This post has nothing to do with marijuana. The title was a convenient reference to a particular date to post something. Cactus blooms are small (though sometimes rather large) treasures that are real rarities. Sadly, as quickly as they show up, they are just as soon gone. Artificial Intelligence to the rescue! Posing the question as to why their blooms are so short-lived, Claude informed me of what should have been obvious. Blossoming flowers require a lot of energy and water. These things can be scarce in the desert, and with such a burst of contrasting beauty, they quickly attract the pollinators they require and, with their purpose satisfied, move immediately to wilting and death.

Another thing, most of these cactus blooms are in full flower when we are out at the break of dawn. It’s cooler then, so less evaporation will take place; plus, their primary pollinators being bats, moths, and beetles, those nocturnal creatures have these treats to themselves until the bees awaken.

Not being experts in the visual identification of precisely what variant of hibiscus was blooming on this tree, we felt it better to admire the blossoms and not risk having a taste. Being in the Southwest, with a large Hispanic population, we have a ready supply of dried hibiscus flowers at any number of grocery stores that cater to the Hispanic market.

Attention: The above paragraph is false. It turns out that AI image detection is not foolproof, whereas  I, the editor, am extraordinarily brilliant and nearly perfect. Compare my knowledge to that of this man who claims to be a capable writer who engaged in the following text exchange, “Seriously, John? Everyone can see that this is Hoa Ban Tím, commonly known as Hong Kong Orchid.” To which he feebly replied, “Oh really, so why’s it in Arizona smarty pants?” I had to point out the obvious, “Duh, I’m from Germany, right?” What he wrote next makes me want to cry, “You’re telling me that someone married a plant?”

If you are not so fortunate to live in a place where citrus is able to grow in abundance, you can’t know the incredible phenomenon of these last couple of weeks of March when the scent of citrus blossoms wafts upon the warmer air currents here in the Phoenix area. Over the course of the 29 years that we’ve been living here in the middle of Arizona, this smell is one of the greatest aspects that greets us every year. Most everyone who lives in the desert knows that our seasons are scorching-hellish-summer and not-summer, but for about two weeks the air is heaven scent.

Our neighborhood has a homeless problem that spills out in all directions. From encampments in front of restaurants, car washes, bus stops, behind grocery stores, and hidden away next to cinderblock walls sandwiched between a line of tall plants, the proliferation of homeless people has continued to grow since the end of the COVID lockdown. Ironically, I’d recently read that Atlanta, Georgia, leads the country with about 1,200 properties being squatted in by people who would otherwise be homeless. Well, a house in our neighborhood that was empty for almost two years has been taken over.

We suspected such for the past weeks, but it wasn’t until this morning, as we were walking by and seeing a locksmith parked in front, that we learned that it was, in fact, true: squatters had taken over the house. Earlier that day, the police had been called, and upon their arrival, the people camped inside ran and were allowed to flee as there’s really nothing law enforcement could do about the issue since it’s simply overwhelming. The locksmith told us that the owner was inside assessing the situation, and so I went and said hello. It turns out she inherited the place when her sister passed away, and she’s been too distraught to deal with selling the home, but now that it’s been defiled, it seems she’s changed her mind. After talking a bit, she invited us in to see the carnage for ourselves. A ton of drug paraphernalia was in the master bedroom; however, the kitchen and bathrooms were being cared for with cleaning supplies on hand, and fresh food was stored in the clean fridge. Interior doors appeared to have been punched in, there was some minor writing on the walls, and all of the belongings left behind hinted that at least four people had fled.

Though the owner paid to have the locks changed, she left the broken sliding door in the back to stay that way, with the hope that the transients would return to fetch their worldly possessions. They returned a few days later, but instead of grabbing their stuff, they moved right back in. I called to notify her, but she sounded defeated, and at the time I’m writing this, a couple of weeks later, they are still living rent-free under a roof, keeping them dry and hidden away while cooking up whatever it was in the burned piece of foil on the carpet.

Update: a month after posting this, an Uber driver I met in a coffee shop described this foil setup and shared what he learned from a passenger. This is called “Chasing the Blue,” and it involves placing a blue tablet of fentanyl on the foil, firing it from below, and sucking in the smoking fumes with a straw to get high. Now I know.