My Stock Has Risen

Everything's coming up roses here in Backroads. Not just my actual roses, the un-goat-eaten bush given to me by Hick several Mother's Days ago, perhaps the one after the three-dollar pink change purse debacle. I know I'm not this mother. But he is, after all, a father, the one who holds the three-dollar pink change purse strings for the offspring who would wish, with much prodding, to buy me a gift.

Yes, the rose bush is in full bloom, there's another announcement on the horizon, and I am now the $9.00 daughter! You heard me! I have risen from the ranks of $8.00 daughterdom to the lofty heights above. In fact, I don't mean to jinx myself, but I was almost the $10.00 daughter! Karma and Even Steven must have a bone to pick with me.

Here's how it went down. Friday was my mother's birthday. The Pony and I picked her up on the Walmart parking lot for a bill-paying excursion to a nearby town. What? You didn't think we'd go all the way to her house to pick her up, did you? Perhaps when I'm a $50.00 daughter. We had a red shiny gift bag chock full of birthday cards, two cans of beer nuts, a box of Crunch 'N' Munch, two bags of sweet-and-salty snack mix, two very ripe bananas, a week-old National Enquirer, a Globe, and a sparkly silver box with a grabber-machine necklace. Only the best for my mom!

Mom had stopped by my sister's house to inspect the grounds, and had driven through her bank to cash her check. I am not privy to which check, anything from retirement, my dad's retirement, a dividend, or some other old-people first-of-the-month check. All I know is that mom knows to the penny where her finances are socked away. So I doubt this was a very big check if she cashed the whole thing. She climbed into T-Hoe, oohed over her gift bag, which she preferred to dig into in private, and proceeded to profess that the bank had shorted her ten dollars.

It seems that mom decided that she was going to take the odd amount out of the bank envelope and put it in her billfold to spend all willy-nilly, throwing caution to the wind, it being payday, by cracky! The odd amount came to thirteen dollars and some change. While waiting for us on the parking lot, she opened the envelope. The change was there. The three ones were there. But the envelope contained nary a ten-dollar bill. Mom counted. She did not have an extra twenty. There was the round amount, three ones, and change. She called the bank. "I have been banking with you since 1972. We never had a single problem. I don't even count the money in the envelope before I drive away. But I just counted it, and I am ten dollars short. I counted several times. I could be wrong. I didn't look at the amount on the check, I just assumed it was the same as always. But there was no ten in my envelope, and I should have had thirteen dollars. No. I can't come in right now. I have other plans. Please check on it and leave me a message at home. I'm sorry if I misunderstood the check amount."

I felt bad for mom. To her, the principle of that ten dollars was a major fly in the ointment of her day. We continued to the bill-paying town. It has all manner of restaurants not found in Backroads proper. The Pony wanted the exotic Papa John's pizza to bring home for his lunch. Or to eat in the car, as he is wont to do. Genius had ordered us to pick up some Captain D's for his lunch. Mom wanted some Captain D's breadsticks. Hick had not responded to our text offering this cuisine to replace his anticipated bowling alley food. It was in line at Captain D's that Mom dug through her purse and pushed nine ones at me.

"Here. Let me help you pay for lunch."

"Mom, it's your birthday. I don't need your money. Hick got paid today. We're fine."

"No. Let me pay. I know it won't pay for everything. But it's for my breadsticks, and part for Genius's fish, and part for The Pony's pizza. This is all I have besides twenties. I was going to give you that ten. But the bank didn't give it to me."

"Really. You don't have to do that."

"I know it! I want to. Now take this."

"All right, Mom. Thank you." Who am I to deny my mother a wish on her birthday? That's what makes me the $9.00 daughter.

We dropped Mom off at her car later, and she headed to McDonald's for a Grilled Onion Cheddar Burger. Mom does not live by breadsticks alone. I told her we could all have dined on prime rib in a fancy-schmancy high-end eatery for the amount we spent on fast food that day. As we passed her bank on the way home, I told The Pony to call Genius for me. He was at Mom's house soaking up her high-speed internet. "Hey, did the bank call Grandma?"

"Not while I've been here. There's a message on her machine."

"Check it."

"The bank has her ten dollars. She can come get it, or they will deposit it in her account."

"Okay. I've gotta call her before she passes the bank." I called Mom, in line at McDonald's. "You can stop in to pick up your ten dollars, or they can put it in your account."

"Oh, I'll call them to put it in my account. I don't want to go in there. I'd be so embarrassed! Things like this really bother me."

"WHY? THEY made the mistake! They shorted you ten dollars!"

"Oh, I'm sure it was an accident. She was a young girl. Maybe she didn't know what she was doing."

"Okay. Just wanted you to know they had called, in case you wanted to stop in."

Keeping Mom abreast of her finances. Just one more service offered by the $9.00 daughter.

So Fitting, Karma Might Seek Work as a Tailor

I don't get out much. If not for the serious addiction to 44 oz. Diet Cokes, I might never leave the old homestead during summer vacation. I could happily putter around doing laundry, making sandwiches, cleaning, reading, writing, playing with the dogs, and sleeping. OK. Let's strike "happily" from that sentence. And we probably should leave out "doing laundry," "making sandwiches," and "cleaning" as well. But I could read, write, play, and sleep with no problems.

Hick says I'm an old fuddy duddy who doesn't want to do anything. This is one area where he's right. I have never been the life of the party. Well, there were a couple of years in college...but basically, I've always been a homebody. The quiet type. You won't catch me ballroom dancing, rappelling, skydiving, or seeking my fortune at flea markets and estate sales. I'm fine right here in my dark basement lair, living in my head.

This afternoon, The Pony and I took off for town to capture the readily available 44 oz. Diet Coke. They're as plentiful as bison on the Great Plains in the early 1800s. We make this excursion every day. Down the humpity bumpity gravel road, over lumps of exposed bedrock, into chasms constructed by rain run-off, across downed leaves and limbs left by squirrels and wind. I could start my own off-road-vehicle amusement park if not for the pressing time constraints of my proposed handbasket factory.

Yesterday, midway between the neighbors' old barn and the first overflowing creek obstacle, I heard a noise from T-Hoe's right flank. The Pony heard it, too. I thought that perhaps a branch had snapped against the side, or a big chunk of rock was flung up to thump the undercarriage. We continued. Today, at the exact same place, we heard the exact same noise. Not quite a snap. Not quite a thump. Something in between. And a few yards down the hill, we heard it again. In the same place on T-Hoe's body.

As we careened down and up through the messy, unpaved pig-trail that takes us to the blacktop county road, I started to worry that T-Hoe might grow lame. That perhaps he had a flat tire, or had broken some part of his suspension. It seemed like he was not proceeding as smoothly as normal. You know how it is. You drive the same car every day, and you can feel when something is different.

We stopped for the mail, but I did not command The Pony to walk around and check for damage. That's because I had to park that side in a foot-deep puddle the size of a master bedroom, because the county neglected to replace a culvert pipe when they destroyed our road putting in a new bridge a couple of years back. On to town we went. When returning to T-Hoe with my 44 oz. Diet Coke in hand, I spotted the problem. Or so I thought.

Hanging down from the undercarriage in the middle of the front passenger door was a wire. I'm not very mechanical, but I knew that wire did not belong. I looked closer. It was NOT something caught in the door that I had been dragging along, like a tie-string from a hoodie. It was dark gray, and kind of flat, and had some frayed, lighter-color brushy things, like copper wires, sticking out the end, just about an inch off the pavement. This was something I was definitely going to have to notify Hick about. T-Hoe's whole electrical system might short out. Or maybe I would electrocute us if I ran over the wrong thing.

I climbed in and told The Pony to go take a look. "There's a wire hanging down on the other side, up front under the door. That must be the noise we heard. We ripped something loose going down the hill." The Pony was none to happy to be commanded out of his limo-passenger seat behind me to inspect the vehicle. But he did. Because he's a good son. I put the window down on that side. "Do you see it?"

"Um. Yes. But it's not a wire." He leaned over. Disappeared from my view. I heard a "snap" and felt T-Hoe move slightly. The Pony brandished the culprit. "It's a stick."

Never mind. Nothing to see here. The universe agrees. Apparently, Val IS associated with a stick in the mud.

I Hold It Inside, In My Tasty Cream Filling

It's official. My well-camouflaged SUPER SWEETNESS has been revealed. I know that's what you all think every time my name comes to mind. "Val wrote the book on sweetness. Well, she's going to. She has an outline. In her head. As soon as her proposed handbasket factory is up and running, she's going to put it down on paper. OK, she's going to put down paper. Paper plates holding yummy cupcakes that require her hands so that she can't type up any ideas just yet. But she's thinking about it. Yep. Our Val wrote the book on sweetness." Now that THAT cat is out of the bag, let's celebrate with a cupcake.





Thank you to blog buddy Lynn for showing the internet world my true colors. Fie on those folks who describe me, behind their hands, in hushed tones, as a regular Sour Patch kid, except that first she's sour...then she stays sour. Yeah. That's not very sweet of you, is it? Shame on you. Take a lesson from Lynn and catch some flies, why don't you? They're not going to flock around that vinegary attitude of yours.

Here's the catch, though. Even though I'm sweeter than a marzipan unicorn dipped in syrup, rolled in granulated C & H, charred with a blowtorch, and dusted with confectioner's sugar...I have a tasteless side. I don't always follow the rules. Rules are made to be picked and chosen by Val. So I am in partial compliance with Lynn's very special award. Three out of five ain't bad. I think that was a big hit for Meat Loaf back in the day, on his Bat Out of Not-Heaven album.

Thank you, Lynn. It's an honor just to be nominated. I am rushing to post this before the first 13 on your baker's dozen list are aware. That makes me a winner!

The Super Sweet Blogging Award is shown above. Tiny fairy and all. She doesn't know how lucky she is that I didn't chomp off a leg or arm in my feeding frenzy. The fairy, that is. Not Lynn. Val may be many things, but a cannibal is not one.

Here are my responses to the interrogation necessary to receive the award:

1. Cookies or Cake? I scream, you scream, we all scream for CAKE! CAKE WITH BUTTER CREAM ICING! Party down! Let's celebrate the birthdays of every single person on every single Sweet Blogger's blogroll. And their family members! CAKE!

2. Chocolate or Vanilla? What kind of a choice is that? CHOCOLATE, there is no substitute. I think Tom Cruise as Joel Goodson said that in Risky Business. That, or Porsche. Which is stupid, really. What kind of flavor is Porsche?

3. Favorite Sweet Treat? That's not fair. Sweet treats are like kids. You can't have a favorite. You must love them all equally. That said, Val's current sweet pet is Little Debbie Swiss Roll. She's so exotic. Yet domestic.

4. When do you crave sweet things the most? Hm...that's a stumper. Not in the morning. At the end of the day. After a savory treat.

5. Sweet Nickname? At the risk of appearing to scam somebody else's sweet nickname: SUZY-Q. And no, it's not because of my sordid history of snack cake consumption. It has to do with a part of my real name, and my indulgent relatives when I was a child, who did not consider being referred to by a snack cake name as demeaning.

Dang! I wasted no time in responding, huh? I suppose that just goes to show that the quickest way to Val's blog post is through her pancreas. I'm sorry to report that I am now crashing after my sugar high, and will not be able to nominate a baker's dozen of other bloggers. It has nothing to do with the fact that I am blog-friendless after seeing Lynn's list, with only my two stand-up guys Stephen and Joe H. available to assume the candy necklace of Super Sweet Blogger. They are welcome to claim this award if their insulin levels are up to snuff.

Now I'm off to have a little recliner nap.

Here's Your Chance to Get in on the Ground Floor

I'm all fired up with a new project tonight. Something I can market on the counter of my proposed handbasket factory. Of course, I'll need a little help from everyone. And I'm sure all of my selfless readers will not mind one bit foregoing the monetary benefits that might be involved, since it's all for a good cause: Val's pocketbook. Not to be confused with Val's handbasket.

Here's how it works. All of you will find a photo of a beloved pet, or even a child, if you're so inclined, in the most awkward and embarrassing situation imaginable. Fabricated embarrassment is not allowed. You can even use yourself if you have some sort of conscience that prevents you from putting your four-legged or two-legged loved one out there on the internet for ridicule. You can post it on your blog for me to enjoy at my leisure, and steal for my project. No watermarks, you hear! I'll not be wasting my valuable project money fighting you in various and sundry lawsuits. No sirree, Bob!

Sioux is exempt from her homework, unless she happens to have a photo of herself with her head stuck in a faculty bathroom sink. That's because I found a gem on her blog today. And no watermark, either! You might say that photo inspired my new project. Knowing what a giver Sioux is, I am sure she will not seek any part of my profit for a finder's fee. She might even kick in with a free title suggestion. Right now my working title is Val's Awkward Loved-One Photos. I'm sure it's never been done before. It will be unique to the market. One of a kind.

Now I'll start it off with the cover photo. Enjoy.

That's our long-haired goat, Nellie. She's looking pretty good for a two-time mother of twins, don't you think? Try not to mention her facial hair. She's not too keen on depilatories. That little goatee (Heh, heh, get it? I used "goatee" to refer to the beard on an actual goat!) does not seem to deter the fathers of her kids. Or else they just took advantage of her unfortunate entrapment in the goat pen fence, and never even looked into her blue, rectangular-pupiled eyes. Since Hick hooked her up with that contraption, she has not put herself in the stocks again. Every now and then, he has to replace it, because her peers like to nibble.

Come to think of it, I might be able to market that block of wood and yellow duct tape as a new form of goat birth control.

My proposed handbasket factory is gonna need a bigger counter.

Now It's a Daughter Blog!

Oh, dear. Yesterday I cut short the morning check-in phone call with my mother because I was driving and needed both hands and most of my wits about me. In doing so, I did not allow Mom to traipse down two sets of stairs and read her shopping list to me. I even cut off her verbal recollection of needing slaw...and whatever else might have been on that list. I called her again last night to make things right. Mom told me about her day.

"Did you know that your sister came out?"

"No."

"She brought me your niece's garage door opener. Just in case I need to get in."

"Niecy has a garage? I thought she lived in an apartment over by Sonic."

"Oh, not Niecy's garage. Your sister's garage. Niecy still has a garage door opener for when she goes over. You know they never use the front door. Since I'm checking on the house while they're gone, she wanted me to have the garage door opener. I have a key to the house. I don't know WHY she wants me to have the garage door opener. I guess she thinks I'll set off the alarm. I only did that once. Then that other time the refrigerator went bad and the house stunk. And one time their dog got loose. Something always happens when she goes away. I think she might blame me."

"Yet she still wants you to take care of her stuff."

"Yes. She hasn't quit asking me. I don't mind. It gives me something to do every morning and evening."

Mom went on to tell me about her trip to the store. This time she didn't tell me every person she ran into and caught up with. That's usually good for a half hour. No, this time, the main event of the town trip was...

SHE FORGOT THE SLAW!

I take full responsibility. One does not distract my mother from her mission. Now she has to go back to the store tomorrow. For her slaw. Shame on me. I won't be getting $8.00 again any time soon. That's for sure. Mom just called to ask if I was going to call her later tonight. That usually happens between 10:00 and 11:00. However...Mom said she has been working hard all day, and she might just fall asleep early, and sleep right through until morning. You don't have to hit me over the head with a pint of slaw. I could tell what she was getting at.

"Okay. I won't call later."

"Well, you can. It won't bother me if you want to talk. But I just wanted to let you know, in case you DIDN'T call tonight, that I'm getting out early in the morning to get my slaw. Around 7:30, probably. So in case you try to call me, I don't want you to worry that something's wrong. I'll be at the store."

"I probably won't even be up then." Ever since school has been out, I have not made my morning call until at least 9:00. But, you know, sure as Mom is away from her land line, I could call, and then get all worried, and be unable to reach her, because she doesn't hear her cell phone buried down in her purse while driving and in the store, and my sister the ex-mayor's wife is going to Vegas, and I won't be able to reach her to ask if she knows where Mom is, because you know how cell phones can't call each other with all that land between Missouri and Nevada in the way of their signal.

"I just wanted you to know so you wouldn't worry."

"Okay, Mom. I'll check in with you later in the morning. To see if you got your slaw."

"All right. I'll let you go now. I'm sure you're in the middle of something. I hope you have a good night."

The invasion of Normandy did not require as much attention to detail as my mother's five-mile trip to Walmart to buy slaw.

There, But For the Loquaciousness of My Mother, Go I

I was off my regular schedule this morning. By the time I had showered and made a shopping list, I remembered that I had not called my mother as usual to check in. That was a problem. She hesitates to call during the summer months, lest she wake the sleepyhead Genius. Then she worries that something is wrong if she doesn't hear from me. Yet I was on the way to Walmart for the weekly supplies. To call would delay my trip by perhaps thirty minutes. On a good day.

The Pony and I left as planned. When we got to a manageable section of road, I handed him my phone. "Call Grandma for me." I figured I could check in quickly so she wouldn't worry.

"Hey, we're on our way to town. Just checking in to tell you we're all fine. I only have a minute. Do you need anything from Walmart?"

"I'm planning to go to Walmart later this afternoon. I need to get...what was it...my list is downstairs..." Of course I didn't want her to get her list. But that sounded like the plan. She's very thorough, my mom. I knew I had to nip that list trip in the bud, but without hurting her feelings. Especially when she said, "I'm upstairs now." That meant TWO flights of steps to fetch her shopping list.

"Hey! Did you finish those barbecued sausages Genius brought you yesterday?"

"Oh, no! I ate one last night. But I'm saving the other one for tonight."

"Do you know what goes good on them? Slaw."

"What? What goes with them?"

"Slaw."

"I can't hear you. You're breaking up."

"Slaw."

"Still didn't get it. Say it again."

"SLAW!"

"Oh, sauce."

"SLAW!!!"

"I have some slaw. I've been putting horseradish sauce on them. But I might get some more slaw when I go to town. I think it's on my list..."

"I really have to go now. I'm driving. I'm coming into town with the lights. I need both hands to go through those crooked lanes under the overpass."

"Oh. Okay. I'll let you go."

"All right. Bye."

"Is everyone okay? How about The Pony? How's he doing?"

"He's fine. Right behind me. I've really gotta go."

"Okay. Well...I'll get off of here now. You have a really good day."

"I will. Bye."

"Oh...well, I'll let you go. Bye."

That was close. I was already through the first stoplight, jostling for position with a panel truck for Hardee's. I handed the phone back to The Pony. "Make sure that goes off."

I'll call Mom again tonight. To hear what she got at the store. I'm her eight-dollar daughter, you know.

In Retrospect, I Probably Should Have Planned Ahead

Well, this is embarrassing. I don't seem to have a topic to complain about this evening. I'll just have to toss out some subjects for you to discuss amongst yourselves. Don't worry if you're not up to snuff on current events. Since when have you ever known Val to expound upon cutting-edge devices or hot topics? You there, with your hand up...it was a rhetorical question.

We can't all sit around like Donald Sutherland and Pinto and Boone and Katy, pondering whether our whole solar system could be, like, one tiny atom in the fingernail of some giant being. Check your place cards. I'm having a dinner party. Sioux, you and your fireman friend can sit at the little table over there by the balcony and share a plate. There are a finite number of slices of Veal Prince Orloff, you know.

Here are some icebreakers to get the conversation flowing:

Isn't that Ford Pinto a cute little car?

Which fragrance is more appealing: Jontue, Wind Song, or Vanderbilt

Do earth shoes go with wide flare chambray jeans?

It is okay to go straight from work to the disco in my burnt-orange leisure suit?

Which is more thirst-quenching, TAB or FRESCA?

Who did you bet on, Billie Jean King or Bobby Riggs?

Is Evel Knievel going to make it across the Snake River Canyon?

What's the weather tomorrow--should I wear my boyfriend's CPO, or my maxi coat?

Does your dog prefer Gaines Burgers or Gravy Train?

Anybody want to go outside and play some Jarts?

Are Clackers a good gift for a five-year-old, or should I just get him a Pet Rock?

Can you wear a mood ring while you're streaking?

Hey, has anybody seen The Exorcist, or did you just stay home and watch All in the Family?

Anybody want to come over later for some Boone's Farm Strawberry Hill and Jiffy Pop?

What's a good brand of CB to put in my conversion van?

There. That should keep you busy. I'll just step out to the kitchen and put the finishing touches on the meal. If you need anything, let me know. I SO love to throw a dinner party.