Okay, look intently at the exact middle of the photo. Now let your good eye drift a little to the left. Don't worry about where your lazy eye is drifting...
There are two creme-colored water tanks on a hill top. They'll probably just look like a creme-colored spot. After you've got your good eye focused on the water tanks, look down just a skosh and left a mini-skosh and that's our house. If your magnifying glass is really good, you can see our dog looking out the sliding glass door. She senses I'm looking at her.
Apple Valley is All-American, All-Inclusive and All-Dirt, except for the sand, which if 'finer' than dirt, but not in the way most of us think of as 'finer.' If I could live anywhere else, it would be a place with an equal lack of trees, but lots of grass, babbling brooks and a couple of big lakes. What do I have against trees? People hide behind them...
10 comments:
I see your doggy, I see your doggy. Why is he growling at me? It looks hot there.
wow - you're really out there, in more ways than one.
Quite a beautiful landscape, Bert!
it must be so peaceful in your neck of the woods! good place to meditate & ponder on life. where's the access to the 15 freeway from there? gosh, bert, you're just a few hrs. drive to vegas, alright!!!!
I am a golf partner of BB's and I live somewhat close to him. If you look to the far right of the pic', I'm just right of that.
Yes, it's hot here in the summer, it's cold here in the winter,and it's windy as hell March - June (and half the other days). However, we're just a 2-1/2 hour drive to Vegas, 1-1/2 hours to the beach, 45 minutes away from the ski slopes and 1 hour away from the largest multi-cultural center in the world (L.A.). The really good thing about Apple Valley though, is that it is also AWAY from all of those places.
Bert's humble (7000 sq ft) abode is just lovely, though he's hardly ever there. The marble staircase in the foyer leads to his playroom which has arcade games, a theater (where he loyally watches the Simpsons every night), a library wall and a dance floor (with cages) where the scantily clad go-go girls entertain Bert and his offspring (but not his wife). Strangely enough, his mother never leaves the playroom.
Don't bother trying to find (and enter) the place though. The guards at the main gate entrance shoot on sight. I enter through the secret back door... -oops!
Trees are purty. Plus, they disguise the approach of zombies, which is bad. Chop 'em down!
I have a fair hope for you yet.
Ms. Nibbles, I know you're fibbing! Puppy is a girl and she doesn't know how to growl. If a stranger is far enough away, she'll bark. If the stranger is at the door, she'll run into the bedroom...
Ingrid, the other night when I spent the night in Culver City, I kept hearing gun shots. I don't hear them up here. Up here the gangs are still fighting with knives and baseball bats and chains. And they dance... As for Vegas, the last time we were there, we swore a mighty oath never to go back. Too damn many Californians! And what's with the porno-handbill distributors!? Now we go to Pala Casino. Very low key, very peaceful, no crowds. Hey, but you're young, you probably think all that stress is cool.
Big T, I had an 8 on a par three at Los Serranos and still shot an 89 and beat Bill by four shots! It was a trap like on the Road Hole at St. Andrews (gosh that was a fun weekend!!) and I tried to get it up over the lip. After trying twice I chipped out backwards, then put it on the green and promptly three-putted.
Mal-Snay, Zombies have their place in the world, and I don't think it's my place to call for all trees to be chopped down. I just avoid forests, and such.
Even-Handed Hope, I even have a hand for you...
I have a general rule of thumb about places I live: if someone breaks into my domicile and shoots me, I need to live close enough to things (stores, people) that I could stumble to them and collapse on their floors in the hope that they'd find me some medical help that would save my life in the cliched third act.
That having been said, I also can't afford to live in a city, town, consulate, or shantytown. In fact, my grandparents were so poor, they were evicted from a Hooverville.
PAD, most of us out here count on a faithful steed. All I have to do is stagger to the barn, throw myself across the back of Horace, my horse, and Horace will convey me to ol' Doc Hardesty's place. What could be simpler?
What if Horace is out at the movies with Clarabell Cow that night? No sir, I don't trust livestock. I also can't afford a horse trailer.
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