 copy of Life Magazine.) I spotted a full page advertisement for mattresses. It’s easy to see the impact of almost 60 years’ inflation.
After Tiger’s cut, I took over the chair. Luckily, Nazy was there to provide guidance.
“… something trendy. I want him to look stylish?”
“Stylish? What’s wrong with young and hip?” I thought.
“The current trendy style is to shave the sides and let the hair on top grow,” the barber replied.
“Have you looked at my head?” I replied. “Of course, Captain Picard can pull it off,” I thought.
“Try something else,” Nazy interjected.
“You wouldn’t like the ‘Yul Brynner’ look?” I asked.
“Days?” Nazy asked. “Didn’t we move here for the sunshine?”
“Sunshine on my shoulders..”
“Aren’t we in the middle of a drought? What is this?”
“The rainy season, Nazy, it’s the rainy season.” I replied. “And rain is falling from the sky like lies from the ‘presidental’ mouth.” I thought.
“I even heard thunder last night, Dan.” Nazy continued.
“Unheard of!” I exclaimed somewhat oxymoronically.
Melika and the Santa Barbara grandchildren set up a ‘tent’ inside their house to have fun and ride out the storm.
In between storms, Nazy and I were babysitting 2 year old Arrow. After taking him to lunch, we stopped by the CVS drug store to pick up a few items. While Nazy was shopping, I was keeping an eye on Arrow. He seemed..
“… happy enough, Nazy,” I explained afterwards. “He was walking about and pounding on some kind of vending machine.”
“That doesn’t explain the lottery tickets in your pocket.”
“Right! So, some guy came up, inserted his credit card in the vending machine and established a $20 credit. But, while he was thinking about what to do, Arrow began pushing all the buttons — buying lottery tickets.”
“Were you watching him?” Nazy asked.
“Of course,” I replied. “Watching, but not interfering,” I thought. “But this guy was, eh, “
“Annoyed?”
“More like livid. ‘Who’s kid is this?’ He shouted at me. I gave him $20 and grabbed the tickets.”
“Maybe we’ll win.” Nazy replied optimistically.
“Of course.” I replied. “Fat chance,” I thought.
We’ve had a lot of fun scratching off the tickets — and, so far, we’ve won $5 and a free ticket.
“But I hope we don’t win the jackpot, Nazy.” I interjected.
“Why?”
“It’s illegal for children to gamble. If they find out that Arrow bought the tickets, they’ll confiscate the winnings.”
“But you paid.”
“But Arrow choose.”
“You worry about the strangest things.”
This week, we had booked a visit to the Volvo service center in San Luis Obispo (SLO). Geographic expert readers know that SLO is not close to Santa Barbara, so why were we on the Chumash Highway that morning?
Well… it’s simple. There is no Volvo dealer in Santa Barbara. But, we got such a great deal on the car that we didn’t worry about the trifling challenges of non-local service. We’ve since learned that ‘trifling’ is an inappropriate adjective. Our dealer, in Thousand Oaks, about 40 minutes away, has closed. The alternative, SLO, is about 2 hours away. And when we got there…
“… it will take the rest of the day.”
“The rest of the day?” I replied. “That sucks,” I thought.
“But I made an appointment,” Nazy interjected. “You said it would be ‘quick’.”
“We won’t even start for 3 hours. It’s lunch time,” the ‘service’ center rep countered.
“I’ll buy your mechanic a hamburger and he can start now.” I replied.
“You should have called back to confirm your appointment,” the rep countered.
“You said …” Nazy replied in futility.
Unwilling to sacrifice the entire day, we drove home — happy that we had ‘showed them’, but wondering whether we’d have to drive to Oregon the next time.
As noted during last week’s letter, Tiger continues to enjoy his swimming class. But, his long hair was causing problems. When he put his head above the water, his hair fell over his eyes and, when brushing it out of the way, he lost his rhythm. Dylan, his teacher, solved the problem by getting him to wear a swim cap. He even explained that Michael Phelps wore a cap. It didn’t make Tiger happy. So, one Sunday I was chatting with him..
“… tomorrow we go swimming. You looked really cool with your swim hat last time.”
Tiger looked at me, jumped up and ran to his Dad. “I need a haircut,” he announced.
Tom, his Dad, is one of the founders of a mattress company (Lull). While Tiger was getting his hair trimmed, I was perusing the reading material which, like that in most barber shops, was a little out-of-date. (It was a 1961 copy of Life Magazine.) I spotted a full page advertisement for mattresses. It’s easy to see the impact of almost 60 years’ inflation.
After Tiger’s cut, I took over the chair. Luckily, Nazy was there to provide guidance.
“… something trendy. I want him to look stylish?”
“Stylish? What’s wrong with young and hip?” I thought.
“The current trendy style is to shave the sides and let the hair on top grow,” the barber replied.
“Have you looked at my head?” I replied. “Of course, Captain Picard can pull it off,” I thought.
“Try something else,” Nazy interjected.
“You wouldn’t like the ‘Yul Brynner’ look?” I asked.
And, finally, (the amazing) Azelle is continuing efforts to master sitting up (see above). She does well on her Mom’s lap, but is sometimes surprised by gravity when she’s on her own.
For last week's letter, please click here
Azelle … forgetting gravity
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