Tea and Crumpets With His Royal Hickness

Okay, lets have a few seconds of sad face :-( for the untimely passing of Frig. Let the record show that he has not yet officially crossed over...the gravel road to the BARn, where he will be cooling his coils in exile. He sits on the front porch, waiting for a ride.

Don't you worry about Frig. He has Frosty the snowman and the trash dumpster and an archery target to keep him company. And the garage has his back. He looks kind of menacing, doesn't he? Like that furnace in Home Alone.

We ended up getting our replacement from Lowe's. There's more to that story, but even Val can't run down that many rabbit trails today. The delivery of our new Friggy was scheduled for today. We know that, because Lowe's called at 8:15 a.m. Which might not sound like the crack of dawn to you, but to Val and Hick, who arise at 4:50 a.m. Monday thru Friday, and almost every Saturday, and like to sleep in at least one day a week whether they need to or not...it was the crack of dawn.

Hick was in the shower. My bedside phone has mysteriously stopped working since last week. So I had to run into the living room just in time for that phone to stop ringing. And hear Hick's cell phone on the bathroom sink start ringing. So I ran back and grabbed it and tried to take it to Hick in the shower, but he was already out and striding toward me in all his glistening gloriousness. Sorry. What has been seen cannot be unseen. Hick gave them vague directions and me the stinkeye, even though I was only trying to help by naming specific landmarks, left/right turns, and street names. Whereas Hick tells it like, "Come out Blacktop Road and turn just past the bridge. Go about two miles. You'll come to a road by a low water bridge after the first one. Turn left on that road. Go until you see a road to the left. Go past that. Then turn on the next one. North." Yeah. I'm surprised Frig II did not end up in Northern Michigan.

So anyway, Hick asked what time they would arrive, and was told sometime this afternoon. No hourly window. That delivery dispatcher must be the Hick of appointment times. I don't know about you, but I think of sometime this afternoon as being AFTER. NOON. So I planned to whip up a batch of Chex Mix that takes two hours plus prep time, and put off my grocery trip until later. AFTER. NOON. No need to buy food and not have a refrigerator for stowing it away. Imagine my surprise when the Lowe's truck showed up at 11:20. Which here in Missouri is BEFORE noon. The Pony had to run find Hick, who was mowing the field, or just riding around wasting gas in the lawnmower to look all manly.

I retired to the bedroom, as the coming and going of my appliances raises my blood pressure. Mainly because the entire episode is directed by Hick. Who had already spent ten minutes sweeping the porch to impress the delivery men. He never sweeps the porch for me. A pile of chicken poop could build up knee-high, and he would pretend his chickens never get up on the porch. I wouldn't be surprised if he dusted off that old pew he got at the auction, so he and his new buddies could set a spell after the unloading. He probably scribbled out free haircut coupons for them after he gets his Little Barbershop of Horrors up and running.

So...I could hear the commotion of the move. This and that. Then one of the movers started talking really loud. Like he was right outside the bedroom door. Which is NOT on the way to the kitchen.

"What kind of goats you got? That one's a Nubian, ain't it?"

"Yeah. The other one's a long-hair."

"You mean an angora?"

"Yeah! That's what it's called."

"I got two faintin' goats. You ever seen 'em?"

"No, can't say that I have."

"Clap your hands, honk the horn--they fall down dead. Funniest thing you ever saw. Is your Nubian a female? You wanna sell 'er?"

"No. She was my first goat. I won't sell her. And I won't sell the other one because I promised the guy I wouldn't. She was his wife's pet."

I'm not sure what went on after this exchange. The voices were muffled. I think Hick served his new buddies tea and crumpets. I can picture them now, Hick, and Brutus from Popeye, and Larry the Cable Guy all sipping out of dainty teacups, holding their pinky fingers in the air.

Hick had wanted them to move Frig to the BARn. I'm sure he would have served more refreshments over there. He said that part of their job was hauling away the old refrigerator. Apparently, hauling the old refrigerator two hundred yards to another building is NOT part of their job. Hick has also said he was going to offer them $20 if they declined. I guess even Brutus and Larry can't be bought. And Hick did not toss them a bottle of grape juice for their trouble.

Yes, there's more to this refrigerator-buying experience, but it will have to wait for another day.

Another Vignette From Val's Thrilling Life

The following exchange occurred during The Great Frig Replacement Shopping Expedition.

"It's already 2:24. The Pony must be starving. I promised we would bring him a Rally's burger when we return."

"Okay. Which way do I go?"

"Turn left at the light. Then right at the next one. I'll have a burger, too. That Little Debbie Cosmic Brownie that I had with my medicine at 7:15 did not stick to my ribs like a sausage biscuit."

"Well, I didn't have a sausage biscuit, either."

"You mean to tell me that you left for work, and have not had a thing to eat all day?"

"No. I stopped at Hardee's for a sausage biscuit on the way to work."

"Wait a minute. You just said you didn't have a sausage biscuit, either."

"I meant from our freezer."

"Oh. So you're not hungry."

"I could eat a burger."

"The Pony ate a bunch of Chex Mix before we left, and then in town I picked up a sausage biscuit for him and my mom. But I didn't have one."

"That's your own fault. You should have got one."

"Um. I was driving. AND going in and out of stores looking for the elusive Frigidaire Professional side-by-side."

"Huh."

Yes. Hick has no sympathy for the sausage-biscuitless crowd. Especially now that he's hoarding them in the old refrigerator over in his BARn.

Another One Bites the Dust Bunny

Alas! Poor Frig! I knew him, folks, a fellow with veins as cold as ice. It was ice, in fact, in his veins. He revealed his secrets to me a thousand times. And now, my gorge rises. BECAUSE I MIGHT HAVE EATEN SPOILED FOOD!

It's true. Frig, our Frigidaire side-by-side, took his last gasp while we were away at work today. You how they are. Don't want anybody to make a bother. Simply slip out while nobody is around, like our faithful dog Grizzly, the boys' first pet, who hung on all summer a few years back, only to lay down and die in a patch of dappled sunlight on the gravel road to the BARn on our first day back to school.

Quiet in death. Not so quiet in the end of life. I opened Frig this evening and noticed something was amiss. You know, like when you can't quite put your finger on it, but it's there. Something different. I got a cup of ice from Frig's colder half. What's this? The cubes didn't clunk into my yellow plastic bubba cup. They sounded soft. Yet looked like the same hard crescents of old. I pulled out Frig's frosty bladder. Hmm...looked like it contained slush. I opened Frig's warmer half. Aha! That temperature thingy was different. It caught my eye. 55 and 58. Yeah. Frig had a double fever. Who knew that was fatal?

I feel a bit guilty. I had no idea Frig was in his death throes when we heard him gurgling and grinding last night. Hick examined Frig, and reported that he simply had a problem with a fan, and that nothing untoward would happen if we let him go on like that. No fire. No rod-throwing. The worst thing that could happen would be that Frig would overheat and trip a breaker.

So much for a diagnosis from Dr. Hick. I should have known better. Am I not, after all, Dr. Val, who performs a coldecystectomy on Frig every two weeks. Well. DID. Apparently, Frig had complications. I did not even want to be near the kitchen to see the aftermath when Hick pulled Frig away from the wall for the autopsy.

Now our departed Frig is a hollow shell of himself. Hick purged him of his contents, which now reside in the BARn, inside Frig's predecessor, who was near-fatally injured by an exploding can of biscuits. A good plastic surgeon might have cured what ailed him, but Hick summarily shuffled him off to the BARn to do his bidding.

Any way you look at him...Frig remains dead as a doornail.

 It's going to be a hot and hungry morning in the Thevictorian kitchen.

Would a Juno, By Any Other Texture, Smell As Sweet?

But enough about my mom. We've been neglecting my sweet, sweet Juno!

Poor sweet Juno is discombobulated. We've been in and out, our schedules a bit off, what with tending to Mom's needs. So poor sweet Juno is never quite sure if we'll be right back, or if our outing will be an all-day affair. And more importantly: when is her next handful of cat kibble?

The Pony and I returned home from a trip to Mom's house Sunday morning. We had been liberating some frozen pecan halves and pieces for the upcoming Chex Mix extravaganza from her basement deep-freeze. Don't think of this as theft. Mom TOLD me to get them. My sister the ex-mayor's wife was picking up FRESH pecans at church for Mom that very day. So I suppose that puts Sis at value above a Five-Dollar Daughter.

The Pony and I came out of the garage to a playful Juno hopping and bopping to the Gimme Cat Kibble Rock. Ann stood steadfast, three feet away. There's no competing with Juno's hopping and bopping. As usual, I made my sweet, sweet Juno show me some puppy love before rewarding her kibble tooth. I sometimes hug her, sometimes say threateningly "JUUUUNOOOO!" until she sits down calmly. Then I give her a good petting, and tease her by asking, "What do you want? WHAT do you want? Does Juno want a SNACK?" And she starts hopping and bopping again while I fish out a fistful of cat kibble from the large black-and-white-spotted metal roasting pan that serves as the cats' food dish.

This particular Sunday, I stepping in to hug my sweet, sweet Juno...AND CAUGHT A WHIFF OF SOMETHING FOUL! Yes. My sweet, sweet Juno smelled a little...um...how you say...less than fresh.

"YUCK! You STINK!" I backed off. My sweet, sweet Juno swayed out over the edge of the porch, somewhat like a cobra weaving its head, trying to maintain our loving contact. I pushed her back by the usually-silky-shiny black ruff of her throat and chest.

IT WAS STIFF AND STICKY! Upon closer inspection, I observed a reddish tint.

"JUNO! You've been into something! Something DEAD!"

"I could have told you that. I saw her curled around it in the front yard as we came up the driveway. She was nibbling on it, but I couldn't tell what it was. Her body shielded it. Probably part of a deer."

"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME?"

"Eh. You didn't ask."

That Pony. He really is not at all interested in helping people.

Juno and I are currently taking a little break from each other. It's not me. It's her. She's a stinky mess. Maybe. I'm not going to check it out for a few days. She can lay in the sun and on her bed of cedar chips, and roll around in the grass for a while to dry-clean.

I'll take my chances with our lesser, cinnamon babka of a pet, the sturdy, course, shiny, not-so-bright Ann. She likes cat kibble too. And doesn't get so excited and foist herself on me.

Juno has been snacking from afar. And she doesn't seem to mind!

Chex Mix Roasting in a Closed Oven, Phlebotomist Nipping at Your Vein...

...Val's squeaky wheel finally gets him some lovin'
But Val accrues no financial gain
Everybody knows Val's mom has been a bit laid up
News! Tomorrow she'll be sprung
Fill her fridge with slaw on which she'll sup
Give her a new old walker Hick brung

I had the day off work to go to the doctor and give up some blood. That took about ten minutes. Then the rest of the day was mine. Those 98 sick days aren't going to use themselves, you know.

The first stop after the blood-letting was Sonic. I haven't been there in forever, since the one conveniently on our way home closed down. The one in my mom's town has a former pupil working there, and I am not in a mood to deal with her, even after two-and-a-half years since our academic paths crossed. So I went to the one in Doctor Town, for a breakfast burrito and a cherry limeade to wash down my morning meds. Fasting is such a harsh taskmistress.

Because a day off for Val is really not a day off, I took T-Hoe to the repair shop where his good tire was fixed a couple weeks ago. I must say, they did a bang-up job. It hasn't leaked since. Nor before. So I asked if they had time to fix a tire while I waited, and the lady said yes, that he was just taking one off the rack. Fifty minutes and $12.50 later, T-Hoe was good to go. He had a screw in his leaky tire. It had been festering since July. The lady said it must have been really hard to get out, because it took the guy longer than usual to fix a tire. Too bad, so sad. Eat that hourly wage, good-tire-fixer. I hope they didn't steal my stem cap this time.

I stopped for some scratch-off tickets, but only won $5. That's not even enough to pay for my ticket purchases. Some five-dollar-daughter reward THAT was.

Back home, I whipped up a batch of Chex Mix. I only had six interruptions, each coming exactly at stirring time. That stuff bakes for two hours, you know. No more. No less. And it must be churned every 15 minutes. That means seven times I have to get up and stir it. Those interruptions couldn't have timed it better if they synchronized their watches.

One of the interruptions, though, was my sister the ex-mayor's wife, telling me that MOM IS BEING RELEASED FROM THE HOSPITAL TOMORROW! Uh huh. It's true. She has a doctor's appointment in the city, but she is being let go from the 24-hour therapy institution. We'll have to lay in a supply of slaw, that's for sure.

Hick said he's going to get Mom a walker at the auction. I said no he isn't. I don't want any Seinfeld Kramer-ex-girlfriend used-wheelchair incident. But Hick says the insurance will get Mom a real walker, and the auction one would be a spare to keep on another floor. Her house has four levels, you know. Besides, he argued, they had a walker at the auction Saturday for only $12.

I don't know. Things are moving pretty fast here in Backroads. Never a dull moment. I am contemplating writing an opera. My creativity knows no bounds when I take a day or two off my blood-thinner meds. Hold your applause.

It ain't over 'til I sing.

The SLAW, Boss, the SLAW!

My mom has been ordering slaw for every meal except breakfast.

"Oh, that's certainly a surprise!" said nobody who reads this blog, ever.

On Thursday evening, Hick went by to have supper with Mom. He bowls in a league in her hospital town this year, because there were not enough teams at our local alley. Don't go thinking Mom complained that she didn't like her food, so they would send another tray, which she gave to Hick. Nope. You'd think she would have learned how to work that scam by now, but Mom is pretty much an Honest Abe, which we should remember, what with her getting her dander up and accusing those Save A Lot workers of gypping (!) the customers a few months back.

Hick brought in his own food, and he took Mom down the hall to a family area where they sat at a table with a Christmas tablecloth, and basked in the glow of the blinking lights of the Christmas tree. Actually, I'm not too sure about the blinking lights part. You would think they may shy away from that, having patients there possibly after having a seizure, like Mom. Let's hope there was no TV blaring the voice of Mary Hart.

They sat down, and a staff member brought Mom's dinner tray. She set out her dishes. Roast beef. Mashed potatoes. Sherbet. Ice cream. Mini-8-ounce Diet Coke. Mom had it all laid out before her. But there was no slaw. She's not a complainer, you know.

"I thought maybe I forgot to tell them when I called down. But I ALWAYS have slaw! So I decided that maybe they just forgot. I wasn't going to make a big deal about it unless it happened again. This little girl who carried out my tray said, 'Is everything all right?' I said, 'Yeeesssss. Except I don't see my slaw, but that's okay. I can have slaw tomorrow.' And that little girl grinned and pulled her arm out from behind her back, and THERE WAS MY SLAW! She giggled and said, 'I was just seeing if you noticed anything was missing.' Which wasn't very funny to me. But at least I got my slaw."

"Mom. She was probably told to do that. To see if you know what's going on. To test your memory when you don't know they're testing you."

"Maybe. I was just happy to get my slaw."

My Mom, the Tangled-Web Weaver

So here's another tale of intrigue my mom found herself in the middle of.

She has been under orders not to get out of bed without a member of the hospital staff present. They even had one of those car alarm things on her bed. so that if she got up, sirens went off and people had to run in and check on her. Not that she tried to make a run for it.

Her chart was amended to show that Mom could walk to the bathroom using a walker, as long as a staffer was there to make sure she didn't fall. This was no secret chart, but written in dry erase marker on the wall chart beside the bed. On Friday, a staffer let Mom into the bathroom. Always compliant, Mom asked, "Do I pull this red chain when I'm ready to come out?"

The staffer said, "Aww...you've been doing so well, you can go back to your chair as long as you're using your walker." Let the record show that they had already been letting Mom step from her bed to her chair without using a cane or a walker, and had removed the car alarm from her bed.

Mom finished her business, and opened up the bathroom door. THERE WAS THE SUPERVISOR OF THE WHOLE CRITICAL CARE REHAB UNIT! Mom said this lady is scary. I picture her as that spinster-woman bicycling alongside Dorothy's flying house with Toto in the basket.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

"Oh. Um. I'm just walking over to my chair. I've been doing so good. Downstairs in therapy, they let me do a lap without anybody beside me. Everybody says I'm doing really well."

"You are NOT to be walking unsupervised. I'm going to get to the bottom of this."

As Mom said, she didn't rat out that staffer because, "She's just so niiiice. I didn't want to get her in trouble. But apparently it became the talk of the hospital. The next time I went down to therapy, the girl taking me said, 'So what went on there when you were walking back from the bathroom?' And I told her, 'Oh, it was not a big deal. I asked if I should pull that cord, and the lady said I could just go right back to my chair.' And ALL AT ONCE THAT SUPERVISOR APPEARED! And she said, 'So now we know who did it. It will be very easy to check the schedule and see who was working that morning.'"

"MOM! She was setting you up! Surely you know that! It's like TEACHERS, Mom! How we say, 'Oh, really? I hadn't heard that. Then what happened?' And the minute we get the details, we're off to tell the principal. She was not asking to make conversation. She set you up!"

"Well, I wasn't thinking like that. I was afraid I was in trouble. Anyway, I think they don't like that lady, and they're looking for a way to get rid of her."

"And you're caught in the middle."

Mom has woven herself quite a tangled web.