I Suppose It's a Job for Somebody Who Is Not a People Person

Remember a couple weeks ago, when I was surrounded by Amazon delivery vans, when I'd never heard of them or seen one before? My package arrived at just the right time, as I was coming up the driveway. That's when I noticed the lack of joy in the deliveryperson.

It's taken me nine days, but I FINALLY realized who that Amazon Driver reminded me of: OTTO, the school bus driver on The Simpsons. He looked exactly like Otto, but with his long bushy black hair pulled back in a neck-nape ponytail.

As I sat in T-Hoe's driver's seat, parked off the driveway in my front yard, I thought Otto might bring that package over to me. That's what I would have done, if I was an Amazon Driver, and a car came up the driveway and pulled off into the yard while I was getting the package out of my van. I'd walk over and ask, "Did you order something?" And hand them the package. Saving myself a walk across the concrete carport, gravel driveway, Hick-laid brick sidewalk, and steps to the porch. Just hand it to the person and be done. I don't think Amazon takes a picture of their delivery like FedEx. I didn't get one.

Anyhoo... Otto glanced at me, then awkwardly, stepping over Jack and dodging Pepper's playful gamboling, walked my small bag of three vitamin bottles to front door and set it down. Walked back to his white Amazon van and got in. Not acknowledging me at all.

As Otto drove past me on the gravel driveway, I gave the lifted-finger wave, and a thank-you nod. Otto wouldn't look at me! He appeared to be silently fuming! His cheeks were flushed. His hair looked extra-wiry. As if I had annoyed him by coming home to see the delivery!

Maybe Otto just does not like his job. More likely, just does not like to work. He was definitely Gen Z. The kind I see out and about sometimes, who would rather slither through a door and let it close on his shirttail rather than give it an extra push for the person on his heels. The thought of actually holding it open for somebody would be as alien as deciphering a rotary phone or an analog clock.

I really wanted Otto to know that I appreciated his delivery, but he was having none of it.

The Pony Was A-Gassed

Thursdays are when T-Hoe gets his weekly allotment of gas. I stop at the Casey's over in Sis-Town during my other errands there, like bank and post office. If The Pony is along for the ride, I can skip the pumping myself, and only have to go in and pre-pay. For the past couple months, we've been having a problem. I first thought it was just the pump I always use, #4. But after having the same thing happen at #3 and #5, we figured it must be T-Hoe himself that's causing the pump to stop every 3-5 seconds.

I told Hick about the issue. The Pony thinks it might be some kind of vent blocked, and that gas or fumes are splashing back and causing the pump to stop. Hick said that MIGHT be right, and he will have to check, but it's not easy, since he will have to take a couple things apart. 

Hick also said that HE has the same problem with SilverRedO. What are the odds that this would happen to both our vehicles at the same time, and at separate Casey's? Hick said one of the pumps at the Backroads Casey's is worse than the other one he always uses.

The Pony did some investigating, and said it COULD be a problem with the pump handles. That if they are old, they sometimes shut off like this. A possible solution was to turn the pump handle sideways, or upside down. That didn't sound like a good idea to me, but The Pony said it might be worth a try. It was NOT!

The Pony was still pumping when I returned to T-Hoe on Thursday. Upon finally finishing, and climbing into the passenger seat, an apology was offered:

"I hope you don't mind the smell of gas on my foot."

"What? I didn't notice. Until NOW! The fumes just got to me."

"It won't be for long. We only have the grocery store left."

"I guess you tried the sideways handle?"

"Actually, I tried the upside down handle. Even though you said not to. And this was my reward. It spilled on my foot and shoe."

The shoe being open-toed Puma slides that I had given The Pony a while back. I made The Pony promise to wash that foot as soon as the groceries got carried in.

"I'll put away my freezer stuff, and leave the rest while I immediately go put this foot and shoe in the bathtub. I think I'll use hand soap, because it will probably foam up better than body wash."

We'll see if The Pony still stinks this week on Errand Day.

The Corpse in the Garage

Our garage it detached. As detached as the retina of that whiny rich dude who got hit in the eye by an olive choked up by Jennifer Love Hewitt at the bar in Heartbreakers. That's one of my favorite movies. If you've never seen it, and like a 2001 ribald comedy and/or Sigourney Weaver, Ray Liotta, and Gene Hackman, you should check it out.

Anyhoo... the weather here has gotten steamy again. I have trouble opening the people-door of the garage. It's just a green metal door with a window in the top half. You should be able to turn the doorknob and pull it open. But no. The wood frame swells up with the humidity. Hick insists on closing that door completely. As if the cars are going to escape. I simply push the door to until it sticks. Then the next day I can pull it open with a slight tug.

Hick keeps the dry dogfood in the garage. The bag is sealed in a big plastic trash can with a lid. I suppose he sometimes drops a nugget or two when dipping the food out to put in the feeder every morning.

Anyhoo... I tried to get in the garage on Friday afternoon. Hick had closed the door. It wouldn't open. I had to set down my purse on the side porch, and grab the handle with both hands. I was afraid that doorknob would come off and send me sprawling backwards onto the sidewalk. It took four tries before I got that door open. I might have dislocated a shoulder momentarily in the process. The dogs were watching with tilted heads.

I picked up my purse and stepped inside. Whoopsie! I almost stepped on something lying just across the threshold. 

A DEAD MOUSE!

He was on his side. Perhaps in a position that mice like to sleep. Yet he wasn't moving. Not a pointy-nosed nasty rat. A fluffy field mouse with big ears. Dead as a doornail. I have no idea what happened to him. He might have been stuck inside the garage, and started to bake from the inside out. It's over 90 degrees in there.

Disposing of dead mice is not part of my skill set. It's not something a VALedictorian needs cluttering up her gray matter. That is Hick's territory. The disposing, I mean. Not the cluttering. I'm sure he would gladly do it for his Harem. So he darn well better do it for me.

The mouse was still there when I got back home. No miraculous resurrection. I stepped over him, and sent Hick a text:

"Dead mouse inside the garage door."

Hick came into the kitchen a half hour later.

"Did you get my text?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Do you know what it said?"

"No. I didn't read it. Here. I'll read it now. Huh. I guess I'll go get it."

When he came back, I didn't ask what he did with the dead mouse. Probably took it by the tail, and flung it as far as he could into the yard, where the dogs would find it later. With a bigger carcass, like a possum, Hick takes it to the end of the driveway, and tosses it into the big sinkhole. Or once he just threw one over the barbed wire fence into the thicket of brush of our neighbor.

"WASH YOUR HANDS BEFORE YOU TOUCH ANYTHING!"

"Huh. I'm going to the bathroom anyway."

And with that, Hick picked up his partially-full bottle of Diet Mountain Dew by the lid, and walked through the kitchen. I did not check the bathroom sink to see if it was wet. I am regretting that I later picked up the TV remote without wiping it off.

Back to the Front Porch

Hick's Roof Guy and his crew got back to work on the Lap House porch and shingles on Monday. Hick sent me a picture on Tuesday. But you know Hick's picture style.

"Not finished yet but getting closer."

I was shocked that it wasn't Hick's usual panoramic view, with a tiny subject in the center of the photo. This was an extreme closeup. I suppose I'm looking at the underneath side of the boards that comprise the new front porch. I would imagine that up above, there is plywood decking, and possible shingles.

On Wednesday, I got another picture from Hick.

"Looks pretty good."

Yes. It looks good, though this angle makes either the house or porch look all cattywompus and warped. Hick says, "There's really not a good place to take a picture from." Well. If you count a wide street with no traffic, and a sidewalk across the corner, and an apartment parking lot across the street to be not good places.

The Pony and I drove by on Thursday, and it looks great! Of course we forgot to get a picture. Eventually, we'll have one. After all, Hick managed to get a picture of the front of the house when he first bought it.

Yes. That's Hick's USUAL picture style. So I zoomed in for you:

I think the porch has done wonders for the appearance of Lap House. Then again, you need a comparable full-frontal picture to compare it.

We'll work on that. At this point, a picture seems more likely to be squeezed out of Hick than any actuall work on this house!

18 Hours Without Internet!

While Hick was text-bragging about his phone being fixed, I was having my own issue. 

NO INTERNET!

Such a cruel blow from The Universe. The two main joys in my life (excluding family, of course) are my scratchers and my internet, with TV a close third. To have one ripped away was traumatic!

I had shut down around 11:30 on Tuesday night. Everything seemed normal. The only difference being that my ailing, anemic HIPPIE had been shutting down about every 10 minutes for the last hour. HIPPIE has these episodes. His battery is not charging and needs to be replaced, but The Pony says a new battery would cost as much as a new laptop these days. Besides, I have a new laptop, which The Pony got me a couple of Christmases ago. It's all set up, residing on the kitchen table behind HIPPIE. It has a bit smaller screen and keypad, and runs Windows 11 and Google Chrome. I keep resisting the change.

Anyhoo... on Wednesday at 11:30 a.m., I turned on HIPPIE. After the startup sequence, I noticed that my internet icon was a big empty globe. That means NO INTERNET! Tom Cullen himself could have understood that, though he would have called it M-O-O-N.

I figured it was just HIPPIE being cantankerous. I did a restart. Nope. I did a full shutdown and startup. Nope. I disconnected and connected. Nope. Sometimes HIPPIE gets all persnickety and locks me out of internet for an hour. Exactly 60 minutes. But that usually still shows the rainbow bars representing my wi-fi connection. I waited an hour, and tried again. Nope.

This was becoming annoying. I ripped out the mouse plug-in thingy, and jabbed it into my new computer (as yet to be named) and had to call The Pony for a password that had been set up and forgotten. The password got me in, but still no connection. So it wasn't just a HIPPIE issue.

I can't get down the 13 rail-less stairs to the basement where the DISH receiver for internet resides in Hick's workshop, and the wi-fi router sits on a desk at the bottom of those stairs. I called Hick and told him he'd need to re-set them both when he got home. This usually works to restore the internet.

Hick was here at 3:30. He did this chore, then went out to mow the front yard/field and elsewhere about the grounds. When I changed out of town clothes and sat down with my scratchers, I realized that my internet STILL was not working. I wasn't going to call Hick back in off his precious zero-turn mower to try again.

I had resigned myself to calling DISH to complain. I've had to do it before. The wait is usually 30 minutes or more. I get some exceedingly polite foreign gal who is almost impossible to understand. She wants a four digit code which I most often remember. She asks the problem, if I ran the troubleshooting, and what message I got, and what I've tried. So I wrote it down:

YOUR DNS SERVER MIGHT BE UNAVAILABLE

CONTACT YOUR NETWORK ADMINISTRATOR OR INTERNET SERVICE PROVIDER

WINDOWS CAN'T FIND THE WELL KNOWN HOST www.microsoft.com USING DNS

By now it was 4:55. I figured a lot of people on the east coast and in the midwest would be off work, and calling about their DISH internet problems. I wanted time to get my issue resolved and fix Hick's supper and still watch Big Brother at 7:00. So I decided to have Hick go to the basement one more time to try again with the resets. Besides, Foreign Gal would ask me to try that, and ask what lights were showing on the receiver.

Hick came in at 5:15. I told him the internet still wasn't working, and asked if he'd do the resets again. He did. I didn't have much hope. I had one scratcher left to work on. When I finished and glanced up at HIPPIE's screen, 

THE INTERNET-CONNECTED WI-FI RAINBOW WAS SHOWING!

At 5:30, I had my internet back. I was able to join Blogland again. Hick's meat loaf and green beans were served. And I was in my OPC (Old People Chair) in time for Big Brother.

We're hoping to remain calamity-free for a couple weeks.

Telegraph, Telephone, Tell a Hick

Hick and I are not being treated well by The Universe. His phone went all wonky three days ago. He couldn't get it off SPEAKER. So EVERYBODY within hearing range (most of the population of Backroads) of his extra-loud volume could hear his business. Can't have that with incoming calls from Hick's Harem, heh, heh!

I took a look, because I'm such a techy, you know, and it seemed like he had the settings right. The Pony tried, and couldn't find anything amiss. Hick asked a total stranger (as opposed to an incomplete stranger) if he could help.

"I was in line at Lowe's, and this kid was behind me. I said, 'Do you think you can figure out what's wrong with my phone? I can't get it off SPEAKER.' And the kid said, 'Sure. I have that exact same phone.' He went into the settings, and tried to get it off, but nothing worked. So I'll have to take it to the phone store when I have time."

That time came on Tuesday, but according to Hick: "There was only one girl workin', and four people already waiting. So I just left. I'll go back tomorrow."

Which he did on Wednesday. I got a text at 1:04. "They fixed my phone."

I was having my own problems at the time, which is not a topic for today. When Hick came home, he told the story. Which was basically that he didn't know what got fixed.

"I got a guy who I think might have been the manager. He did a re-start. That didn't work. He said, 'I'm going to have to go a little deeper.' I don't know what he done, but now it works. I think maybe he said there was an update. But it's working now."

I am happy that worked out for Hick. We thought he might need a new phone [he does a lot of business with that phone, and you can't have people's names and SS numbers and personal info being broadcast during a call from the ATF]. Hick was hating the thought, because like me, he hates to learn anything new. And he didn't want to lose all his personal and business contacts that he has in the phone.

That said, I'd already mentioned to The Pony that Hick probably needed a re-start. He NEVER does one, and it's probably been a year since the last time. Looks like that wouldn't have fixed it, though. Maybe if he had been doing it at least once a month, that update would have come in on its own.

Hick Gets His Arrowheads

Remember when a guy tried to sell Hick some arrowheads for $500? Hick didn't take them. But Sunday, he got TWO collections of arrowheads. Framed, and in much better shape than the arrowheads the $500 guy had to offer.

Hick got more stuff along with this deal. And all for $250.

So much to see! We'll get to the arrowheads later. There are two framed collections. Also in this deal, Hick got the carved wooden Indian head. And the framed decals lying on the counter. They represent local law enforcement agencies. I'd say this was a pretty good deal! 

The other stuff in the picture he already had. Like all the pistols on the pegboard. They are OLD, and collector items. Hick says some of them will still shoot, but he wouldn't recommend it. These are not something a person would buy for protection and/or varmint-shooting. 

The little boat/shadow-box thingy holds fishing lures, and a reel that was dug up by one of Hick's buddies at a former town dump. The case on the right has some fishing lures, and also drug paraphernalia! That's how Hick described it. There's a grinder, and a pipe. I said I bet he didn't have many customers looking for that, and he said, "I just sold a grinder this morning!"

On the bottom shelf are some matches. I recognized the Marlboro logo. On the side shelf, there's a little blue cowboy. I asked Hick if that was plastic, and he said he thought it was metal, but didn't remember much about it. Below it is what looks like a little beer bottle, but Hick said that's salt and pepper shakers.

The attention-getter here is that giant "arrowhead" in the center. I said it looked like something used to cut up a big carcass. Hick said several of his regulars thought it was a hoe, or an axe. I'd think a hoe would have a different shape to be efficient. But I can imagine this scraping skin from flesh. It wouldn't seem to need those notches for a handle, though. It could just as well have the sharp sides, and a blunt end to grasp. Anyhoo... Hick said his asking price for just that giant tool is $350. He didn't mention what he'd charge for anything else.

A peek into Hick's SUS2.5 is always full of suprises.

Amazing Case

It once was lost, but now it's found. Hick has his pocketknife back! It's a miracle!

Of course he didn't tell me until two days later. He's lost that knife out of a hole in his pocket, and found it missing (heh, heh, I never understood that usage) on Friday after 4:00. Hick spends Fridays at his SUS2.5 from 6:30 a.m. until noon. Then he putters around and ends up at the weekly bull-shooting session before coming home around 5:00. He figured the knife was gone for good, though he said it wasn't a valuable knife. Just a common Case pocketknife.

Saturday morning, Hick was back at his SUS2.5 by 6:30 a.m. Lying on the concrete in front of the door was his knife! He figures it must have fallen out of the hole in his pocket as he was getting out the keys to lock up Friday at noon. How lucky that nobody was around to take that knife. And it was conveniently right where Hick would see it.

That pocketknife turned Hick from a loser into a finder!

Hick Takes a Loss

Hick came in Friday evening, grousing about how much dog food costs these days. It's not like our two mutts get the gourmet treatment. Just dry dog food, in a large bag, from Walmart. Pepper is still getting the puppy version, though he's 7 months old now. Maybe that's why he's twice the size of his four litter mates. I don't know why Hick is concerned with the price. You'd think the money was coming out of his own pocket, and not the household checking account.

I think Hick was voicing his displeasure with the dog food because he was really upset about something else, but wanted to act like THAT was not a big deal.

"I lost my pocketknife. I noticed it when I was leaving my buddy's shop (the weekly Friday afternoon bull-shooting session). I reached for my keys, but my knife was gone. I've got a hole in my pocket!"

"Oh. That's too bad."

"It was just a cheap knife. Not a good one."

As The Pony pointed out, upon hearing the news the next day, "Oh, no! It's the knife he always carries, and pulls out to cut off all sorts of things!"

Yes. That pocketknife was a part of Hick's life. I'm sure he will just select another one from his personal collection, or from his SUS2.5. He sells a lot of knives there. 

The lost pocketknife will be easy to replace, yet it's something that can't really be replaced.

The Universe Operates Like Google Ads

Hick and I take a multivitamin every day. I got a deal on them over the weekend. Buy two, get one free. It's a substantial savings! I ordered them as usual. In the past, they've shipped with the USPS. We get an email when they're out for delivery, and I remind Hick to check EmBee (our mailbox) for a key to the lockers beside Mailbox Row. Sometimes the vitamin bottles (hard plastic) come in a soft-pack bag instead of a box, and fit inside EmBee's hollow gullet, as she's made of steel pipe.

Anyhoo, I got the email that the vitamins were being delivered on Thursday. I sent Hick a warning text to be on the lookout when he got the mail. Then a bit later, I clicked on the tracking to see if maybe the vitamins were already here.

Well! Our vitamins were not being shipped with the USPS this time. They were being shipped by AMAZON! That's crazy! Our vitamins have nothing to do with Amazon! Even our Amazon orders come by the USPS, or by FedEx or UPS. 

Now I was in a quandary. Our newest dog Pepper is a chewer! He's seven months old now. With a mouth big enough to surround a vitamin bottle. I was not so much worried about the loss of the vitamins, but wondering if something like that could kill a dog! They are gummi vitamins. And Pepper loves to eat more than he loves to chew. If that package was left on the porch, it could mean trouble.

Of course Thursday is my Errand Day with The Pony. I was leaving home at 2:00, and returning around 4:30. I imagined that would be the window my vitamins arrived. Because that's just how life goes.

I was five miles from home when I passed a white delivery van headed our way. I couldn't read the side exactly, but I thought it said Amazon. I've never noticed Amazon delivery vehicles in our area. But I was sure that's what this was. I continued to pick up The Pony, and voiced my worry about the delivery. The Pony has not had any experience with Amazon delivery, and was no help.

After the bank, we stopped at Casey's as usual for T-Hoe's gas. I went in to pay, while The Pony remained outside to start pumping. When I came back, you'll never guess what was parked beside T-Hoe at the next pump. Or maybe you will, because you're clever.

It wasn't white, but it was definitely an Amazon delivery van! I figured it wouldn't have my vitamins, because there's probably enough deliveries in this town and Backroads for there to be more than one van. What a coincidence to have it parked right next to me, when I've never even seen one before, and was stressing over an Amazon delivery.

The Pony and I did the grocery shopping. I dropped off Pony. And a block away from Pony's house, I saw a (that?) blue Amazon delivery van again, going down a street. It's like I was surrounded by Amazon delivery vans! Like when you talk about something, and then all your Google ads pop up with that very thing the next time you're online.

After a stop at the Gas Station Chicken Store for my lottery tickets, I headed home. As I turned in the driveway, I saw an AMAZON DELIVERY VAN backing up onto my carport, having just turned around. It was a white van. I pulled T-Hoe into the yard to let it pass on our gravel driveway, but it parked. A guy got out and started walking a small package to the porch. You'd think he might have inquired if I wanted it, but no. He tripped over my little dog Jack. Pepper looked on hopefully, tail wagging, but was distracted by my presence. I am know to give out TREATS when I get home from town.

Anyhoo... neither dog went to look at the package. The Amazon driver left, and I was able to swing T-Hoe around to enter the garage. The dogs got their treat. And I got my soft-bag package of three bottles of vitamins off the porch, undisturbed.

I'll probably never see another Amazon delivery van again.

AND... We Have Construction

Looks like those construction materials left beside Lap House were for the porch. The NEW porch! You may recall that the porch was not an asset for Lap House. Just a block of concrete. Not even a tiny eave to shield the rain from your head as you unlocked the front door. Not to mention the color.

Hick decided Lap House needs a roof on that porch. To make it a nice sitting area, and improve the curb appeal. The color will be resolved later, when we're almost ready to list Lap House for sale. Though I WILL caution Hick to get it done before freezing weather sets in.

Hick sent a picture of the progress Thursday afternoon:

It's true to Hick's photography style, you see. He might as well have taken it while standing on the moon. In fact, this is a zoomed-in view! There was a lot of front yard, sidewalk, and street, with Old Buddy on the sidewalk. 

Here's a zoom of the zoom:

NOW I see what The Pony was trying to explain to me, when I didn't understand the long-distance view. The rafters for the porch are in place! This picture was around 2:30. At 4:00, Hick sent another:

I think this porch improves the looks of the house a lot. Even though it's not finished yet. I can imagine sitting on the front porch. Perhaps in a rocking chair, heh, heh, shaking my fist at random kids who chase a ball into the yard.

Finishing the porch and putting shingles on it, and the front roof, shouldn't take too long. Then maybe Hick will get to work inside...

The Materials Have Arrived. Let's Construct.

Hick sent me a text Wednesday afternoon, and a picture from the side of Lap House.

"All the materials setting here for roof and porch but no work yet."

Well. At first glance, I assumed it was a picture of the yard. You know, Hick being proud to show off that he mowed it. And put fallen limbs out of the way. By reading his text, I understood that the shingles and lumber were the subject of the picture, in Hick's panoramic photography style.

Hick's Roofing Guy is going to build a porch on the porch. A real porch, with a roof tied into the front of the house. Hick will be painting the foundation a different color. Probably changing the porch rails as well. Only the front part of the roof needs new shingles.

I don't blame Roofing Guy for not having started the work yet. I wouldn't want to be sweating on a hot shingle roof with the heat index at 115. This day was "cool," with the temperature "only" at 90 degrees. Hick says the plan is for Roofing Guy to start the work on Thursday.

I think a front porch roof will make quite a positive change for Lap House's curb appeal.

Hick, Bamboozled by His Harem

Hick may be a shrewd businessman, but his shrewdness does not translate into dealings with his Harem. He was tricked! Not by all. It wasn't a group scheme. Just a calculated plot by one.

"You know the gal I put in the extra air conditioner for on Monday? The one the other lady give up so she could have it? Her old air conditioner works just fine! It wasn't broken! I had left it there to come back and look at later. We just put the other one in her bedroom window. Turns out she just wanted an air conditioner in her bedroom!"

"That's not right! She told you it wasn't working!"

"Yeah. But it is."

"And it's not fair to the other lady who gave up the second one."

"She wasn't using it anyway. But yeah, it's not fair that the gal tricked everybody into getting her a bedroom air conditioner."

Hick's Harem. Can't live with 'em... can't earn just over $300 a month without 'em.

The Harem: Hot for Hick, Strippin', and Takin' Pills

Hick's Harem is SO infatuated with him. He still has not inspected the wall of the lady who said Friday night that she needed it painted. She since called and apologized, so her wall is on the back burner. One of the old men at the apartments told Hick, "She's a nice lady. But she drinks too much." Who knows what horrors HE's seen!

Anyhoo... Hick stopped by the apartments on his way home from his SUS2.5 on Sunday evening. One of the Harem said her air conditioner wasn't working. With the heat index at 110-115 for the past few days, that could be a major safety issue.

"One of the other ladies had two air conditioners, and said I could take one to put in the other gal's apartment. I told them both to make sure they were awake at 8:15 on Monday morning, because Old Buddy and I would be there to switch the air conditioners." 

Hick was going about his other business (of who knows what) after the AC switch, when the "kitchen gals" called him to come to back to the apartments.

"They said this one lady was wandering around, and she wasn't right. They wanted to know if I had her daughter's phone number. I do, in my files, so I went by. She was all confused. She said there was kids in the room bothering her, and they do it every morning. I asked her if she took her medicine. She said yeah, that somebody gets it ready for her. We went up to look, and she said she takes the pills in the blue container in the morning, and the purple container in the evening. Well, there was pills gone from Tuesday in the purple container. She'd drugged herself up by taking her nighttime pills with her morning pills. I called her daughter. She lives an hour away, and was at work. So the brother over in Bill-Paying Town was gonna come check on her. When I went back at lunch time, she seemed okay. She was aware of everything and not confused. I guess she had a sleeping pill in those night time pills."

"Oh, and I was working there after lunch in my office. As I left, a group of four of them ladies was sittin' out under the awning. They said, 'So-and-So is sunbathing in her bra. Do you mind?' I said, 'As long as her boobs are covered, I don't. I don't care if you all sunbathe nekkid, but the police might.' They got to gigglin' at that."

"She was in her bra? What did it look like? Was it white?"

"No. It was gray, I think. It showed less than a bathing suit."

"I can't believe they were outside in this heat. I guess they knew you'd be leaving, and were putting on a show."

"They all like me, that's for sure."

Yes. It is obvious.

HIck Is a Shrewd Businessman

Hick had a good day of selling at his SUS2.5 on Sunday. Thirteen items (of the strictly regulated and pricey variety), though about half of them were put into lay-a-way for payments. He also had a couple offers he could refuse.

"This guy come in with a bunch of arrowheads. Two of 'em was good, but most of them were broken. I offered him $40 for the lot. He asked if I was joking. He said, 'I wouldn't take that just for one!' The he showed me a German soldier's helmet. I took a picture of it. You can do a search on the picture. It came back as NOT a soldier's helmet, but a German police/firefighter helmet. I offered him $40, and he said he had $500 in it. I didn't do any business with him."

I guess some of these "customers" think Hick is a country bumpkin with no knowledge of collectibles whatsoever. I told Hick that you never know these days. Somebody might see arrowheads in his shop, and complain that they are not to be bought and sold, and should be returned to whatever Native American group to which they originally belonged.

"Yeah. I didn't ask where he got them. I know we have two here in my case that the boys found down by the creek when we bought the land. And they're in good shape, not like the ones this guy had."

As a public service announcement, you should beware that if somebody tries to sell you a German soldier's helmet, it might not be all he claims.

Technology Might Be a Killer

Hick had a doctor appointment last week. It was an endocrinologist he goes to once a year. Specifically to check on his thyroid, which had a growth or enlargement a couple years ago. Hick's report was good. The thyroid hasn't changed. His doctor said he'd check it again next year, and if it was till the same, he'd release Hick.

Hick also went to his regular doctor for a checkup. And maybe the cardiologist. He's still trying to get everything in order for some minor surgery he was supposed to have when he caught what they thought was pneumonia or a collapsed lung! Anyhoo... somewhere amongst those appointments, Hick was told to check his blood pressure, and report the readings. That's because they cut his blood pressure medicine, since his BP was running too low.

Hick came home with a bundle of papers from the appointments. One of them had a code number, telling his to log into his YourChart account (heh, heh, let's call it HisChart), which he's never set up. Whichever doctor told him to check BP said Hick didn't have to write it down on the log they gave him, but to just upload the readings on HisChart.

Hick showed the papers to The Pony, with the code number, and The Pony set up HisChart. Not a big deal, you would think. I have my own account. I don't LIKE it, but I can log in to check in for appointments, and pay bills when notified. Also I can read the doctor notes after an appointment, and check my labs.

Anyhoo... Hick is upset with HisChart. 

"My doctor said I could find out when they schedule my surgery again by looking in there. But something's wrong, because it's got doctors listed on there that I ain't never seen. Some in Oklahoma. Some in Arkansas. And it don't have my regular doctors on there. It's like it's for somebody else. I asked the gal down at the endocrinologist if she could help me with it, and she said no. She give me this phone number, and said I'd have to call and do it myself."

Well. I can understand that. They can't have just anybody logging into patients' electronic records. Hick has not called yet. He thinks maybe it got confused with The Veteran, who has Hick's name, but is a Jr. He has been to a doctor in Oklahoma. But not Arkansas. You would think they would consider the birthdate and/or social security number when recording such information, since you get asked that all the time for verification.

It can't be good for a doctor to look at Hick's HisChart, and assume he's had some of the ailments and treatments listed there...

Here We Go A-Hareming

Friday night, 7:34 p.m. You know what that means. Ring, ring! Hick answered.

"Yes. This is Hick. Yes. We'll get to it. There's so much that needs doing. It won't happen immediately, but we'll get it done. Uh huh. No, we can't spray. We'll get it figured out. We're working on it. I'll talk to you Monday. That's okay. I'll talk to you then. Bye."

"Who was THAT?"

"It was my lady who likes to drink..."

"Of course it was! It's FRIDAY! They always have to call you on a Friday. What's wrong now?"

"She's been drinking. She always drinks on the weekends. She wants her apartment painted."

"Did she think you'd drive over there right now and do it?"

"I don't know what she thinks. I've already talked to her about it. She sent me two texts tonight, and I answered them. Then she called."

"What's wrong with her apartment?"

"Nothing that I know of. She keeps saying a wall just needs to be touched up. Then she said she needed a ladder, because she can't reach up by the ceiling. I told her I wasn't givin' her no ladder."

"Can she paint it herself?"

"No! She cain't barely even walk! Her cleaning lady was gonna do the painting for her. I'll have to take a look at it and see what she thinks is wrong."

I guess Hick's Harem think they should be living in the Taj Mahal. 

It Was Bound to Happen

Hick and Old Buddy spent a couple of cool(er) days working at Cheap House, tearing out the unlevel floor and putting down a new subfloor. 

This is the area between the front room and the kitchen. The furnace and washer/dryer were in that space. Hick says they are going bye-bye. He opened up the furnace, and it was full of gunk. Not salvageable. I imagine HOS (Hick's Oldest Son) and his buddy took any working appliances when they did the initial cleanout.

Here's more of that area, after more floor removal. Hick replaced rotten floor joists, and leveled the floor. He and Old Buddy put down the new subfloor. It's not intended for living on, heh, heh. Just a base to put a new (level) floor of laminate or carpet or whatever the eventual flip-buyer wants.

This is the new floor in the front room. That window looks out onto the street. I think that's a cabinet Hick is using as a work table. The other might be a dryer that he moved out of the way to work on the other part of the floor.

This is another view of the front room, looking back through the furnace area, to the kitchen. Hick says he hopes to get the kitchen floor done next week. Then Cheap House will be ready to list with Realtor Guy.

Just as I suspected, and dreaded... Hick said last night, "I'm not so sure we shouldn't KEEP this house, and fix it up to sell. I've already done the hard parts. I could work on it when I get Lap House done."

I KNEW Hick would do that! Which is why I didn't want to buy Cheap House when we already had Lap House. Of course it would make sense, after spending so much on the roof. I told Hick that was not part of the original agreement. He was all for flipping quick, and making a small profit. Now he wants to do the whole thing. It doesn't matter so much to US, but The Pony has money tied up in two flips now, and is paying two sets of half-expenses. And Cheap House will need an HVAC system. They ain't cheap! Nor are kitchens.

I don't know what The Pony will have to say when I break this news. Hick tried to act like it was just a suggestion. "Oh, yeah. Of course we'll still list it. But if it doesn't sell, I can finish it..." 

So Many Spaces, So Little Respect

This is why we can't have accessible things. SOME people are so entitled that they park where they darn well please. Never mind that they might be inconveniencing a protected demographic. Also breaking the law. And generally being a first-class rumpushole.

It was Tuesday, the hottest day of the year. Heat index 115. I had just come out of Save A Lot and climbed into T-Hoe. I was LUCKY to get the other handicap space, the one I prefer. 

This guy comes whipping into this handicap space. No handicap plate. No handicap placard. He got out and walked to the door with no sign of any different-abledness nor orthopedic injury. He looked like a thin version of David Crosby.

Don't make excuses for him, like maybe he didn't know it was a handicap parking space. The stencil is clearly visible. It's not like there were no other places to park. The space right next to him is empty. And the whole row behind him.

I have a feeling he would have preferred to park in a striped handicap walkway. Because he and his sports car are so very special.

What We Have Here Is a Failure to Get a Hearing Aid

Life is not a bowl of cherries here at our hillbilly mansion. It's more like a box of chocolates. Some of those chocolates are bitter! Disagreements can usually be talked out. Unless one of the disagree-ers doesn't listen. Or as that certain disagree-er says, "I listen to you, but I don't hear you." This causes our sweet Val to endure occasional tongue-lashings which she does not deserve. 

Tuesday afternoon, I was sitting at the kitchen table scratching lottery tickets when Hick got home. He'd planned to mow the front yard/field, but I told him it was too hot. He instead decided to watch Emergency and MASH, and have a beer and a snack in his recliner. His movements in my peripheral vision reminded me of my trip to the store earlier. 

Hick was getting a small styrofoam bowl from beside the sink. There's always a couple that I set there, having been used once for pretzels or a dry snack, then the crumbs dumped out, and perfectly usable again.

"Save A Lot doesn't have ANYTHING any more!"

"I put this bowl here! It's the one I used yesterday!"

"And...?

"FINE! I'll get another one!" Hick stomped away from the counter to get a "new" styrofoam bowl from the other side of the kitchen.

"What does that have to do with what I was saying?"

"You said 'I CAN'T HAVE ANYTHING ANY MORE!' So I put down your bowl to get a new one."

"No. I said SAVE A LOT doesn't have anything any more! I noticed, because you picked up a bowl, and I went there to buy some of the big styrofoam bowls, and they were out. Also out of Nutty Oat Bread, and their store brand Honey BBQ Sauce. That's all I was trying to say when you flipped out. At least wait to yell at me when you actually know what I said."

"Well, you were looking at me because I took your bowl! But it was MY bowl, that I used yesterday."

"I was looking at you because you picked up A BOWL, which reminded me that I couldn't find the big bowls at the store."

So many of these "discussions" could be avoided if Hick would only get a hearing aid, and not ASSUME he knows what I'm saying. I didn't give a fat rat's rumpus if he used that bowl.

Hick's Harem Presents a Problem

It was the weekend. So of course Hick had to deal with his Harem. He just can't quit them. But THIS time, the Harem wasn't pursuing Hick...

Sunday evening, Hick sent me the last picture of his new office accoutrements. Along with a text that he was dumping the trash, and would then be home. He had stopped by to do the trash (more likely admire his newest shelf of collectibles) on the way home from his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5).

When Hick got home, he had quite a story:

"I went in to take the trash out of the trash room, and put it in the dumpster. I noticed that it stunk in there. Like sewer. I was afraid we had a plumbing issue. I opened up the door to the stairwell, and there was POOP! Runny poop."

"EWW! Was it a homeless?"

"I thought it might be. Sometimes they get in. But then I noticed there was more poop on the stairs. It went up to the 2nd floor landing. Then stopped. I'll look at my security camera and see if it's the lady on the 2nd floor."

"Don't you have cameras in the hall?"

"Yeah. I do have cameras in the hall. But not the stairwell. I'll be able to pick up who comes out on the 2nd floor. And see where they go, and if they messed their pants."

"Yuck! What good would THAT do? I doubt anybody who lives there did it on purpose. It's not like you can talk to them about it. It was an accident. Why do you think it's her?"

"I want to know if it's somebody who got in the door. I wouldn't say anything. Or mention any name if somebody sees me cleaning it up tomorrow morning. I went by Walmart and got some kitty litter to sprinkle on it. I was going to go back, but figured it can wait until morning. And it might even be gone. Whoever did it might clean up, and try to keep it a secret. This is the lady who sits in the stairwell all the time. I know she wears diapers. I seen some when I went in to fix her air conditioning."

"Well. Wash your hands!"

"Val. I didn't play in it or nothin'! I only dumped the trash."

No. Hick did not wash his hands before supper. I guess he figures the trash is clean.

Maybe Now We Can Move On to a Flip House

Hick sent me another picture of his work office on Sunday evening. He was supposedly stopping by the senior apartments to take the trash out from the trash room to the dumpster. Yet he ended up on the third floor in his office.

"This is what I brought up when I took The Pony home on Thursday."

Looks like it's some of Hick's St. Louis Cardinals memorabilia. You know, just something totally unrelated to all the other themes he has going on. I guess it goes along with his silver Budweiser Clydesdale in the clear box.

You'd think somebody so involved with decorating this former half-storage-room might have chosen a better board for his shelf. Give it a clear coat at least. It looks like a cast-off board from the trim pile. At least it's the same color as the couch wood, and the other shelf, and the bare plywood around the window air conditioner.

I hope Hick has this office out of his system now. He let slip the date of the next board meeting (the reason he gave for getting this office ready), and it's the middle of AUGUST! I don't get the urgency.

Anyhoo... Hick said he was going by Cheap House on Monday morning (around 6:15 when he left home), to get some work done on the floor before it got too hot. I'm calling the office done!

You Say Tomato, I Say TINO

Hick's Freebie Magnet was pulling last week. He came home with three tomatoes. 

"I've got tomatoes. A guy gave them to me down at my shop."

"Are they home-grown? Or the kind like from the store, that some people get a deal on and sell at a farmer's market."

"I don't know. He didn't say. He just gave me three tomatoes."

When I set them on the counter, I was suspicious.

"These look too smooth to be home-grown. And really clean. I guess I'll find out when I slice one."

Later that night, I had my answer. The tomatoes were definitely store-bought adjacent. Firm inside, not many seeds, a lot of that pulp stuff. NO TASTE! If I had been fed a piece while blindfolded, I would never have guessed it was a tomato. Or course I ate that tomato anyway. I'm not one to waste a free tomato!

I had another one a couple days later. This one remains. I will offer it to Hick tonight, but will probably end up having it myself tomorrow. I don't think that guy was trying to pass them off as home-grown. I think he was just being generous. Maybe had more tomatoes than he needed.

I say this was a TINO. Tomato in name only.

I Don't Think It's Happening

Back in the middle of June, Hick said he told Realtor Guy that he'd be ready to list Lap House in one-and-a-half months. That would be around the first week of August. I really don't believe this will happen. Hick has done NOTHING on Lap House. Despite the electricity being hooked up on June 19th. At the time Hick shared this info with me, I got the impression he also thought Cheap House would be ready to list. 

I can't fault Hick for not working on Cheap House. The heat has been terrible, and there's no air conditioning at Cheap House. The 10-day forecast shows more incredible heat. The heat index hovering around 104 for a couple days, then 111 on Tuesday! With more days of 104 through the end of July. 

I understand that weather happens. That's why I told Hick to get the outside of Lap House done first, so he could be working inside during the heat of summer and cold of winter. The first thing he did (besides cleaning out that basement) was to have the new HVAC installed. Lap House is a safe environment for inside work. This is where I fault Hick. For wanting to make an office at the senior apartments, and put a new roof on one of his themed sheds, and make trips to the city to buy "collectibles," and spending days besides Friday, Saturday, and Sunday at his SUS2.5.

Hick has always been a hard worker. It's his attention span that causes issues. He always needs five or six projects to flit between, with none of them getting full attention. Or finished.

Hick said he met with his roofing guy on Friday evening, about Lap House. He's thinking of just replacing the part of the roof with loose shingles, because the back of the house roof looks good.

At least that's a step in the right direction, even IF this is not actual work done by Hick. And even if it will probably be too hot for the roofers to work over the next couple weeks. I'm a little suspicious because Hick didn't elaborate on the estimate or exactly what will be done. And he only mentioned this meeting when I questioned why he was home later than usual without notifying me.

I would bet my casino bankroll that neither Lap House, nor Cheap House, will be ready for listing by the first week of August.

The Return of the OPC

Hick and The Pony carried my OPC (Old People Chair) up those 13 rail-less steps from the basement on Thursday. We are rearranging our living room. I have not used my OPC since my Unfortunate HospitVALzation back in January 2022. At first I was too weak to take those stairs. Then the state of my knees made me leery of falling.

Anyhoo... I now have my OPC in the living room, against the wall where Hick's recliner used to reside. Then there's the table next to it. And now Hick's recliner. The short couch that used to be in that place is under the living room window. It looks a little cramped over there, at a right angle to the long couch, with the coffee table now in front of the short couch.

I told Hick that maybe we should get rid of the short couch, and put in two of his "dentist chairs," the ones shown in his new office at the senior apartments. Sometimes you just want a nice sturdy cushioned chair to sit on, rather than a soft couch or a recliner. Such a chair is easier for me to arise from than a couch, since it's not as low. Same with Hick's recliner. I didn't sit in it, because it's lower, and my knees don't like to bend enough to get my feet under me to stand up. At least my OPC has that tilt thingy.

My OPC has a backup battery. That's great. I don't want to be trapped like a turtle on its back if the power goes off. I only had to make use of that once, back when the OPC was in the basement. Down there, my OPC controller was on a lamp table to my right, where the backup battery and wall outlet were. Now the outlet and battery are on my left. The cord runs under the OPC, and comes up on the right. Hick had it lying on the table between our chairs. 

I'm afraid that remote might drag off the back of the table, and fall where I can't reach it. So I set it in a little box of assorted stuff I keep on the table. Like pens, chapstick, bandaids, a nail file, a thermometer, etc. Stuff that should have a home of their own, but are more convenient to have right there.

Anyhoo... I mentioned to Hick that I was keeping the OPC remote there, to make sure it didn't fall down. Hick said haughtily...

"There's a pocket on the side of your chair to keep the remote in." 

Because, you know, he's the one who's been sitting in my OPC occasionally when he goes to the basement to watch the big screen TV.

I moved as if to reach my right hand down to that pocket. 

"Well. The only problem is that THERE'S A TABLE UP AGAINST MY CHAIR." 

I couldn't even fit a fingertip between them. Not that it matters. I don't need the table and Hick's recliner moved over. I'm fine with my remote sitting in that little box. It's just that Hick thinks he knows everything! And was trying to make me feel less-than by pointing out the (inaccessible) pocket.

That's a bold attitude from a guy who doesn't even know how to slice a baked potato.

Hick's Eclectic Office

Hick says he's almost finished decorating his office at the senior apartments. It IS looking more like an office. Though again, I'm not sure what KIND of office. Nothing about it screams "Manager, Senior Apartments." I don't even hear a whisper.

The desk is the most "office-y" thing in there. And the printer. Hick THINKS it's a printer. He says it makes copies, so it should print. His laptop is being worked on by The Pony, so not on his desk. There's his surveillance monitor. Maybe so he can see his Harem coming! I'm surprised by the bare wires up in the corner. Hick usually runs all his wire in conduit. Then again, he's been in a rush to get this office done. He says he doesn't like the desk, and might look for another one. Used, of course!

I see the air conditioner has been installed. That's a nice mirror, but I'm not sure how one could look into it without standing on the couch. Which is not new, but was in a storeroom. Perhaps the one from which Hick made this office! As for the knick-knacks on the shelves, I see a gigantic squirrel terroizing some Model A era vehicles. And above, there are a couple of Mr. Peanuts, and a duo of Uncle Sams!

Now we're back to the first wall that Hick showed us a couple days ago. He's added a mini fridge. The chairs came from the set Hick got when a dentist's office closed. I think they look comfortable. I'd like to have one here at home. Looks good for a sturdy chair to sit and read a book. The table is from the rich guy's house where Hick is eventually going to get the cabinets. 

I think it's a bright, cheery office space to have a meeting. Hick has done a nice job here. Though I would have preferred his energy and time go into one of our TWO flip houses. 

I Think It's the Mark of a Psycho

Hick may be a genius with machines and construction, savvy at business, and pretty good with people skills. But nobody's perfect. Hick has a deficiency in common sense. He can barely prepare his own plate for supper.

Last night it was boneless/skinless chicken breast, stuffing, and a baked potato. Let the record show that Hick was offered slaw and a sliced tomato and salad, but declined. He said he wanted sour cream and cheese on his baked potato. This was a breeze for me to prepare, because we'd already had the chicken the day before, and the stuffing. We ran out of corn on the cob, so I offered the baked potato. All I had to do was warm chicken and stuffing in the oven, and microwave the potato.

A normal person would probably be able to come to kitchen and put that food on a plate without issue. No need for Val to hover over a normal person, micromanaging. But with Hick, it's different. Hick is not a normal person. I set out his plate (in this case, the yellow cafeteria tray) and silverware (including his precious paring knife), and the sour cream container with a designated spoon, and a bowl of shredded cheddar (because Hick is likely to reach an unwashed hand into the bag if I don't).

I stood by, with helpful suggestions, heh, heh.

"Do you want a longer knife to cut open your potato?"

"No. This little one is just fine."

Hick sliced the potato in half. You might think that sounds completely normal. You'd be wrong. Hick did not slice the potato lengthways, as every baked-potato-eater in the history of the world has done since the beginning of potatoes and knives. No. Hick sliced that potato across the middle. Like you might have two halves of a soft-boiled egg in two egg cups. 

WHAT KIND OF PSYCHO DOES THAT?

"Why in the world would you slice a baked potato like that? How are you going to put your cheese and sour cream on it?"

"I know what I'm doing, Val. I just don't do it the way you want me to do it."

Hick then cut down the middle of each potato half. They were in a V shape.

"I don't know how you think your cheese and sour cream are going to stay on the potato. Here! At least do THIS." I pulled the halves apart so they laid flat. "Wait. Why are you putting the sour cream on first?"

"It don't matter which I do first."

"Okay. Do the sour cream. It will get hot, and the shredded cheese will stay cold on top of the sour cream."

Hick put down the spoon. Picked up the bowl of shredded cheddar, grabbed handfuls, and dropped the clumps onto his potato quarters. THEN added the sour cream on top. I could tell he was totally confused by this concept of letting the cheese melt on the hot potato.

Baby steps. I'm trying to ease Hick into the world of normal food prep. Because I'm a giver like that. Hick is not a very good taker.

It shouldn't bother me how Hick fills his plate. He's an adult. He wants to eat in the living room. I don't have to watch. I could just as well dump everything into a portable trough and Hick would do just fine. But I keep trying to polish Hick into a normal-adjacent eater.

Weirdo Goes A-Grabbin', Uh Huh

Don't worry about Val's Weirdo Magnet losing power as she ages. That magnet is as charged as ever. Weirdos just can't help themselves. Like moths to flames, dogs to bones, and flies to doodoo, weirdos cannot resist Val's charms. Even an innocuous act such as strolling past them results in Val having a weirdo interaction.

Monday I went into Country Mart on my way home from leg therapy. The sole purpose was to get scratchers out of the two lottery machines up front. There was a cart beside the building when I parked way down at the end in the second handicap space. I pushed it inside. Doing a good deed, you know. Plus I would have it to lean on if I had to wait. The lottery machines here are popular, and they also regularly stall out and force the money-putter-inner to wait until the machine darn well decides it's ready to respond.

Indeed, there was a lady buying tickets at the far machine. Nobody at the near one, though a young adult chubby man was playing the adjacent grabber machine. A thin blond woman had almost rammed me with an empty cart as I entered the second set of sliding glass doors. She was returning it to the carts in the between-doors area, which I planned to do with my good deed on my way out.

Turns out Blondie was with the Grabber Kid. I THINK! She came back and was giving him advice on where to steer those floating tongs. I scanned three winners into the lottery machine, and selected my tickets. Blondie had come up behind me.

"Can you believe they have so few one-dollar tickets in here? They used to have a lot more."

I didn't know if she was talking to me. I figured she might have been saying it to Grabber Kid. The lady at the other machine moved away, and I pushed my empty cart over there to get some tickets. Blondie was following me. So I guess she was talking to ME.

"Well. I hear they're going to do away with the $3 tickets like this little crossword. Maybe they're cutting down the dollar tickets, too."

I stepped up to the lottery machine and put in my money. Blondie moved from my left shoulder to my right shoulder. 

"And look at these! Can you believe people actually buy these $50 tickets? I mean, I understand the prizes are bigger. But only if you win. I could buy groceries with that $50." 

As Blondie was blabbering, she reached up to point at the $50 tickets, and touched the screen. Which popped up the picture of that $50 ticket, with choices for how many to select. I had a flashback to an Oklahoma casino where an old lady walked up and pushed the SPIN button on my slot machine, and I slapped her hand. I refrained from touching Blondie, but I was not pleased with her behavior.

"Oh. Sorry. I don't buy tickets out of machines. I didn't mean to do that."

A LIKELY STORY!

I was annoyed, but not worried that she would "accidentally" buy a $50 ticket. That was impossible, because I only had $20 in the machine. Still, Blondie was persona non grata. I gave her my teacher stink-eye, and she walked back to the grabber machine.

I'm really not so sure Blondie was with that Grabber Kid. A young woman came from the register with a cart of groceries, and asked how he was doing, and he said he'd already fed that machine three dollars. Maybe Blondie was just hanging out, giving him "advice."

Weirdos gonna weirdo.

Teach Your Children. Well...

I got my rightful handicap parking space at Save A Lot on Sunday. It's next to the cart return, which was full. I grabbed a cart/walker and headed across the drive towards the door. They are the automatic type glass doors that swing open when you get close.

A 30-something man came out the exit door, pushing his cart full of groceries. A little girl bopped along behind him. She looked about 7-8 years old. She trailed along slowly, watching me. I suppose it's because I'm old. I'd say the way I walk, but I was leaning on the cart, so my stride was fairly normal.

Her eyes widened. "Are you going in?"

"Uh huh."

Little Girl stepped over to the entrance door, to trip the eye and make it open. The dad was not having it.

"Sis! Come on! It's an automatic door."

"Thank you!" I said.

Little Girl ducked her head with pride. Then scampered off to join her disgruntled dad. I suppose she learned her manners from her mom.

That dad is what my students called a "fun-sucker." Somebody who sucks the fun out of any situation. What harm did it do to let Little Girl do something nice, and enjoy making that magic door open?

Narrow Miss

Backroads dodged a weather bullet last week. Rain and storms were in the forecast, but we only got 2-3 inches, and the timing allowed part of the water to flow away, with a lull before the rest arrived. Our neighbors 50 miles to the south were not so lucky. It's been all over the news here, and I've even seen it on international news.

Iron and Reynolds counties got over 12 inches of rain in 24 hours. Supposedly that happens once in a millennium, or every 1000 years. Over 350 people had to be evacuated, some by National Guard helicopters. People had to cling to roofs, trees, and car tops waiting for rescue. This was around Black River, near Lesterville. The only death I heard about was a woman washed away in Crawford County, near the Huzzah Creek. I know that area, having driven through there twice a day when working in Steelville.

Anyhoo... kudos to the rescuers who risked their own lives carrying these people to safety! Water is nothing to sneeze at. We are fortunate that this weather steered south of us, and that our hillbilly mansion sits on high ground above our creek. We have a high bridge over Big River, and know not to drive into water flowing over the two low-water bridges we cross to get to town. The water did not rise even halfway to the bridges this time.

We were prepared in case it did. Sometimes you just have to sit tight until the water goes down. Our southern neighbors did not have that option. It's such a relief they are safe.

Business Is Business

Hick came home from his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5) on Saturday with a story.

"This old guy come in and asked me if I knew anybody named Beans. I said yeah, I did. That I'd had an uncle named Beans. The guy talked about him a while. He had a gun [which Hick is legally licensed to buy and sell] he wanted to sell or trade, and said he bought it from Beans years ago. From the details in his story about the time and other people he knew, I was sure he really DID get that gun from my Uncle Beans. I traded him for it. Then I called my cousin to tell her.

Cousin always talked about how her dad Beans had told her that he got his guns from his dad when he died. And Beans said that when HE died, Cousin would inherit his guns. But when Beans died, Cousin's stepmom gave all of Beans's guns to HER son. And Cousin didn't get a single one.

I told her about this guy. She asked if he was kind of loud. I said yeah. I looked up his name in my book when Cousin got here, and she said that she knew of that guy being friends with her dad. I said I couldn't guarantee that it was one of her dad's inherited guns, but I was pretty sure it was a gun that he had, that had belonged to him in some way or another. She was really happy to get it."

"What kind was it?"

"A Browning [something number] [something action] double barrel--"

"That means nothing to me! I only wanted to know if it was a rifle or pistol or shotgun. So it was a shotgun?"

"Yeah. A double-barrel shotgun. In great condition, it would be worth $1550. I told Cousin I was asking $950 for it, but I'd sell it to her for $800. She said that was fair. She was thrilled to get something that belonged to her dad."

"That's a nice story. I'm glad she got it."

"And I still made a profit. I only had $525 in it with the trade."

Well. Hick IS a businessman. He's not a charity. So I wouldn't expect him to just GIVE his cousin an item like that. As long as they were both happy, I guess it was a good deal.