Thursday, September 11, 2014

I Wouldn't Be Surprised If Hick Passes Out Cigars

Hick is caught in a quandary.

Don't tell HIM that. He might think he's going under for the third time in some icy-cold clear green water in a deep hole where granite has been chipped away in blocks for a variety of uses, including, but not limited to: building facades, gravestones, countertops, flooring, and backsplashes.

No, Hick is having trouble making a decision. Not that such a state is uncommon for him. I almost feel sorry for my sweet baboo.

At first he was all excited, calling people and talking loudly, because we all know that cell phones are just one thin stairstep above tin cans and twine, telling his cronies that he had just been given a house. A HOUSE! Okay. Hick gets excited a bit more than other folks at the though of getting something for nothing. He doesn't realize at first that "nothing" may turn out to be a couple of hundred dollars in miscellaneous costs.

The more he thought about traveling the 55 miles to claim his treasure, measure it, check with a buddy to help him, get the house onto his trailer, drive it home on winding two-lane blacktop, find a place for it, unload it, and come up with gas money for all the trips back and forth to set up this grand plan...the more Hick thought he might not want the free house.

So sad to see his dream go down the drain.

Here's what Hick coulda had:

Yeah. It's two feet too wide for his trailer. He's not sure if it will be too tall to fit under the overpasses once he reaches the highway. His helper often excuses himself because something suddenly comes up. And I told Hick he is not taking more money from The Pony's stash like he did at the beginning of summer, and still hasn't paid back. A house is not like a trailer from work that can be used to bring in more free stuff. I will not be subsidizing this bargain.

I told The Pony, "Your dad could save all the money he would spend on gas to arrange to bring this cabin home, and use it to buy supplies to build another cabin."

"Huh. He already has all the stuff he needs to build another cabin."

Uh huh. I sense the clamor, clamor of little hammers this autumn. Hick is expecting an addition to his outbuilding family.


  1. I know where you're coming from but it really is a cute little cabin. Maybe you could turn it into a writing office. You could even have a coke machine out there if you can convince Hick to wire it with electricity.

  2. It's got the right shape for a small church. You could start your own religion, handle snakes, heal people and the money would flow like water. (You might find a snake or two in that closet next to your classroom.)

  3. It would make the perfect writing retreat center for a single, solitary writer. You could make your property a mecca for writers. I can see it now...

    Fresh goat's milk cheese on the writer's bagel in the morning. And they even get to chase and milk the goat themselves. Oops--THAT goat is not a female one...

    Inspiring sights to drink in as the writer strolls along the rolling hills...with sweet, sweet Juno at their side.

    A tiny cabin--distraction free--to write in.

    Mid-afternoon snacks of homemade Chex Mix. Midnight snacks of left-over slaw.

    When you send out your brochures, I want to be one of the first retreat guests. (What will be the name of your writing retreat?)


  4. joeh,
    Hick is going to bankrupt us with FREE stuff.

    Well, I already have my dark basement lair, complete with spiders and harvestmen and the occasional millipede and stray mouse, so it would be greedy to want another writing office, when many people don't even have one, and the least I can do is show compassion--COKE MACHINE? I'm gettin' me a new writing office! Electricity? Hick cut his teeth pulling wire and installing service entrances. He could do it in his sleep if he wasn't so busy stabbing my lower leg with his velociraptor claw.

    That's a novel idea. See what I did there? You have a unique idea, but others are pushing the writing retreat! Yeah. Val is subtle like that.

    Thanks for reminding me of my copperhead/lizard/salamander/newt. Those Nervous Nellies up at the schoolhouse have declared, upon careful inspection of the phone photo, that the critter was a salamander. Try getting antivenom for THAT bite, I say, when it runs up your leg and bites you in the nether region.

    And we could cut a crescent moon in the door, saw a hole in the floor, set it over the big sinkhole, and VOILA! The guest has his own bathroom!

    I'll have to get back to you on the name. I'm working on my brochure. That counter at my proposed handbasket factory isn't going to fill itself, you know.

  5. They love to bring home stuff, don't they? We currently have FOUR vehicles and only two drivers.

  6. Kathy,
    Oh, if only this was a poker game! We have three drivers and EIGHT vehicles. Give me that pot. The pile of money, I mean!