tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9370388707222382712024-03-18T23:28:03.820-05:00Unbagging the CatsToo much info from Val the victorian.Valhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025832536749983018noreply@blogger.comBlogger4266125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937038870722238271.post-43534573969943593292024-03-18T08:00:00.003-05:002024-03-18T08:00:00.134-05:00Convenience Store Capers: So Close, But Yet So Far<div style="text-align: left;">I walked into the Gas Station Chicken Store on Saturday, to find NO ONE THERE! No customers, no clerk. I knew it was the day and time that my favorite clerk should be working. Sometimes when business is slow, she is putting ice in the soda fountain, or grabbing a bite of her dinner in the break room. But there was no sign of her this time. I stood at the counter, perusing the selections. I am never in a hurry.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Fave came out of the bathroom shortly. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"I heard you come in. Well. I didn't know it was YOU! I didn't want to yell out, 'I'm in here!' But if I had known it was you, I probably would have!"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"That's okay. I'm never in a hurry. You don't have to rush for me."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"I think I waited a little too long! I thought I would never stop peeing!"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"You have to take the opportunity when you can get it!"</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Did you hear about Casey's having a $100,000 winner?"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"NOOOO!"</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"The gal there told me, and I looked it up online. It's true. The $5 'Full of $500s' ticket."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"Dang it! Now there won't be a good winner around here for a while! I sure won't buy that ticket over there!"</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I go in the Backroads Casey's a couple times a week. I DO buy that ticket, if they are out of my crossword or Frogger ticket. Oh, well. I guess somebody else needed that win more than I did.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In fact, I went over to the Backroads Casey's when I left the Gas Station Chicken Store. It's just across the moat, and over the side street from Hick's pharmacy. My favorite clerk there was working. The Older Lady with a blond ponytail.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"Here's my ten dollars to cash in. It's not $100,000, but better than nothing."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"Ha ha! I'm the one who sold that ticket! The girls over at 10Box said they wished I had won it. But I told them I don't buy here, I'm only the seller."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"I hope the winner remembers who sold it!"</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"Oh, she did. She came in yesterday and gave me $385! I thought it was a prank! Then she told me what she won. I was shocked."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"That was really nice of her."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"I KNOW! It was the biggest tip I ever got! We had people in here all day, buying lottery. I told them, 'You know, it doesn't work that way. There's not going to be a jackpot here for a while."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">So... good news for somebody, and for that clerk. I'm pretty sure I won't be hitting a big winner around Backroads for six months or more. But still, I can play to keep on playing.</div>Valhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025832536749983018noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937038870722238271.post-18498603105166621872024-03-17T08:00:00.001-05:002024-03-17T08:00:00.149-05:00Convenience Store Capers: A Heartbreaking Find of Staggering Regret<div style="text-align: left;">As you know, I have ceased my quest to become a Future Pennyillionaire. I no long pick up coins I find on parking lots or store floors. The pickin's have been slim, anyway. Only a couple sighted in the first two months of 2024. However...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">On Saturday, as I walked up the slope to the door of the Liquor Store, I saw a penny. I resisted the urge to scoop it up. That's no longer my journey. I went past, noting several foil discs that must have held in the contents of small energy drink bottles. They often look like coins, and Val has been fooled more that once. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">When I came out, I saw another penny. And another! In fact, there was a small grouping, then a trail of pennies! It was the most fantastic thing ever! Like when I found a gaggle of pennies on the blacktop road down by Mailbox Row, figuring that a kid threw them out the bus window. I picked up those pennies, but not the ones at the Liquor Store. Such a shame. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">There were 15 PENNIES on that lot!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Yes. The lighting on the way back to T-Hoe revealed many more pennies. As if a numismatic Johnny Appleseed had scattered them there for me to find. I did NOT stoop to pick them up. I was on a downhill slope. Such an effort might have given me a stroke from the sustained pressure in my noggin while bent to collect them at a level lower than my feet. If I had turned to face uphill, I might not have seen them all, since I'd missed them on the way in.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The end of an era. This might have been my year to achieve Pennyillionaire status. Then again, as Hick says, a monkey might have jumped out of my rumpus.</div>Valhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025832536749983018noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937038870722238271.post-42426676676476876562024-03-16T08:00:00.001-05:002024-03-16T08:00:00.137-05:00Hick's Bingo "Prices" Could Outfit Us For an Expedition<div style="text-align: left;">Hick continues to win "prices" at lunchtime Senior Center bingo, yet lose at bar bingo on Tuesday nights. He's always proud to send me a picture of his winnings. Like on Wednesday, when he won another blanket. I swear, we could take a trip to Antarctica and be snug as two bugs in multiple rugs, with the collection of blankets Hick has won at bingo.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRAOEPxZmpeeu1tT5regj_EcsJb0JKA7h7GVKzSOcNTNgjz-nlGarzmZx3Rm-hFr2MRy6vf6BOH_zxMP26PtU8pF0rONJ4q-Mjz-hlFOhlkDwJV8vOvefUl6lkLusmMYylWyTg2jOpJrUlE-vEacSr69r__alJ4i-K131evUJLiW9UXPhQT9fh3bgl/s1600/Hick%20bingo%2003-13-24%20blanket%20Cuddl%20Duds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRAOEPxZmpeeu1tT5regj_EcsJb0JKA7h7GVKzSOcNTNgjz-nlGarzmZx3Rm-hFr2MRy6vf6BOH_zxMP26PtU8pF0rONJ4q-Mjz-hlFOhlkDwJV8vOvefUl6lkLusmMYylWyTg2jOpJrUlE-vEacSr69r__alJ4i-K131evUJLiW9UXPhQT9fh3bgl/w480-h640/Hick%20bingo%2003-13-24%20blanket%20Cuddl%20Duds.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">At first glance, I thought this was some knockoff Dollar Store version of Ugg boots. Still a viable option for our Antarctica trip. But Hick said it was a blanket. Then I noticed it was just the way that blanket was tied up with the ribbon.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">On Friday, Hick crowed into my space in the kitchen while I was making chicken pot pie, to try and show me a picture on his phone.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"My new blanket is worth FIFTY DOLLARS. See???"</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I did not see, being busy making supper. But I took Hick's word for it. He's pretty good with finding the prices for assorted auction finds. And the label on this one says CuddlDuds, which is at least a brand name that I've heard of.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Still... to me that blanket is just something somebody didn't want, so they re-gifted it to the Senior Center as a tax credit for charity.</div>Valhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025832536749983018noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937038870722238271.post-69453402299381473552024-03-15T08:00:00.003-05:002024-03-15T08:00:00.154-05:00The Pony Gets Back On the Horse<div style="text-align: left;">After a regularly scheduled day off on Wednesday, The Pony returned to work Thursday. He was apprehensive and sore. Of course I worried all day. I was especially thinking of him around 12:20, the time when his dog bite occurred on Tuesday. Then my phone buzzed with a text. The Pony sent me a picture of the scene of the attack.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlBS2SsV2yBBu-E34cuGA6p-wqk004sAlAq8OLnX-rkW2zCcxYZNYZyvUXg7QqUKDS9h-7UwrLUT_Er5WVmolOlPK0GNKeIzvd06Vgk7SnOgn0lSUaZQSW-szmwkZIywwBRCmKDyUYAZoA-8o7Qa4XtOXpAjzv0issLV0C1iXN5_KYhKUzZUDSPqsz/s2560/Pony%20bite%2003-12-24%20house%20approach.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlBS2SsV2yBBu-E34cuGA6p-wqk004sAlAq8OLnX-rkW2zCcxYZNYZyvUXg7QqUKDS9h-7UwrLUT_Er5WVmolOlPK0GNKeIzvd06Vgk7SnOgn0lSUaZQSW-szmwkZIywwBRCmKDyUYAZoA-8o7Qa4XtOXpAjzv0issLV0C1iXN5_KYhKUzZUDSPqsz/w640-h480/Pony%20bite%2003-12-24%20house%20approach.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">This is where The Pony was walking along, having just delivered mail to the house on the right. He was headed up to the corner, where he turns to put the mail in the box on the front porch of the dog house. No car was parked there at the back porch on Tuesday. One or maybe both of the elderly people was on that back porch. The 110 lb Cane Corso was lying behind the trash cans. The Pony did not see the dog until it ran out in front of him. The Pony couldn't get the dog spray out of his satchel in time.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I mistyped the original account of the incident. The Pony said the residents of that house were not at home. Just the elderlies, who he thinks are the parents of one of the couple, and are visiting for two weeks from Florida with their dog. It was the elderly man who stayed with The Pony while the elderly woman brought out the hydrogen peroxide, ointment, and bandaid.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">This picture gives me chills. WHAT IF a child was skipping along that sidewalk??? I shudder to think what the dog might have done to a child. A visiting dog should not have been off leash this close to a public sidewalk. I let my dogs run free, but they are on 20 acres. Not a few feet from a public pathway.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Anyhoo... can't go back in time and un-bite The Pony. The puncture wound looks to be healing, though oozing fluid. Here's a picture:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhssRuMYKTQUiL0wInX-LKzigIxFWgxzVY5xm-nk3FNc9ewRSpgrCb7YHVqOZOme03VFJVdgPs_2rrvZo7dGpRePbE35mFpzagBlZfpJmFN5ac8goHOW4px8cqnqRVLIK9sIwT_uCBs3kRXfWrfa5Cl0spvGxd6Q6MkD1-nsz2mz5TuYbkZxLtOH2p_/s2560/Pony%20bite%2003-12-24%20puncture%2040%20hours%20later.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhssRuMYKTQUiL0wInX-LKzigIxFWgxzVY5xm-nk3FNc9ewRSpgrCb7YHVqOZOme03VFJVdgPs_2rrvZo7dGpRePbE35mFpzagBlZfpJmFN5ac8goHOW4px8cqnqRVLIK9sIwT_uCBs3kRXfWrfa5Cl0spvGxd6Q6MkD1-nsz2mz5TuYbkZxLtOH2p_/w640-h480/Pony%20bite%2003-12-24%20puncture%2040%20hours%20later.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">That's from Thursday morning, about 40 hours after the bite. The skin is wrinkly from the compression bandage overnight. Looks like the swelling has gone down.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The upper arm is showing more color in the bruise.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu0ISMLI-sfLALG74BPMDcZUpfVZC9OsKOTzVVFIlcra41xCpkupX0GMjOLBVKgMC-OLNH12EYLzyf70ZUa1raAS2Or9Ud07jrGDlCSksMZADLI4fK5QmlMku_Eehfcdm7Ch6peytda8Dawo8WFTM-RW-fblor2Yqb-abCiOdCDX_FdpI8BUv-HL-T/s2560/Pony%20bite%2003-12-24%20upper%2024%20hours%20later.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu0ISMLI-sfLALG74BPMDcZUpfVZC9OsKOTzVVFIlcra41xCpkupX0GMjOLBVKgMC-OLNH12EYLzyf70ZUa1raAS2Or9Ud07jrGDlCSksMZADLI4fK5QmlMku_Eehfcdm7Ch6peytda8Dawo8WFTM-RW-fblor2Yqb-abCiOdCDX_FdpI8BUv-HL-T/w640-h480/Pony%20bite%2003-12-24%20upper%2024%20hours%20later.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">This one is from Wednesday afternoon, about 24 hours after the incident. I still stand by my theory that this is also a bite, not a paw scrape. It's not like this dog was a heavyweight boxing champ. That's a lot of bruising for a paw.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">They don't look too bad for the aftermath of a canine attack. The Pony was a lucky dog.</div>Valhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025832536749983018noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937038870722238271.post-32888550305162576502024-03-14T08:00:00.007-05:002024-03-14T08:00:00.128-05:00Travels With My Placard: An Inconvenient Two-thTuesday was not a good day for traveling with my handicap placard. I stopped by the Gas Station Chicken Store for scratchers, and came out to find myself blocked in! Yes, I could have backed up a full car length, into the area where cars drove out from the gas pumps under the roof in front of the building. But T-Hoe's backup beeper doesn't work, and people these days keep driving behind you, even if they can see that you are actively backing. So I settled down to wait until I was unblocked.<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFF9ZvrGOQORRJW-MSRQLtx_cjGVUFws0V7mF4CCE_yJMJ0PzlRz1MK_ISqIeBuSs78Vj25yDwSfqMRIWBtzt0fM0UH9mGhJ45eMWPhJOwF8J-IAe1KE3bbWxkfBdRg_t0mtX2RV9UN25vKQp6Xl2yuC6-Mw62MSiXNczpsAU4n9Y7Fo71sZ9smxPx/s4000/handicap%20blocked%2003-12-24%20Ch%20trailer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFF9ZvrGOQORRJW-MSRQLtx_cjGVUFws0V7mF4CCE_yJMJ0PzlRz1MK_ISqIeBuSs78Vj25yDwSfqMRIWBtzt0fM0UH9mGhJ45eMWPhJOwF8J-IAe1KE3bbWxkfBdRg_t0mtX2RV9UN25vKQp6Xl2yuC6-Mw62MSiXNczpsAU4n9Y7Fo71sZ9smxPx/w640-h480/handicap%20blocked%2003-12-24%20Ch%20trailer.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div>There was a middle-aged man airing up his trailer tires. I waited until he walked around to get back in the truck before taking the picture. I wasn't on a shaming mission, just wanting to show how inconsiderate people are. This guy could have easily parked along the side of the road up there by the dumpster. That FREE AIR hose is plenty long. People do that all the time if both of these spaces are taken. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp299cyfY1KsHH_HC5-840Lle0xYGFB82jU08s58cTt6TuTwHMOqt8dLCfhAbC8xIABrvzATzXBK6acTbFXGYrrHXwhfDU1QMKZvpN-yoLf0asnfnC59dGkBZMmT1LtLG4x1GHezbcsMX-uro-GCzXIjVBhkcp8DBH_lnBdUCRIH04ubGpMShVjCuK/s4000/handicap%20blocked%2003-12-24%20Ch%20close%20trailer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp299cyfY1KsHH_HC5-840Lle0xYGFB82jU08s58cTt6TuTwHMOqt8dLCfhAbC8xIABrvzATzXBK6acTbFXGYrrHXwhfDU1QMKZvpN-yoLf0asnfnC59dGkBZMmT1LtLG4x1GHezbcsMX-uro-GCzXIjVBhkcp8DBH_lnBdUCRIH04ubGpMShVjCuK/w640-h480/handicap%20blocked%2003-12-24%20Ch%20close%20trailer.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div>They were really close, and that angle was irritating me, complicating my escape. The middle-aged man's ample middle-aged wife was sitting in the truck with her window down. Even though T-Hoe's windows were up, I could hear her when M-A Man got in the truck.</div><div><br /></div><div>"She took a picture!"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Why would she do that?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"I don't know. But she got out her phone and took a picture! That's just stupid."</div><div><br /></div><div>Heh, heh. If you don't want your picture taken, don't park like a rumpushole!</div><div><br /></div><div>From there, I headed over to the Sis-Town Country Mart to get some soda for Hick, and some fried chicken which they did not have. Anyhoo... when I got there, ALL FIVE of the handicap spaces were taken. TAKEN! Like the seats Elaine was trying to save for Jerry and George and Kramer. Except instead of being empty, these spaces were full.</div><div><br /></div><div>I drove down into the lot to sit for a minute. One car started backing out, so I pulled up, ready to cross over the drive that is actually a street with a stop sign. But the minute that car got out of the way, another car that had been waiting at the stop sign whipped into it! That was annoying. I was pretty sure I had more insurance, but I couldn't guarantee that I was older. So I refrained from giving it a Kathy-Bates-Fried-Green-Tomatoes ramming.</div><div><br /></div><div>Had to park way down in the lot, to be near the cart return. No way was I going to park closer, then have to take a cart to the return and walk back to T-Hoe. You can't just leave a cart on that sloping lot.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw6XVZ1UaUJaXRv7B7Mcc5Htvoc8OGq3YZsTEyV3Jg-hHnjEDKt4O0ng9ccxjF6tKeejMTXqh8ynBPnAT9cUlmsYGvFPxZSDegc8OKnCo-QHlUeAnDqsnTQZmKjyg_dFi9i1fkdXxJbw56Fhdp_JAkesjs89eTI96vWqD-FfH9z_9sMNB6f3xNM8fV/s4000/CM%20handicap%2003-12-24%20spaces%20were%20full.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw6XVZ1UaUJaXRv7B7Mcc5Htvoc8OGq3YZsTEyV3Jg-hHnjEDKt4O0ng9ccxjF6tKeejMTXqh8ynBPnAT9cUlmsYGvFPxZSDegc8OKnCo-QHlUeAnDqsnTQZmKjyg_dFi9i1fkdXxJbw56Fhdp_JAkesjs89eTI96vWqD-FfH9z_9sMNB6f3xNM8fV/w640-h480/CM%20handicap%2003-12-24%20spaces%20were%20full.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div>Of course when I got back and unloaded my groceries into T-Hoe's rear, there were two handicap spaces open, and another car backing out. Too late for me! Who knew that 2:30 on a Tuesday was prime time for the elderlies to be out and about with their placards? Not this old Val. It wasn't even the beginning of the weekly sales, which is on Wednesdays.</div>Valhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025832536749983018noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937038870722238271.post-45976493968103152502024-03-13T08:00:00.004-05:002024-03-13T08:00:00.130-05:00Val's Words Come Back to Bite The Pony in the Arm<div style="text-align: left;">Do you ever wish you could take something back? Like I did, the moment it left my lips while talking on the phone to The Pony Monday morning. I had the audacity, when discussing his skinned knee, to mention <i>"At least it's not a dog bite."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I even mentioned my regret in the last sentence of my blog post I wrote that night:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><a href="https://unbaggingthecats.blogspot.com/2024/03/a-pony-knee-update.html" target="_blank">Anyhoo... we'll see now it goes. It's not like a dog bite, which I made the mistake of mentioning. And instantly regretted putting that out into The Universe.</a></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Of course you know what happened on Tuesday! When I heard a text on my phone at 12:14, my stomach tied itself in knots. I looked. Yes. It was The Pony.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"Bit by a dog. Will call you later."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Immediately, I got that panicky feeling. Like a tingly feeling all over my body.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"Dang! Are you going to a doctor?"</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"Yeah. Manager coming to drive me. Since it's on my arm."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I was really worried. The Pony usually deals with his dog bites, and doesn't leave work. Getting the manager involved must mean it was serious. I felt a little better when The Pony sent me a picture:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-_rUG8VoK356qZblLXUsR3r4hVcyluHw3pY5ITaDCR-l0VjjIVR6AugmmJz92TzcGGnxTmQJ6gj7F2JB4LGGIn-MEyDylaJTzKv_3eElsfNZfKLrK0KMXM23l0HQ5iFtsrUIcohNDVZSHE03GFtkdynlmUTYbHAuDTjE9w6kwzO7hW9fvDFXQqBPs/s2560/Pony%20bite%2003-12-24%20first%20bandaid.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1920" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-_rUG8VoK356qZblLXUsR3r4hVcyluHw3pY5ITaDCR-l0VjjIVR6AugmmJz92TzcGGnxTmQJ6gj7F2JB4LGGIn-MEyDylaJTzKv_3eElsfNZfKLrK0KMXM23l0HQ5iFtsrUIcohNDVZSHE03GFtkdynlmUTYbHAuDTjE9w6kwzO7hW9fvDFXQqBPs/w480-h640/Pony%20bite%2003-12-24%20first%20bandaid.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">That is right after the dog people applied a bandaid. So it was a false sense of security for me, but probably why The Pony sent it.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"Get rabies info? Is that above or below the elbow?"</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"Forearm."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"It swelled a lot."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"Yeah. It did that instantly. And yeah, she's got all her shots they say, they've got the papers."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"What kind of dog?"</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"Mid size black one. Muscular, not sure the breed."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"If it let go, probably not a pit bull."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"Some Italian purebred thing I can't spell."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">By 1:00, The Pony was back at the main post office.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"At the office. Gonna call Dad since not 100% trusting myself to drive to an urgent care, and don't want to make work drive me. Going to the one management said the last dog bite went to. Sent the last guy there for stitches, but we don't think mine will need it."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">By 4:00, The Pony said, <b>"Done and doctored. Meds picked up."</b> And by 5:00, sent me another text:<b> "Got Chinese food. Phone was dead. Could call any time if you need to talk to reassure you I'm okay!"</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Of course I called immediately, and got more of the story.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The dog was a 110 lb Cane Corso. It belonged to an elderly couple who are here visiting for a couple weeks, from Florida. They were all sitting on the back porch of the homeowners. The Pony came walking along the main sidewalk, having just delivered to the house next door. He was heading for the corner, where he would turn and take the mail to their mailbox on the front porch as usual. He could see the people on the back porch, but not the dog, because the trash cans were blocking it. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The dog (unleashed) jumped off the back porch and ran across the yard and in front of The Pony. The Pony was surprised, took a couple steps back, and was putting his satchel between him and the dog. That's the training they get at the carrier academy. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"It was so fast that I couldn't get my dog spray out of my satchel. That's what the manager asked. There's no denying that I had my satchel out in front, because my blood ran down into it. I'm not happy about that, but at least it didn't get on the mail.</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>The people started yelling at the dog, and it got down. Then they came and grabbed it by the neck and took it inside really fast. The residents asked if it got me, and I said it did. Then the man stayed with me while the lady went in and got peroxide and antibiotic ointment and a bandaid. They put it on me and I called the manager. The old people had a copy of the dog's vet records, showing it was up-to-date on all its shots. The manager took a picture of it."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"WAIT! They had a copy with them? They didn't have to call and get it emailed? WHO carries their dog's vet records with them??? To me, that just says THAT DOG HAS BITTEN SOMEONE BEFORE!"</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"I don't know if it has, but yes, they brought the records with them. My manager told them somebody would probably be coming to ask more questions about it."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"I am SO SORRY that I even mentioned a dog bite when talking about your knee!"</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"Mom. It's not your fault."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"Well. At least you won't have to worry about it happening there again..."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"Yeah. Because they'll be taking it back to Florida. This was the last place I would have thought I'd get bit. I've seen them there with the dog last week, but it's always on a leash, or they rush it into the house when they see me cross the street. But today I was already on their side."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"The homeowners are probably afraid of a lawsuit, since the dog was staying on their property. At least the dog had its shots. I don't know what the post office does to try and get the money back for the doctor bills. That adds up to a lot, considering all the bites in all the cities in all the states!"</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"I don't know either. I just know it took so long at the urgent care because they had to enter the paperwork for the workers' comp claim."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Anyhoo... The Pony sent me a few more pictures. That's your warning if you don't want to look below.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-JoQBd0o2uMWxeXLcc06aswTKkoZgvAgGygkpEg7_rKnNN8QfvsEHRfSi9psbocPsApy8SqW_TMc95HN695SY3H_j4N_GonN80FVEZiJzbLJohbiQLFd52QqOH7wxR_oxAK3sivH75xfVOOaoO2Dpq_Dl1u-6AibGi38hTgTbzkEYQEQPB6KqF0Dv/s2560/Pony%20bite%2003-12-24%201%20scratch%20and%20puncture.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1920" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-JoQBd0o2uMWxeXLcc06aswTKkoZgvAgGygkpEg7_rKnNN8QfvsEHRfSi9psbocPsApy8SqW_TMc95HN695SY3H_j4N_GonN80FVEZiJzbLJohbiQLFd52QqOH7wxR_oxAK3sivH75xfVOOaoO2Dpq_Dl1u-6AibGi38hTgTbzkEYQEQPB6KqF0Dv/w480-h640/Pony%20bite%2003-12-24%201%20scratch%20and%20puncture.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The Pony thinks those are claw scratches, but I'm not convinced it's not teeth trying to get a grip.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNn9dI6eH_Jl-5MLT87tqwUdELIY_dfLU0ccoT1TMzVWA93VDYQnmZhJ7FgnJuK1ZNnFjOwfXKrsXRaDssVQOzo1J05-eiGGEccAJg7k3saHjb4d0We9Rjvo34RRoOEc9Izr9wP3KrR72w0VCje8zUOYiFKufiWQDx3rkqVUIPVxYNyGcJkwRu2V9s/s2560/Pony%20bite%2003-12-24%202%20soaked%20bandaid.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1920" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNn9dI6eH_Jl-5MLT87tqwUdELIY_dfLU0ccoT1TMzVWA93VDYQnmZhJ7FgnJuK1ZNnFjOwfXKrsXRaDssVQOzo1J05-eiGGEccAJg7k3saHjb4d0We9Rjvo34RRoOEc9Izr9wP3KrR72w0VCje8zUOYiFKufiWQDx3rkqVUIPVxYNyGcJkwRu2V9s/w480-h640/Pony%20bite%2003-12-24%202%20soaked%20bandaid.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I guess The Pony might have put on a bigger bandaid (knee sized!) before riding over to urgent care with Hick. The medical people said it was GOOD that it was bleeding so much, because that helps clean out the wound. Then they proceeded to spray something not peroxide and not alcohol-based in it, to rinse it out. The Pony said he could see the different skin layers.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4AX4MMIZAce_6vuiGwWTZEsIQ2d3cdTk2ws8zD-GT1kdKQf9o0HlFXYtvhuniD9uhSiDiXdLP7UT5bL5iYBVugz2hHz2nnktcKoWFjiOoNIVFcUSo7qiHp80WeetYYMOWtARDuQuoVgHgcXnRV1VojrHGqO7HO7RKlwda71PaSNLvoA231kUoujy5/s2560/Pony%20bite%2003-12-24%203%20upper%20arm.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1920" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4AX4MMIZAce_6vuiGwWTZEsIQ2d3cdTk2ws8zD-GT1kdKQf9o0HlFXYtvhuniD9uhSiDiXdLP7UT5bL5iYBVugz2hHz2nnktcKoWFjiOoNIVFcUSo7qiHp80WeetYYMOWtARDuQuoVgHgcXnRV1VojrHGqO7HO7RKlwda71PaSNLvoA231kUoujy5/w480-h640/Pony%20bite%2003-12-24%203%20upper%20arm.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The Pony thinks this wound on his upper arm was from a paw and claws. I think not. I don't think a paw would bruise like that in the space of two hours. I think that's another bite.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOXONDEKcx-7GuygF6aLmL9-Dq3H8DULNf3TmTF-jqC-xrjgKb_2OHJv-3xQEHo4wCMPCSIyLabIYt08dv7bw4jHcgFQ6-ge8Ncwbh2sQLDyZ91nbEdO7oagULVUvohTtA8t4qbQWYQ5ppSDVtlsJxaKcB9HwfBpOpNts8a_6kCDx2bES8vwFz0dlR/s2560/Pony%20bite%2003-12-24%204%20leaking,%20gauze.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1920" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOXONDEKcx-7GuygF6aLmL9-Dq3H8DULNf3TmTF-jqC-xrjgKb_2OHJv-3xQEHo4wCMPCSIyLabIYt08dv7bw4jHcgFQ6-ge8Ncwbh2sQLDyZ91nbEdO7oagULVUvohTtA8t4qbQWYQ5ppSDVtlsJxaKcB9HwfBpOpNts8a_6kCDx2bES8vwFz0dlR/w480-h640/Pony%20bite%2003-12-24%204%20leaking,%20gauze.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">More bleeding from the cleaned-up puncture on the forearm.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdoLKA9_iNpj-UEH_C6umOPcnD4utu1Jr8kc3sImzkzUq1PBibkGC2H4xJLMSM33zLbU79yHkQ6W8xnE338Ls4CP-eBA4t3myF3IKzoPGx8iSP1wSUtq3suMR2peq7pPyYBjl8fSPTWXTbruV4kmDs8K2J0wB62p9NrDt3KshOCj31CAuRavxh0Uf8/s2560/Pony%20bite%2003-12-24%205%20upper%20bandaid.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1920" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdoLKA9_iNpj-UEH_C6umOPcnD4utu1Jr8kc3sImzkzUq1PBibkGC2H4xJLMSM33zLbU79yHkQ6W8xnE338Ls4CP-eBA4t3myF3IKzoPGx8iSP1wSUtq3suMR2peq7pPyYBjl8fSPTWXTbruV4kmDs8K2J0wB62p9NrDt3KshOCj31CAuRavxh0Uf8/w480-h640/Pony%20bite%2003-12-24%205%20upper%20bandaid.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Urgent care hooked The Pony up with some big bandaids, like the one on the upper arm.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxF5AZcEU-RdsColjdiqTMee80y24V0e5zrqK4HDajsTasaqP6LvGNA2O8C3tl2ewGsmG21ygLSh97V1h_EVoVuAUFW2VXGTLxwYIMlUh-79LfLpeJbGisjnkUDx6itthCAhk2wGlGVTZ3xehHFMlJjNnu0mYMQeUVIG4kmyiUbl_1BYrUH-oGYf1A/s2560/Pony%20bite%2003-12-24%206%20lower%20compression.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1920" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxF5AZcEU-RdsColjdiqTMee80y24V0e5zrqK4HDajsTasaqP6LvGNA2O8C3tl2ewGsmG21ygLSh97V1h_EVoVuAUFW2VXGTLxwYIMlUh-79LfLpeJbGisjnkUDx6itthCAhk2wGlGVTZ3xehHFMlJjNnu0mYMQeUVIG4kmyiUbl_1BYrUH-oGYf1A/w480-h640/Pony%20bite%2003-12-24%206%20lower%20compression.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">And one under the pressure bandage on the forearm, which they said should stop the bleeding. The Pony got a prescription for cephalexin. They said the preferred drug for dog bites is amoxicillin, but The Pony is allergic. I told him to watch out for a rash, because I had a reaction to cephalexin.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Anyhoo... I guess we're not worrying about the skinned knee infection any more.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's kind of scary that the dog jumped up to bite The Pony's arm, rather than taking a chunk out of his leg like the other biters.</div>Valhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025832536749983018noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937038870722238271.post-36307531509178099462024-03-12T08:00:00.015-05:002024-03-12T08:00:00.133-05:00A Pony Knee Update<div style="text-align: left;">The Pony sent a new picture of his recent injury. I didn't like the looks of it, but The Pony is taking precautions. He also said he sent me the BEST original picture of his skinned knee, and that the ones he sent to Hick showed the blood trail between the times he wiped it off.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">According to The Pony, he was walking along a sidewalk as usual, but the residents had parked their car on the side he usually walks on. When walking on the other side, he tripped, because tree roots had pushed up the slab of sidewalk. The Pony said it's the old style of sidewalk, kind of a yellowish color, where you can see the little rocks in it, and not the smooth gray kind of sidewalk.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Anyhoo... here's what Saturday's skinned knee looked like on Sunday morning:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK2qKl-OYF24t047MqVuxmsfSwYGVQ-DQjzLe3JtJJ99E5exdyBOWGjmqOfBUnXbxSlTzC9XkT0I3E5uBKHFnLHhtFN-6omKh_4pEca8Qvq72VNOS8R_gyF0YdvYGZlyTBNNPu6a0RHB6SNNdfZHCAR-Qc86ezFeAAEcfJCmAq1mkWftllHus4NR6n/s2560/Pony%20knee%20skin%2003-10-24%20day%20two.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK2qKl-OYF24t047MqVuxmsfSwYGVQ-DQjzLe3JtJJ99E5exdyBOWGjmqOfBUnXbxSlTzC9XkT0I3E5uBKHFnLHhtFN-6omKh_4pEca8Qvq72VNOS8R_gyF0YdvYGZlyTBNNPu6a0RHB6SNNdfZHCAR-Qc86ezFeAAEcfJCmAq1mkWftllHus4NR6n/w640-h480/Pony%20knee%20skin%2003-10-24%20day%20two.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I can kind of see how the individual rocks in that sidewalk made their own gouge. The knee had undergone a shower and a bath by this time. The Pony said it was painful in the shower, and he'd tried to keep it mostly out of the bath water. Also, he was out of bandaids, having only an empty box in his cabinet, and headed for the store to buy some.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I said he should draw around the outline of the red area, to see if it expands. In which case he should go to the doctor for the infection. The Pony said he was planning to do that. His cousin had to do it with a spider bite one time. The Pony reminded me that at this point, it hadn't even been 24 hours since the injury.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Monday morning, The Pony reported that he had gotten large square bandaids, and that his knee had been oozing some stuff. That's to be expected. We'll see how a day of walking on it affects the wound. Which is on the part that must bend with every step.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I asked if The Pony was taking his bandaids and ointment to apply midway through the day. He was noncommittal! But surely that would be common sense. Not only in case the knee leaks, but simply in case of sweat loosening the bandaid.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Anyhoo... we'll see how it goes. It's not like a dog bite, which I made the mistake of mentioning. And instantly regretted putting that out into The Universe.</div>Valhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025832536749983018noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937038870722238271.post-162067335253313072024-03-11T08:00:00.005-05:002024-03-11T08:00:00.126-05:00In Spring, a Gravel Road's Residents' Thoughts Lightly Turn to Loads of Gravel<div style="text-align: left;">Spring has nearly sprung, and our gravel roads are filled with potholes. Somebody with a tractor bladed them yesterday, and the lower section along the creek, by Mailbox Row, is greatly improved. However, with each rain, and each nightly freeze and thaw, those potholes regenerate.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Hick said our enclave's Facebook page had a request from our across-the-road neighbors that each family buy a load of gravel for the year. At the cost of $230. That's reasonable enough, with inflation. Hick said the last time he had a buddy haul a load of gravel for us, it cost $175. But he has connections. AND, I don't begrudge the spreaders of the gravel a pittance for their tractor gas, and time.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The deadline for collecting that gravel money is May 5th. Not that anything will be done if somebody chooses not to pay. It's not like you can ban them from driving on the roads.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We will pay our portion this week. I'm fairly certain that more than half of the 40 residents will pay nothing. They must think the roads repair themselves. Or that they are exempt from contributing. As with society, some people will feel entitled to reaping the benefits of others who pay for them.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It is what it is.</div>Valhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025832536749983018noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937038870722238271.post-12497586742035433372024-03-10T08:00:00.012-05:002024-03-10T08:00:00.124-05:00The Pony Has Butterhooves<div style="text-align: left;">Poor Pony. He took a tumble at work yesterday. It wasn't even raining! He made it through two days of rain, no problem, other than wet feet. He was perturbed that the forecast called for the rain to end at 11:00 on Friday. So he changed into the dry shoes he had taken for that very purpose. Yet there was another downpour at 12:00. Still, he stayed upright.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Saturday was sunny and clear, temps in the 50s. That's what The Pony likes. He wears his shorts. But at 4:19, he sent me a text:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"Headed home. Had an ouchy."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinOKox7fiTUwScbU9lkhASxZV5Ytiio8xbgEaCW9UpUi_E9AwDpn-_pmx506leOyMWGHSJDJ6UdFDLEyqJIvsY1BfPPHAvcQq1dbZ2Rk3qJh-z5jLW5oOG21yj1seIqr-pSJTgOgwuvsecV5oPjcx6ocFSBzdriifYW7Yuv1CBqaUHZWQnJPdTVsD3/s2178/Pony%20knee%20skin%2003-09-24.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2178" data-original-width="1920" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinOKox7fiTUwScbU9lkhASxZV5Ytiio8xbgEaCW9UpUi_E9AwDpn-_pmx506leOyMWGHSJDJ6UdFDLEyqJIvsY1BfPPHAvcQq1dbZ2Rk3qJh-z5jLW5oOG21yj1seIqr-pSJTgOgwuvsecV5oPjcx6ocFSBzdriifYW7Yuv1CBqaUHZWQnJPdTVsD3/w564-h640/Pony%20knee%20skin%2003-09-24.jpeg" width="564" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"NOOOO! Triple antibiotic ointment."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">At 4:50, I had a reply.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"I knowwww. Shower stung a lot."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">At least The Pony has Sunday off, now that he's a regular. Maybe a little healing can take place. Hick is always questioning why The Pony seems to fall so much. I guess when you walk 11 miles a day, that's gonna happen. Or maybe The Pony looks at his phone while walking. Or maybe the sidewalks are broken, or people have uneven steps. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Another thought occurred to me. It's common knowledge that one of The Pony's main food groups happens to be BUTTER. The Pony is a Butterton, just like those <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mPpQ8DLCzJQ" target="_blank">old commercials</a> for <b>I Can't Believe It's Not Butter.</b> Only his preferred brand is Kerrygold.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Maybe the soles of The Pony's feet excrete BUTTER! And it's like Alien blood, and seeps through his shoe soles. Making footing slippery.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Whatever the reason, I feel bad for The Pony. And it's not just the unflattering angle of his photo. Nobody should have to bleed on the job.</div>Valhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025832536749983018noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937038870722238271.post-36983133924793223352024-03-09T08:01:00.001-06:002024-03-09T14:38:58.124-06:00Playing For an Unknown "Price"<div style="text-align: left;">Hick played bar bingo again on Tuesday night. I won't bother with his food photo, since he had the same meal as the last two times: cheeseburger, fries, and fried mushrooms. Hick says he just drinks soda at this location, since it goes so quickly he doesn't want to take a risk of driving home after imbibing. At the last place he used to play, he and his friends would get there around 4:00, and leave after 8:30. Here, he arrives at 5:00 or later, and leaves around 7:30.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Here's the "prices" from this week:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim_8VCk7eY-07kjDWwRDfjq4BWut97IF8g6Ymo2wIdyuJwi-S9YeP8TdbGGtJ-cP_lwb3eok1m8N86fEBNyP2ayRhMxpkBt5kh66BvGDRXvLXMGUjfIKwmI6fbO3QkzzVIEDnHhfD7ecZQMsmuwt40a4mNVMEE0ZjxneP20CBGLmJs42zm86KLZmSO/s1600/Hick%20bingo%2003-05-24%20clock,%20wine%20glass,%20t%20shirt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim_8VCk7eY-07kjDWwRDfjq4BWut97IF8g6Ymo2wIdyuJwi-S9YeP8TdbGGtJ-cP_lwb3eok1m8N86fEBNyP2ayRhMxpkBt5kh66BvGDRXvLXMGUjfIKwmI6fbO3QkzzVIEDnHhfD7ecZQMsmuwt40a4mNVMEE0ZjxneP20CBGLmJs42zm86KLZmSO/w640-h480/Hick%20bingo%2003-05-24%20clock,%20wine%20glass,%20t%20shirt.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">In true Hick photo fashion, you have the subject surrounded by lots of unuseful border. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"I can't tell what they are."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"O'clock wine glasses t shirt"</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"What's in front of the clock? Lookes like placemats."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"I think so."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I believe bar bingo has seven or nine prizes per night. So I asked Hick where the rest of them were.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"There was several gift cards."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"What was the grand prize?"</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"I don't know. But I almost won it. One number off."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Does that sound fishy to you? Hick almost won the grand prize, but didn't know what it was? Surely he paid attention to what the actual winner got. You know. Since he was only drinking soda.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Since he's not winning anything, I'd prefer Hick went back to Wednesday night bar bingo, at the other location that is less than 1/4 mile down the road from this one. At least I'd see a variety of food, and Hick would be gone longer!</div>Valhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025832536749983018noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937038870722238271.post-68647493595595390112024-03-08T08:00:00.005-06:002024-03-08T08:00:00.134-06:00The BS Is Coming Along<div style="text-align: left;">Hick has been working on the Beauty Shop part of the Double Hovel flip house. The last I showed you was the floor plan, I think. And maybe the bathtub set in place. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">A couple weeks ago, Hick and Old Buddy got the framing done in the back part of the Beauty Shop, which will be the bedroom, bathroom, and laundry.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj86QKjR5doBdHFTky6EG8KvaExzsoalL7M4Qgl479PU5mfkgK1J84eJP6GS9vp9eP9yqQruacqm5VvoG5oFndViNNAIjnMAwR8CjJ2DoU5Wey9gpf_zkstJZXdz4NtSJsnLS2BbeHpjC8BrluE0YOU03XFzbLAdTWR_XxNMRYUCz-Z6GbkgY5bMb-0/s1600/BS%20framing%2002-20-24%20bedroom%20bathroom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj86QKjR5doBdHFTky6EG8KvaExzsoalL7M4Qgl479PU5mfkgK1J84eJP6GS9vp9eP9yqQruacqm5VvoG5oFndViNNAIjnMAwR8CjJ2DoU5Wey9gpf_zkstJZXdz4NtSJsnLS2BbeHpjC8BrluE0YOU03XFzbLAdTWR_XxNMRYUCz-Z6GbkgY5bMb-0/w640-h480/BS%20framing%2002-20-24%20bedroom%20bathroom.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Hick's message with this picture was:<b> "I know you can't tell another but framing complete."</b> Your guess is as good as mine about exactly what he meant. This is the view by standing in the living room of the Beauty Shop, looking through the door into the bedroom/bathroom/laundry.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVVfmDUMzz5CyJgNR1GF9nf5tEu5DNKVQwcPJOeiUeIu74FUY0crQ2szVSZYK0VNld4_J9nFXnj2_ZIaipXJIYYout8VpYSwcZQYmMqqCWGDOIYwhTFNTa_MaWlsURtPmh3WJYrnecDrwcv1Bc75IMo33MeIDOeusspisKwNXCptYNiQFeofj0C6f8/s1600/BS%20bathtub%2003-06-24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVVfmDUMzz5CyJgNR1GF9nf5tEu5DNKVQwcPJOeiUeIu74FUY0crQ2szVSZYK0VNld4_J9nFXnj2_ZIaipXJIYYout8VpYSwcZQYmMqqCWGDOIYwhTFNTa_MaWlsURtPmh3WJYrnecDrwcv1Bc75IMo33MeIDOeusspisKwNXCptYNiQFeofj0C6f8/w640-h480/BS%20bathtub%2003-06-24.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">A couple days ago, Hick and Old Buddy put in the rest of the bathtub. Mostly. Hick just said, <b>"Tub installed."</b> The plumbing is done underneath and in the walls. Hick just has to make a hole in that surround stuff to put the shower head. And caulk the cracks.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Hick has shown the flips to a couple of interested parties. I'm not sure they can get the financing. Yesterday he had a lady and her adult son looking at it. The woman said they haven't mentioned it yet to her husband! The son and his wife and toddler currently live with them. Their plan would be for the lady and husband to live in the main house, and the son and his family to have the Beauty Shop apartment. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We never assume any "looker" will be able to swing the deal. But at least there's interest in the property. Once the Beauty Shop is finished, we'll probably list the Double Hovel with a real estate agent. That will get it picked up by the online services like Zillow. So there will probably be an initial flurry of lookers who see it and want to take a tour.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We have another property in the works, which is not yet ready to be revealed here...</div>Valhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025832536749983018noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937038870722238271.post-90460301070728693552024-03-07T08:00:00.001-06:002024-03-07T08:00:00.250-06:00What, Exactly, Is the Purpose of a Bank?Hick collects his coins. He has a giant plastic Coke bottle full of pennies. A wine bottle (which he called a wine jar, heh, heh) full of dimes, and a tall cylindrical jar full of quarters. He wants to cash in his quarters. He thinks he has around $150 to $175 in quarters. Last time he went to our bank branch, they told him the coin counter wasn't working. You know, just like they told me their two FAX machines weren't working. So Hick went in to ask about it on Wednesday.<div><br /></div><div><b>"They told me they have a new procedure. They will ask how much I think my coins are worth, and send them to the vault. Then credit it to my account when they figure out how much I have. They won't give me any money. Just a credit in my account."</b></div><div><br /></div><div><i>"Wait. What do you mean, 'send it to the vault?' Are they going to put in it the vault? Who's going to count it? How will they know how much credit to give you? Surely not just your word on how much you think you have. What kind of bank can't count coins??? That's MONEY!"</i></div><div><br /></div><div><b>"I don't know. That didn't sound right to me. Maybe they're going to take it to the main bank over in Bill-Paying Town. Maybe they have a coin counting machine. But they only said they would 'send it to the vault.'"</b></div><div><br /></div><div><i>"That seems shady! Why should you trust them to tell you how much your coins are worth?"</i></div><div><br /></div><div><b>"I don't know. That's why I won't take them there. Old Buddy says his bank has a coin counting machine in the lobby. It doesn't charge anything like the Walmart machine does. So I'm giving him my coins to take there and get my money. He said you take the receipt to the counter, and they pay you for it."</b></div><div><br /></div><div><i>"So you trust him to give you the right amount?"</i></div><div><br /></div><div><b>"Yeah. More than I trust the bank."</b></div><div><br /></div><div>What in the Not-Heaven? Isn't the business of a bank to take money, hold it while they use it for their purposes, and then give it back if you request it? Surely they know how to count money. CHANGE is a form of money. If they can't count change, how long before they can't count bills? Why not just hire ONE PERSON to sit and monitor the internet deposits and withdrawals, which a computer program can do?</div><div><br /></div><div>If coins are in circulation, you would think that counting them and accepting and depositing and exchanging them would be part of the responsibility of a bank.</div><div><br /></div><div>Just my opinion. Maybe I need the crazy temple twirly finger for my beliefs...</div>Valhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025832536749983018noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937038870722238271.post-31407320920655044222024-03-06T08:00:00.008-06:002024-03-06T08:00:00.249-06:00Just a Minor Punishment for This Good Deed<div style="text-align: left;">I nabbed the closest handicap parking space Monday at the Sis-Town Country Mart. AND somebody had conveniently left a cart next to it. So I wheeled myself to the double doors. Not an easy feat, as that store sits atop a blacktop slope into the regular parking lot. I had to lean a bit to maintain my balance. Still, better with a cart than just walking with a purse swinging from my hand.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Anyhoo... when I came out, a truck parked in the space next to T-Hoe as I was putting my purchases in his rear. A teenage gal and an older lady with a cane got out. They commented on the pickup truck that barreled past, roaring the engine. Nobody in that pickup had been shopping. The lot is a shortcut from the road by the local high school.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">When the cane lady walked past, I offered her my cart.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"Would you like to push this in? I know that I like to lean on it while I'm walking."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"Oh, yes. Thank you."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I turned and gave her my cart/walker while the Young Gal went on walking. She might have been the daughter, or a granddaughter. As I turned back to close T-Hoe's hatch, I almost fell!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"Whoops! I keep forgetting that my balance isn't what it used to be."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"Are you all right?"</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"Yes. I'm fine. I have to remember to move slower."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"I definitely know what you mean,"</b> said the Cane Lady, mosying along, her cane ensconced in the cart.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">A catastrophe narrowly avoided. If I had fallen, I don't know how far I might have rolled down that slope!</div>Valhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025832536749983018noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937038870722238271.post-32798000484876896402024-03-05T08:00:00.022-06:002024-03-05T08:00:00.252-06:00The Day Val Sent a Man To Prison<div style="text-align: left;">Saturday afternoon found me at the Liquor Store to buy scratchers. I had to park nose-in to a car in one of the six parking spaces down front. That meant the drive-thru line could impede my exit, being lined up behind T-Hoe's rear when I needed to back up to pull around the car in front of me. In fact, as I got out, a lady in that line was backing up. She asked, "Are you going in or out?"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"IN! I mean, in the store. You're not in my way."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">So that lady pulled back into the line, and I hobbled across the lot and up the hill into the Liquor Store. The clerk was the young guy who is perfectly polite, though disinterested. He was wearing a gray hoodie over his noggin, and might have indulged in a certain (legal) vape, or a consumable, before starting his shift.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">As I was telling him which scratchers I wanted, a girl came into the shop. She was flitting around by the soda fountain, and talking to Clerk. Perhaps she worked there, perhaps she was just a friend. His attention was on their conversation. I didn't really listen closely. I was reminding him of the number on the scratchers that I wanted.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Is he OUR age? Tell him to get his [rumpus] in here!"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"No. He's old."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I gathered that there was somebody sitting in a car on the lot, not doing anything. I didn't know why this would be a problem. Unless maybe they were worried about a robbery. You never know when you work in a convenience store.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Anyhoo... I got my scratchers and left. I was a bit perturbed to see a black sedan parked in a non-parking spot! It was next to the space I would have parked in, if there hadn't already been a car there. I was grousing to myself as I went behind it, <i>"I don't really think that's a parking space." </i>When I was in front of T-Hoe, the driver of that sedan said,</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"Could you help me?"</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Of course Val is a sucker for those in need. I turned and went to the side of that sedan. Inside was a 40-something guy of another race, holding up his phone that was tethered to a power cord.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"Oh! I can't help you with anything that has to do with a phone! But if you tell me what you're looking for, I might know."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The phone screen looked like it had a road and destination on it, like the Garmin we use in A-Cad going to Oklahoma.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"Okay. Do you know how I can get to the Eastern Missouri--"</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"Oh! Yes! Just get back on this road, and go through all three lights, and in 2 or 3 miles you'll see it. It's HUGE! You can't miss it. It's on the left. You might have trouble getting out of this lot because of the traffic. Sometimes I make a right, then a left at Casey's, to go around the block."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"I'm okay with waiting. I don't want to get lost! I'll just take this road like you said."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"Yeah. I live out that way. I pass it every day. You can't miss it."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">That was my good deed for the day. I don't know why the kids inside were so concerned about that guy sitting on the lot. He was just trying to figure out where his phone was sending him.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">You'd think I would have been rewarded by The Universe, but NO! I didn't have a single winner from the Liquor Store. The Pony said it was because my good deed came AFTER I bought my tickets.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Then I told The Pony I felt bad, because I immediately jumped to the conclusion that the guy was trying to find the prison.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"Does that make me a racist? What if he was looking for a different business called Eastern Missouri something-or-other? And I sent him straight to the prison!"</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Mom. I deliver the mail. I guarantee there is nothing else in town with that name."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Well. That's a relief.</div>Valhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025832536749983018noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937038870722238271.post-91446128597660591692024-03-04T08:00:00.004-06:002024-03-04T08:00:00.131-06:00The Whiskey No-Go-Go<div style="text-align: left;">Saturday, I went to 10Box for bananas, onions, sour cream, paper plates, and whiskey. It was the first weekend of the month, when a lot of people get their money, and go shopping. Only three registers were open. I chose the first one I came to. A man was bagging his groceries, and the man directly ahead of me only had one item. I just had the few items in the child-seat of my cart. Somebody with a full cart immediately got in line behind me.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">When I looked up to see the checker, I realized it was the kid who didn't know limes from lemons. I thought of switching lines, but there was that couple behind me with a full cart. I set my stuff on the conveyor.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">As the guy ahead of me was using his card, CheckerBoy picked up the whisky bottle and set it back behind my other items.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"You didn't see that,"</b> he said to the card customer.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"That's right. I saw nothing."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">When it was my turn, CheckerBoy scanned my items except for the whiskey, and called to nobody in particular, <b>"I need somebody for alcohol."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The checker behind him was the friendly lady who asks me about scratchers. She was busy with a customer, and another waiting in line. I didn't know the mature lady checker in the lane behind her.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"Sorry. I should have changed lanes."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"I'm not allowed to scan alcohol. I'm only 17. I'm not even supposed to touch it."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"It used to happen, and nobody said a word."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"I think you have to be 18. Or maybe it's 21."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"Pretty sure it's 21. Like waiters and waitresses in a restaurant. But the other guy used to ring it up, and there was no problem."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"How old was he?"</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"Maybe 19 or 20. It was before the remodel. And right afterwards, he still worked here, and told me he had just turned 21, and was going to a casino with his family."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"We get fines now."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"I wouldn't want you to get in any trouble. They should make you wear a visor with your age! Then I'd know not to get in your line. At least now I know."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The man and wife behind me did not seem upset with their wait. The guy said, "I know I didn't see anything!"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">A manage came over and rang up the whiskey. "He's not even allowed to take the money." She completed my transaction quickly.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The guy behind me asked her how her mother was doing. She answered, and went about her business back at the service desk.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">CheckerBoy: <b>"My mother is fine, too. Not that you asked me. But I'm just telling you that she is."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Customer Guy: "Her mother is my mother's cousin. So we know each other."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">CheckerBoy: <b>"I was just telling you. In case you care."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Customer Guy: "I'm sure your mother is a fine woman. She raised you."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Me: <i>"Too bad she didn't have you a few years earlier! Then you could ring up my whiskey."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Heh, heh. That kid is pretty humorous, in a dry way, like The Pony. He wasn't being a smart-rumpus, just kidding around.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Anyhoo.... next time I buy Hick's whiskey, I will NOT go through his line.</div>Valhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025832536749983018noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937038870722238271.post-6440814573481107612024-03-03T08:00:00.006-06:002024-03-03T08:00:00.240-06:00A Little Spritz, a Little Splash, Better Than Selzer Down Your Pants<div style="text-align: left;">Remember the Mary Tyler Moore show, at the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=laa4DDMFmi8" target="_blank">funeral of Chuckles the Clown</a>, (YouTube, 6 minutes) when Mary got the giggles during the eulogy? Specifically, to the motto of Chuckles: "A little song, a little dance, a little seltzer down your pants." I was thinking about that when I wrote the title. Not because I think of Hick as a clown. But because his bingo "price" this week at the Senior Center seems to be an unlikely combination.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqf7yv8ra_qHNnQ3oQ5d1yqWepsSiY0VoEPBywnNriCXPCF4p4YaajaHxVdpWsTz16EMXzGikEv9CUsxz5gqQe1UoGRRubBliqxOhrEUncbKgkXyDRFbZMFhIzs4srEZLI4n6qaHwO_u_dktcLQnzAD28xxW9akKXruWTclWdS5bOm3It731Qmh-47/s1600/Hick%20bingo%2002-27-24%20sr%20swiss%20roll%20cereal%20foot%20spray.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqf7yv8ra_qHNnQ3oQ5d1yqWepsSiY0VoEPBywnNriCXPCF4p4YaajaHxVdpWsTz16EMXzGikEv9CUsxz5gqQe1UoGRRubBliqxOhrEUncbKgkXyDRFbZMFhIzs4srEZLI4n6qaHwO_u_dktcLQnzAD28xxW9akKXruWTclWdS5bOm3It731Qmh-47/w480-h640/Hick%20bingo%2002-27-24%20sr%20swiss%20roll%20cereal%20foot%20spray.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Foot spray and cereal!!! I don't think that bar of soap and the Nivea lotion were Hick's. If so, perhaps somebody there is trying to send a message to Hick!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I wouldn't mind trying that cereal. I love Little Debbie Swiss Rolls. I'd be eating it dry, though. No splash of milk for me. I'm not a fan of milk. Never liked it. I have nothing against foot spray. Not on cereal, though!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Anyhoo... neither item has yet made its way into the house. Maybe Hick is spraying his feet for somebody else, and having a side of cereal with his Casey's donuts.</div>Valhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025832536749983018noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937038870722238271.post-57244953834628503052024-03-02T08:00:00.004-06:002024-03-02T08:00:00.135-06:00Hick Gallivants on His Stomach<div style="text-align: left;">No need to worry about Hick starving while he is gallivanting about the county through the week. He doesn't miss a meal. Like on Tuesday, his new bar bingo night. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Hick starts every day with a banana from home, and Casey's donuts. He meets Old Buddy to work on the flip house(s) until time for lunch at the Senior Center. On Tuesday, they served a ham dinner:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB4DQytuOdQALK5zavtiIsH71ZWkjDj6LsLVJ_zyOms4A50VYlKaeBg0dfM92_zJFT9w4UweJR2jHZALHospvOT6Ii-a-N8VNcdqGQnlJCnA3yIQ2KOOzXKR7chgnDU5A0FfruDlBRVO7SweVljwM4Q9jI0zCvObOMZd49ZG0mvLLZ_g4qEsWNje1f/s1600/Sr%20Center%20ham%20dinner%2002-27-24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB4DQytuOdQALK5zavtiIsH71ZWkjDj6LsLVJ_zyOms4A50VYlKaeBg0dfM92_zJFT9w4UweJR2jHZALHospvOT6Ii-a-N8VNcdqGQnlJCnA3yIQ2KOOzXKR7chgnDU5A0FfruDlBRVO7SweVljwM4Q9jI0zCvObOMZd49ZG0mvLLZ_g4qEsWNje1f/w640-h480/Sr%20Center%20ham%20dinner%2002-27-24.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">There's ham, sweet potatoes, mixed vegetable medley, a roll, and pie. Hick thinks it was coconut cream. He ate it, you know, but isn't sure what it was.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">After lunch, Hick might go buy items needed for the flip house(s), or to work in his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2). Then he goes to the new location where he plays bar bingo. It's in a shopping center in a building that long ago was a JC Penney, then a Kroger, then something else. Not sure what it is called now.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO4k8H3yZaVNP9rOpXJwJizCdZPUfDfgpmiisOylQ5Khl-YlNwNhphdb3V1G4NU9QQ3PEPuX0MjJk_5MddLDYrN1sXpU8QWzUppsMRO6POCgTJKDpBwHVo69KjeAW2wTMamvR7w74dMd1qsFt8laF6wjhz3LSp2R0KOVrkD8OaX-feZXuGxmk_uooq/s1600/Hick%20bingo%2002-27-24%20mushrooms%20burger%20fries.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO4k8H3yZaVNP9rOpXJwJizCdZPUfDfgpmiisOylQ5Khl-YlNwNhphdb3V1G4NU9QQ3PEPuX0MjJk_5MddLDYrN1sXpU8QWzUppsMRO6POCgTJKDpBwHVo69KjeAW2wTMamvR7w74dMd1qsFt8laF6wjhz3LSp2R0KOVrkD8OaX-feZXuGxmk_uooq/w640-h480/Hick%20bingo%2002-27-24%20mushrooms%20burger%20fries.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Hick must like the burger and fries there. This time he added some fried mushrooms. Look! They reserved a table for Hick. Well. Half a table, anyway. He did not show or mention any prizes that night.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I asked Hick why he switched from Wednesday night bingo, when he got home around 9:30, to Tuesday bingo, when he gets home before 8:00.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"It's a better place. The food is better. It's more organized. And they have sit-down chairs."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">????</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Pardon me if I'm being nitpicky, but I thought ALL chairs were sit-down chairs. That's what a chair is, right? There are no stand-up chairs. No lying-down chairs. They are called something besides chairs. I had to get clarification on what Hick meant.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"They're regular chairs."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"What do you mean? Instead of folding chairs?"</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"They're chairs. Not tall stools like at the other place. My feet didn't touch the floor."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Huh. I never would have guessed that from the previous pictures. Also, this Tuesday place starts bingo at 6:00 instead of 7:00. I guess there's not as big a crowd, because Hick says he went so early to the other place because somebody had to save seats. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I guess they didn't take reservations... </div>Valhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025832536749983018noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937038870722238271.post-18066795496400305552024-03-01T08:00:00.005-06:002024-03-01T08:00:00.131-06:00Val's Weirdo Magnet Is as Strong as the Junkyard Car-Lifting VarietyI don't even have to meet the weirdos fact-to-face. They simply sense my presence, and perpetrate their weirdness accordingly. <div><br /></div><div>Tuesday, I stopped at the Backroads Casey's for scratchers. I parked in the handicap space, with my placard dangling from T-Hoe's mirror. A truck was parked in the space to the left of me, and I left ample room for T-Hoe's door to open. Before I got out, that truck left. I was hoping the next occupant would keep the same distance.</div><div><br /></div><div>I went inside and did my business. When I came out, a new truck was parked there. A brown pickup, with a person sitting in the driver's seat. I eased myself off the curb holding onto T-Hoe's side, trying to judge whether the door would open far enough. After clicking the unlock button, I pulled T-Hoe's wide door all the way open. YES! Success! I leaned in to put my new scratchers on the console, then grabbed the door frame with my right hand, and leaned on T-Hoe's door armrest with my left as I stepped my right foot onto the running board. My standard procedure for climbing into T-Hoe. </div><div><br /></div><div>As I was putting on my seatbelt, a late-40s balding man in jeans came out of Casey's and got into the passenger side of that brown pickup. I thought nothing of it, and backed out to head across the parking lot of Hick's pharmacy and the moat bridge, to park in my rightful handicap space at the Gas Station Chicken Store. </div><div><br /></div><div>While gathering my previous day's winners to cash in, I noticed a smell. What in the Not-Heaven? It was like I had been in a public bathroom. That cleaner kind of smell. Kind of a wintergreen aroma. But Casey's had not smelled of cleaner. I've never even been in that location's bathroom. Huh. What could that be? Was in ON me???</div><div><br /></div><div>I got out, and while closing the door noticed something on my floor mat. Huh. That was a smear. With solid particles. OH! That must be chew! Spit-out smokeless tobacco. Like Skoal, or an off brand. Had I stepped in some at Casey's? Then I saw a lump on T-Hoe's running board. A lump and a wet stain. </div><div><br /></div><div>SOMEBODY HAD SPIT CHEW ON T-HOE'S RUNNING BOARD!</div><div><br /></div><div>Well. That was an unpleasant discovery. Why in the NOT-HEAVEN would somebody deliberately spit chew on my running board? They wouldn't. Unless they were a weirdo!</div><div><br /></div><div>When I got home, I took a picture before I pulled into the garage. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilaL2LcQk74_zFN8Dc8vnkeGasY5mxezpDjll553xt8QQNxTIjnrYdpFTSJI9Z0lFZIJCFMFpope9n2voBzp__R6mfnwlZAwEYsBGakBvAQ1hTKOJulSImdlsr1Y5RP3bBvlft5IO9OJRZhZTBKpDVYHkgQedcvU8EBmvcnrP6tmTh63TgkJ1UGOxq/s4000/chew%2002-27-24%20on%20running%20board.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilaL2LcQk74_zFN8Dc8vnkeGasY5mxezpDjll553xt8QQNxTIjnrYdpFTSJI9Z0lFZIJCFMFpope9n2voBzp__R6mfnwlZAwEYsBGakBvAQ1hTKOJulSImdlsr1Y5RP3bBvlft5IO9OJRZhZTBKpDVYHkgQedcvU8EBmvcnrP6tmTh63TgkJ1UGOxq/w480-h640/chew%2002-27-24%20on%20running%20board.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div>You can see the big blob stain where I picked up the moist chew on the sole of my shoe. And a satellite small blob that is down in the groove where my shoe did not come in contact.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCf_UFN1l51CgSAigie_1QY1rvsYMLlbh2ui4L04lToMw1sYCAa0TixpxdYdKOG6xih8nRNfZ8z7tAQFyAtYmFbhHQkQxukr10UR27lWCN_Z0iAqHU0om6PhFQmfklyt5gjjIM1QFqr_m-ewrD4_JtYRbCDZPTibL2ZQw0o3UVqxu4t2pEWF2yGJpn/s4000/chew%2002-27-24%20close%20on%20running%20board.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCf_UFN1l51CgSAigie_1QY1rvsYMLlbh2ui4L04lToMw1sYCAa0TixpxdYdKOG6xih8nRNfZ8z7tAQFyAtYmFbhHQkQxukr10UR27lWCN_Z0iAqHU0om6PhFQmfklyt5gjjIM1QFqr_m-ewrD4_JtYRbCDZPTibL2ZQw0o3UVqxu4t2pEWF2yGJpn/w480-h640/chew%2002-27-24%20close%20on%20running%20board.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div>No way could I have stepped on that chew on the parking lot, and smeared it across the running board. That pristine trough blob is evidence. Both blobs were spit there. I didn't notice, because who expects chew to be on their running board? I just went through my regular motions of stepping into T-Hoe, assuming my running board was without spittle-filled smokeless tobacco product.</div><div><br /></div><div>At least the next day, the smell had dissipated. Maybe when the weather is warm to stay, I'll have Hick rinse off my floor mat with the hose, and let it dry in the sun on the back porch.</div><div><br /></div><div>Do I think that weirdo targeted me for his unhygienic act? No. He had no idea who I was. I was already inside when that truck parked. He was either terribly unskilled at spitting his chew, or just didn't care where it went. </div><div><br /></div><div>I expected more from a smokeless tobacco user...</div>Valhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025832536749983018noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937038870722238271.post-83231306564361008262024-02-29T08:00:00.003-06:002024-02-29T08:00:00.139-06:00Faux Springtime, When a Middle-Aged Weirdo's Fancy Heavily Turns to Thoughts of Val<div style="text-align: left;">The weirdos have been coming out of the woodwork lately to swarm our gal Val. Well. They have been coming out of the casino, and the parking lots. Maybe it's the unseasonably warm weather of late. Faux springtime, when a middle-aged weirdo's fancy heavily turns to thoughts of Val. Or perhaps a pheromone Val is exuding unbeknownst to her. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">First it was the guy in the casino who thought it was his business to sit next to me, put a twenty in the machine, and push the button every minute or so, while watching MY slot play, and commenting on what I was winning. The second was a more indirect weirdo, whose encounter will be discussed in the future. The third happened Tuesday, at 10Box. That is our tale for today.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">All the handicap spaces were taken! I did not do a close inspection of license plates, nor placards. I was in a bit of a hurry to get home and enjoy my Hickless time while he was at Tuesday night bingo, from whence he returns <i>90 minutes earlier</i> than from his previous Wednesday night bingo.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Anyhoo, I was lucky enough to find open the far left parking space in front of the store. I like this one, because I don't have to walk across the driving lane, and the spaces are offset so nobody can block T-Hoe's door while I'm inside. I was only there for bananas, trash bags, and baby dill pickles.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">As I parked, I saw a guy with a bicycle sitting on the employee smokers' bench. He was probably mid-40s, average size, average haircut, wearing khaki shorts and a tank top. Temps were in the upper 70s. He has been there before, but not for several months. Here's a picture I got later, without the weirdo. More on that in a bit.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKzPyHFgUdr67e3xLSCmdpdvif1sUTsYaHcf_B4gqdFH5q4FdPP6OAgU1iXEQ5kCacZATpu8frGViI03VF6Ux9dbf_gQ-FJ9hHph9uoEFNftCOFNzoxFv1biEPBtqeWsJPrdPHbJsNj7PiXkh30RIByoPSp8Uz5WR6ct1J0QHpYFkasATpzdDPgZyo/s4000/bicycle%20weirdo%2002-27-24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKzPyHFgUdr67e3xLSCmdpdvif1sUTsYaHcf_B4gqdFH5q4FdPP6OAgU1iXEQ5kCacZATpu8frGViI03VF6Ux9dbf_gQ-FJ9hHph9uoEFNftCOFNzoxFv1biEPBtqeWsJPrdPHbJsNj7PiXkh30RIByoPSp8Uz5WR6ct1J0QHpYFkasATpzdDPgZyo/w480-h640/bicycle%20weirdo%2002-27-24.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I got out, clicked T-Hoe's doors locked, and grabbed a cart that had been left there at the corner of the store and the propane tank lock box. Weirdo gave me a reverse head nod, and said, <b>"What's up?"</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I nodded back, and said, <i>"Hey."</i> Just a generic acknowledgement. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"I'm here every day if you want to go for a ride."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">EWWW! That is just inappropriate! Seriously! I imagine you have a fairly accurate image of what Val looks like. It is definitely not a physique which one might associate with going for a bike ride on somebody's handlebars!!!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I ignored that invitation, and cart/walked myself in and did my business. When I came out, I didn't see Weirdo as I put my meager purchases in T-Hoe's rear and pushed the cart back up against the propane tank holder. Once in the driver's seat, getting ready to write down my receipt total, I saw Weirdo come walking across in front of those stacked bags, to sit down again.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Aww, NOT-HEAVEN, NO!!!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I wanted to get a picture, but not with Weirdo watching me. And I did NOT want to sit there to write down my receipt total. I started T-Hoe. With that, Weirdo got up and walked toward me (!) but was actually turning the corner to go toward the store entrance. The minute his back was turned, I reached for my phone.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">BUT WAIT! Weirdo turned back around! I put it down. He was motioning to me! Looked back and forth at the driving lane, and gave a grand gesture for me to back out. What in the actual Not-Heaven? From that end parking space, it is easy for me to see what's coming. I stubbornly waited. Just because. Weirdo turned around and walked to the store double-doors. I got my pictures, then backed out and drove up to the other end of the lot to write down my receipt and on my scratchers.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNtqXPbWJY59X3KdbsxiqPu3ezoJ1FLwaOC82vniDHM12R3rW_uBO0gwnxVvrOtv9ZlWSA3f-DEO7OA1wq1KAKKtDi3y0pXj5QQ_79-NzrCcHXT6Ub4NBjXwp7JJzPIQtJpyKqSt2ZDpiRgopQrNGhzLH37n6cKa2kh0OgU7BTtrfYXUhfnVGdNgIm/s4000/bicycle%20weirdo%2002-27-24%20close.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNtqXPbWJY59X3KdbsxiqPu3ezoJ1FLwaOC82vniDHM12R3rW_uBO0gwnxVvrOtv9ZlWSA3f-DEO7OA1wq1KAKKtDi3y0pXj5QQ_79-NzrCcHXT6Ub4NBjXwp7JJzPIQtJpyKqSt2ZDpiRgopQrNGhzLH37n6cKa2kh0OgU7BTtrfYXUhfnVGdNgIm/w480-h640/bicycle%20weirdo%2002-27-24%20close.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">If any of you elderly, lame, ample-rumpused ladies would like a bicycle ride, your chariot awaits. The driver might be inside, sprucing up in the bathroom sink.</div>Valhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025832536749983018noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937038870722238271.post-11227650928101312262024-02-28T08:00:00.002-06:002024-02-28T08:00:00.143-06:00It Was a Nice Run While It Lasted<div style="text-align: left;">Remember back when I had that <a href="https://unbaggingthecats.blogspot.com/2024/02/val-val-lucky-gal.html" target="_blank">$1000 scratcher winner</a>? It was the day before we went to the casino. So I didn't expect to win there. Usually, I'm either lucky with the scratchers, or lucky at the casino. Val's gambling life is a balance of ups and downs. But not this time!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Every slot machine I played was generous! Not spitting out giant jackpots like the time several years ago when I won $8,600. But enough to show that it was a bonus, and put me ahead. Of course that doesn't mean I pocketed all the winnings. I was there to play, by cracky!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I played a Wonder 4 Boost slot, and it gave me a SuperFree bonus that means it was four screens, not one. Then it gave me the BOOST while in that bonus. Which means it switched to eight screens. That was fun and profitable. I didn't get a picture while it was playing those eight screens, because a weirdo had sat down by me, and was doing a play-by-play on my spins. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I cashed out a nice addition to my wins ticket, and went to my favorite, the Wonder 4 Tall Fortunes. My old stand-by, Indian Dreaming, was not paying at all. So I switched to the Buffalo Gold game on it. Still tight. So I swiped in my other game, Miss Kitty. That's where the action was! I hit the TOWER bonus!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcP_v9wEDfSphbu9nGAyZEhTRMb3_4Fgbm9H9LnWBeS7qEZVAK1OMoAP8JHN5WMHUM756mnlP_V7Onmvcia_QDv8mTqfBEWPNQxuOh-F2pu7GPPlX5hS4DSU81NubnJzFfD35Rqboe3J4T9MQko-GpVL_k-0Jb5FN_FDD2h-U3sOtviVfx9dFOf_ce/s4000/casino%2002-13-24%20Miss%20Kitty%20155.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcP_v9wEDfSphbu9nGAyZEhTRMb3_4Fgbm9H9LnWBeS7qEZVAK1OMoAP8JHN5WMHUM756mnlP_V7Onmvcia_QDv8mTqfBEWPNQxuOh-F2pu7GPPlX5hS4DSU81NubnJzFfD35Rqboe3J4T9MQko-GpVL_k-0Jb5FN_FDD2h-U3sOtviVfx9dFOf_ce/w480-h640/casino%2002-13-24%20Miss%20Kitty%20155.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I was down to $5.86 when I hit that bonus. Only two spins left. Then I won $155.88. That darn WIN symbol covered up the screen that had so many kitties on it. Anyhoo... it was fun to play that bonus. Then I found a penny leaned against the bottom of that slot when I moved around the corner to the left to play a game The Pony had waiting for me.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Of course we had lunch. Nothing special on the menu. We all had a burger with fries. I didn't get a picture of Hick's. He was too busy eating.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeP9HilvP_IGmsqkRemXvQtv9Flr3_3MSXQKAxVkPgw7qnGrS402nY6WBacCFr_YbeCc_JOi__ieeRyzkkM555xmixmWwVFJtpYH0xFaZvPkj6aHk5C49XCileICusaUwzVtCjeuxALtcmTwOwa1v7NLAHE2ShBCK9GYRIyl754YOCYvDH9Mkmq4ES/s2560/casino%2002-13-24%20Pony%20burger.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeP9HilvP_IGmsqkRemXvQtv9Flr3_3MSXQKAxVkPgw7qnGrS402nY6WBacCFr_YbeCc_JOi__ieeRyzkkM555xmixmWwVFJtpYH0xFaZvPkj6aHk5C49XCileICusaUwzVtCjeuxALtcmTwOwa1v7NLAHE2ShBCK9GYRIyl754YOCYvDH9Mkmq4ES/w640-h480/casino%2002-13-24%20Pony%20burger.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">That's The Pony's burger and fries. He had cheese which I think was provolone, and lettuce and onions. I don't like lettuce on a burger. I think it's tasteless and takes away from the burger flavor.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0s8Pz7HrlngXPRRtgh6aTxlfkXxs-FIL00CEVD2oJygIt2_Ey3CNhLrpG8uzxwrXhBOaIhQR7ES1Cthl0WFcI9KpvNjw2VLtZCNEj4EtvL8KtxV-zhFc7N-n_1ekMFILh6DHy_o_Lh0IoLocKg-H4WohcWn3-AIpb7CxH_Diepb9jdFwNoEbt_fPH/s1630/casino%2002-13-24%20my%20burger.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1475" data-original-width="1630" height="580" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0s8Pz7HrlngXPRRtgh6aTxlfkXxs-FIL00CEVD2oJygIt2_Ey3CNhLrpG8uzxwrXhBOaIhQR7ES1Cthl0WFcI9KpvNjw2VLtZCNEj4EtvL8KtxV-zhFc7N-n_1ekMFILh6DHy_o_Lh0IoLocKg-H4WohcWn3-AIpb7CxH_Diepb9jdFwNoEbt_fPH/w640-h580/casino%2002-13-24%20my%20burger.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I take my burger straight! Without the cheese. Only onions and pickles for me. I had to set my burger out of the cardboard dish, to allow room for ketchup for my fries. As you can see, these are not pre-pressed and frozen patties. Somebody actually took a handful of ground beef and plopped it on the grill.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgwaexaXhZ77KwSKDle0BcWeJQcQZ4TZZQkvRn1x_mFd_u0Ma8YG9yzvt3XN2vMs0-TIbnevIIbaG6D61oQnItkHV1KOW4ePAI_kF8kaEjn0SRdBrzmw7-d9jX5DDcCfxV-UuN1I_omr_YBTCKdGu60FUebn-EIbKzvhmhcvraR-P9WXVKbmv_oQpP/s2228/casino%2002-13-24%20my%20fries.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2228" data-original-width="1366" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgwaexaXhZ77KwSKDle0BcWeJQcQZ4TZZQkvRn1x_mFd_u0Ma8YG9yzvt3XN2vMs0-TIbnevIIbaG6D61oQnItkHV1KOW4ePAI_kF8kaEjn0SRdBrzmw7-d9jX5DDcCfxV-UuN1I_omr_YBTCKdGu60FUebn-EIbKzvhmhcvraR-P9WXVKbmv_oQpP/w392-h640/casino%2002-13-24%20my%20fries.jpeg" width="392" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">For once I did not get shorted on the fries. The Pony was finished before I was, and I gave him the pointy-ended fries. I like the square ones better.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Anyhoo... we all had a good time, and there was only that one weirdo who could not resist my magnet. I left with $200 added to my casino bankroll. The Pony was $40 ahead. And poor Hick lost 70 percent of his gambling stake.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Oh, and when we stopped on the way home for Hick to use the bathroom and get a soda, I gave The Pony money to get us some scratchers out of the machine at that truck stop. The Pony didn't win anything, but I had a $50 winner on the ticket I told him to get me.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">This has been one of my longer winning streaks!</div>Valhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025832536749983018noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937038870722238271.post-80955871426838955842024-02-27T08:00:00.002-06:002024-02-27T08:00:00.154-06:00A Last Gasp For the Future Pennyillionaire Fortune<div style="text-align: left;">Since I ceased my quest to become a Future Pennyillionaire at the close of 2023, I only saw THREE pennies between January 1 and February 12. That's six weeks, people! And it was not that I wasn't observant. I'll never stop noticing coins The Universe plops into my path. Imagine if I had been actively collecting for my Future Pennyillionaire Fortune, and only harvested three pennies in six weeks! I think I got out at the right time. However...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The Pony joined us for a casino trip on February 13th. It was a little celebration for our February birthdays, falling after mine and before The Pony's. Tomorrow I'll share a bit more of the casino trip. Right now I want to reveal a different experience.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">COINS FOR VAL AT THE CASINO!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I never expect to find coins at the casino. Everything is paper these days. Even the "penny slots," heh, heh. You feed paper money or paper tickets of your winnings into a slot in the slot machines. No coins, no tokens. All paper. The only coins in a casino are in the restaurants or bars, or perhaps dispensed from the cash-out machine. This casino still does that. The ones in Oklahoma, or the other casino we sometimes go to in the city, do not give change back. Just a ticket, or some will ask if you want to donate it to whatever charity they're promoting.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Anyhoo... it's like the coins were waiting for me this day. As if they knew where I was going to walk or play!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY9uRPKO7XxBGJf9_e0QWOdMqkSzmz8UWAILZy96xPIm705aqi1pYoUjOkywQ5XYjtLOc6YD6gSFfjVEceIQB0cFgbW-VT9tli-7ggc0Ul2ppwbFxpj6VlKEIidYFXqPNw9Q6qXRSIqP_vGoXRwUUBsVErnBcZIGOfpswvypGxdsIQCjbWHwSY3A92/s2560/casino%2002-13-24%20nickel%20Pony%20pic.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1920" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY9uRPKO7XxBGJf9_e0QWOdMqkSzmz8UWAILZy96xPIm705aqi1pYoUjOkywQ5XYjtLOc6YD6gSFfjVEceIQB0cFgbW-VT9tli-7ggc0Ul2ppwbFxpj6VlKEIidYFXqPNw9Q6qXRSIqP_vGoXRwUUBsVErnBcZIGOfpswvypGxdsIQCjbWHwSY3A92/w480-h640/casino%2002-13-24%20nickel%20Pony%20pic.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br />The first was a nickel. I had The Pony snap a picture, because I had my hands full of my cane and a FREE soda.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZmTQV8jFvKVTq2ZYJk3Cm7P_yaLdL0QcWg26b2rCoPU4kiL3zjQiRK_rIuB5GXegg3RpMMlCDIOmZ2w5rEzAD6Hqs_oZdjFh4vD1d_MemF_kqSiPJkJUJJWqNpKNUyIBGW-aAPcBHOXH6ZF3hyphenhyphen9UZkig6MVUJootwDidMH25YfqbIS-IupyR-5vPl/s4000/casino%2002-13-24%20penny%20by%20kitty%20slot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZmTQV8jFvKVTq2ZYJk3Cm7P_yaLdL0QcWg26b2rCoPU4kiL3zjQiRK_rIuB5GXegg3RpMMlCDIOmZ2w5rEzAD6Hqs_oZdjFh4vD1d_MemF_kqSiPJkJUJJWqNpKNUyIBGW-aAPcBHOXH6ZF3hyphenhyphen9UZkig6MVUJootwDidMH25YfqbIS-IupyR-5vPl/w480-h640/casino%2002-13-24%20penny%20by%20kitty%20slot.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br />Next was a penny, up against the cabinet of a Miss Kitty slot I had been playing and hit a jackpot. I suppose it may have given me luck before its discovery! The Pony had called me around beside it to play a goldfish slot. You can see my foot on its footrest. The Pony took the picture and picked up my penny. We marveled that I'd found TWO coins when I had barely seen any for six weeks.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrndU8NWJEeJ_1f-oA9QdqDV-LZuI-zJfYRkRLRc7Jjh4an6x3iuoq7r9_G1UtCLmhslPXrQKyU9b83N949RYfaM8zELtY3V8G40SPghqy1P0Bx25J_ALJe2Md7L6XHGQEc55aAX76mTEhP62WcCFYRLkx9ptdlGDtd1EKaQacXHUX2PE_zgeXuVeL/s4000/casino%2002-13-24%20penny%20crumbs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrndU8NWJEeJ_1f-oA9QdqDV-LZuI-zJfYRkRLRc7Jjh4an6x3iuoq7r9_G1UtCLmhslPXrQKyU9b83N949RYfaM8zELtY3V8G40SPghqy1P0Bx25J_ALJe2Md7L6XHGQEc55aAX76mTEhP62WcCFYRLkx9ptdlGDtd1EKaQacXHUX2PE_zgeXuVeL/w640-h480/casino%2002-13-24%20penny%20crumbs.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />But wait! The Pony and I separated, and at my next slot I saw another penny! Not a very good picture. The Pony was not where I could persuade him to take the photo for me. Looks like somebody needs to vacuum this area! My attention was drawn to that piece of foil that I thought was a dime, but then I saw the penny.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSKi5S06l41cPip9DODaweuH3RL3SXPJK2XdSxnya1_Mydg-eKVjYR8l4_b92IbjS-HjFlGnrpNzJGuqfenbbWunI9Byn5yjHceg6BkX3Sc0FALElWlIaO4ysfF-MjkNfmPnCKGNLoBF8sn-NE1Z6kvrufC01HsYttCfRl2V96ADZ2s1G5lukOB0mc/s4000/casino%2002-13-24%20nickel%20back%20bathroom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSKi5S06l41cPip9DODaweuH3RL3SXPJK2XdSxnya1_Mydg-eKVjYR8l4_b92IbjS-HjFlGnrpNzJGuqfenbbWunI9Byn5yjHceg6BkX3Sc0FALElWlIaO4ysfF-MjkNfmPnCKGNLoBF8sn-NE1Z6kvrufC01HsYttCfRl2V96ADZ2s1G5lukOB0mc/w480-h640/casino%2002-13-24%20nickel%20back%20bathroom.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br />Incredible as it may seem, there was yet ANOTHER coin in my future. On my way back from the bathroom, I spied this nickel along the main walkway. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">That's FOUR coins in a couple of hours. Way better than three in six weeks!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Let the record show that none of these coins were found near a restaurant or bar, and were on the other side of the casino from the money-cashing machine.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">These coins DID seem to be symbols of good luck for two of the three of us...</div>Valhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025832536749983018noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937038870722238271.post-22603755781071668132024-02-26T08:00:00.006-06:002024-02-26T08:00:00.247-06:00Travels With My Placard: The Squatter<div style="text-align: left;">Should there be a time limit on handicap parking spaces? I think so!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Last week, the same car was in my rightful handicap parking space at the Gas Station Chicken Store. Not every day, but at least four out of the seven. As you might presume, Val was NOT pleased with that usurpation. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I had come in from the alley, after visiting the Backroads Casey's. So I just parked in the space by the air hose. Letting my handicap placard fly, of course.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">On the second day, the culprit was walking back to her car as I parked T-Hoe. Gray hair. No obvious infirmity. Since she was old, I gave her a pass. Not all elderly-abledness is observable. Perhaps she had a heart issue, or COPD. It's not like those able-bodied 20-somethings parking there to put ice in their cooler.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Anyhoo... on the fourth day it happened, The Usurper must have noticed the look of distain on my face as I put T-Hoe in PARK. She suddenly slapped her own handicap placard onto her mirror. Well! Why didn't you say so??? She just got there first, and had a right to that space. However...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I once again slid out of T-Hoe, and limped my way past The Usurper's car and into the store. She was still parked in that spot when I came out, and when I left. I made a trip to the drive-thru mailbox, and then to the Liquor Store across the street. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The Usurper WAS STILL PARKED IN MY RIGHTFUL SPACE when I left the Liquor Store! She must have been there 30 minutes from the time I initially went into the Gas Station Chicken Store.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I CRY SHENANIGANS!!!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Who needs to stay in one parking space for 30 minutes? It's not like they were going to deliver something to her sedan. Only one clerk on duty. Can't leave the store unattended. I think I saw scratchers in the hand of The Usurper when she got into her car. There is no need to STAY PARKED THERE while scratching! The Usurper should have pulled over by the moat, and completed her scratching there. So as not to take away the ONLY handicap parking space for those who may need it.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Do your bidness on your own time! Not in a handicap space. </div>Valhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025832536749983018noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937038870722238271.post-75953233836176794442024-02-25T08:00:00.002-06:002024-02-25T08:00:00.137-06:00Life With Hick Is Like a Box of Chocolates<div style="text-align: left;">You never know what random text you're going to get from Hick. Like Friday, when I received the following:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"I bought this beaver today."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">At least there was a picture to sort-of explain.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKxAqpniJVQ6lJBAIJAF36xau9Ed5oft3j9dV1UDxKhEen3wjW9CD9DBl-f7iSUbTjDTu2GXwhOEcUDpQBFYy1zcgc-SKHw_foQuLX87pvciJguSRR8r2F7TXyBMPIo4DIGUeldbSWRSCE2z-DqVR30IklMwREWldurGlQjOqHu1kCG233amkmrUGc/s1600/beaver%2002-23-24%20bought%20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKxAqpniJVQ6lJBAIJAF36xau9Ed5oft3j9dV1UDxKhEen3wjW9CD9DBl-f7iSUbTjDTu2GXwhOEcUDpQBFYy1zcgc-SKHw_foQuLX87pvciJguSRR8r2F7TXyBMPIo4DIGUeldbSWRSCE2z-DqVR30IklMwREWldurGlQjOqHu1kCG233amkmrUGc/w640-h480/beaver%2002-23-24%20bought%20.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I shared that text with The Pony.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Um. Do you know what "beaver" means in slang?"<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"YES! I know! But he sent me this picture. Do you know where that is?"</i><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"No. It's not the flip house. Maybe it's where he got it from."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Further <strike>interrogation</strike> inquiry when Hick got home revealed that it was, indeed, a picture from the seller's house. Hick had gone there to look at other items, and this was just a bonus find!<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"Are you going to sell it?"</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"I don't know. I'm going to put it in my storage unit, with the deer head."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"How much did you pay??? And what would you sell it for?"</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"I paid $100 for it. I'm asking $200."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Well. At least he's not asking $100.50. But this pricing makes it look like Hick really does not want to part with his beaver.</div>Valhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025832536749983018noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937038870722238271.post-19461143934646762232024-02-24T08:00:00.001-06:002024-02-24T08:00:00.255-06:00The Pony Didn't Take the Bait<div style="text-align: left;">I have mentioned before the running USPS joke, "Not today, Postal Inspector." Referring to the belief that postal inspectors try to tempt carriers into succumbing to thievery, with delectable enticements planted along the route, in a ploy to test integrity, and weed out bad apples. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The Pony is having none of that. He sent me a picture on Thursday:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvMaXIiNcwXaAXwTQKAE4Znllr31K-lW3YKbiKO11iA52BOrRpvVvieA3rwXMNZFJEslHLynuiHQhB8UhfUvQzT3DZWFm4jImOMFZh9LVs1ZJWZI9Nm_UcKGbGc2B4wvoPdcIgILY8KXC3Oh4-15dLaHDbXxIaLXyB7mtvEARdPuqsdkFPVjB3jE0W/s2560/Pony%20mail%2002-22-24%20mailbox%20phone.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1920" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvMaXIiNcwXaAXwTQKAE4Znllr31K-lW3YKbiKO11iA52BOrRpvVvieA3rwXMNZFJEslHLynuiHQhB8UhfUvQzT3DZWFm4jImOMFZh9LVs1ZJWZI9Nm_UcKGbGc2B4wvoPdcIgILY8KXC3Oh4-15dLaHDbXxIaLXyB7mtvEARdPuqsdkFPVjB3jE0W/w480-h640/Pony%20mail%2002-22-24%20mailbox%20phone.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"Not today, Postal Inspector."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It took me a minute to notice the phone on top of the mailbox.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"Ha! Looks like a set-up!"</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">On our morning phone call the next day, The Pony agreed.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"I'm wasn't touching that phone! Not even to put in in the mailbox for safekeeping. I didn't want my fingerprints on it!"</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I think maybe a kid waiting for the bus might have left it there. The Pony found it during the morning hours. I can't think of any other reason it would be out there.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Better safe than sorry!</div>Valhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025832536749983018noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937038870722238271.post-67380279913321383652024-02-23T08:00:00.005-06:002024-02-23T08:00:00.141-06:00This Will Not End Well, But It Will End Soon<div style="text-align: left;">That's just my prediction. Sorry to be so pessimistic, but I've never been confused with Pollyanna. Hick shares my sentiments on this case.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">As we drove out the main entrance of our enclave a week ago, on our way to the casino with The Pony, we observed a startling sight on Mailbox Row. You may recall our last visit there, in the <a href="https://unbaggingthecats.blogspot.com/2024/02/a-timely-justification-for-decrepit.html" target="_blank">aftermath of destruction</a>. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">There had been a black plastic mailbox on the end of the row, next to the parcel lockboxes. It stuck out on the end, having been placed there after the structure was built. The Destroyers had broken the door of that black plastic mailbox clean off. It was lying on the ground behind Mailbox Row. That poor mailbox received its mail doorless for a week or so. And then the entire box was taken down. And replaced with a metal mailbox.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVVNprCRsw3Eko1lqgrX0_WqK1d7at2gmcbVSusyHbz0PzozJWK6d2VjouBmGvTRngNkotxF2T6Q0Iw1Dr8ZR2gChvTFRxYcT-y61-oduoob8R1Jt8zlE_ro6ip7TGZmkiJrNDpfzYF8vSJtNuWZvG-skcIUt-BO1d0WuU0ckd8IzUJDKk6T1y4DgR/s4000/mailbox%20top%2002-22-24%20added%20box.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVVNprCRsw3Eko1lqgrX0_WqK1d7at2gmcbVSusyHbz0PzozJWK6d2VjouBmGvTRngNkotxF2T6Q0Iw1Dr8ZR2gChvTFRxYcT-y61-oduoob8R1Jt8zlE_ro6ip7TGZmkiJrNDpfzYF8vSJtNuWZvG-skcIUt-BO1d0WuU0ckd8IzUJDKk6T1y4DgR/w640-h480/mailbox%20top%2002-22-24%20added%20box.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The windows of A-Cad almost imploded from the collective inhalation of our audible gasps. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Look at it! So innocent. Proudly sitting atop Mailbox Row. Shiny and without a dent or scuff. Ready to serve for years as a receptacle for important correspondence, monthly bills, slick coupon pages, and random political postcards and assorted advertisements. The hopefulness of it makes my heart hurt.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>"Welp."</b> Said Hick. <b>"That won't be there long."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Indeed. Might as well paint a red-and-white target on the side. Put up a sign with a flashing arrow pointing to it. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">If it wasn't for those parcel lockboxes blocking the way, I'm pretty sure that poor new mailbox could be home-runned into the middle of the creek.</div>Valhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025832536749983018noreply@blogger.com14