Thevictorian Doesn't Fall Far from the Val

During my daily phone chat with The Pony on Friday at 6:00 a.m., he said he was sending me a picture.

"It's a sidewalk they just put in, and it's already crumbling. So much for a new sidewalk."

"Should I look at it now? You know I'm not good with technology. I might lose you while I'm trying to open up the text with the picture."

"I don't care if you look now or later. But when I took it, I put my foot up on the sidewalk, showing you what I have to deal with on a daily basis. It turned out like I'm a dainty Victorian lady, daring to show my ankle."

I opened the picture, and started laughing out loud. Even though I had been tipped off.

Maybe you had to be there, but I found this image, along with The Pony's Victorian proclamation, to be hilarious. After my outburst, we could finish the conversation. We couldn't talk long, since The Pony was drawing a bath. 

Can't go out in public with a dirty dainty ankle!

Hick Is Baited and Switched

Hick has been looking for a "new" used refrigerator to put in the Beauty Shop efficiency cottage. The other one quit working on the day he gave the realtor a tour. Hick reached in for a refreshing beverage, and it was not refreshing at all!

Anyhoo... Hick found a fridge on Facebook from a lady who only wanted $150 for it. But it was not white, which Hick needs, to match the white stove. Tuesday, he said he saw that it was the last day for a refrigerator sale at Lowe's. That Lowe's had refrigerators for $300, and they said it could be delivered by Wednesday. Off went Hick to buy a refrigerator.

Well. When he got there, he measured, and discovered that while it met his cubic feet criteria, it was only 28 inches wide. Hick needed a refrigerator 32 or 33 inches wide, to fit the space in the Beauty Shop.

"They had one that size, but it was $500. I got it, to be done with it," Hick reported on Wednesday night.

"Was it white?"

"Yeah, it was white. It's working. I'm gonna leave the stickers on it, to show that it's new."

I don't know if the realtor will go for that. Not sure how it would look in the pictures she's planning with a professional photographer. Might be too much lipstick for our little pig of a house.

The Interest is There, Presumably

Hick was working at the Beauty Shop half of the Double Hovel flip house(s) on Wednesday, when a lady stopped to talk to him. Let the record show that Hick has a generic HOUSE FOR SALE sign in the yard, but without any contact information.

"An old lady stopped today and asked me about the Beauty Shop."

"I really want to buy this little house! Will you sell it to me?"

"I told her I couldn't, that the two houses came together."

"How old was she?"

"I don't know. Maybe in her fifties."

Huh. Such an OLD LADY, stopping to ask about the Beauty Shop efficiency cottage, without having even seen the inside of it!

Anyhoo... Hick met the building inspector, who had already approved the main house when it was finished. He also approved the Beauty Shop efficiency cottage. Hick mentioned the 'old lady' wanting to buy just the Beauty Shop half.

"He said it's because they each ain't on 8000 square feet."

"How much is it?"

"About 10,000 square feet, together."

"I know there are houses on less than that! The yards look plenty big enough to me!"

"I guess it's their new standard."

"Why wouldn't they let you use the Beauty Shop as your business, like you wanted to in the beginning?"

"They said it's not zoned for business!"

"It was a BEAUTY SHOP! My mom went there for years!"

"Yeah. It was a beauty shop for over 50 years. I asked about that, and he said they had a "variance" back then."

Funny how things USED TO BE okay. But now they're not...

Anyhoo... we knew when we bought the property that the houses could not be sold separately. That's not a surprise. We'll see how much interest we get once the listing is up.

Surely, Though a Bit Slowly

Hick is planning to sign paperwork and hand over keys to the realtor this week for the Double Hovel flip house(s). He has almost everything done that she suggested. Well. As much as he's told me. Seems he left out a couple things. White paint has been applied to the front and side of the Beauty Shop efficiency cottage. 

Still no rock garden or anything appealing under the front window. That appears to be Hick's "burn pile" in the background, for twigs and small limbs and wood scraps. 

Hick's buddy has still not delivered the load of gravel that will go in the area behind the burn pile, along that fence. Hick at first told me it had been done. Maybe he meant ordering it! I guess off-road parking will be a selling point, although many people around here just park on the street.

Tuesday, Hick was killing the weeds that are growing in the fence around the main house. He also sent me a picture of a surprise project:

"Painted back of shed too"

Heh, heh! Hope you can see it! It's like when Hick took The Pony on his college tour at the University of Oklahoma, and pictures were of a tiny Pony amidst a vast panoramic view. Oh, look! There's Old Buddy, who is back, over-the-weather rather than under it. He helped Hick paint the side of the Beauty Shop on Monday. In case you can't see the shed, I'll zoom in:

It's an eyesore that I might have torn down, but as the realtor told Hick, people like a place to put their stuff. Also, in the full picture, you can see that Hick has taken his tractor to town, to use for spreading that gravel when it arrives. He left the trailer over in The Pony's back yard.

Now Hick needs to find some cleaner for scrubbing the bathtub some more in the main house, as the realtor instructed! He said CLR. I asked if it was rust or lime scale, and he said no, it looked like soap scum buildup. Which I said needed something foamy, with the scrubbing bubbles. Maybe Soft Scrub. I told him to read the bottles and see what they're good for. Hope he doesn't mix anything that shouldn't be mixed! My old principal did that when he moved, and had chemical burns on his forearms! 

Gotta keep Hick working!

Rumpushole, or Merely an Ignorant Rumpus?

Monday, when I was ready to check out at 10Box, I had two lines to choose from. The first was a man and woman with a LOT of groceries. An employee was at the end of the lane, bagging their groceries. This is unusual for 10Box! You are expected to bag your own groceries. Sometimes, if nobody else is in line, the cashier will move down and help. They say it helps the time to pass faster. I always thank them profusely. 

This time, I guess that floating employee knew that it would take a good long time for those groceries to get bagged. Thus, her help.

The other line had one man. He had a lot of groceries, too, but not as many as the other couple. He had meat, like maybe for a holiday BBQ. And staples. And several kinds of soda in 12-packs. I got in his line, because he had fewer groceries. 

The cashier was efficient. She had all his stuff rung up, and pushed down the counter. I had put the rubber thingy on the conveyor, and set out my stuff. Not a lot. Bananas, lettuce, slaw mix, shredded cheddar, pie crust, cereal, and toilet paper. Of course the cashier flipped the divider, and sent my purchases to the other side of the counter.

That's where the problem lay. The guy ahead of me was one of those weirdos who leaves his cart BEHIND him! So it blocked my access to the card scanner. I angled my cart (that was in front of me, like a normal person) so I could insert my card and pay. Then I was stuck waiting. Waiting for that guy to get done and move his cart. I could not get out of the checkout line and move around to bag my groceries. He was blocking it with his cart. Which he could have easily pulled through and put at the end, like a normal person does to bag their groceries.

  

Even the cashier was looking at him askance. "You have a nice day." Encouraging him to LEAVE already!

That guy finally put his last bag in the cart, and left, allowing me to leave the checkout line and pull around the end to get to my groceries and bagging area. I was efficient. But I'd been delayed! The next customer's groceries went to the area that guy had just vacated. But the customer after him was held up. Waiting for ME to get my stuff out of the way. And then the cashier turned to me, and said, "You have a nice day!"

I cry shenanigans! Not my fault that I wasn't done. I had very few groceries to bag! But I was delayed by the guy who was ahead of me blocking the aisle!

I don't so much think that guy did it deliberately, as a rumpushole would. But that he was just an ignorant rumpus, not understanding the ways of the grocery store self-bagging routine.

If Val Was a Litigious Person

Had I been willing to throw myself on the floor, I could probably have gotten a good settlement from Country Mart.

Saturday, I went in Country Mart for my scratchers from the machine. I noticed, upon entering the first double door, a trail of liquid. It was in big dots. Like from dripping. The trail progressed from the doors and carpet mat onto the slick concrete floor inside. Across the entrance, toward the grocery aisles. It did NOT veer off toward the cart area. So I suspect somebody had something in a cart already, and was leaving that trail as they pushed it into the store. It did NOT go towards the service desk. So it was not something faulty being returned.

Anyhoo... I have no idea what left that trail. Perhaps it was an incontinent child! All I know is that I saw the trail, and did my best to avoid stepping into the liquid.

Well. As I stood at the lottery machines getting my scratchers, a worker lady appeared. She had a mop and a bucket on wheels. She asked if I was buying winners. I said it had been a while, but I hoped so. She watched for a minute, then continued swabbing at the floor with her mop. She parked her wheeled bucket and went off to do something else.

As I was leaving, I saw that the trail of drops had turned into a stream. The mop had not absorbed any of that liquid. It had only spread the drops into a solid path of wetness. Which was now over by the lottery machines. As if I didn't already stride gingerly on my sore knees, I now had to take it even slower, to make sure my footing was secure before taking the next step.

Not a yellow CAUTION WET FLOOR sign in sight!

I probably could have been rich.

No Lipstick on OUR Pigs!

When Hick gave a tour of the Double Hovel flip house(s) to the realtor, she commented on the appliances in both structures.

"We can't list them as NEW APPLIANCES, because they are not the new stainless steel variety."

Of course Hick knew that. Some of the appliances came from the Quick Flip house. Some were things he bought from people listing them on Buy/Sell/Trade, or Facebook. Hick always makes sure they are in working order. He gets some good bargains. Unfortunately, the refrigerator in the main house had quit working on the day Hick had the realtor there. He reached in to get some cold water, and it was dead.

Hick is getting a new (used) refrigerator to put in before the listing is finalized. He had a guy offer him a refrigerator while working at his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2) on Friday, but it was "almond, or brownish white. I figure I should wait and get a white one, to match the stove."

That's the thing. We never planned to say these houses had NEW appliances. Only that the appliances were included. That can save people a lot of money, when they've got a down payment to consider, and stuff to make the houses move-in ready. Hick has basic window shades, and the appliances, that will be "good enough" until a buyer can upgrade if they wish.

Anyhoo... people who would buy these properties are not the type to expect brand new appliances. We're not selling the Taj Mahal! Just basic houses, move-in ready. Not a new build. I certainly would not expect brand new appliances in such houses.

Sometimes, a pig does not need lipstick for approval.

Is Val the Rumpushole: eBay Edition

Hick went to the doctor Thursday. That's what he told me. Of course, being Hick, he left out a few pertinent details. I assumed it was his regular doctor, who is a nurse practitioner. But turns out it was a FOOT DOCTOR, since Hick's feet have been hurting. I can't imagine why. He's only on them 12 hours a day...

Anyhoo... I got a text from Hick after the appointment. As you might imagine, I had some questions after reading it. Hick can be a bit misleading, and obscure. Actual text with Hick's spelling and punctuation.

"Doctor says I have arthritis in both my feet. She wants me to get some insoles from ebay and then asteroid shot in my feet"

"Not sure how you get insoles from eBay. And I guess you mean a STEROID shot."

"She wrote down what we needed to order and yes a Steroid"

"eBay is usually people re-selling things."

"This is what she wants me to get from internet and the cream can come from Walgreens"

"Not sure why it would need to be eBay."

"It doesn't matter where amazon or anywhere the nurse said we would most likely have to get from internet"

"That's a lot different from eBay."

"The internet thats all im saying. Amazon has them and other places i just goggled them"

"I understand that, but IN THE TEXT, you said eBay. That's why I asked."

"Your making a big deal out of nothing ebay amazon goggle its all internet i juat said the wrong one"

"I'm not psychic. I just asked a question."

So...am I the rumpushole? I was only trying to figure out why we would order insoles from eBay. Nobody wants used insoles! 

Hick sent me the text. I wasn't interrogating him about his appointment. My questions came from the info Hick was giving me. I wanted to make sure what his texts really meant, since he is often confusing, and changes key points during a story.

I'm afraid to raise the issue of the steroid shot. Is that different from the cream? Hick did not mention a follow-up appointment, nor a shot that day.

Hick Fulfills at Least Half His Commitment

Grab those smelling salts again! Make sure you're sitting down. If you're a drinking person, you might want to take a shot.

HICK PAINTED THE BEAUTY SHOP WHITE!

Sort of...

Wednesday morning at 8:00, Hick sent me a picture and text. 

"There is the first section white."

And another at 9:45. 

"Whole front painted will need another coat."

By afternoon, another picture at 1:55.

"Two coats all in front finished."

To be fair, the side wall has not been painted. Old Buddy has texted in sick all week, so Hick has been working alone. He says he's planning to do the side wall as soon as Old Buddy can help. I don't see it happening until at least Monday. Hick spends Friday/Saturday/Sunday at his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2), and I doubt Old Buddy will make a miraculous recovery for one day, when he typically doesn't work Fridays anyway.

Huh. Now that I look at it, the brown color was kind of pretty... But not worth having to explain to casual observers that it really isn't PLYWOOD, but "CEDAR SIDING." Even with stain, it would look like a patch job to me.

Two Businesspersons Walk Into a Beauty Shop

Hick met with the realtor on Tuesday at 1:00. They toured the Beauty Shop, and the main house of the Double Hovel. The Realtor brought some comps from the neighborhood, for an idea of what comparable homes were selling for.

Hick told her what price he was considering. The Realtor suggested an amount $6000 lower. Hick's reasoning was that we would have room to lower the price if there was not enough initial interest. The Realtor said she preferred to set it lower in the beginning, to get people actually asking to walk through the houses. Hick agreed. The Realtor said the size of the bedrooms was a factor in the pricing, but that having two bathrooms instead of one would offset that a bit.

The Realtor told Hick that she could charge a commission of 7.5 percent, but that since he had come back to her after buying Pony House through her, she would sell our Double Hovel for a commission of 5 percent. Can't beat that with a stick! That's what Hick gets for customer loyalty.

The Realtor told Hick that he needs to get a load of gravel to pour beside the fencing at the main house, for off-street parking. Hick has already had it delivered by a buddy, and will be fetching his tractor from The Veteran (who was using it to level ground for his new swimming pool) to spread it out on Thursday.

Hick also PAINTED THE BEAUTY SHOP FRONT WALL WHITE on Wednesday, and will be painting the side wall perhaps on Thursday. Old Buddy has called in sick for three days, leaving Hick in the lurch. The Realtor said to have the gravel and painting done before the photographer shows up, but Hick said he didn't know when that will be. We are supposed to sign papers with The Realtor next week.

We are happy with the pricing, and will stand to get a good return on our investment if we sell within a reasonable amount of the asking price. I have no qualms about The Realtor changing Hick's price. I figure she has a vested interest, standing to profit on the sale.

Hick Gives Me Written Evidence

Not wanting to be outsmarted by smartypants Hick again, I told him I would only believe his statements about the Beauty Shop flip house if I had it in writing. Mainly the part about painting the other two walls white, to match the remaining ones. 

Hick must have still been suffering from a merciless browbeating Sunday evening, because by noon:45 on Monday, he sent me a picture with a text.

"Window trim painted and i am getting the white paint for outside now"

So there was his commitment. Still, knowing Hick, I was a bit wary. He came home with a receipt he said was for white paint. The receipt doesn't mention white, but I'm beginning to believe the transformation might actually happen. 

Heady with assumed victory, I pushed my luck further on Tuesday at 12:30, just before the realtor was scheduled to meet Hick at 1:00.

"A little rock garden would improve the area under the window."

"Yes im going to do something there"

Not a statement that sends my heart racing at the thought of a beautiful rock garden. But at least enough to pacify me for now. And hope that he will mention it to the realtor.

FYI, here's what the Beauty Shop originally looked like.

Aside from all of the outer walls matching back then, I think Hick has done good job!

Hick Recants

Sunday evening, I casually asked Hick if he would be painting the two sides of the Beauty Shop on Monday. 

"I'm going to finish up inside, and take all my tools out."

"I thought you were finished inside, when you talked to the realtor. You said she's coming Tuesday. So you only have Monday to get it painted before the pictures for the listing. It will look terrible if it's not painted for the listing."

"She's coming Tuesday. I haven't signed no contract with her. I'll have to see what she says it will cost. I won't go over 6.7 percent."

"I'd think you would have discussed that with her before her coming for the walk-through and pictures."

"She was busy that day I was there."

"I can't imagine she'll get pictures of it with the two walls a different color."

"She ain't takin' no pictures on Tuesday. She's just coming to look."

"You said she had to wait to get a photographer."

"I don't know when a photographer will come. I never told you it would be Tuesday."

"You pretty much did. But I guess you'll have more time to paint the walls white."

"I'm still not sure..."

"You said the realtor said they should all be the same color!"

"No I didn't!"

"You said you showed her pictures, and she said they should all match."

"No. She looked at the pictures, and said it was cute."

"If she was so busy, how did she have time to look at your pictures, and comment on it being cute?"

"She just did. She looked up the tax information, and saw a picture of what the Beauty Shop used to look like when it was a beauty shop."

"Huh. That seems like a lot, for someone who was too busy for you to ask about the fee..."

I don't know how Hick always manages to change his story. I asked him very specific questions before revealing yesterday's news. Now he denies his answers. Believe me, I have no desire to type up a whole blog post with incorrect information. That's why I have been waiting to share info on the completion of this Double Hovel project.

It would be one thing if I had a history of putting out fictional tales. I am not a fiction writer! However, Hick has a history of changing details in almost every story he tells. He can't make himself clear, and doesn't put into words what he is thinking, perhaps. Add to that the fact that he can't hear well, and might ASSUME I'm asking something else, but give an incorrect answer rather than ask me to repeat the question. Plus... Hick must always be right.

I told Hick that in the future, I want his information in written form, whether it be text or paper. THEN we'll see how much deniability he has.

Meanwhile, I must write up a list of questions for Hick to answer after the Tuesday appointment with the realtor. If, indeed, there really is a Tuesday appointment with the realtor.

Slowly, and Hopefully Surely

Hick had planned to have the Double Hovel flip house(s) finished and listed with a realtor by the end of July. Well. You know the date. He DID call the lady who sold us Pony House, and make an appointment for Tuesday afternoon. 

Hick made the call on Friday. (Or so I thought. Seems he actually popped into her office.) I suppose he thought she would just run over and take pictures with her phone and VOILA, our property would be on the innernets by that evening. Nope. She said she has to schedule a professional photographer (I see bundles of our profit sadly bidding us adieu), and will do a walk-through that day.

I'm sure this will come as a complete shock to all of you. Sit down. Have some smelling salts at hand. Be ready to put your head between your knees if you feel faint. Are you ready? The realtor told Hick that all the walls on the outside of the house should be the same color! I might have dislocated my shoulder while fist-pumping during my victory celebration.

Hick did not reveal that information without considerable interrogation. Ironically, he had been painting trim on the main house of the Double Hovel last week. Black trim, on the porch and deck, which looks good to me. Not sure he was quite done when he sent these photos. Said he was going to lunch. 

No, Hick didn't spill black paint under the porch light. I was covering up the address. You can see the painter himself in the window reflection, with SilverRedO.

Hick was not about to miss his lunch at the Senior Center to finish this project.

Hick said something about painting the handrail on the Beauty Shop. I asked him then about the two walls, and he was noncommittal. SHADY might be a better word. But now, it seems like he will comply. Meaning he has MONDAY to get that painting done. It shouldn't be a big deal. It's not a big house.

__________________________________________________________________

Well. After typing this whole thing on Sunday afternoon, there were new "developments" Sunday night. Not changing the post I've already done, but more will follow tomorrow.

__________________________________________________________________

Is it Possible that Hick is Now Conspiring with Major Corporations in His Attempts (I'm Pretty Sure) to Kill Me?

Dang! You sit down to have a can of tuna with a fresh garden tomato for your breakfast at 12:30, and next cat out of the bag, your life is in danger!

Remember the days when it was safe to eat canned tuna? Nothing dangerous there. Well. Not counting mercury or whatever toxins might slowly kill you over time. But the mechanical act of consuming the food was safe. NOT ANYMORE!

It wasn't even store-brand tuna. It was STARKIST, Chunk Light Tuna, packed in water. 

Most of my breakfast was just fine. It was near the end, with about three bites of tomato left, that my fork poked into a BONE in the tuna!

That is NOT a fork tine! Even though it's about the size of one! That's a big BONE to smuggle into a can of tuna. Where is quality control? Napping? Is it all mechanical? Do they need to set the filter gap smaller? I don't know how a tuna-canning factory works.

Of course I point the finger at the murder attempter towards one Hick Thevictorian, who has been known (pretty surely) in the past to try and unalive Val. Then again, I suppose Hick might be too busy lately to contact a buddy who knows a buddy who has a buddy who works in a Starkist Tuna canning factory. Then there'd be all the trouble of planting the boned can in a store where I shop, on top of the other cans, on the day I decide to buy tuna. So Hick could probably good-'ol-boy his way out of an attempted-murder conviction.

Anyhoo... I am considering contacting Starkist about this matter. I doubt they would open any files to show the pictures. In the past, I found a bone in a can of Swanson's White Meat canned chicken, and sent the actual bone to them. They responded with coupons. Which I didn't use, not wanting any more bony chicken. But these days, prices are high...

I asked The Pony if I could mail a bone. He said it shouldn't be any problem. To tape it to something so it wouldn't slide around in the envelope. I was worried about machinery crushing it. But my other bone made it to Swanson. So we'll see. I will also include the label, and the numbers off of the can lid. Heh, heh. I will stop short of mailing that jagged can lid.

I don't want to be accused of trying to murder a U.S. Postal Worker.

Travels With My Placard: The Odor of Sulfur Emanates from Val's Countenance

Welp! Val has egg on her face today, my friends! Rotten egg! Not sure when the stench will subside. It all started on Thursday, around 4:00, when I made my last stop on errand day, at the Gas Station Chicken Store for scratchers.

Since I was coming in the back alley way, having been over in Sis-Town, I turned to pull down past the FREE AIR hose parking space into my rightful handicap space. 

IT WAS TAKEN! TAKEN! More taken than the movie theater seats Elaine tried to save (YouTube 1:42) for Jerry, George, and Kramer.

With temps in the muggy mid-90s, I left T-Hoe running, parked in the FREE AIR space, thinking how long could somebody actually be inside the Gas Station Chicken Store. I had hope, seeing as how this wasn't the White Sedan Lady, a two-time offender here, who never seems to leave.

Aha! Here came the guy now, walking around the front of his maroon mini van with no handicap plate nor placard, also parked nose down. Good. He'd be getting in and driving away, and I could roll forward to my space. Hmm. He didn't look handicapped at all. Maybe mid-20s, just short of being termed "stocky," wearing shorts and t-shirt.

WAIT A MINUTE! That Guy did NOT get into the driver's seat! He opened the sliding side door of that mini van, and was rooting around in there. He picked up something, closed the door, and went back inside!

I was livid! What in the Not-Heaven? I'd had a hard day! Been to the bank, inside two grocery stores, bought gas for T-Hoe, went to the post office, and now I was hot and tired, with frozen stuff in T-Hoe's rear. I did NOT feel like walking the extra 50 feet on sore knees in that blazing heat. But sitting there would only let my knees stiffen up more. So I got out. 

Huh. How could That Guy not see me, sitting behind the wheel, engine running, HANDICAP PLACARD clearing dangling from the mirror? He KNEW I was waiting for that space! Why was he going back inside? Did he forget his wallet?

As I hobbled along, sweat oozing, knees creaking, I declared that if I met him coming back out, I was going to look right into his eyes! To shame him! Nobody puts Val in the FREE AIR space!

Stepping in the door, I saw That Guy standing on the other side of a woman at the counter. He handed her a PAIR OF SHOES! Aqua colored, canvas, summer footwear for a lady. The Woman handed them through the plexiglass opening to Fave, my favorite clerk. They were chuckling. Fave thanked her. Fave sure gets some good perks!

Obviously, they somewhat knew each other. Which kind of put the kibosh on my rage. THEN, The Lady turned to That Guy, and said, "Go ahead and pick one out." They got two scratchers, both number 6. That's the $3 bingo ticket that I don't play. 

Anyhoo... that's when it dawned on me. I'd seen this pair in here before. The Lady and That Guy. He has Down Syndrome. She always lets him pick out two tickets. 

I suppose The Lady is entitled to park in the handicap space, seeing as how her passenger is a person of different-abledness. Though he did not seem to have any physical impairment, perhaps he has heart issues. In which case she should not be sending him out in the blazing heat to walk extra distance to fetch a pair of shoes.

Anyhoo... I bear them no ill will, and am ashamed of my unfulfilled plot to flaunt my righteousness in That Guy's face. My shame will take a few days to dissipate. Though you'd think The Lady would have a handicap placard if they needed it...

Hick the Do-Gooder Does Good For Family

Hick went down to Casino Town on Thursday. He did not invite me! He had business to do with a crony there who runs a pawn shop, and provides him with merchandise for his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2). It was not a big deal to me. I prefer to have my casino trips with The Pony. Riding 90 minutes with Hick alone is not so appealing. The Pony works on Thursdays, so not an option.

Anyhoo... Hick invited HOSS (Hick's Oldest Son's Son) to ride along. With the enticement being lunch at the Throwed Roll Restaurant that's another 30 minutes south. I don't like taking the extra time there and back. So Hick got himself a lunch companion, who has not been there before, and at 14 years old is ready to eat at the drop of a hat.

As Hick's well-known luck would have it, his crony was not even at her pawn shop. She had been to the Philippines, having just returned on Wednesday, and was recovering from jet lag. So Hick did his business with her adult son. 

At the Throwed Roll Restaurant, Hick had the ham steak, with sides of mashed potatoes and green beans. He regretted that he did not have the carrots. Of course there are the pass-arounds he could have as well, in unlimited portions, just like the throwed rolls. But they don't include the carrots.

"What did HOSS have?"

"Huh. I didn't know what he'd like. I told him they had a cheeseburger and fries. He looked at the menu, and held it out to me. 'Can I have THIS?' I didn't really see what he was pointing at, but I said, 'Sure. You can have whatever you want.' Turns out it was steak and shrimp!"

"Still. He could have whatever he wanted! Surely you would not have told him no!"

"No. I wouldn't have. I was just surprised. And he ate every bit of it, too! But he only had one roll. He caught two, but didn't want the other one."

"Now he'll have a story to tell when school starts! 'My grandpa took me to the Throwed Roll Restaurant, and I had steak and shrimp!'"

"Yeah. He needs to tell his other grandpa about it. He said he'd never heard of it."

"So is it going to be on the credit card?"

"No. I paid for it with my money."

That's Hick. The Do-Gooder. Doing good, even when there will be no freebies forthcoming for his efforts.

Hick Scores More Freebies

Hick still has the knack. The knack for raking in free stuff. 

Last week, he sent me a text: "Remind me to get a cage when I come home."

Okay. That's not even near one of Hick's more odd requests. But I DID wonder what was going on. Was it some kind of wildlife trap? Like when he was trying to catch (extremely unsuccessfully!) the squirrel in The Pony's attic? I know Hick sells stuff to hunters and fishermen, so trappers would not be out of the realm of possibility. When I came back from town, Hick was already home. But I did indeed remind him of his cage.

"I already got it in the truck for tomorrow."

"What kind of cage?"

"For a cat. A buddy wants to take his cat somewhere, and needs a cage."

"You mean a PET CARRIER?"

"Yeah. A little one, for a cat."

Again, you never can be sure what Hick is talking about, pre-interrogation.

Tuesday, I arrived home to find four garden tomatoes on a plate on the counter.

"My buddy give me them tomatoes, for letting him use the cage. The two dark red ones are from his garden, and the two lighter ones are from the Amish he buys stuff from."

"Okay. They'll be good, but I don't know what we'll eat them with. We're having the Chinese food I made tonight and tomorrow."

"Oh, that reminds me. He also gave me a bottle of whiskey! It's in the truck. I need to bring it in."

"What kind?"

"Wild Turkey. Because he knows that's what I like. He's the one who gave me a bottle before."

Since a couple of the tomatoes were starting to wrinkle, I ate one Wednesday morning (meaning noon:30) for my breakfast, instead the usual banana with fake Honey Nut Cheerios. I had it with a can of tuna. 

IT WAS DELICIOUS! I've always liked that combination. Only two ingredients needed, a tomato and some tuna. It took me back to my school days, on summer vacation, when my grandma would give us a whole box of tomatoes that needed eating. I felt like I was back at home, lying on the orange/avocado green patterned indoor/outdoor carpet of our family room, in front of the TV on an August afternoon, perhaps watching General Hospital, eating tuna out of a sliced-open garden tomato.

The Pony's Dry Sense of Humor Gets Hick's Goat: Part 2, The Humor

Yesterday, you were introduced to one of Hick's old goats, Nellie, and subjected to a partial tale of her sad demise. Today we will conclude this tale, revealing the reason why I had been thinking of it lately.

When we last convened, Hick had put Nellie's corpse on a funeral pyre over in the BARn field. He came back to the house. He merely stated that Nellie had died. Not unexpected. The Pony was sad, but he had no idea of the events of the evening.

It was getting towards bedtime on that Sunday night. The Pony and I were headed to school the next day. I think it was August, and I was starting meetings, and The Pony planned to sit in my classroom with his laptop and play games. School internet being faster than our home internet, you know

Monday morning, Hick was off to work at 6:00 a.m. The Pony and I left around 7:00. As we rounded the corner of the back porch on the way to the garage, The Pony stopped. He was looking into the front yard/field.

"Huh. Looks like Ann (our black german shepherd) is chewing on something."

"Oh. Well. You know how those dogs are..."

"It looks like a chunk of something black."

"Must have found something in the woods again..."

The horror of what it might be was sinking in. I hurried The Pony into the garage, figuring whatever Ann was munching would be gone by the time we returned home that afternoon. 

The Pony dashed off as soon as I parked T-Hoe in the garage. I thought he might be going to pet the dogs. Yet when I left through the people door, here came The Pony around the corner of the front porch. He was holding a SKULL at arm's length. A skull with horns.

"Nellie says 'Hello.'"

Which is just like something The Pony would say.

"Put that down!"

"I thought I saw something on the front porch, and this was it. I guess that's what Ann had in the yard this morning. I'm going to call Dad and tell him!"

"No you're not! He's on the way home. You can tell him when he gets here."

Anyhoo... The Pony revealed that yes, he'd heard the shots the night before, and figured out what was happening. He's not an idiot, you know, though we tried to shelter him. I suppose the rain off and on had messed with Nellie's funeral pyre, and that Ann had no trouble taking a souvenir off the burn pile that morning.

It's become one of The Pony's droll observations, when something is awkward, or does not go as planned: "Nellie says 'Hello.'"

Which is a text he sent me last week while on his route, along with a picture.

"Nellie Says Hello"

Yes. I know it's a sheep's stuffed head, and not a goat skull with horns. But it made me chuckle.

The Pony's Dry Sense of Humor Gets Hick's Goat: Part 1, The Introduction

About 13 years ago, Hick decided he wanted a goat. Bought one at the auction. She followed him around, and he was smitten. Then he got another auction goat, and another, and traded for one from a guy who said he wanted a good home for his wife's pet Angora goat. We had quite a variety, and I think, after several crops of kids, we had 13 total goats. Hick grew disillusioned, because his original goat quit paying attention to him, and spent her time with the other goats. Leading Hick to say after work one evening:

"I looked it up, and goats are HERD ANIMALS! That's why Goatrude ain't followin' me around no more."

Well. It sometimes takes a while for Hick to discover what the rest of the world had known since near the beginning of time. Can't fault him with that. After all, news that England is an island rocked my own world.

Anyhoo... our second goat, Nellie, was a bit of a problem for Hick. She was continually getting her head stuck in the fence of the goat pen. Hick would have to free her when he got home. Or The Pony had to go try and release her if we noticed she was stuck during summer vacation.

Hick was not so much a goat-torturer as a misguided gadget-creator. Kind of like Hoyt Axton, that Mogwai-meddling dad in Gremlins, with his Bathroom Buddy and Juice-O-Matic. Hick's attempts to stop Nellie from catching her horns in the hog-fencing, and standing all day without food or water, resulted in this lovely chapeau of wood and yellow electrical tape. The other goats found Nellie's headgear to be not only charming, but quite tasty, as well.

Every day during summer vacations of his middle school years, it was The Pony's job to let the goats out for at least an hour of grazing time in the front yard/field. He'd open the pen, then sit on the front porch with his laptop while they wandered around the grounds. The Pony's main job was to keep the goats from eating my lilac bush and rosebushes in front of the porch. And make sure they didn't cross the gravel road. When it was time to go back to the pen, The Pony would step down into the yard, clap his hands, and the goats would come running! Led by Goatrude, followed by the rest. The Pony would trot over to the pen, and dump out a scoop of food. There were never any stragglers.

Hick enjoyed his time with the goats, proudly bringing in new babies to show me, while the mother bleated frantically in the front yard. As animals do, they grew older. Hick traded some away. Others went over the rainbow bridge to a big farm upstate. But Nellie couldn't find her way...

One Sunday evening, Hick came down to the basement where The Pony and I were watching Big Brother. He called me into my dark basement lair.

"Nellie is down in the woods. She's been there all day. I can't get her up. I've left her water and food, but she won't eat or drink. I can't let her suffer. I'm going into the workshop to get my pistol. You need to distract The Pony so he doesn't hear. It will break his heart."

Indeed, The Pony did have a soft spot for the animals. He was the main egg-collector for the 33 chickens. It always saddened him to find a carcass. I went back to my recliner. There was a light thunderstorm that evening. We were hoping it would disguise the sound of Hick's lead euthanasia. Also, I turned up the TV, saying I couldn't hear it. The Pony seemed to pay no mind as Hick went back up the stairs after retrieving some random tool from the workshop, while actually getting his gun out of the safe.

I heard the shot, but I was hoping The Pony thought it was thunder from a crack of lightning. Hick came back down to the basement to put away his implement of death. I went to my lair for innernetting. The Pony stayed on the couch with his laptop, vaguely watching another show. But then Hick was back AGAIN! A few times! 

"I thought it was done, but when I went down to check, Nellie had moved! So I had to get my gun and do it again. But when I checked later, she was still alive!"

"That's terrible! Instead of putting her out of her misery, you're making her more miserable!"

"I think it's done this time! Buddy is helping me pull her up to the burn pile with the 4-wheeler."

That's the way Hick resolved assorted carcasses, other than cats and dogs. On a funeral pyre. No need to dig a big hole that the dogs might also want to dig later. With the little pets, he could put a wheelbarrow over the grave for a few weeks, to keep the dogs away.

Anyhoo... the rest of the story will have to wait until tomorrow. When hopefully, you can see the humor, after a little bit more horror.

Hick Puts Val's Foot in His Mouth

After my shower on Friday, I walked over to the sink area to look in the mirror and comb my lovely lady-mullet. OUCH! I stepped on something painful, with my right heel. To be fair, my right heel has been having problems for a few weeks, feeling like I stepped on something that ripped it open. I can't see the bottom of my heel, but I can feel it. Feels like there's a triangle-shaped flap of skin.

Anyhoo, I've been getting along on my right heel, until this calamity. What in the Not-Heaven? It didn't feel like I stepped on something sharp. Like a random sliver of metal tracked in from Hick's mechanical escapades. Nor did it feel like a toenail. Hick gets a pedicure every month or so. Doesn't leave clippings here at home.

I stepped back, and looked down. Didn't see anything on the ceramic tile. Yet my heel still smarted. Hmm. Another mystery waiting to be solved. I hobbled over to the toilet/shower area after combing my lovely lady-mullet. It's easier to put on my socks while sitting on the throne. 

As I inched a sock onto the front of my right foot, before putting lotion on my painful heel area, I spied something on the rug. 

IT WAS A LITTLE BLUE PILL!

Not the famous little blue pill from late-night TV commercials. But a little blue pill that looked exactly like my 10mg lisinopril blood pressure pill. Only blue, instead of orange like mine. Huh. I supposed Hick might need this pill. So when I arose from the throne after socking, I took it to the sink area, and laid it on the cap of one of Hick's medicine bottles.

When Hick got home after I had returned from town, I told him about the pill.

"I guess it was in the cracks between the tiles, and I stepped on it. Never did see it, until I was putting on my sock. I guess it was stuck up in the injured part of my heel, and I walked it across the bathroom tile and three rugs, until it came loose. I put in on one of your medicine bottles."

"Huh. I knew I dropped one last night, but I couldn't find it. It's a cholesterol pill."

"Are you going to take it?"

"Probably not."

Well. The next day, I asked Hick if he took that pill, and he said YES! Ptooey! How in the Not-Heaven can someone (even Hick) take a pill that has been stuck to somebody's foot, and walked across the bathroom floor???

I know that not everybody hates feet to the same degree as Val. But this is nauseating. 

Travels With My Placard: Alcohol Abuse

Friday at 4:10, I pulled onto the parking lot of the Gas Station Chicken Store to get my scratchers. Imagine my chagrin to find a white sedan parked in the lone handicap space. No placard, no handicap plate. I looped around the diesel pumps to get to the parking space in front of the handicapped, the one next to the FREE AIR hose. I parked nose-to-nose with that white sedan.

As I was clambering out of T-Hoe, getting my knees into walking mode while clinging to the door, a man came to the passenger side of the white sedan. He was probably early 40s. A slim guy, with no discernable different-abledness. He was putting a case of beer onto the passenger seat.

When I hobbled past him, taking a 50-foot detour thanks to his entitledness, he gave me the side-eye. I'm hoping he was embarrassed enough that he won't park there again, but I seriously doubt my inconvenience had that effect on him.

White Sedan Man then walked around to the driver's door and got in. I made sure to take extra time walking across the rear of his sedan. You know. I wouldn't want to stumble and hurt myself, from walking that extra distance. I was sure he couldn't get hurt while sitting there with his engine running, waiting to back up and leave.

I don't begrudge a working man having a case of beer for the weekend, ten minutes after getting off work on Friday. But it seems to me the logical place to stow that case of beer would be on the seat or floor behind the driver's seat. You know, so when you got home, you could just step back and open that door, and get your beer, and carry it inside. Seems kind of awkward to have to walk around the car and get it from the front passenger side.

UNLESS, you know, you might want to tear open that cardboard case on the way home, and have a beer while driving...

I did not observe such behavior. I'm just speculating, because I can, and I'm disgruntled from having to walk extra distance to get my scratchers, what with White Sedan Man taking my rightful parking space.

Surely a person who would take up the only handicap space in order to carry his beer less distance would not be the kind of person to drink while driving. Right?

Travels With My Placard: A Bit of a Backwards Approach

A couple weeks ago, I was unfortunate enough find a handicap space at Country Mart. It was the last one! Normally, this would be a good thing. But not at Country Mart. There are five handicap spaces, all the way down at the end of the building, by the pharmacy. While somebody may have assumed that the elderlies and handicappers would be utilizing the pharmacy, that somebody might have forgotten that the elderlies and the handicappers also need to eat!

Here is my view from T-Hoe, parked in the fifth and final handicap space. That's the pharmacy door. It would be fine if I was just dashing into the pharmacy. Or if they actually had carts inside that door. But they don't. All the carts are down at the main entrance, including the beeper carts for riding. Maybe it's just me, but I would think that if a person needs a beeper cart for shopping, they are probably not comfortable parking this far away, and walking to get on one.

Can you see the main door? No? Perhaps you need some binoculars, it's so very far from this handicap space! It's way down past the STOP sign. That STOP sign is about halfway there.

There! That's a man going into the main door. I have taken this picture on a day when I got the CLOSEST handicap space! It's by the STOP sign. Those days are wonderful. Magnificent, really, if somebody has left a cart sitting there by the bench! Then I can use it for steadiness as I hike to the main entrance. Being careful, of course, not to tip over when I go around that pillar by the firewood. The sidewalk is not wide enough there to push a cart without getting two wheels off onto the blacktop. But you know, people need to see a display of firewood out front, so the sidewalk is blocked.

Inside, the checkout that's always open is the one located the farthest from the main door. Right by the pharmacy counter. Then you have to go back down to the main entrance to exit. Or, if you want to get some shady looks, you can take your receipt, and go up to the pharmacy doors to exit, if you can get that door pushed open while piloting your cart.

You can't really judge the downhill slant of the parking lot from my photos. Truth be told, there is one, maybe two, handicap parking spaces down in the lot, across from the main entrance. I don't know about you, but I feel safer walking a longer distance on relatively flat pavement that trying to hold onto a cart full of soda and groceries on a sloped section.

At the opposite end of the store is the deli. There's a door on that side of the building, like the pharmacy door. I think there's a handicap parking space over there, but as with the regular parking at that end, you have to walk through the rows of gas pumps to get to and from them to the building. Oh, and no carts down there, either.

I think the best solution here is to keep a small section of carts inside the pharmacy door. Then the elderlies and handicappers could enter there, make a round of the store doing their shopping, pay, and come back out that door.

But that's just me, trying to apply logic to a problem not many people care about.

It's Heeeeeeere!

My weekly drawing winner from the Missouri Lottery arrived on Wednesday! So it was legit! Scanning the barcode on the tickets entered me in the weekly drawing for a summer promotion. Can't beat that with a stick! Of course, since I had scanned some of The Pony's occasional tickets, I honored my pact to split any such winnings with him 50/50.

This caps off a whirlwind five days of winnings for Val! She can't keep from winning!

Saturday, I got this $100 winner out of the Save A Lot machine. It's the newest $5 ticket. I was SHOCKED to uncover a $100 prize.

Monday, the Gas Station Chicken Store was out of the $10 ticket I wanted. So while I was in 10Box to buy bananas, I got this one out of their right-side lottery machine. How fortunate for my fortune! I found a 20X symbol, with a prize of $5. So that's another $100 winner!

But wait! On Wednesday, I was back in 10Box, just for tickets. I didn't want to get that same kind, so I bought the newest $10 ticket:

That's ANOTHER $100 winner! I found the WIN ALL symbol, and all the prizes were $5. Yes, it was ALSO out of the right-side lottery machine!

It's been a fun ride so far. But Even Steven is whispering in my ear that no streak lasts forever. I sense a not-winning period in my future....

Hick's Election Adventure

Hick got home from election "judging" after 7:30. Of course I was in the middle of a TV show. It's not like I was standing at the door with a pipe and slippers, waiting to greet him.

"You ain't even asked me how my day went!"

"It can wait for commercial."

Seriously. It's not like we can DVR from our ancient DISH receiver in the living room. I'd made it all day without hearing a peep out of Hick, so I figured any "news" could wait five or ten minutes. It could.

"I brung home what was left of the meat tray. It's in the fridge. We was busy the whole time."

"Did you check IDs and have them sign the voter roll book?"

"No. We scanned the IDs, and used tablets. If there was a problem, the person in charge called the county courthouse to check on it. We DID have a notice that one person was dead, so not to allow him to vote."

"Was there enough food? What did other people bring? What about the other man?"

"He brought buns for the pulled pork. One lady brought some baked beans. Another one brought potato salad. And one brought storebought macaroni salad. Somebody brought donuts. There was ten of us. I don't remember what else."

"You said eight before."

"Yeah, but there was more. And 28 percent of the voters registered in that precinct showed up to vote."

When I looked at the meat tray later, some genius had dumped out all the crackers! They came in two clear cellophane cylinders. But now they were all jumbled amongst the little discs of turkey and ham, and squares of cheddar and colby jack. With the plastic lid on top. I took them out and put the crackers in a baggie, which I doubt will help. 

What kind of crazy nut moves meat and cheese from their sections, into a trough where the cracker packets had laid?

I asked Hick the next morning.

"Who dumped out all the crackers to get stale?"

"Not me! I don't know who did it. One of them women! (heh, heh, Hick loyal to the Guy Code) We were all needed to work, and only two of us could go back at a time to eat."

Well. Speaking as a woman, it would never have occurred to ME to dump out two cylinders of crackers. Whether in a bowl or basket near the tray, or onto the tray itself. Speaking as a woman, I understand that crackers will be stale within a couple of hours. Especially in Missouri in August, with temps in the mid-90s, humidity levels sky-high, no matter now "cool" the air conditioner is set.

I'm not pointing the cracker finger at Hick. But let the record show that when he came home from Walmart with his pot-luck foods, he brought in the meat tray and the two packs of cookies. 

"Don't want my cookies to melt in the truck."

"Where are your Hawaiian Rolls?"

"In the truck. They'll be fine till tomorrow."

"No. It's probably over 100 degrees in your truck. They'll get all sweaty and wet."

"Oh. I'll go bring them in, then."

Let's hope Hick is smarter about crackers. Not a big deal. Not much left. We have other crackers. It's just the idea of opening them all at once. I hope "one of them women" didn't leave the potato salad and macaroni salad sitting out all day!

Hick Is Suppressing the Vote

Let the record show that Hick is only suppressing MY vote. Not quite as serious as his penchant for trying to kill me, but still... kind of annoying.

You may recall that back in June, Hick volunteered to work at a local voting precinct. Which is not where we vote. So he'll be gone all day Tuesday. And not driving us out to the little church where we vote.

Sure, I could hop in T-Hoe and drive farther out from town, fight for a parking space in the little church parking lot, and hobble down the carpeted basement steps (with a handrail on only one side), and vote by myself while Hick is away all day. That's not gonna happen. AND, veering from my plan of Hick driving us down to Bill-Paying Town to vote a few days early at the county voter commission site, HE VOTED ON FRIDAY while over there at his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2), and didn't tell me until Monday night.

Well! Ain't THAT a fine kettle of fish, stinking from the head, like guests after three days!

I suppose the world is already on skids, teetering on the brink of an express-elevator ride to Not-Heaven in a handbasket. So my lack of a vote in the state primary Tuesday won't finger me as singlehandedly triggering the Apopadopalyspe (as Hick calls it).

Anyhoo... Sunday evening, Hick told me he got a text from the lady running this voting precinct, sent to the other three women and two men who will be working. She said one lady is bringing pulled pork, and that it's going to be a pot luck for their meals all day. Hick knew better than to ask me to make something for him to take. One day notice, to shop and cook, so Hick could take a dish at 4:45 a.m. Tuesday, is something even Hick knew I would not cotton-to.

"I'm just gonna pick up some Hawaiian Rolls, and some cookies to take."

"I guess that's okay. You're a man. They won't expect you to bring anything good. When we had our holiday pot lucks at school, one of the guys always brought a loaf of bread. From the day-old bread store. And he made sure to tell us several times during the half hour meal, 'I brought the bread.' Still, it was better than the gal who brought a bag of frozen corn, tossed it in the freezer, and nobody cooked it."

"I don't know how long I'll have to be there."

"I'm sure it will be the whole time. When did she say to be there?"

"I said I'd be there by 5:30, and she said I better make it 5:15. And they don't close until 7:00. But I thought maybe we'd work in shifts."

"I doubt that. Probably, some of you can take breaks, to eat and stuff, and switch off. But I doubt you get to leave until it closes and everything is secured. Maybe you should take more than rolls and cookies. Like some kind of cheese and crackers. I don't know how long that pulled pork will last."

So, Hick went to Walmart, and bought Hawaiian Rolls, two packs of cookies, and a little meat and cheese tray that came with packaged crackers. I think he might survive the day.

The Universe Adds Injury to Injury

You might want to make a note-to-self: "Do not go anywhere near The Pony on his mail route!" Appearing in The Pony's vicinity is something you do at your own risk. Val will not be held responsible! You have been warned!

Having rested his recently-sprained ankle on a day off, The Pony hit the trail again Monday to deliver the mail. By 11: 31, I had a text.

"Arghhh stung by a wasp! Right on the calf."

"Ouch! It will swell up."

"First stuff delivered, and right after getting back in the truck. Just outlining to check if it swells or gets inflamed much, in case it's enough to be worrying. Or if I start to feel sick or something. Since allergies don't always show up the first time, and it's just the third time I've been stung. Better safe than sorry, with what you've said about Grandpa."

"Yes. He had to carry an EpiPen. But he was the only one of us. I'm sure you'll be okay. Dad has been stung a million times, by yellowjackets and wasps. I got stung between the toes by a bee in clover."

"Yeah. Just doesn't hurt to be cautious. Plus it stings because that part flexes as I walk. Just appreciating the break to text and complain!"

"It will definitely hurt."

"Insult to injury, since it's on the sprained ankle leg!"

"You are definitely overdue for a change of luck!"