Val and the Giant Lemon

It's no secret that Val enjoys the juice of a fresh lemon in her evening Shasta Zero Sugar Cola as she sits scratching scratchers. She picks up a bag of 8-10 lemons at 10Box. They're cheaper than buying individually, but you get what you get. Sometimes there's a rotten one in that bag if you're not careful and take a whiff before buying. The holey bag has clear portions so you can get a partial view, but you can't see every side of each lemon. 

Sometimes the store is out of my preferred bag of lemons. Then I gather 2-3 singles and fight to open one of those clingy produce bags. Sometimes there's a different bag of lemons. Three pounds rather than two, with a knit mesh kind of side on the bag. I have bought them twice. Not a fan.

My preferred lemons fit the squeezer just right. Cut them in half, pick out the seeds, then squeeze into my red Solo cup, add soda, add ice. These lemons have lots of seeds! One time I counted 28! Yet one time I had a bag with NO SEEDS at all! Anyhoo... I like these lemons. Sometimes I'll use a whole one, sometimes I'll save half in a little container for the next evening.

My most recent lemons are frightening. They're behemoths! Or belemonths!

They don't fit in the squeezer. They must be cut into quarters, and they still don't quite fit without manipulation. They have a reasonable amount of seeds. But I can't roll them to squish out the juice before cutting them. They are too firm to roll under my palm. If I really try to force it, I lose the juice upon first slice. The skin is so thick that I feel like 2/3 of my purchase money goes to that dead weight, and 1/3 to actual juice.

Still, I'd rather have lemon in my Shasta Zero Sugar Cola than not. No matter what kind of lemons life gives me.

Hick Can't Resist the Call of His Gals

Hick was kicked back in his recliner Friday night, after a hot day of working at his SUS2.5, stopping by the post office and bank for me, shooting the bull with his buddies, and taking a dip in POOLIO. He was waiting for me to drag myself around the kitchen with my hurt rumpus, and get out of the way so he could make his own supper. 

It wasn't THAT hard, because he just had to open a storebought container of BBQ pulled pork, put some in a bowl to microwave, then slop it on a couple of hamburger buns. Oh, and get a dill pickle spear from a jar, and some Ruffles chips from the bag. Still, it's something that I usually do for him, but I was EXHAUSTED after making a trip to town and buying the buns. My rumpus was quite unforgiving.

At 6:30, Hick's phone rang. I didn't quite get the gist of it, except Hick kept repeating, "I'll be there Monday."

"Who was that? What are you doing Monday?"

"It's one of the old ladies at the apartments. She says her air conditioner isn't working. I told her we'd have to get somebody to fix it, and I'd be there Monday."

"She could DIE! Old people die all the time in this heat, in brick buildings! It's going to be in the 90s again all weekend."

"She has a fan. She kept saying, 'Well, I guess I'll just sit here and sweat by my fan.' And I thought, well, okay, you do that. I don't know what she wanted me to say. So I kept telling her I'd be there Monday to deal with it."

"I'm not sure that's enough. Doesn't she have people she can stay with? Family?"

"She can go sit in the lobby on that floor. It's air-conditioned. She don't even have to leave the building. I can't work on an air conditioner. I have to call the heating and cooling people."

"I guess that WOULD be hard to get somebody on a Friday night or weekend."

At 7:00, just as I called him into the kitchen as I was trying to sit down at the table with scratchers, Hick's phone rang again. He got up, and said he had to go to town.

"That was a lady at the apartments. She's locked herself out."

"I thought you were going to put a drop box there with a key."

"I AM, but I haven't had time to put it on the wall. So I'll go let her in."

It takes 20 minutes to get to the apartments. 20 minutes back. I was expecting Hick to be home around 7:50. His bedtime is usually around 8:00! Plus, he still needed to make his supper. Time dragged on. I figured maybe he had stopped to pick up fast food. At 8:25, Hick returned. With nothing.

"That was a long time just to unlock a door. I hope the AC Lady didn't see you there!"

"Oh, she did. I gave her another fan that we had there. I told her she should open up her windows and let some air in. It's cool right now. And I said she should go sit in the lobby if she's hot. That's where the Key Lady was waiting for me. She said it was plenty cool. I don't know if she will or not."

"Then another lady came out and started complaining about the little lady who just moved in. Said she has a mouth on her, and won't shut up, and has been knocking on doors, begging people for food."

"That's not your job! They're taking advantage of you!"

"Yeah. I ain't gettin' involved in that stuff. I want to say, 'If you can't get along, then maybe one of you should move somewhere else.' But I DID see that Little Lady getting a roll of toilet paper from one of her neighbors. So she might be a pest, asking for stuff. I don't think she's got nothin'. I might ask the cooks to give her some of those frozen meals they give people for the weekends. So she will at least not go hungry."

"This is the first of the month! And she's already out of money?"

"I don't know. She give me $700 for the rent. I'll see if they know somebody who can help her."

"So you went to town to unlock a door, but you also had two other ladies to deal with?"

"Yeah. I looked back at the old guy's notes, and he was charging them a $100 unlock fee if he had to go open their door. I'm not gonna charge anyone for that, but I need to get my key box done."

For the record, I'm still not keen on Hick having this job...

Still in the Dark, But a Glimmer of Light at the End of the Rumpus Tunnel

Hick came home Thursday afternoon without a light bulb. He forgot. He SAID the menu for the Senior Center was out in his truck. Prompting me to say, "Oh, I'll run right out and get it!" My rumpus declined. Funny how Hick went back out to bring in some soda, and STILL didn't bring in that menu. 

My rumpus was not acting up quite so badly. I'd estimate it was at 90% of the previous day's pain. As long as I stayed bent over, grasping any furniture or wall within reach, I could slowly navigate my hillbilly mansion without the breathtaking shooting pain. The foot numbness was still there, though.

When I lay down for my 20-minute nap, I was able to stay on my left side! That was NOT an option the day before, when the only relief I could find was on my back, with a fist jammed under my left rumpus cheek, and my neck bent sideways. This time, I lasted 10 minutes on my side, and could lie on my back with the rumpus unpropped. I even stretched another 10 minutes out of that position, until Hick came in from POOLIO and made noise taking a shower.

The Universe must have some kind of plan in the works. Hick had actually sent me a text from town, asking if I wanted him to bring anything home. Yes. Four crossword scratchers. Normally, I would get them from two different places. Hick got them all at the Sis-Town Casey's. Numbers 43, 44, 45, 46.

Number 43 - LOSER

Number 44 - LOSER

Number 45 - WON $10

Number 46 - WON $50

Heh, heh! You know that irritated Hick! He so rarely buys a winner, but has been trying since winning $40 a week ago. He has since put that money back into tickets, and it is gone. Now he has brought me a nice profit, while I sit home on a damaged rumpus.

You can keep Val's rumpus out of town, but you can't keep the luck out of Val's rumpus.

Val Is Incapacitated and In the Dark

Once again, Val is missing her errand day. As well as missing a regular scratcher trip to town the previous day. The Universe is SO UNFAIR!

Wednesday started as a normal day. Hick left around 6:15. I drifted off to sleep while sitting on the short couch watching my murder shows. When I got up around 8:45, I could barely walk! It was more like lurching from handhold to handhold, crying with pain. A sharp pain that shot through my left rumpus cheek, down into my left leg, with my left foot kind of tingly like it was falling asleep.

Oh, how it hurt. I could barely make it to the bathroom and then to the kitchen to take my morning meds and wash dishes. I found that by leaning over at the waist, and balancing just right, the pain would ease. If I tried to stand straight, or walk without clinging to stationary objects, that sharp shooting pain would return. It was unbearable.

I was hoping I had just strained a muscle, and it would get better. Like when I sometimes get another mysterious injury, and it goes away in a couple days. I remembered that a couple days ago, I was shifting around on the couch, and felt a sharp pain in that same area. It was fine as long as I didn't try to lift my leg and move like that again.

Of course I consulted Dr. Google. My symptoms pointed to sciatica. My sister had it at Christmas. She got a steroid shot, and eventually recovered. I was hoping that maybe I had indeed just strained a muscle, and that maybe there was swelling that affected my nerve. I knew I couldn't make it to town that day. My major goal was the bathroom and back. I called Hick.

"If you haven't started home yet, could you bring me some crossword tickets? I can't make it to town. I hurt my rumpus sitting on the couch!"

"I'm over in the shed, getting some electric wire. I might go back to town later, but right now I'm going to mow."

"You don't care about my rumpus???"

"Well... I care. You can talk about it if you want to."

"I can't believe you'd rather MOW THE YARD than talk about my rumpus!"

"Go ahead. I'm here."

"No. I don't want to now."

Hick mowed, then got in POOLIO. Never did go back to town. But got stung by a wasp in POOLIO. Still, he wasn't incapacitated like ME.

Oh, and Hick still didn't bring home a menu from the Senior Center. Nor a light bulb for my recessed floodlight over the kitchen counter. He's known about that one for a month, since it started flickering, and went out two weeks later. There's also a fluorescent light out under the cabinets. That one might be going on a year now.

I am starting to think that I am not Hick's #1 priority...

Those Sneaky Snakes at Hick's Living Units for the Elderlies

Hick got a call Sunday evening from one of his residents. This happens frequently, and you never know that you're going to get. This one was NOT something you would like to pick from a box of chocolates. 

"This old lady says she has a snake in her closet!"

"Why are you just sitting there? Aren't you supposed to go get it? Or tell her who to call?"

"Nah, her grandson is there, and he killed it."

"Well, that's good, but it seems like it could be a problem!"

"Yeah, some of the other ladies told her that an old man on the second floor saw two snakes."

"Where are they coming from? I don't think snakes can crawl up the walls. Maybe they could go up pipes. I don't know about stairs."

"Turns out he saw them on the first floor, in the hall right inside the door. So that's how they're getting in. I guess because it's been so hot, they're trying to get cool inside."

"Snakes are cold-blooded. They LIKE to be hot. That's why they lay on rocks and blacktop roads. Remember, it's only been in the 70s for a couple days, and down around the 50s at night. They're probably wanting to get WARM. What kind of snakes?"

"They said copperheads, but I don't know, because I haven't seen them."

"Supposedly copperheads mate for life. So if there's one, there's probably two."

"They said it was baby snakes."

"That's worse! You can't see them! And they have the most potent venom. I saw a bunch on the blacktop trail when I used to walk at the state park. They came right at me, striking at my foot. Good thing they were babies, and couldn't get their mouth open enough to bite my shoe sole."

"I guess I'll call our exterminator. I don't know how else to handle it. Every closet has a drain in it, because that's where the water heater is. I hope they're not going up the drains, but that lady is on the ground floor."

"Yeah, an exterminator should know who would handle it. You have to do SOMETHING!"

It's not something you would expect to happen in town. My grandma lived in the country, and found a giant black snake in her baseboard heater. My uncles pried it out and took it outside. Kind of creepy, but it wasn't a copperhead! We don't kill black snakes, because they're good for eating other pests. 

Nobody wants a surprise snake in the closet. Of any kind!

A Cross-Examination Might Be Necessary

You may have realized that we've gone from July to August. Apparently, Hick has not. I told him on Monday morning that he needs to bring home a new menu from the Senior Center. The last one went to August 1, which was Friday. A day that Hick pooh-poohed his bag lunch he took to his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5), and went to eat lasagna at the Senior Center.

Monday evening, I asked Hick what he had for lunch that day.

"Some kind of taco thing. It wasn't very good."

"Huh. You would have known if you'd brought home a menu on Friday." [They give them out on the last week of the current menu.] Where's the new one?"

"I don't think they have them ready yet."

"I don't want to miss a Reuben! That's why I want to look over the menu for August. In case there's a lunch that I like, so you can bring me one for supper."

"The Reuben is next Friday."

"Will you get one for me?"

"I usually don't go there on Fridays. I take my lunch."

"But you went LAST Friday, for lasagna! And the week before, for Christmas Dinner in July."

"I'll see..."

I sense a double standard here! Hick is willing to go eat at the Senior Center on Fridays when it suits him, but not sure he can tear himself away from his SUS2.5 to eat there and bring home a Reuben for me. 

Also, how did Hick know that Reubens would be next Friday if there was no menu available??? 

The Freebie Magnet Attracts Again

On the way to town Saturday evening, I encountered Hick in SilverRedO at the top of His and Buddy's Badly Blacktopped Hill. There were random boards sticking over the closed tailgate of SilverRedO.

"What's all that?"

"I got it for FREE!"

"Of course you did. I don't have time for that story now."

"Okay. I'm going to unload it."

Hick is never happier than when contributing new FREE stuff to his hoard! Later I got the details.

"It's from a lady at the storage units. She gave away a weight bench on Facebook, and I was teasing her about it."

"So she just has lumber sitting around her storage unit?"

"No. It was at her house. I had to go pick it up."

"You're losing me..."

"She said her husband was cleaning out the garage. He was piling everything out by the road. When she was listing it, I told her, 'Don't let him put the lumber out by the road! I'll come get it!' So she called him to let him know. Then I got it when I left."

"It looked like random boards. And a pallet."

"There was three 2x8s, and three 1x8s, and five or six 2x4s, and four 1x4s. It wasn't a pallet, just some cut-off boards nailed together. That was probably about $165 worth of lumber that I got for FREE. She's the same lady I got the FREE doors from."

Well, you know what they say: One woman's husband's junk is another man's FREE treasure.

Attention to Detail Is Key

I was in town Saturday evening when I got a text from Hick at 5:25...

"I have to go to the Apartments new guy can't get in"

Hick got home about an hour later, waving a set of keys.

"Somehow the key I give him to get in earlier doesn't work now. I don't know if he did something to the key, or something to the lock."

About an hour after that, Hick got another call from the guy. He said he had mixed up his apartment key with the key to his old house.

"Didn't you look at the key when you were trying it?"

"I tried the key he used, and it didn't work. So I gave him another key to the apartment."

"Aren't all the keys marked?"

"Yes."

"Did you LOOK at it?"

"I let him in with my other key, and gave it to him."

"So now he has two keys?"

"Yes. I also have a master key that lets me in all the apartments."

"Aren't they MARKED, though? Didn't you see that it wasn't the right key when you both were trying it?

"Most of them are marked, Val. I must have 500 keys left to me to deal with!"

"So you DIDN'T look!"

"I knew he had a way to get in. The window was open."

"WAIT! You expected him to crawl in a WINDOW?"

"No. It' s on the second floor. But I knew he got in, because there was a window open. So he was inside after I'd give him a key to move in, and opened a window. But then he said his key didn't work when he came back."

"You are so confusing! I didn't know what a window would have to do with anything."

"He probably went back to his other house to get stuff, and laid the key down, and forgot about it, and then tried his old house key when he came back to the apartment."

"Whatever. I'd think you would have at least LOOKED at the key you were trying, to make sure it was the apartment key."

"I tried the key he gave me in the lock, and it didn't work."

"But did you LOOK at it??? To see if it went to that apartment?"

"No. It's the same shape as our keys."

I don't know if the clueless is leading the keyless, or the keyless is leading the clueless. Maybe they should call in the blind for better leadership.

Hick is Apparently On-Call 24/7/365

No rest for the wicked weary! Hick got a call Friday night from a new resident of the senior apartments. He went out on the porch to talk to her. I tell him all the time how his phone doesn't work in the house. Everything he says is garbled, and there's a lag of about five seconds. He refuses to get up and move when I call, but he did for this lady. I guess she was having none of it, unlike Hick's cronies who struggle through with him repeating himself.

"What was that about?"

"The new lady who just moved in. She doesn't have electricity."

"I didn't think electricity was provided."

"It's NOT. I tell them that when they call about renting an apartment. It's in the papers they sign. THEY are responsible for the electric. She said the electric company wants $240 to turn it on."

"That seems like more than the usual deposit. I wonder if she owes them from a previous bill."

"Maybe. She said the lady across from her said she could run an electric cord for her, but I said no, don't do that!"

"Could it start a fire?"

"No. She was gonna use it for the air conditioner, but it won't plug in. That's 220 instead of 110. So it wouldn't work for that anyway."

"At least the weather has cooled off. Supposed to be a low in the 50s tomorrow. Highs in the 70s. You'd think that if her new friend across the hall really wants to help her, she could let her sleep on the couch or something."

"I don't know. But the electricity is HER responsibility, not ours. I can't help that."

Hick can't save the world. No matter how much he likes to help people.

Hick Has Company Being the Caretaker of the World

Hick had a phone call Wednesday evening. He said it was some guy wanting to know if Hick could get him a phone number for his friend.

"He had my name as an emergency contact for the apartments. He said he talks to his friend every day, and hasn't heard from him in two days now."

"So did you give it to him?"

"No. I told him it's in my desk at the apartments, and I'd get it for him in the morning when I go to town."

"Did you tell him to call the police to check on his friend? He could be hurt. How will his phone number help if he can't get him to answer?"

"No. I don't know where the guy lives. He's renting an apartment from me, but he don't move in until next week. His buddy wants the number of his old landlord. It's on my paperwork. He says he's going try and find that landlord."

A couple hours later, Hick got another call. It was the buddy, saying he had gotten ahold of the landlord, and that his friend was okay. That was nice of him to follow through. We were both relieved. The buddy seemed kind of like another Hick, looking out for people.

The Universe Throws Us a Bone

Wednesday morning at 8:30, I got a phone call from Hick. That's unusual. He rarely contacts me unless he's had a change of plans.

"Val. I just got a call from Realtor. We have a full-price offer on our land. I'm going by at 10:00 to sign the papers."

!!!!!

There was still an hour-and-a-half for The Universe to monkey around with a big wrench. But everything was fine. SilverRedO didn't break down, and Realtor didn't break any more bones. The closing is set for the end of August, at the title company I prefer.

"Huh. Maybe we should have asked more!"

"I thought it was a fair price. It was more than my buddy offered me. The well alone is worth the difference."

"Yeah, especially where it is up on the hill. That would be an expensive well to drill."

"I think I read on the inside that it was about 150 feet deep."

"Was it the guy who called you? The one who's been looking at it?"

"Surprisingly no! It's a couple. A man and his wife. They'll have to send an appraiser, but they have already been approved for a loan. The good thing is, if something falls through between now and the closing, there will probably be another buyer ready to take it."

The Pony was thrilled with the news, and Genius was pleasantly surprised. The property listing is now coded as CONTINGENT on one site, and UNDER CONTRACT on another. 

Two days from listing to contract is fine with us! At the full asking price, too. Can't get much better than that. Well. Realtor might beg to differ. The buyer had gone through another realtor, and she will have to split the commission.

The Universe Humors Thevictorians

When Hick came home Tuesday afternoon, he said he had received a phone call.

"Some guy called me and said he had been talking to Realtor about our land. He wanted to know about the well, and I told him where it was. I figure people didn't notice it, because that neighbor had mowed partway onto our land, and they probably thought that was not our property. I mentioned that to him, and that those neighbors had a bunch of rocks and junk along the edge. That the well was only about 10 feet from the property line. The guy said that didn't bother him. That he was coming back out to take another look at the property. 

He asked me why I was selling it, and I said we just don't need it. That I don't HAVE to sell it. And that I want the asking price, not any back-and-forth. He seems really interested."

Well. That's certainly good news. Seems like The Universe has thrown us a bone, heh, heh. 

I don't think Realtor would find that reference very humorous at this time!

Oh, and when Hick was texting me on Monday, he accidentally sent one to Realtor instead of me! I hope it wasn't the text saying it might take her arm a while to heal "at her age!" She is only slightly older than Hick. She called him after that, apologizing that she missed their meeting and hadn't notified him, and gave a few more details.

It's good that Realtor didn't have a bone to pick with Hick...

The Universe Found This Humerus...

We recently listed our other 10 acres for sale. It's on another road in our enclave, and was purchased when Genius was a toddler, and The Pony was a baby. It was for investment purposes. The original plan was to have it for the boys when they grew up, to divide and build homes. With neither of them having a desire to do that now that they are adults, the plan is to sell the property and give the proceeds to them. It's the property where HOS (Hick's Oldest Son) lived for a couple years in a trailer before he moved to town.

This property has a well, and septic tank, and access to electricity with a pole ready to plug into and activate. There's a flat section suitable for home-building, and a lot of woods that slope down to a creek. A metal building on the property can be used as a workshop, or for storage.

Anyhoo... for a couple years, a friend of Hick had been planning to buy it, with a firm offer and some money down. Then last summer, he said his wife changed her mind. No hard feelings. Hick gave him his money back, even though he didn't expect it. Another crony had been awaiting a chance to buy it. The Pony periodically asked about the progress of this sale, but Hick was not following through with getting a firm commitment, or listing it.

Last week, Hick called Realtor, and took her a map showing the plot of land. As with most real estate ventures Thevictorians have attempted lately, something went awry! The address we have always used for this property was actually for a different plot of land, only five acres, behind the neighboring property.

I was in a panic, but Hick said that Realtor told him it was nothing to worry about. That our records showed we clearly owned a 10-acre plot of land, and it could be cleared up by contacting the title company from our original purchase. She was right. There's no problem with the ownership or property lines. It's just that there's no numbered street address.

Anyhoo... on Monday, Realtor listed that property on her site. She told Hick that she had three people interested, and it had only been on there one day. One of the men had called her, asking where the well was located. Which means he had physically driven to the property and walked around. Hick went up to take a picture, and scheduled a meeting with Realtor the next morning, to explain it to her and sign papers.

Hear that? It's our old friend, The Universe, laughing its fool head off!

I got a text from Hick at 10:34 Tuesday morning:

"Val. Realtor fell and is at emergency room so she won't be in office today."

"Oh no!"

"She says that they are saying she broke her humorous bone"

"Humerus. That's the upper arm."

"She said that she fell and landed on her shoulder. That could take a while to heal at her age."

So now we have a property with several prospective buyers wanting to see it, and Realtor is in no shape to drive out here and give a tour. Hick says she can drive with one arm, because he does it all the time!

I feel bad for Realtor. I hope she can heal with just a sling, and not need surgery, and that they give her painkillers as needed. She may want to sit in her office and take phone calls and attend closings, but I don't see her showing properties for a while. Hick says she has another guy working with her in her office, so I guess he could help out with that stuff.

It's always something...

Val Almost Gave Hick One Less Thing To Do

T-Hoe is still waiting for an oil change. Hick is just SO BUSY. So busy that he asked me to search eBay for a display device for some wares at his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5). Then he had to approve which one, and decided I should order two. He will reimburse our household coffers with his business money, but I will never get that hour of my life back, nor a thank-you.

See how helpful Val is to Hick? In fact, I even took a day-to-day duty away from him. Almost. You may recall that I'm pretty sure he's trying to kill me. Every attempt is different. Sunday night, I almost took that chore away.

Hick had already gone to bed. It was around 9:00, and I was sitting at the kitchen table with HIPPIE, skimming the innernets, and having a snack. That snack was a little bowl of COMBOS, the Pizza Flavor Pretzel version. They're little hollow pretzel tubes, filled with not-quite-cheese in a powdery form. I prefer the versions that have a hollow cracker rather than the pretzels, but they are hard to find, and the pizza flavor is okay.

Anyhoo... when I eat this snack, I bite them in half. Not because they're too big, but because if you leave them regular size, they need more chewing, and get soggy faster. So I bite them in half to eat them. Here is a re-creation, to show what my snack looks like:

I was near the last of my treat when I felt a sharp pain in my gums. The area behind my two front teeth. Huh! That smarted. But I thought nothing of it. Just a shard of pretzel. The pain went away quickly. Then I noticed that my mouth and lips felt really dry. I just had my metal water bottle there, having finished my Shasta Zero Sugar Cola, to which I add a fresh squeezed lemon, earlier in the evening. I took a sip of water, and then used half a select-a-size paper towel to blot my lips.

BLOOD!!!!

That paper towel looked like I had applied a whole tube of lipstick before blotting. I blotted again and again, with the same result. It was like the never-ending lipstick, only my lipstick was BLOOD! I went to the bathroom mirror, and saw that indeed, my lips were covered, and my tongue was coated with blood! That's not good!

Back to the kitchen, where I used a red SOLO cup for cold water to rinse my mouth. The spit came out bloody. Over and over! AND two raggedy hunks of gum-skin slipped down the drain! Again, there was no pain. Just a waterfall of blood that would not stop. In fact, as I sat at the table again, I could feel dripping from my gum to my bottom lip. 

All I could do was let it flow. It's not like you can put a bandaid on a cut behind your two front teeth. Holding a folded paper towel there with pressure did nothing. I had to keep swallowing, and blotting. It went on for two hours! You know any little wound on your face or scalp bleeds a lot. Same with the gums, I suppose. I take an aspirin a day, so I know my blood flows more, and more easily, than most people. But I was starting to get worried.

Good thing I'm no longer on that demon drug Xarelto! I literally could have exsanguinated! And poor Hick. Not only would he have been without my cheerful companionship, but he might have been blamed! The house would have looked like a crime scene! And that luminol stuff would have made the places I cleaned up glow with the evidence. Two drains would show that somebody had tried to wash off blood!

I should probably stop watching those how-to-murder-your-wife shows. And stop eating COMBOS, the pretzel version.

Hick and The Universe Have a Regular Last-Laugh-Fest

I mentioned yesterday how Hick's luck seems to have changed. It's like the Bizarro World episode of Seinfeld. But wait, I'm getting ahead of myself.

What I DIDN'T tell you was that something else happened before Hick's uncharacteristic scratcher win. I got a text at 1:30.

"Val my truck broke. I'm at Mick's shop."

Of course I called Hick, who seemed out of breath. Not sure why. It's not like he pushed SilverRedO several miles. Or DID he? Nope. Turns out something went wrong and SilverRedO would not go more than 15 miles per hour. 

Hick had been at The Pony's house mowing. Then partway home, SilverRedO developed that acceleration problem. Hick said he just kept going (SLOWLY) the six or seven miles to Mick's shop. I offered to get dressed and come to town early to get him, but Hick said he would call The Pony, who picked him up and brought him the five miles home.

Hick hung out here for an hour, then took A-Cad to town to meet with his buddies for their Friday afternoon bull-shooting session. On the way home he picked up that single winning lottery ticket. Hick and The Universe were even-steven, having traded last laughs. The ball was in The Universe's court.

Saturday, Hick went to the gas station down by his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5) for a soda, and stopped to play one of those fake slot machines that are so plentiful around here. I asked if he spent his scratcher winnings, but he said no, it was still on the coffee table. 

"I put in a twenty, and played a little bit. Then I won $200! I cashed that out, and figured I could put a twenty back in. Then I won $60! So I cashed out and left!"

I fear what The Universe has in store for Hick next...

So back to the Bizarro World... The Universe has allowed me to have a working T-Hoe now, but my scratcher winnings have suffered. And now Hick has a SilverRedO problem, but is raking in money hand over fist.

I am ready for things to get back to normal, though not at the expense of T-Hoe's health.

Hick Fights, for His Right, to FORRRTY!

Hick was incensed Friday afternoon, waving a lottery ticket. He rarely buys scratchers, because he's just not lucky with them. Maybe because he only buys one at a time, so the odds are not with him.

"I stopped to buy a five-dollar lottery ticket, and the gal gave me the wrong one! She gave me a ten-dollar ticket!"

"She can't do that! Lottery is highly regulated!"

"I only gave her five dollars. I said, 'That's not what I wanted! I asked for the Number 16. Not THAT one!' And she said, 'But I gave you a ten-dollar ticket!' And I told her I didn't want it, to give me what I asked for."

"OH! So you didn't TAKE the ten-dollar ticket."

"No. I made her take it back."

Then I saw the ticket Hick was waving around in his fit of pique was a five-dollar ticket, red, the newest release. It's the kind he bought from the guy at his SUS2.5, the thousand-dollar winner.

I was headed to town, and walked past Hick into the kitchen. He was scratching in the living room. Then I heard him holler.

"I got a 5X!"

"Oh. That's good. Especially for YOU!"

"Yeah. It's five times eight!"

"That's $40! Congratulations!"

"It looks like that's my only winner."

"Usually that's it, when you get a multiplier. That's great, on a five-dollar ticket."

I'm happy for Hick. He got it at the School-Turn Casey's. I haven't been there in over a month, because of road construction along that route. It's near the place where Hick goes for his Friday afternoon bull-shooting session with his cronies.

I probably would have forked over five more dollars, and taken the ten-dollar ticket. I hate to make a clerk shove an already-torn-off ticket back into their display, and I don't like to slow down the line. I figure it happens for a reason. But Hick is not a regular player, and does the opposite of what I do. This time it paid off for him, because he would have missed his $40 winner that he asked for.

Excuses, Excuses

Friday morning, I began my quest to be excused from jury duty. I was afraid it wouldn't get done, what with it being Friday at 11:30. First of all, people don't like to do work on Fridays! Some offices even close at noon on Fridays. I was too busy to deal with it on Thursday, when Hick brought in the mail at 4:30 as I was on my way to town. 

Anyhoo, I went online to fill out my juror information. Then I called my doctor's nurse practitioner's office. After I pushed '7' to talk to a real person about 'other' on their automated system, I got a very nice lady who took about 10 minutes getting all my info.

Nice Lady asked how long I had to get this done. I told her 10 days from receipt of my letter, which was the previous day. I told her the reason I needed the excuse, that the NP had done it for me previously, and that this letter said it could be mailed or emailed to the court by the NP, rather than sending it to me. Nice Lady said they didn't do emails, so they would mail it or try to fax it. But my letter didn't have a fax number. Nice Lady said to call their office back in three business days, to check the status. That she had detailed information written down, so anybody there should be able to tell me.

Around 12:00, I got a call from Another Lady at the NP's office. She said my NP was ON VACATION, but that Other NP would be sending a letter for me. I have never heard of Other NP, but figured it was better than not having a letter! Another Lady said she was faxing it over to the circuit clerk right then.

Well! That's good service. But you know Val. If anything can go wrong... Now I would be worried if that fax got to the right place. I still had nine days left. I had given my phone number and email in the juror questionnaire, which normally I wouldn't do, but I figured they would notify me.

At 12:20, I got both a text and an email!

_________________________________________________________________

TEXT: 

Your jury disqualification request has been granted. You are not required to report.

_________________________________________________________________

eMAIL: 

Your jury service at COUNTY NAME CIRCUIT COURT.

You are disqualified from jury service for Mental or Physical Illness or Infirmity and do not have to appear. No further action is required on your part.

__________________________________________________________________

Take THAT, The Universe! Who's guffawing now?

I'm pretty sure my excuse is for Infirmity. Surely nobody would think it's Mental Illness...

Hear That? The Universe Has Stopped Chortling.

You may think it's a good thing, but it's not. The Universe has now replaced the chortling with a GUFFAW! It's not fair, I tell you! What has gone awry with Val's charmed life?

Wednesday afternoon, I got a notice for jury duty.

That's dirty pool! A year or two ago, I got a notice for jury duty. My doctor nurse practitioner wrote me a note excusing me, for severe knee arthritis, because no way could I walk from the parking area to the third floor of the courthouse to sit for hours during jury selection. The bathroom they let you use there is behind the judge, in a hallway, and has a STEP to get up into the room. It's a one-seater. People could only go during breaks, and stood in line a long time. They had an elevator to the third floor, but it was broken. I assume there were restrooms on the main floor that might have had handicap stalls, but once in the courtroom, whether for jury selection or a trial, nobody was allowed to leave that courtroom. The armed deputies at the door made that clear.

I don't know if the set-up is the same these days. But I DO know that I can barely hobble around the casino with a cane, sitting down for short intervals, taking it a few steps at a time. I would be lame after sitting hours on those church pews in the courtroom, then trying to stand and walk. Not to mention waiting in line for an inaccessible bathroom. Or the major problem of getting from T-Hoe to courthouse.

Now I have to go online and fill out the jury questionnaire within 10 days, so I don't get arrested. No way can I get an appointment with my NP, who is booked up until my next scheduled appointment in December. My jury duty is supposed to start September 1. I will try to call his office to request another excuse note. If that doesn't work, I'll try a message on that stupid YourChart thingy they try to foist on you rather than human contact.

Hick says he can get me an appointment with HIS NP, who only works on Tuesdays, and he says all I have to do is switch doctors NPs. I don't want to go through a change like that, just for a note.

The Universe does not make Val's life easy...

Hick's Plots Thicken

Over the years, I've grown suspicious that Hick might possibly be trying to kill me. You may dismiss that as ol' Val being overdramatic. But surely so many alleged scenarios to accidentally do away with me are not mere coincidence! 

Monday morning, Hick at least briefed me on a possible intruder.

"My buddy is coming out to hunt squirrels."

"I thought you were going to poison them. I was worried about the dogs getting into it."

"Yeah, I was gonna use antifreeze. I was telling my buddy, and he said, 'Don't do that! I'll come out and shoot them.'"

"Is he going to eat them? Is it even squirrel season?"

"Yeah, he's gonna eat 'em. So he didn't want poison out. Squirrel season runs from May 24 to sometime in February."

"Well. I guess that's a NEW way to try and kill me!"

"Oh, you're full of it!"

"No. I sit at the kitchen table, with those three windows around me. It would be easy for a stray bullet to hit me!"

"He will hunt from the woods!"

"Exactly. He could be down by the creek, shooting towards the house, where all the squirrels are. So easy for an 'accident' to happen!"

"He ain't gonna hit you!"

"Sure... shoot up into a tree, and miss, and that bullet comes right on up the hill and through the window and into my head! I watch those how to murder your wife shows!"

Hick was so dismissive. As if that could never happen. I was nervous all day long. I didn't hear the dogs barking. Later that night, Hick said he didn't know what day his buddy was coming. I guess it will be a mystery

I might ask Hick to get me a bullet-proof vest, and a riot helmet. He probably knows a guy.

Never Trust a Hick Gift From His Mouth

You may recall that people LOVE to give things to Hick. He's a gift magnet. You never know what it will be. Hick always has a story about how he got it. Last week, Hick brought home a bag with four tomatoes.

"My buddy give me these. They're from his garden."

Hick set them on the counter. I went to look at them later when I was getting my supper. I planned to use one in a salad. Huh. They didn't look like home-grown tomatoes to me.

"Hey, these are Roma tomatoes."

"So?"

"I just don't know anybody who grows Roma tomatoes in their garden. They look like they came from the store."

"No. He grew them in his garden."

I suppose that was possible. They just looked too perfect to be home-grown. I cut one up for my salad. I was not impressed. I told Hick the next day.

"Those tomatoes had no flavor. They didn't taste like tomatoes out of a garden. More like the ones I buy at the store. Kind of waxy, without any taste."

"I don't know. He just said they were from his garden."

Tuesday evening, Hick came in with more tomatoes.

"A guy give these to me." 

He set them on the counter, on top of a bag of onions. You know, because Hick can't be bothered to move anything around to make room. I looked at them later. They kind of looked like home-grown tomatoes. I put them in a recycled foil pan from Sister Schubert's Rolls. 

As I was checking them for any blemishes, to see which one I should use first, I made a not-so-shocking discovery.

"Funny how these tomatoes that guy gave you have TAGS on the bottom! These are not home-grown."

"They might not be. The preacher-man at the apartments give 'em to me. He wanted to give me some zucchini, too, but I didn't want it. I think he got it from the food giveaway. The church gets stuff there, and then gives it to people."

"Well, it's good that it's not going to waste. I just never know what to believe when you come home with something."

I'll try one of these tomatoes tonight. At least I am prepared for it to be tasteless.

Travels With My Placard: Barbie Needs a Pizza

Is it just me, or are the handicap parking space usurpers growing bolder? Or multiplying? Maybe it's the heat. Or maybe there's a new product on the market that is laced with extra entitledness flavor.

Sunday evening, I was on the way from the Gas Station Chicken Store, where I had nabbed my rightful handcap parking space without incident, to the Casey's. I was over the moat, getting ready to turn onto the Casey's lot, when I saw a little white sports car come in the upper entrance. It was a sports car, so I was not particularly worried that it would take the handicap space. Yet there it went, straight ahead, and as I got up to the end of the building, the little white sports car was IN MY RIGHTFUL HANDICAP SPACE!

No handicap plate. No handicap placard. The driver was so spry that they had already gone inside. So I had a suspicion the driver was not very handicapped. I parked farther down. In the area that's not really a parking space, over the striped walkway, near the dumpster. As I got out, I figured I would document this atrocious behavior, hoping the driver might be inside, watching me through the front window at the register.

Unfortunately, I did not have a good angle, already being out of T-Hoe, and too close to my subject. But here it is.

Little white sports car. Leather seats. No handicap placard.

Parked in the space, a little close, but not over the line. Which really didn't matter, because that car had no business being in the HANDICAP SPACE. Also, the driver did not even pull all the way into the space. I suppose they were in such a hurry to steal that space, and not one closer to the door, which was available. I suspect the goal was to protect that fancy little sports car so nobody would dent or scratch it with a giant T-Hoe door. Assuming that any elderly limpy gambling addict would show a modicum of politeness, and not park too close. I'M NOT THAT VAL! The thought of slamming the Not-Heaven out of that little white sports car, since I'm older, and have more insurance, DID cross my mind...

The minute I stepped inside and got in line, I knew the customer ahead of me was the culprit. I could feel it in my brittle bones. She was a little sprite of a thing, not a day over 25, dressed in a clingy white shirt, pink booty-shorts, and white leather tennis shoes, with bleached blond hair and a fake tan. She looked like a cheerleader camp coach. Indeed, she paid with her card, then took her purchase of a large pizza and medium soda and child size soda, and went out to that little white sports car. She went to T-Hoe's side, opened up the little white sports car's passenger door, and put her pizza on the back seat. She's welcome for the space I left her to get that door open!

Barbie was coming around the back, to get in the driver's seat, as I limped back to T-Hoe. I gave her the stinkeye. I don't think she felt any shame at all.

So Sorry for the Inconvenience You Caused Yourself

Saturday evening around 5:00, I was at the Backroads Casey's to get scratchers. I was not happy to see a car parked over the line at the lone handicap space. At least it's way down at the end, by the trash dumpster area, so without a parking space on the right side of the handicap one. I parked T-Hoe far enough away from that over-line car so that I could get my door all the way open.

It takes me a while to dismount from T-Hoe. Open the door as far as it will go. Move left foot out onto the running board, then the right foot. Then I kind of slide down from the seat, landing on the left foot while letting the right foot come off the running board when I'm halfway to the ground, so as not to bend the knee too tightly. THEN I have to hold onto the door and the side of the car, getting my feet balanced under me as I turn to close the door.

A lady came out of the store and stood on the sidewalk, waiting for me to close the door so she could get to the passenger side of her car. You know what, lady? 

YOU WOULD HAVE HAD ROOM IF YOU HADN'T PARKED OVER THE LINE!

Yes, I know that she was not driving, but whoever her partner was should have known better. I always tell Hick when he parks on or over the line, heh, heh! Then he re-adjusts A-Cad, because he doesn't want to listen to me complaining my continued advice.

She didn't say anything, and I didn't look her in the face, but you know how you can tell by a person's body language when they're annoyed.

I'm really NOT sorry that she had to wait for me to get out of her way. The situation could have been avoided.

Reunions

T-Hoe is home! Hick picked him up around 1:30 on Friday. He got a new alternator, sway bar links, tax & labor, for the not-so-low cost of $435.79. Sadly, no oil change and no shocks. Hick said he could only get done what he could get done. I translate that as it's all Hick wanted to wait on, so as to spend his Friday afternoon shooting the bull with his cronies. Still, I have my T-Hoe back.

We had plenty of time for our reunion, in line at the bank. There was only one other car at the drive-thru, and it pulled in right after me. Still, I waited 30 minutes after putting my business in the canister and shooting it inside. At least I was in the outside lane, where the radio still works. I had to restart it twice, since it goes off after 10 minutes when you turn off T-Hoe. Val is not one for idling at the bank.

Sadly, I had to reset many things on T-Hoe, including the radio to show the artist rather than the station, the air conditioning back to 69 degrees instead of the 74 it had jumped to. Hick had moved the seat and put it on a station I never listen to. But the most traumatic discovery was the CLOCK! I was at the bank around 3:15, but the clock said it was 6:47. Oh, I know how to reset the clock. It's simple. But this was disheartening, because other than changing the hour for daylight savings time twice a year, T-Hoe had been on the same time since I retired! Can't blame all of this on Hick. Things reset when the battery is off for an alternator change.

I had T-Hoe's clock set five minutes ahead, because that's how the clocks were set at school. Five minutes ahead of real time at the high school. It had something to do with the buses running, since they started there and then picked up students from the elementary and middle school. Over the years, T-Hoe's clock gradually gained a couple minutes. I let it go. I knew exactly how many minutes ahead, so I could judge our progress on the way there. At the time I retired in 2016, T-Hoe was 23 minutes ahead. Sure, I could reset it like that. But it wouldn't be the same.

Friday evening, Hick got a phone call. I heard him telling somebody, "Sure. We can get you up. Don't worry about it." Of course I was nosy. I didn't know if it had something to do with The Veteran, who will be having some back surgery. Or if one of his buddies needed a wakeup call. You never know what's going on in Hick's busy schedule, other than it's NOT preventative maintenance on T-Hoe.

Turns out it was Hick's buddy who's been in the hospital. The one of the 90-degree sewer pipe. The one worried about paying back Hick for something. He was out of the hospital (again) and wanted to come to the storage lockers on Saturday to visit with everybody.

"I have them two steps, but there's not a railing. Me and my buddy can help him up."

"Do you have a chair for him?"

"Yeah. I got a chair."

"It will be good for him to get out and see everybody."

"Yeah. He's looking forward to it, but was worried he couldn't get inside."

I hope they all have a good (safe) visit.

T-Hoe, Come Home!

Hick came home around 1:00 on Thursday. WITHOUT T-HOE!

"Your car ain't done yet. He's gonna to call me when it's ready."

"Then how are you going to pick it up? Go back to town for The Pony?"

"No. I'll go get it, bring it home, and you can drive me back to get my truck."

[It's only 5 miles from here.]

"Will there be time? You have to meet that guy down at your store at 5:30."

"No. He saw me going into Walmart this morning, and paid me right there. I thought he was gonna pick up what he bought, but he said he'll get it this weekend."

"Okay. So I'll get ready to take you to town, I guess."

"If he ain't called me by 4:30, I'm going to check on it."

Well. T-Hoe was NOT ready. Not a big deal, because it was a last-minute thing, and Mick the Mechanic has other work. At least Hick took T-Hoe that day. He said he'd have to get T-Hoe on Friday. IF the work was done. So I went without a town trip.

Right now it's Friday, and I'm waiting to see if T-Hoe is finished. Hick has to get a shot at 1:00, and will then go by to see. He was not happy with Mick on Thursday afternoon. Said Mick talked on the phone 20 minutes before acknowledging him. You never know, it might have been business. Mick can't control whether he's already on the phone when Hick pops in.

I really miss my T-Hoe.

Wastin' Away Again in Val-Is-Grounded-Ville

Hey, Universe! Can I catch a break?

As I drove T-Hoe into the garage on Wednesday evening, the BATTERY light came on. Bright red. The symbol of a battery. That's not good. It was a new addition to my CHECK ENGINE light, and the FLAT TIRE light. They're on all the time. Along with messages to check the tire monitor system, and the backup sensor, and to change engine oil soon. T-Hoe is on his last legs, and now had another foot in the grave.

Hick came out to carry in groceries, so I told him that light just came on. He asked if my battery was charging. AS IF I WOULD KNOW! He told me which gauge to look at, and said the needle should be straight up at 14. But no. It was on the left, about a quarter up, between the 14 and the 9. I have no idea what this signifies, but Hick told me to turn off T-Hoe, and then start him up again so Hick could look for himself. Because, you know, Val obviously doesn't know when a needle points halfway between 9 and 14.

It did the same thing upon restarting. Hick said my battery wasn't charging. That it was probably the alternator. Of course I'm not taking a chance on driving to town if my battery is going to go dead! I knew I was doomed.

Here's the thing. If Hick didn't get it fixed on Thursday, I would be trapped at home until at least Tuesday!  That's five days!!! I knew Hick would make no efforts on Friday/Saturday/Sunday, because he can't miss a second of business at his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5), even for his loving wifey. And Monday, he has a medical appointment down in Casino Town.

Hick complained that he really wanted to finish up working on one of the senior apartments Thursday morning, and mow The Pony's yard, and that he had an "appointment" to meet some guy down at his SUS2.5 at 5:30, so he didn't know how he could get T-Hoe fixed at the last minute, because Mick the Mechanic might not be able to work him in. You know, because there are absolutely no other businesses around here that work on cars. Notice that there's not even a pretense of working on Bargain House. I don't think Hick has been over there in a month.

So let's get this straight. The joy Val gets from her one outing for an hour every day to buy scratchers, and her weekly trip to the bank and gas station and Country Mart on Thursdays, is at the very bottom of Hick's to-do list. Perhaps just a scrap of paper duct-taped to the Dead-Sea-Scroll-ish compilation of what Hick has on his agenda.

This is exactly why I was against Hick taking that less-than-$300-a-month job at the senior apartments. Because there's nothing in it for VAL! Hick can't even maintain her current standard of living!

The Elusive Knot for Tying Loose Ends (Part 2)

Hick laid the bundle of mail on the table. It has been coming wrapped in a rubber band. Not that we get so much mail, but it's a way for the carrier to keep it sorted, magazines/circulars wrapped around the various-sized envelopes. It made me wonder how Hick saw an envelope from the city, but I once caught him in the car mirror stuffing an envelope in his back pocket, which turned out to be an insurance refund check! So nothing about Hick's relationship with the mail would surprise me.

Anyhoo... there was indeed a window envelope from the city, and the material inside looked like a check. I used my letter opener to slit the top. Unlike The Pony, who used to think that letter opener was designed to pry along the edge of the glued flap!

Inside, I found THREE checks! You know, just to complicate things even more.

The first check was for the Beauty Shop. It was a refund for $92.74, which should have been $125.00 if it was a full refund. I looked at the FINAL BILL we had gotten, showing $32.26 next to the DP designation, and the amounts added up. They had taken the final payment out of the deposit. I don't like that, but I guess it's a way of collecting money from deadbeats.

The next check was for $125.00 for the main house. That made sense. We had our full deposit back. Yet we had never received a FINAL BILL for this one. There still should have been about two weeks worth of service to account for at the time we had the closing and ownership transferred hands. But hey, it was benefitting us, so no need to complain, right?

The third check confused me even more. It was $6.08, for the main house, and marked as a REFUND OF OVERPAYMENT! The number sequence on this check was not consecutive with the other two refund checks. I have no idea how the city came up with the charges on the main house, because we never got a final bill!

I can only assume that somehow, when the buyer started service, he only did it on the main house. That's because the closing papers listed that as the address, since the properties weren't split, and the Beauty Shop faces another street, with a different address. Perhaps our final bill went to the buyer, who paid it and a couple days that overlapped, since Hick didn't disconnect on closing day, wanting to leave the water on for the buyer.

So mysterious, or so slipshod in the billing process of the city. We came out $6.08 ahead with the city. But we paid $43.88 for water/sewer/trash fees out of our closing settlement with the buyer. Money we had already paid with a check to the city.

I figure the buyer (who seemed like a decent guy) realized that, and maybe got our final bill at his address, or went to city hall to question it, and paid it. If so, then we both come out about even, or with us $6.08 ahead. OR ELSE, the abstract company had actually sent that amount from our closing money to the city, and the bill was double-paid.

Of course, I could be totally wrong...

We're calling this loose end tied! Now I have to sort out The Pony's part of it all, for our tax records.

The Elusive Knot for Tying Loose Ends (Part 1)

Since the closing on the Double Hovel flip house(s) on June 9, we still have not received our water bill deposit money for both accounts. Hick thinks the abstract company gave the buyer credit for the water bills, but did not actually pay them to the city. So we paid the bills, but also paid the buyer that money out of our closing total. I do not like this abstract company, and much prefer the one we have used for out other sales/purchases.

Anyhoo... I sent Hick to city hall to dispute the accounts, because we got a FINAL BILL for the Beauty Shop, but not one for the main house. Also, the FINAL BILL showed an amount of $0.00 due, and an amount of $32.26 next to "DP." I asked Hick what that meant, and he said he thought it meant they took $32.26 out of the deposit that we are due. I guess that makes sense. We know there was a partial month due at each house, for the time between the last bill and the closing. Yet we received no FINAL BILL for the main house.

Hick went July 3rd. I told him to make sure he went in the morning. You know how little people want to actually WORK on the day before a 3-day weekend! Hick was armed with our closing papers showing that we had "given" the buyer the amount of the water bill, and had the date showing we no longer owned the property. He also had the FINAL BILL for the Beauty Shop, so he could ask about the DP code. And the receipts for when he had paid the $125 on each house (in cash) when he started water service for them.

Well. That was a waste of time.

"That girl was really nice, but she didn't know nothin'! She said the lady who handles it wasn't there. That she is the one who sends out checks to return the deposit. So I'll just have to wait, because she mails them."

On July 15th, I told Hick me might need to go back to city hall, because we had STILL not received our deposits, after five weeks since service was stopped. And we had never gotten a FINAL BILL on the main house. Which I kind of need for our records at tax time.

"Oh, I think I saw something in the mail today from the city."

To be continued... 

Hick Needs a Nap

Hick came home early on Monday. At noon! He had been mowing yards in town. Said The Pony has asked if he has an old-fashioned blade mower. One that makes me think of Andy Griffith days. The Pony reasoned that since they don't make noise, they could be used any time, without disturbing the neighbors. Hick actually thinks he might have one, though he is skeptical about The Pony actually using it.

Hick went out to mow our grounds on his precious zero-turn John Deere. I heard and saw him behind the house for a while. He came back in within an hour.

"I gotta have a nap. I don't know what's wrong with me. I about ran into a tree twice, falling asleep."

"Are you okay? Have you had enough water? I don't think it's all that hot today. Maybe 83. But the humidity is high."

"I've had water. I don't know if it's ENOUGH water. I'm gonna sit down."

I was a little worried. Hick didn't even switch the TV from Carnival Eats or Man vs Food. Normally, he would have immediately changed it to Gunsmoke. I didn't want to yell and ask if he was okay, because what's the point of having a nap if somebody is going to wake you up every 10 minutes? I DID get up to check on him. Make sure his chest/stomach was moving. Hick didn't make it any easier, clasping his hands across his chest as arms might be arranged by a mortician. He was fine.

You'd think Hick would have been able to stay awake on that mower, since our newest dog has chewed all the foam off the seat...

Hick Floats

Hick finally had POOLIO ready for swimming last Sunday. Way later than usual. Hick generally starts working on POOLIO in mid-May, getting the cover off, scooping out leaves that escaped the cover-removal, running the filter, taking water samples for testing, and buying chemicals. I have told him he spends about $50 per swim, by the time the summer is over. Not that I begrudge Hick his pool pleasure. He works hard all day, and deserves an hour floating around in the evening.

That's the problem. Every summer, Hick either throws away his floaty things, or they get blown off the deck during storms. He has had a variety over the years. A basic air mattress, a fancy air mattress, a mesh version with a floating rim that left his body below water, a chair shape with a can holder, kickboards, and of course pool noodles.

When the boys were living here, they loved those pool noodles for sword-fighting and clubbing and using to blow jets of water at each other. That's all Hick has in POOLIO right now. Two pool noodles. Not even the long ones. Just the cheap Dollar Store short noodles.

Hick cannot find any pool floaties. 

That's what he says. He has only tried the Dollar Store and Walmart. Saying he couldn't find any. Which is different from saying they are out of them. Maybe they are. Maybe everybody bought them for the 4th of July weekend, and they haven't re-stocked. 

Hick makes use of his noodles. He sits on them! He looks like a giant baby, suspended in one of those door-hanging bouncy thingies. He can still walk around the pool. His chest and shoulders are above water. 

I really hope Hick can find some sort of air mattress. Even a cheap one would be fine. Though Hick says, "Them cheap ones ain't good for me." Heh, heh! That's the point! It is quite entertaining to watch Hick trying to get on a narrow air mattress!

HIPPIE LIVES!

I must be careful not to taunt The Universe. HIPPIE seems to be responding to treatment. His prognosis is guarded, but the signs of recovery are there. When I turn on HIPPIE now, the black screen of OH CRAP does not appear. HIPPIE starts up as normal. In fact, a little faster than normal. Maybe that drenching washed out some dust.

The Pony says it IS possible that HIPPIE could gradually be drying out his innards. That first the warning about the fan might go away. And then the fan might start working again. I sent my important files to myself, just in case. I am tempted to try switching the plug-in mouse thingy back to that other port, to see if it is working now, but I don't want to take a chance, since that part ain't broke right now.

Good thing HIPPIE is feeling better, because The Pony is feeling worse. With a migraine. Asked to put off bringing out the replacement laptop today. Fine with me.

Meanwhile, you don't think I'm going to accept responsibility for this fiasco, do you? It's Hick's fault! I've been sitting at the kitchen table, taking my medicine, for several years without incident. But only two days prior to The Drowning, I had switched cups.

My normal drinking vessel was two red Solo cups stacked together. Because they're too flimsy/squeezy if you use just one. 

Let the record show that these are from Save A Lot, and actually not SOLO, but a brand called DART.

Hick did not like the double-cup. He uses them for his Wild Turkey and Shasta Zero Sugar Cola. Hick says his lips don't fit on the double cup. That some liquid dribbles out, or goes down in the second cup. I say that's a personal problem. Somebody who doesn't know how to drink! Just like Hick keeps his lips together while sneezing. Instead of saying ACHOO, Hick says PPPPFFFFTTTT, like a raspberry.

Anyhoo... because I didn't like carrying Hick's drink to his recliner in a flimsy/squeezy cup, I bought a different kind. 

Not sure what they are, but they are thicker, and have a square bottom. [Upon taking the picture, it looks like Hick's cups are actually the SOLO brand, but a square bottom version.] It's one of these I switched to for my medicine water. I use my cups for a week or two. It's only water. I'm not someone trying to clutter up the world with used cups. The square-bottom cups are stacked on the cutting block, so I just took one of them. It's a corner of the square bottom that caused my cup to tip. A round bottom cup would not have, because I'm used to its dimensions. 

See there? It WAS Hick's fault!

Val Drowns a HIPPIE and Kills a Mouse

The Universe is not cutting Val a break. This week brought a twisted knee (the better one), making a trip to town impossible for two days. In the midst of that was the power outage. And Friday morning, 

VAL DROWNED HIPPIE AND KILLED HER MOUSE!

HIPPIE, my HP laptop, is quite long in the tooth. I can't remember a time without HIPPIE. I think he might have been running Windows 8, before kicking and screaming could not prevent an upgrade to Windows 10.

Anyhoo... HIPPIE has grown cantankerous over the years. Sometimes going crazy and opening apps at random. Or locking up, refusing to move or even shut down. Shortly before noon on Friday, I took a pill and set down my red Solo cup of water. Only it didn't set down! It hit the edge of HIPPIE. In my haste to right the cup, I over-righted it, and water flowed across HIPPIE'S keyboard!!!

I immediately grabbed HIPPIE and flipped him upside down. Gave him a shake. Balanced him upside down across the table edge and a box of files on the kitchen chair beside me. I left HIPPIE suspended upside down as I mopped up the table water, changed clothes, and put the wet items in the dryer.

When I returned to HIPPIE, I gave him several shakes. Wiped across the keys with some paper towels while he was still upside down. When I righted him, HIPPIE was still running! Still had a window open. Still had internet. But the mouse would not respond!

That mouse didn't even get wet! Not a drop. It was not in the direction of the water flow. I set it on HIPPIE'S power cord during cleanup, lest some water creep that way. The mouse remained bone dry.

I thought that maybe I had hit a key while wiping HIPPIE upside down. There were a couple odd apps open. I used that keypad thingy to close them, and do a proper shutdown, so HIPPIE could restart and maybe get everything sorted.

NOOOOOO!!!

I got the black screen of OH CRAP! Saying the fan didn't work, and continuing might cause erratic behavior or damage. I had 15 seconds to continue or abort this mission. Well. I read too slowly, looking at the gibberish under that statement. HIPPIE shut down again. I powered him up again. Same message. I continued.

I propped HIPPIE so he was not flat on the table. Still no mouse. I took off the cover and twisted the battery around. It said it's good until 2030. I turned the mouse off and on. Each time, I'd get a green light, but then it would turn to flashing red.

I called The Pony, who has drowned a couple of laptops. The Pony said I should have turned off power the minute HIPPIE was drowned, and set him on a vent for several days, before trying to turn him on again. But that since other parts seemed to be working, that would be futile now.

The Pony said maybe it was the port used for that plug-in thingy that runs the mouse. So try it in a different port. IT WORKED! I got a chime-y sound, and a box saying Logitech was loading. I turned the mouse back on, and IT WORKED! The Pony is a genius sometimes.

The Pony says that a bad fan is a big problem. That I might be able to keep using HIPPIE, but to email myself any important files I didn't want to lose. Like my tax returns!

I actually have another laptop, new two Christmases ago, bought for me by The Pony. I put off switching over for two tax seasons, because I wanted to be comfortable using my regular method of filing taxes. I hate learning the spacing of a new keyboard, and switching over to Windows 11 or whatever laptops come with now. The Pony kept it at his house, loading some entertainment for me in the form of shows and games.

It might be time to fire up that new laptop. The Pony is bringing it out tomorrow.