I Don't Think It's Happening

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Return of the OPC

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hick's Eclectic Office

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

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

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

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

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

I Think It's the Mark of a Psycho

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

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

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

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

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

"No. This little one is just fine."

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

WHAT KIND OF PSYCHO DOES THAT?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Weirdo Goes A-Grabbin', Uh Huh

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A LIKELY STORY!

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

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

Weirdos gonna weirdo.

Teach Your Children. Well...

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

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

Her eyes widened. "Are you going in?"

"Uh huh."

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

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

"Thank you!" I said.

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

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

Narrow Miss

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

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

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

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