We moved to Arizona from Texas nine years ago this past March. My husband visited first, for his job interview, and warned me things were a bit different than "home." You see, we were accustomed to living in a suburb heavily geared towards families.
Our little city is not, to say the least, geared towards families (though it has gotten much better over time). The area's big claim to fame when we moved here was the new Red Lobster that had just come in. People were excited, y'all. Nothing says "good times" quite like chain restaurant seafood in the desert.
The first thing my husband warned me was, "there are older people EVERYWHERE." Sure enough, I found this out when we moved here and we'd head to the nearest grocery store. Not only were there elderly folks, but I swear they'd actually hit the gas and speed up when they saw me trying to cross the street with my 3 and 4-year-olds in tow.
I quickly taught the kids to never, ever, ever, ever, ever walk out in front of an older person.
I've become accustomed to living in what is basically a glorified retirement community. We have some friendly older neighbors (who wave and smile and ALWAYS ask us what type of dog we're walking) and the not-so-friendly older neighbors who glare and stomp off when we wave and say hello.
We've had nice comments and rude comments and one instance where my Mother got into an argument with a much older lady who felt that children should never be seen nor heard, especially anywhere fun or beautiful.
Our neighborhood (which was originally built as a 50+ community before the builders gave up and allowed all the younger riffraff in) is situated in a valley. We are located at the bottom of the hill both ways. Not just any hill, but the kind of hill I drive down every day and say, "Wow, this is pretty." It's also the type of hill I would have killed to ride my bike down as a kid. You know the one; you can easily ride as fast as the cars passing if you don't use your breaks.
I have to turn left out of our neighborhood to get the kids to school. I hate turning left. Stop lights are at the top of the hills (both ways); both are timed to send a never-ending torrent of cars careening down the hill and on to better places.
I can make it, if I just remain calm and have a bit of patience.
This morning, however, the elderly were out enmasse on their bicycles. Not only was I trying to time against the sea of vehicles, I was also trying to time against the cyclists who believe that "sharing the road" means they can jut into traffic all they want.
Finally, I saw a break in the crowd; I could make it across, bypassing the cyclists on BOTH sides of the road who were, thanks to the hill, keeping up with the traffic going about 30-40 MPH.
As I made it across the road, I couldn't help but think: Leaving this neighborhood in the morning is like playing a game of Frogger, but with old people.
Living in the desert is not for the faint of heart.
Our little city is not, to say the least, geared towards families (though it has gotten much better over time). The area's big claim to fame when we moved here was the new Red Lobster that had just come in. People were excited, y'all. Nothing says "good times" quite like chain restaurant seafood in the desert.
The first thing my husband warned me was, "there are older people EVERYWHERE." Sure enough, I found this out when we moved here and we'd head to the nearest grocery store. Not only were there elderly folks, but I swear they'd actually hit the gas and speed up when they saw me trying to cross the street with my 3 and 4-year-olds in tow.
I quickly taught the kids to never, ever, ever, ever, ever walk out in front of an older person.
I've become accustomed to living in what is basically a glorified retirement community. We have some friendly older neighbors (who wave and smile and ALWAYS ask us what type of dog we're walking) and the not-so-friendly older neighbors who glare and stomp off when we wave and say hello.
We've had nice comments and rude comments and one instance where my Mother got into an argument with a much older lady who felt that children should never be seen nor heard, especially anywhere fun or beautiful.
Our neighborhood (which was originally built as a 50+ community before the builders gave up and allowed all the younger riffraff in) is situated in a valley. We are located at the bottom of the hill both ways. Not just any hill, but the kind of hill I drive down every day and say, "Wow, this is pretty." It's also the type of hill I would have killed to ride my bike down as a kid. You know the one; you can easily ride as fast as the cars passing if you don't use your breaks.
I have to turn left out of our neighborhood to get the kids to school. I hate turning left. Stop lights are at the top of the hills (both ways); both are timed to send a never-ending torrent of cars careening down the hill and on to better places.
I can make it, if I just remain calm and have a bit of patience.
This morning, however, the elderly were out enmasse on their bicycles. Not only was I trying to time against the sea of vehicles, I was also trying to time against the cyclists who believe that "sharing the road" means they can jut into traffic all they want.
Finally, I saw a break in the crowd; I could make it across, bypassing the cyclists on BOTH sides of the road who were, thanks to the hill, keeping up with the traffic going about 30-40 MPH.
As I made it across the road, I couldn't help but think: Leaving this neighborhood in the morning is like playing a game of Frogger, but with old people.
Living in the desert is not for the faint of heart.
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