A Million Little Pieces Of My Mind

When I was a toddler, my grandparents lived in an apartment in Bloomfield, NJ. However, since my grandfather was an optometrist and had money (mostly because he decided to never play the stock market, and thus was spared the horrors of the Depression), their apartment was upscale for the 1950s, with an extra bedroom they didn't need as such. So the room became dedicated to my grandfather, who used it as a study. This was my first exposure to the concept we now call a "man cave". But my grandmother called it the "Vernon Room." It was years before I learned that "Vernon" was my grandfather's name, not a kind of room like "living" or "bed".

I have been using medical marijuana for years, ever since my recovery from necrotizing fasciitis in 2011. But of course I cannot smoke it inside, since I share the house with my grandkids. Since moving in with my daughter, I'd been smoking outside. But the weather has been getting hotter and hotter, moreso than even normal for central Arizona. So my daughter decided to assign me the "spare" garage as a man cave. She bought a TV, arranged unused porch furniture, and basically set me up. Here's my usual point of view:

The room even has its own, portable air conditioner. While it can't bring the temperature down all the way to cool, it does make the area quite comfortable.

That said, I do share the space with my own, still unpacked boxes; plus the Amazon delivery boxes wind up in here awaiting the once-every-five-weeks pickup of bulk trash.

But that's a small price to pay to be able to sit with the dogs while watching Grand Tours of the Scottish Islands.