Next For Hick: A More-Than $5000 Traveling House

Work on Hick House is winding down. For Hick, that is. He will be busy this week, taking This Guy to physical therapy after his back surgery, and This Guy's Wife to the city for a follow-up after her broken-hip surgery, and T-Hoe to Mick the Mechanic for an oil change and brake inspection. So... Hick has put HOS (Hick's Oldest Son) on a detailed task list. The plumbing needs finishing, the master bedroom needs drywall on the ceiling, and an upstairs bedroom needs painted. Also, the outdoor shed needs a roof, and the rest of the siding needs hanging. We'll see how this delegation of duties pans out.

In between overseeing all this rehab (of house and man and woman), Hick is sprucing up the camper he will be selling to recoup the cost of Hick House.

It's parked in the front yard right now, while he makes sure all systems work. For anybody who knows campers (like Blog Buddy Kathy), this is a 32 foot (according to Hick) 2011 Forest River Salem RV. He's asking a little more than the price of Hick House and renovations costs. Hick will be washing the grime off the outside. The inside is in good shape, though the stove will be getting a Hick-scrubbing, because it isn't as sparkling as he'd prefer. The back part is where an outside kitchen folds out, with a sink and stove and refrigerator.

It has a slide-out section, and also an outdoor shower behind that. According to Hick, it's just like a hose, but the specs list an outdoor shower.

Here's the living room, as you come in the door. The part that slides out. The couch makes a bed, as well as that table.

Looking forward. The main bedroom is behind the TV cabinet. Hick needs to get a TV to put in there. He says he'll probably get one at a pawn shop.


This looks back toward the bunk room. Bathroom is on the left, that wooden door past the refrigerator.


Here's the back bedroom. Bunk over outdoor kitchen area on the left, and a table and fold-down bunk on the right.

The wooden door is the bathroom door opened, this section just has the curtain, Hick says.

I was sure he had a picture of the bathroom, but I'm not finding it in my files. Maybe I just looked at it on his phone, and he didn't sent it. The bathroom has a sink, toilet, and little tub with a shower.

Anyhoo... Hick has put it on Buy/Sell/Trade, and put a picture up at his Storage Unit Store. He's had several inquiries. Once everything is good to go, Hick will be putting it on display up at the Storage Unit parking lot, where he can give tours. He said our neighbor wanted to look at it, so he told her she could walk over and go inside. He called me to tell me not to yell at her. AS IF! I'm so sure I would stick my head out the door and say, "Go on, now! GIT!"

When You Care Enough to Spend the Very Least

I cried (shenanigans) because I got a $3 change purse, and then I met a Val (in the mirror) who didn't get one.

Perhaps you remember my tale of a previous Mother's Day, when I bemoaned the fact that I received a $3 pink change purse, and two boxes of Sno-Caps. Not that I was expecting diamonds, or a new car, or even shoe inserts from The Good Feet Store. No, I don't care all that much about the gifts. It's just that Hick rakes in the swag on Father's Day. Three or four gifts, things he collects, like beer or car memorabilia, and usually some kind of tool as well.

Hick might not want to get his hopes up this year.

I got a card from Hick. Both boys say they've got one in the mail. I got a call from Genius, The Pony, and The Veteran. I got a text from HOS, who I talked to for 40 minutes on Friday. So I'm not a gift-seeker. It's just that ONE OF US seems to put more effort into such a holiday than the other.

Oh, I also got this. Frozen custard. Chocolate, with caramel and that hard shell chocolate stuff. Hick had a brownie special something. I don't think it has the diabetic seal of approval. You might notice that Hick dressed up for the occasion, wearing his funeral home suitable John Deere sweatshirt.

Yes, I got frozen custard for Mother's Day. It cost more than $3. Not that I'm counting...

Wanna Get My Picture on the Front Door of the Gas Station Chicken Store

Val feels like sharing a tune:

I'm a Diet Coke buyer
I'm a frequent flier
And I'm loved by my old Hick spouse
I blog about pennies and I blog about HOS
And our five thousand dollar house 
I take blood pressure pills
I get lottery thrills, but the thrill I can't ignore
Is the thrill that'll getcha when you get your picture
On the Gas Station Chicken Store door

Last week, I was waiting for the Man Owner to wait on me at The Gas Station Chicken Store, while he finished a transaction at the card-reader contraption. Woman Owner grabbed my shoulders as she squeezed behind me, lest I lurch back with one of my elephant legs and cripple her. That store is not very big. Woman Owner proceeded to the section of the counter to my left that raises to allow entrance to the register area. She had a paper in her hand. I recognized it as a color printout from their outside surveillance camera.

Woman Owner reached for the tape. That made Man Owner really discombobulated. He kept glancing at the picture. She held it up to him.

WOMAN OWNER: "I'm going to put it up, in case anybody knows him. We owe him money. Do you know him?"

MAN OWNER: "I do. But I don't know his name. He was just in here! You're not really putting up his picture, are you?"

WOMAN OWNER: "I am. We owe him $13.49! She overcharged him, and we need to give it back."

MAN OWNER: "I don't know if I would do that..."

Woman Owner held the picture up to me. Written clearly across the top was: DO YOU KNOW THIS MAN? WE OWE HIM MONEY!"

WOMAN OWNER: "What do you think?

ME: "Well, I'd think it was funny, if it was MY picture. It says you owe him money. But some people might not think it's funny..."

Woman Owner laid down the picture while we were talking. A new customer had stepped over to the counter by her register. He was reading it upside down.

NEW CUSTOMER: "Oh. You owe HIM money."

As Even Steven would have it, Man Owner rang up my transaction wrong during this discussion. He was overcharging me by ten dollars. Of course I had already planned out my purchase. I had the exact change of $1.69 ready for my daily 44 oz Diet Coke. I knew that I was cashing in two ten-dollar winners, and buying two five-dollar scratchers, and a ten-dollar scratcher. I think Man Owner must have rung up that ten-dollar ticket at the beginning, and again at the end, because he was expecting $11.69 from me.

MAN OWNER: "Does that sound right?" He always asks me that. He's only been doing this job about 20 years, you know.

ME: "No. I should just own you for the soda. I traded in twenty dollars, to buy two fives and one ten dollar ticket."

He cleared out the register and rang it up again. Right this time.

MAN OWNER: "There. That's better. Sorry about that!"

ME: "It's okay. I thought I might get my picture on the door! Because you'd owe me money."

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 In case you didn't guess the song at the beginning, I borrowed a little from Dr. Hook's 
"Cover of the Rolling Stone." 
******************************************************************* 

CHANGE on the Horizon for Val

Just when I'd almost given up my pennyquest for this week, I opened T-Hoe's door on THURSDAY, May 9, and saw

a shiny face-down 2014 nickel silently screaming for my attention. I waited for the car parked next to me to leave before hopping out with my phone camera. Wouldn't want anyone to think I was a weirdo, you know.

I swear, both of these photos seemed more in-focus on my phone, without my glasses. Maybe the lens was fogged up from humidity... This was at the Backroads Casey's.

After picking up my 44 oz Diet Coke at The Gas Station Chicken Store two doors down, I headed for Orb K. Which was also coinly accommodating.

I didn't need those glasses to see, or a drumroll from that drum stick to call my attention to the face-down 1999 penny, waiting there just for me.

I hope the guy behind my behind has recovered from exposure to my ample rumpus as I bent over to snatch this beauty before some squinty-eyed ice-cream-lover absconded with it.
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FRIDAY, May 10, the Casey's over in Walmart Town was also generous.

This 2012 beauty was heads-up, hiding just far enough under the edge of the counter to make retrieval harder than it needed to be.

Let the record show that nobody was behind me in line for a rumpus view. I think I can hear the collective sigh of relief.

So... seven cents for Val this week. So far. There's still Stop-the-Presses Saturday to deal with, as I'm scheduling this Friday to publish automatically.
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2019 Running Total
Penny   # 58, 59.
Dime   still at 8.
Nickel   # 7.
Quarter  still at 1.

2018 TOTALS
Penny  131
Dime  17
Nickel  6
Quarter  1

2017 TOTALS (Started in March, 2017)
Penny  78
Dime   6
Nickel  0
Quarter  0
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Why Can't These Freakin' People Let Me Be Nice to Them?

Chivalry is dead, and common courtesy is wheezing its last gasp.

Wednesday, I made my regular trip to The Gas Station Chicken Store. As I was entering, I spied a dude coming that way at a good clip. I gave the door an extra-wide shove so it didn't close in his face. He caught it and entered on my heels. Figuratively, not literally. No thanks or anything. Not that I expected it.

We continued down the middle aisle, me stepping lively, due to that heel thing. At the end by the coolers, I made a right turn to get to the soda fountain. I was conscientious about doing my business quickly, because I wasn't sure if he was waiting for a turn at the beverage trough. I heard the cooler door slam, and I knew he wasn't. Still, I glanced over my shoulder just in case. Dude was nowhere in sight.

I walked to the front, toting my 44 oz Diet Coke. Peering around the end cap of the aisle, I could see Dude standing there holding two bottles of soda. So I knew he was ahead of me, even if we weren't in an actual line. I'd heard the cooler door, and he was already up front when I got there and I looked.

Two old ladies were paying at the counter. One started a lengthy spiel to the Man Owner, who was running the register. She must be a regular, or former regular. She told him about her husband having Alzheimer's, and two strokes. The other old lady, who had forked over the money, smiled at Man Owner, and said, "Okay, Mom. It's time to go." As they made their exit, Dude stepped up to the counter.

Fair enough. It WAS Dude's turn. Though some people will politely glance at the true line, and ask if another person was there first. Once in a blue moon, of course. As Dude was stepping up, an old man came in the door, kind of shuffling, a bit hunched over. He didn't go down the aisle, but stayed beside the end of the counter, where the card scanner sits, tethered by a wire. I figured I'd let him go ahead of me, because I was going to cash in a $75 scratcher. I'm a giver like that. A giver of my rightful turn in line.

Yes, I knew full well I was next. But I thought I'd let that old man go first. He was old, you know. Imagine my surprise when Old Man bellied up to the counter like it was his inalienable right, stating that he had $25 in gas!

HOW DARE HE!

Old Man KNEW it was my turn. He had looked me right in the eye when he came in the door. He saw me standing next in line, as soda Dude was paying. Yet now he was deliberately taking my rightful turn! Let the record show that this made me want to NOT GIVE HIM MY TURN!

I guess nearness to the register is 9/10 of the Next-In-Line Law.

I was even more surprised that Man Owner let Old Man get away with it. I'll give him a pass, because Man Owner gets all discombobulated when there is more than one customer. Besides, he apologized for my wait. I assured him that I am never in a hurry.

What in the Not-Heaven is wrong with people these days? An old Val can't even give away her turn without it being stolen from her first!

Hick House Basement 05-08-19, Re-Visited

Of course Hick sent me more pictures of the Hick House basement right after my pictorial of it had published. That's how he does things. Rather than stop the presses after the fact, and try to edit that tale, I made things easier on myself. I also made things easier on you, by letting you out of the basement for a day. Well. Not really. I merely transferred you from the Hick House basement to my own basement lair. Hope you don't grow moss from your subterranean sojourn.

Today you're back at Hick House.

Good luck with these images. I sincerely thought I had the basement layout mastered. According to Hick, I did not. It doesn't help that he changes his descriptions from day to day.

This is that opening he described, to get into the room with the black cast iron old sewer pipes. Silly me. I'd thought it was at the corner of the main basement area, but apparently, it's in a separate room that would be accessed through this hole. It's still under the old bathroom. At the back of the house, on the uphill side. Here are some of the new sewer pipes that HOS has run from the new bathroom. If you stand in the basement door upon entering, this would be the wall on your left, that runs across the back of the house.

Sorry if that's confusing. My mind is still swirling from Hick giving me three detailed explanations, walking me through the landmarks, while I was on our own back deck, shucking corn. It didn't help that each description was different than the one before, and that Hick kept referring to NORTH SIDE.

I asked Hick about those jars on the ledge, and he said they're gallon jugs.

"They were in the house already. They're really old."

"How old?"

"I'd say they're from the late 80s or early 90s."

"Um. That's barely 30 years. I don't really consider them old."

This is a little door that has nothing to do with anything. It's in the front wall of the basement, as Hick calls it. The wall on your right as you're standing in the basement door. It leads to a crawlspace under the front part of the house. Like the area under the living room and master bedroom.

This is the back wall of the basement, after you've stepped through the door, and turned to face left. You can see the door, and the new electric box that Hick has now put a door on. Also, he's gotten rid of the old electric box. This picture also shows a lot of junk that was originally in the basement, that Hick told HOS (Hick's Oldest Son) to get rid of. In Hick's words, HOS has been fiddle-fartin' around doing pieces of other projects, and not following Hick's commands. Hick is a little testy (heh, heh, I said TESTY). He says there is about half a dumpster full of junk that he had to step over and around while putting in the electric.

That's the thing. When you're the one who spent the $5000 to get the house, you think you're the boss of the project! Hick thinks HOS should have shoveled up that junk and gotten it out of the basement, rather than just clearing it into piles. Hick is the foreman of this job site, and HOS is the laborer!

That Creepy Over-the-Shoulder Feeling

Not sure what is going on around here. I'd blame Hick for making me the star of my own Gaslight movie, but he was nowhere around. In fact, he was upstairs, where I could keep tabs on him by his footsteps. More accurately, by the sound of him stumping around on footless ankles. That's how he walks. Like there's no fleshy heel or flexible foot.

Anyhoo... Monday night, Hick had been over to the BARn for 45 minutes, looking for some kind of boring electrical connectors to use at Hick House. I purely regretted asking him why he went over there. I thought I might nod off from sudden-onset narcolepsy, there at the bottom of the stairs, while he went into detail. Then I asked him about the pictures from the Hick House basement he'd sent me. You can bet your bottom dollar that Val is not gonna risk a fine from violating the Truth in Blogging Law! Our entire exchange lasted about three minutes, and I returned to my lair.

I was tapping away at New Delly's keyboard when something seemed amiss. You know how you get that feeling. Like something is different. Like when you're driving your usual route, and your eye is drawn to a new yard sign, or a house with its trim painted a different color. You might not be consciously thinking about it, but your subconscious knows. I swiveled my old rolly chair part-way, and looked over my left shoulder.

Huh!

The ceiling light in the corner was on. Not a big deal, right? I had the lights on. Since I've been spending so much time alone down here, without The Pony or even Hick to hear me scream, I turn the lights on. The Truth in Blogging Law just gently tapped me on the shoulder, and said, "You'd better make that 'turn the light on,' because only one of the four ceiling lights works, remember?"

Yes. That has been standard operating procedure here in the lair for many, many months now. Maybe longer. Hick says he has the fluorescent lights somewhere. He's always meaning to fix them. I've gotten used to my foot-candles. I can have 3/4 of a dark basement lair. The next best thing, without being frightened out of my skin by the occasional (okay, routine) odd occurrence.

Anyhoo... my subconscious had picked up on the fact that my lair was TOO BRIGHT! I'm including pics, to prove it happened.

That's the offending light, which had the GALL to come on, while I was out of the room talking to Hick. It's in the corner behind me, diagonal from my desk and New Delly.

There's the one by the door of my lair. Off. As usual.

That's over in The Pony's corner. Off. Where my old giant gray metal desk sits, which used to hold young Pony's computer, when he was in his formative years.

That's the light directly over New Delly. The only light that has been consistently lit all these years.

Let the record show that I'm not as bad a picture-taker as these skewed images might portend. Nor am I trying to be artsy-fartsy and make you feel like you're going down on the Titanic. I was just trying to include other parts than the ceiling, so you could see that these are four different lights, in four different areas of the lair's ceiling.

I went back out to holler up to Hick. Kind of glancing over my shoulder, lest that light go OFF while I was out of sight. Hick didn't see anything remarkable about this occurrence.

"Oh. That happens. They come back on."

I wonder if that's what he told the people at work who wanted their lights replaced. I know that when such a light went out in my classroom, it did not come back on. I had to fill out a maintenance request, and wait about a week or two for fixing. I know that, because I had 100 students every day, a good number of which were kind enough to point out to me every day that the light was not working.

Maybe that's why Hick has been so slow to fix my lights. He KNEW they'd eventually come back on! Nah. I don't think so.
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Welp! That didn't last long.

That light has been off again, as usual, from the time I descended to my lair around 2:00 this afternoon. (Tuesday)

I pointed out to Hick that the light is off again.

"But that's perfectly normal, according to you, so no big deal."

"It's NOT normal, Val."

"That's what you told me yesterday. That these lights go on and off all the time."

"No. Things happen to them. That's what I said. It's not normal, no."

Funny how Hick changes his tune after Val has finished the symphony.