Saturday, November 16, 2013

Perhaps This Lady Revealed Too Much

Friday, I had my eyes checked. No, not in a nice madras plaid. I had the windows to my soul inspected. Peered into, shot with a tiny air cannon, and tested for distance with one eye tied behind my back. Or at least blocked by an impermeable barrier.

But the best part is...I had a day off work! Yeah. It's not like the optometrist makes house calls. And because my appointment was in the morning, I had the rest of the day to spend with my best old ex-teaching buddy, Mabel. Don't ponder why altruistic Val did not return to work after that medical visit. She tried that one time, and was summarily dismissed. One is encouraged to make use of an entire "sick" day, not a half, because substitutes do not like getting dressed and hauling themselves to the education factory for only a few hours. Or something like that.

Of course Mabel and I saw the entire world pass by as we nursed our breakfast biscuits for two hours at Hardee's. And by "entire world," I mean people who know us and feel the need to stop by our table to talk, or nod as they're leaving, as if to say, "We know what you did this morning." Let's hope they don't keep appearing in a yellow rain slicker, with a hook arm, trying to scare the bejeebers out of us. Contrary to popular opinion, neither of us played hooky.

After catching up on gossip, I offered to take Mabel on a tour of Backroads. Some calls it Hillmomba. I calls it Backroads. Uh huh. Mabel was all for it. I think her mind was still reeling from purchasing her personal Val Thevictorian library. She thinks I'm a genius. Who am I to argue?

Anyhoo...we took off in T-Hoe to the far reaches of the county. I could not let Mabel inside my home. This was a spur of the moment offer. I could not expose her to my hoarder house. Not that she would have to climb up on top of six feet of old pizza boxes, adult diapers, mummified cats, and gas station chicken bones to get into the living room. We're just a clutter family. Like three folded towels laying on the couch, a stack of Pisa-esque books on The Pony's end table, a couple of weeks' mail on the kitchen counter. It's not like she would be entering the lair of the Alien where victims (and future meals) were cocooned along the walls.

Mabel met my sweet, sweet Juno. And saw the goats and the yard chickens and the turkey and the guineas. She was a bit startled by the scream of the guineas, but then declared she was fascinated by their looks. If only I could box them up and mail them to her. In tiny pieces in order to rid our grounds of them for eternity. They are bullies who grab chickens by their tail feathers and sling them around for sport. Fie on those guineas!

Mabel saw all the sights, such as the original 7-year pony, the BARn, the sinkhole, Poolio, Gassy-G the grill, the compound of the guy who threatened to shoot Hick, EmBee the mailbox, the garage cast iron collection, and various other horrors too numerous to mention.

I hope she does not suffer from PTSD. After all, Mabel is the wind beneath the wings of my graduation Masters' robe sleeves. We go way back. Maybe some day I'll tell you that story. I hope she is not at this very moment changing her phone number and readying for a move to another county.

She thinks I'm a genius, you know.


  1. Val--You should have filmed the tour you gave Mabel. The mewling masses, who are STILL clamoring for a book signing with Val, might be mildly appeased with the CD version of the tour.

    We continue to whine...

  2. Sioux,
    Surely, Madam, you are not suggesting that I try to film the tour while driving! That is unsafe at any speed. I could not ask my guest to film her own tour. I do not have my now-non-resident technology wizard to rig up a head harness for my phone camera. And we all know that The Pony (who was in school at the time) has no desire to help people. Ever.

    At the risk of setting off more mewling...I gladly signed my three books for my best old ex-teaching buddy Mabel. Let the record show that I did NOT do so while driving.

  3. I am fortunate to have a store front in which to receive visitors. Clutter? He Who disrobes and leaves his clothes in his recliner, just in case he gets a mid-night towing adventure. Says he does it for me, so as not to awaken me. The next day, he just leaves those clothes right there for me to move them to the appropriate hamper. I don't let folks in my living quarters. Just family.

  4. Kathy,
    Hopefully, He Who has never left a banana peel in his recliner. That's what I found, stuffed down in the side crack of the La-Z-Boy. No clothes, though. I won that battle during the first year of marriage. Shh...Hick thinks HE won, even though he has been doing his own laundry for 24 years. Just to show me that he can't be bullied into picking his clothes up off the floor and putting them in the hamper.

  5. Did Juno put her snout in Mabel's mouth? I hear that's a growing attraction in your neck of the woods.

  6. Stephen,
    No. That is something special. Just between the two of us. Juno had the opportunity. Mabel leaned her head over so curious Juno could have a whiff. But Juno took things no further.