Pat Duggan used to say that “Kingman is, literally and figuratively, the asshole of the diocese.”

I believe that the zip code of 85015 has taken the title. Dying trees and lawns, houses looking neglected and bedraggled, businesses closing or have re-located to more prosperous environs. A racist statement is that the make-up is heavily Latino and poor white trash. Planes from Sky Harbor fly overhead. Insurance rates are higher than elsewhere — even California. Tattoos abound. No one looks fit or friendly. Wrought iron fences ring properties and windows.

There is a certain rural, country feel. Like Victorville or Lancaster. Hesperia?

Which puts me in a glum state of mind: trying to make this place an attractive, vibrant home is like spitting in the wind. What was I thinking? The house is very big for one person; I have to drive anywhere for groceries, food, etc. It is accursedly hot and humid which may account for my shortness of breath and fatigue.

To be honest, I wasn’t thinking. I was acting compulsively. I sussed out the realization that if I sold my condo I’d be able to become debt free. That would be a first. I would gain esteem with my family. No more stairs!

Yeah, but that’s before I looked around at the bleakness of the old neighborhood. That’s before I spotted the rotten beams in the front porch and the hap-hazard way that Dad went about “fixing things.” I think he was demented too.

So, here I live in a family white elephant in the blight that is 85015. Richard Rohr talks about being one in God in suffering.



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