Val Has Shown Remarkable Restraint

I have been sitting on a secret for the past couple of weeks. Not literally sitting, because my ample rumpus would do no favors to my secret. Which I am sure is no longer a secret, because you've seen the thumbnail picture before reading.

I HAVE BEEN HOARDING PEEPS!

Yes. It's the season for PEEPS. I found some new flavors. Of course I had to buy them. They pretty much hopped into my cart on their own, and twisted my arm behind my back to persuade me to take them home. They may THINK they're safe. But they're not. I'm only waiting on The Pony to come out and help with Easter Dinner. Then we'll crack open those PEEPS for a tasting. 

We are having Easter Dinner on Friday, because it's more convenient for Hick's business. So Thursday and Friday, The Pony and I will be PEEPing. Of course we will set some aside for Hick to have later. And a few for me to enjoy at my leisure. I don't want to overdo it. Then The Pony can take the rest home.

Here are my new flavors. In no particular order. I think I bought them over two or three different trips to 10Box, because they had a big bin, and different days there were different flavors.

The cashier said the Cotton Candy flavor is always the first to go. When the first shipment came in, she ran to get her share. Indeed, they were out of this variety on the first day I bought some.

They're not so pretty, but Dr. Pepper might be an interesting flavor. Not sure how The Pony will react. Way back in third grade, for surgery on the first broken elbow, The Pony chose Dr. Pepper scent for the anesthesia mask. Hope this doesn't cause any flashbacks!

Everybody knows Val LOVES a birthday cake flavored treat. I imagine Party Cake is the same thing. Hick may not get some of these!

I bought two of the Rice Krispies version. Not because I think they'll be my favorite, but because I think The Pony will like this flavor best. How could it go wrong? PEEPS are already 99% marshmallow. So the "Rice Krispie" flavor should be simple to add.

Of course I had to get the original basic yellow PEEPS. I'll probably keep them just for me. Everybody knows what an old-school PEEP tastes like.

I only regret that all these PEEPS were the chick shape. I am partial to the bunny shape. I like biting off the ears first. Then their abdomen, then their rumpus. It's harder to dismember the chicks evenly.

Happy Easter to all my PEEPS!

The Universe is Working Overtime

The Universe has been quite busy plotting to derail any plans had by Thevictian family of late. Val had a monkey wrench thrown into her knee joint replacement talks. Hick can't get an MRI scheduled to see what's up with his lung. And we can't get a definite time on the closing for Bargain House that is supposed to be on Monday.

I told Hick he REALLY needed to pin down Realtor Guy for a time. It was already mid-week, and many businesses are closed on Good Friday. How would we know when to show up on Monday for the closing?

Hick called Realtor Guy on Wednesday. He said to plan on around 1:00, he guessed. Which didn't sound very definite to me. It's a 30-minute drive for us. Longer, because we will swing by to pick up The Pony on the way.

THEN, on Thursday evening, Hick got a notice that there was an appraisal scheduled for Bargain House at 11:30 a.m. on Friday!

"That seems to be cutting it close! I'm not sure we can go through with the closing on Monday."

"It's seems pretty odd that the house will be appraised on Good Friday. Unless... they're in a rush to get it done in time for the closing Monday."

"I don't know. Some places are open. I've been thinking, after this one, I'm not sure I want Realtor Guy handling any more of our properties. I don't like all this electronic and email and online stuff. Realtor used to call me and have me come by her office to sign papers. I like the old-fashioned way better."

I said Hick should mention that to Realtor Guy. That we want to stay with him, but only if he will handle our deals like Realtor used to. Then it's up to him if it's worth changing his habits to keep our business. 

Meanwhile, I'm hoping the closing is not postponed. The Buyer is the one who decided on the date anyway. He should have made sure everything was on track to be ready.

Get an MRI, or Die Tryin'!

You may remember that Hick got a call from his Nurse Practitioner on Monday afternoon, telling him he needed an MRI because the x-rays showed that he might have a partially-collapsed lung, or the beginnings of pneumonia. She asked if he wanted a referral to the hospital lab, or the local imaging center. Hick said the hospital. His NP said they would call to make an appointment.

Tuesday passed, with no call. Then Wednesday, the hospital scheduling office called. The gal told Hick that the soonest appointment was two weeks out. This was not acceptable to Hick.

"I need the MRI because my doctor says I have a collapsed lung or pneumonia. I could be dead in two weeks!"

"Sorry, sir, but that is the earliest we can schedule an MRI for you."

Hick stopped by his NP's office to complain ask why it should take so long. His NP said it SHOULDN'T. She and the office gal who does the referral thingies got to looking into it. Somehow the hospital was saying it had to get pre-approval from Hick's insurance. But NP and Office Gal both agreed that it did NOT need pre-approval.

Hick said he was done with the hospital. To get him into the imaging center. NP said they should be calling Hick on Thursday morning. Well. Thursday has passed, and Hick got no call to schedule an appointment.

He's hoping to get a call today. With it being Good Friday, I'm not sure this call will happen until at least Monday. When we are scheduled to close on Bargain House. Or ARE we???

Out of the Fingers of Hick

One little letter can make a big difference in the meaning of a message. I'm fairly adept at deciphering Hick's chicken-scratch notes, and badly-typed texts. But his most recent text gave me a start.

The closing for our sale of Bargain House is scheduled for Monday. You may recall that this buyer has been a bit... um... persnickety, shall we say? Hick's Window Guy has the parts to repair the vapor seal on the three (not four as originally expected) windows. He told Hick this week that if it wasn't Good Friday, he would have been able to get it done then. But because of the holiday, these windows won't be repaired in time for the closing.

Realtor Guy says the Buyer is okay with getting a receipt showing the window work is paid for. I gave Hick a check (already filled out, so it's legible!) to pay the Window Guy on Tuesday. As far as I knew, everything was just fine for the deal. 

Then I got a text from Hick on Tuesday around 1:30.

"I'm in [Bill-Paying Town] waiting to give heck to glass guy"

WHAT??? Had some kind of problem come up? Would the windows cost more? Was Window Guy not able to fix them? What kind of mess were we in now, with the closing so close?

Then I looked at the text again. MAYBE Hick just forgot a letter.

"Check, I hope you mean!"

"Yes check"

Whew! That was a close one.

Turns Out Hick Needs a Breath of Fresh Air

I am a bit concerned about Hick. He is always on the go, taking on new projects all the time. You'd think he would have been all over Lap House by now, as with every other flip house we've bought, ready to get started as soon as he had the keys. But no. Hick has been working on renovating one of the senior apartments. And taking on a side job to put flooring in a woman's house.

In the midst of all this, Hick has some fairly minor surgery scheduled this month. As a condition of that surgery, he needed to complete some tests to see if he is fit for it. Like an EKG, and a chest x-ray. Monday afternoon, he got a call from his regular Nurse Practitioner who has scheduled the tests for him. She was concerned about the chest x-ray.

"She thinks I have a partially collapsed lung, or the beginning of pneumonia. So I have to get an MRI to see what it is, and what they'll do about it."

"You've had this little cold for about a week. Maybe it's because of that. I don't hear you coughing up much stuff. Or if it's a collapsed lung, maybe you hurt something when you fell and busted your lip."

"I don't know. My upper right chest has been hurting a little for a while now. Since before I fell. I thought maybe it was from when I slipped on the ice getting in my truck at Casey's, and laid on the parking lot for a while. I hit hard. I guess I ain't gettin' enough oxygen. Maybe that's why I'm always tired, and I get dizzy."

"Do you feel like you have a fever? Like when I had pneumonia."

"No. I don't think I have a fever. She told me to make sure to take a lot of deep breaths through the day. You know my brother just got out of the hospital in Vegas, after having pneumonia. He was in there a long time, and they sent him home with oxygen. But he felt bad enough that he went to the emergency room."

"Maybe you had a little cold a while back, and it developed into pneumonia. They can fix you up with steroids and antibiotics if they catch it quick enough."

"You'd think she would have noticed that, though, when I went for my appointment last week and she listed to my chest. I don't know about a collapsed lung."

"When I think of a collapsed lung, I think of the show ER, where they'd slice open your side between the ribs, and jam a tube in there to drain out the blood that caused the lung to collapse! But those people definitely knew they couldn't breathe."

"I don't know. I guess we'll find out what it is after the MRI."

No idea how this will affect the upcoming surgery. Let's hope there's an "easy" fix for what ails Hick.

Egging Him On

Sunday I cleaned out FRIG II to make room for my Easter dinner supplies. I already have a spiral ham taking up half of the bottom shelf. I needed to buy three dozen eggs for the potato salad, 7 layer salad, and deviled eggs. Hick has the carton of his FREE eggs a buddy gave him at his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5) on the second shelf. I had a dozen (with only four left) on the third shelf. 

I let Hick's eggs be. Mine were probably getting too old by now, so I planned to toss them. It's pretty easy around here. Just chuck them off the back porch into the woods. The Pony used to try hitting specific tree trunks with them. That's about the extent of The Pony's athletic prowess. Anyhoo... I set that carton of eggs on the kitchen counter by the door. When I left for town, I was preoccupied with taking a treat to the dogs, and didn't throw them yet.

That Hick! He has no concept of a regular schedule. I never know for sure where he's at, or what he's doing, unless it's Saturday and Sunday, when he's at his SUS2.5 from 7:00 until he gets home at 5:00. Or DOES he? You can't depend on Hick to be home at a specific time. Making supper revolves around his arrival. He can't even give me an ETA when he's running late, although I've harped on suggested this many, many times.

With Daylight Savings Time now, I figure Hick might be staying later, to squeeze every last possible dollar out of a longer sales day. Thus I have been starting to town later. Especially when I will have groceries for Hick to carry in, hoping he'll be home when I get back. Sunday, I didn't leave home until 4:15. I figured I would get back around 5:30, and Hick would be there, or on his way. But no! He decided to come home early on this sunny 70-degree day.

I got a text on my way to town: "I'm on my way. Gotta come home and mow grass."

Let the record show that Hick is obsessed with mowing grass. Here. The yards in town he sometimes lets go a few days past when I think they should be cut. But here, Hick spends hours on his zero-turn mower, on the front yard/field and the BARn field. Oh, well. At least I knew I'd have somebody to carry in my groceries when I got back. And that I'd have to wait supper until Hick was ready to come in.

He was up by the trash dumpster and address sign when I came home. Hick hauled in two boxes of groceries, and said he was going back out to finish mowing. I put those groceries away. Saw the eggs I had left sitting on the counter. And went to the door to throw them out. Jack and Pepper were there, expecting another treat, but I told them they'd have to go to the back yard for that! 

Rather than walking across the porch with little Pepper jumping up and getting under my feet, I lobbed those eggs over the rail from the doorway. I was using my left hand because of the angle of the door. The four eggs didn't make it all the way to the tree line. They landed in the back yard. Three bounced and rolled, and one broke. I suspected the dogs would find them later and eat them. My given-away Australian Shepherd dog Scarlett would have been handed them on the porch. She liked eggs, and always cleaned up her mess. I wasn't sure about Jack and Pepper, with their smaller mouths.

Anyhoo... a few minutes later, I was surprised to hear Hick on his mower rounding POOLIO from the other end of the yard. I had no idea he was going to mow the back yard then. Sometimes he saves it for the next day. I really didn't think the yard needed mowing just yet. He'd just done it last week. You could hardly tell a difference out front of the section he had already mowed when I got home.

The eggs did not seem to deter Hick. He made no mention of them when he came in. I know he could see them. Yet he didn't stop to toss them on into the woods, like he'll stop to pick up sticks or stuff the dogs have dragged in. At least Jack and Pepper didn't have to bite into their snack of chopped raw eggs.

Memory, Don't Fail Me Now

I started into the Liquor Store on Saturday evening, to get some scratchers. The parking lot was full when I pulled in, but I found a place up next to the building, and waited. Several of the people I saw go in came back out. I figured the others were playing the fake slot machines, so there wouldn't be much of a line at the counter.

As I neared the door, I saw a gal leaning against the front of the building, smoking. I didn't know if she was waiting on a customer to come out, or if she worked there. I hadn't seen her before. But I know the cashiers at the Gas Station Chicken Store often pop out for a quick smoke when there's a lull in business.

"What's your name?"

I was taken aback. Why would some random gal ask for my name? She was around 30, wearing jeans and an orange sweatshirt over a white t-shirt. She was well-groomed. Her auburn hair pulled back, and a tiny bit of makeup causing her blue blue eyes to pop. She asked again as I was deciding whether to answer. It's the old teacher in me. My attitude of why do you need to know?

"Thevictorian. Val Thevictorian."

"Are you kidding me? I can't believe it! You were my teacher! You were SO GOOD! You really made a difference in my life. Do you remember me?"

"Uh. Well... you look familiar. But I'm not getting a name. I had so many students, you know. Was it in the old building? Or the new building? Was it middle school? Or the high school?"

"Now I can't remember which school district it was."

"It had to be Basementia. Or Newmentia. That's the only school I worked at around this area."

"I don't know. My name is [REDACTED]."

"Sorry... I'm still not getting anything. I feel so bad!"

"You and Mrs. Roast were the two best teachers ever!"

"Oh. Then it was at Basementia."

"What did you teach?"

"Over there, I taught the At-Risk classes at the middle school for half a day. And health at the high school the other half."

"I just remember how much it meant to me to have you for a teacher. You guys didn't know it then, but I was going through a hard time. Then our house burned down, and the school took up a collection to help us out."

[I DID remember that. I donated $100 for that family. But I still didn't remember her name.]

"Yes, I remember. That was so sad."

"It got even worse. Do you remember reading about the family that was abusing their kids? That was us. We all got split up and put in different foster homes... Come on in, Sweetie."

She held the door open for me, and we went in to do my scratcher business. Meanwhile, she continued talking while fetching my tickets.

"It was terrible. We got moved all around. I haven't seen my brothers in over 20 years. I'm 32 years old now. I don't even know where they are. But I'm here. I'm married. I survived. They did stuff to us kids that mother nature wouldn't do to a squirrel. But I'm okay. How about you?"

"I'm doing pretty good. I need a knew knee, but otherwise I can't complain."

"How about Mrs. Roast? Is she still alive?"

"I would imagine so. I haven't talked to her since I retired. She was really great."

"Yes. The two of you got me through. I just wanted you to know that."

"I'm glad I helped. I wish I could have done more. You seem to be doing pretty good now." [I wanted to tell her how amazingly pretty she was. How she had a kind of glow. But that would have been weird.]

"Oh, you'd be surprised, Honey. Looks can be deceiving. I hope you win on your tickets. And that you come back so we can talk again."

"I'm in here every week or so. I hope I see you again, too."

While we had been chatting, each of us pausing a couple times to keep tears from overflowing, a woman had come in to stand in line. She said, "You are the fourth conversation I've heard just TODAY about how foster care had saved somebody."

"Oh, Sweetie, they didn't save me. Far from it. But I'm doing okay."

Anyhoo... on the drive home, I felt so bad for not remembering this student. Even once she told me her name! She had to have been around the time we moved into the new high school building, and swapped the old middle school for the old high school. That's when I got a classroom in the basement, next to Mrs. Roast (her secret nickname because she declared she would "roast my own rumpus before I'll let these kids use calculators for middle school math!"). I had recently been asked to start the At-Risk program, after years of teaching science.

By the time I got home, I had a vague memory. I'm pretty sure she was in a group of 6th graders I had for extra help in Math and English. She was an average kid, not a troublemaker. One who could fall through the cracks without a little extra encouragement.

Anyhoo... if I see Student again, I'm going to ask about a couple people I think were in her class. That should verify my new memory of her.

We do the best we can, you know, to help each child succeed. The stars and troublemakers are the ones who pop up in a teacher's memory first. It's the other ones we affect most. Please realize, a student has a handful of teachers to remember. We have up to 180 kids a day, year after year after year.