Val is in high demand these days. Her presence is requested at the end of her phone line. Mostly her land line. The current record is 36 calls in one day. NONE of them answered. I'm onto their tricks. Sure, they fooled me ONCE with that call from Hick. Even though my Caller ID showed that the call was coming from INSIDE the house! Imagine my surprise when I picked up, and did not hear the voice of my Sweet Baboo, but instead the gal calling about a problem with my Windows Computer. I'm a fast learner, though. Even though it showed our home phone number and Hick's name, it listed his last name first. So now I know to avoid it. As if seeing my home phone calling my home phone wasn't enough...
Anyhoo... now I'm a celebrity in high demand on my cell phone. Hardly anyone has that number. Monday afternoon, I was on my way to Walmart when it rang. I glanced at it, laying there on the console, but did not see Hick or the boys pop up, so I let it ring. Much later that night, I looked up the number. Huh. It appeared to be local. From over in Bill-Paying Town. I don't know anybody over there. No business name came up. I did a search and got a name. First name was Ronnie. I don't know a Ronnie. Nor anybody by his last name. Well, Ronnie, we need to find out more about you.
I did a search for Ronnie and his last name, over in Bill-Paying Town. RONNIE IS DEAD! In fact, he died three weeks ago. How popular AM I??? Now dead people are calling me! Let the record show that I blocked Dead Ronnie's number.
Tuesday afternoon, just as I sat down at New Delly's keyboard with my lunch, my cell phone rang. That is unusual. Except for Dead Ronnie, nobody calls me through the day on my cell phone. Hick knows to call on the house phone. Even Backwards Not-Hick knows that! So as you might imagine, I was suspicious. I glanced at the phone, to see the number.
IT WAS FROM JAMAICA!
Last time I checked, I did not know anybody in Jamaica. My favorite gambling aunt went on a cruise last month. I don't know if she went to Jamaica. Even if it was her, she'd have to deal with her own problems. She has a perfectly reachable son and daughter to call. And other nieces and nephews. Right after I blocked the Jamaica number, I got a voice mail. From Jamaica! I don't have any qualms about listening to a voice mail from Jamaica. Here's what it was about:
"Yes. Hi Darcy, it's Maureen. It's probably too late for this... to happen, but we have an emergency case of mange at the kennel? Which in the last 24 hours has taken hold of a lot of dogs and we cannot get any triatics here, which is one thing that works, and we cannot get any lime sulfur.
I don't know if, in the few hours you have prior to you leaving, if there's anything you can do, but we're desperate. Uh...the dogs--you would not believe how this thing has spread, and they're all extremely
uncomfortable, and they're going nuts. I have nothing on the island to...haha...ah, what can I say? Um...hope you get the message. Take care. Looking
really forward to seeing you guys.
Bye."
Well, Maureen. I'm not leaving to go anywhere. I compliment you on your remarkably accent-free diction. So sad about the emergency mange and uncomfortable nutty dogs. I don't know if you expect me to teleport myself over there with some triatics and lime sulfur, or commiserate with the canines telepathically. For a scammer, you seem sadly unprepared to take my money! Didn't even leave your number for me to call you back, and I've already blocked you so you can't call again. You're going to be quite disappointed when we don't show up, I guess.
Oh, yeah. And my name isn't Darcy, but you got the first three letters of Hick's real name, and the first letter of his last name. Even though he's not listed for my cell phone.
Wednesday, July 10, 2019
Tuesday, July 9, 2019
Fire In the Hole!
I don't read the local news every day. When I was working, I did. Because what better way to avoid starting work in the morning than to plop down at your desk, fire up your school computer, and see what current events you might be hearing about at the lunch table? Now I don't really have anything to procrastinate for, so I check it every few days. Last week, an article about a sinkhole caught my eye.
It's not that unique to find a sinkhole around here. It's our basic topography. We have several on our property. My grandma had one in her front yard when I was a kid. We threw hedgeapples into hit, to hear the splash way down inside. Kids aren't stupid. They know to stay out of sinkholes.
Anyhoo... I read the article and looked at the picture. Huh. I guess this was a recent sinkhole, somewhere in town, near the Chamber of Commerce. I just glanced at it. The sinkhole was said to be 39 feet deep. Then they ran a camera down it, and found that it appeared to go all the way into the local lead mine. Well! That was kind of impressive. People come from all over the world to tour that mine! Divers. Jacques Cousteau himself went in there. Not a big deal. It's set up for tours. I've never been through it myself, but Hick has. My grandpa (Dad's dad) even helped run the electricity in it, back when it was a mine, not a tourist attraction. Anyhoo... I didn't think any more about it.
Returning from my travels on Monday, I saw four separate law enforcement vehicles. Of course I was glad I was going the speed limit. The guy behind me, not so much. But I figure I saved him a couple tickets. As I turned past the dead mouse smelling post office, one of the cop cars followed me, while another one took a side street and went to the four-way stop. At the same time, I noticed a fog in the air. No. It was smoke. Smelled pretty acrid, too. It was in the area of the license office and the funeral home. I figured some ne'er-do-well must have burned his tires in a fit of anger at the license office, and they had called the police, who were on the lookout for him. I'm a logical thinker, you know. I told Hick all about it when I got home.
Later that evening I was reading the online local paper, and saw an article about a sinkhole being covered over. Oh. That's the one from the previous article. WAIT A MINUTE! I knew where that was! Looks like it WASN'T a disgruntled licensee burning tires that created the smoke. It was a fire in the SINKHOLE! Not the flames of Not-Heaven shooting out, but a chemical reaction with the foam they were using to seal it, I think. The smoke also went down into the mine, and tours had to stop. Never a dull moment. Maybe I should read the paper more often.
Tuesday, when I went to mail a bill, I got a picture of the sinkhole on the way back.
Right by the parking lot of the license office! They had it capped off with a slab of concrete by then. The barrier doesn't look like it would keep out anybody who really wanted to get in. But what had tipped me off to the location in the newspaper picture was this:
The daycare next door! Hope none of the kids got loose. It's a long fall down into the mine!
It's not that unique to find a sinkhole around here. It's our basic topography. We have several on our property. My grandma had one in her front yard when I was a kid. We threw hedgeapples into hit, to hear the splash way down inside. Kids aren't stupid. They know to stay out of sinkholes.
Anyhoo... I read the article and looked at the picture. Huh. I guess this was a recent sinkhole, somewhere in town, near the Chamber of Commerce. I just glanced at it. The sinkhole was said to be 39 feet deep. Then they ran a camera down it, and found that it appeared to go all the way into the local lead mine. Well! That was kind of impressive. People come from all over the world to tour that mine! Divers. Jacques Cousteau himself went in there. Not a big deal. It's set up for tours. I've never been through it myself, but Hick has. My grandpa (Dad's dad) even helped run the electricity in it, back when it was a mine, not a tourist attraction. Anyhoo... I didn't think any more about it.
Returning from my travels on Monday, I saw four separate law enforcement vehicles. Of course I was glad I was going the speed limit. The guy behind me, not so much. But I figure I saved him a couple tickets. As I turned past the dead mouse smelling post office, one of the cop cars followed me, while another one took a side street and went to the four-way stop. At the same time, I noticed a fog in the air. No. It was smoke. Smelled pretty acrid, too. It was in the area of the license office and the funeral home. I figured some ne'er-do-well must have burned his tires in a fit of anger at the license office, and they had called the police, who were on the lookout for him. I'm a logical thinker, you know. I told Hick all about it when I got home.
Later that evening I was reading the online local paper, and saw an article about a sinkhole being covered over. Oh. That's the one from the previous article. WAIT A MINUTE! I knew where that was! Looks like it WASN'T a disgruntled licensee burning tires that created the smoke. It was a fire in the SINKHOLE! Not the flames of Not-Heaven shooting out, but a chemical reaction with the foam they were using to seal it, I think. The smoke also went down into the mine, and tours had to stop. Never a dull moment. Maybe I should read the paper more often.
Tuesday, when I went to mail a bill, I got a picture of the sinkhole on the way back.
Monday, July 8, 2019
The Almost Severance Whackage
Val had a little issue on Wednesday, involving a shampoo bottle. I know! You wouldn't think such an implement could be deadly, would you? The bottle was exactly like this.
Only almost empty.
That's the next bottle, awaiting his turn in the rotation. It's no secret that Val colors her lovely lady-mullet. No need for her to run around blinding people with glaring silver locks. Hick also uses this brand. Not that he colors his hair. He barely has any hair. So any kind of detergent would do. Don't mind the cracked calk in the background. Calking is one of the few skills Hick has never mastered.
Anyhoo... on Wednesday, I picked up the almost-empty bottle of shampoo from its shelf at the back of the shower. It was sitting on its lid, due to the almost-emptiness. This particular bottle is hard to click open and closed. I usually try them out in the store before purchase, but I guess I was slacking when I bought this one.
I had clicked it open, squeezed the dregs of the shampoo into my right palm, and was in the process of holding the bottle with my left hand, and trying to click the lid shut with the heel of my right hand.
WHOOPSIE!
That sounds so innocuous, when in reality it was like the detonation of the atom bomb. That bottle shot out of my grip, hit the sliding shower door on my right, and rebounded down to my feet, where it landed, corner of the oval (yes, that IS possible) on my had-none little piggy, next to the whee whee whee little piggy toe.
You know how you wait for the pain? Because the nerves are so long down there at your feet that impulses must travel a great distance to reach your brain.
YEOWWWW!
That definitely smarted! Took my breath away. Okay. It was not like I fell andfractured deeply bruised my elbow bone. But it hurt. A lot. Continued to hurt. In fact, after lathering up my lovely lady-mullet with that dab of shampoo, I looked down. Fully expecting to see a pool of blood fanning out around my foot.
Well. I did not see much of anything, because the shampoo ran down into my eyes. The windows to my soul were on fire, right there in the shower! I had to finish my cleansing routine virtually blind.
By the time I got out of the shower, my vision had returned. No blood from a mangled, nearly-severed had-none toe. In fact, the skin wasn't even broken. All my pain had abated. I was no longer burning, nor throbbing. Can you believe that I was not really injured?
Me neither. That hurt like a sonofagun.
Only almost empty.
That's the next bottle, awaiting his turn in the rotation. It's no secret that Val colors her lovely lady-mullet. No need for her to run around blinding people with glaring silver locks. Hick also uses this brand. Not that he colors his hair. He barely has any hair. So any kind of detergent would do. Don't mind the cracked calk in the background. Calking is one of the few skills Hick has never mastered.
Anyhoo... on Wednesday, I picked up the almost-empty bottle of shampoo from its shelf at the back of the shower. It was sitting on its lid, due to the almost-emptiness. This particular bottle is hard to click open and closed. I usually try them out in the store before purchase, but I guess I was slacking when I bought this one.
I had clicked it open, squeezed the dregs of the shampoo into my right palm, and was in the process of holding the bottle with my left hand, and trying to click the lid shut with the heel of my right hand.
WHOOPSIE!
That sounds so innocuous, when in reality it was like the detonation of the atom bomb. That bottle shot out of my grip, hit the sliding shower door on my right, and rebounded down to my feet, where it landed, corner of the oval (yes, that IS possible) on my had-none little piggy, next to the whee whee whee little piggy toe.
You know how you wait for the pain? Because the nerves are so long down there at your feet that impulses must travel a great distance to reach your brain.
YEOWWWW!
That definitely smarted! Took my breath away. Okay. It was not like I fell and
Well. I did not see much of anything, because the shampoo ran down into my eyes. The windows to my soul were on fire, right there in the shower! I had to finish my cleansing routine virtually blind.
By the time I got out of the shower, my vision had returned. No blood from a mangled, nearly-severed had-none toe. In fact, the skin wasn't even broken. All my pain had abated. I was no longer burning, nor throbbing. Can you believe that I was not really injured?
Me neither. That hurt like a sonofagun.
Sunday, July 7, 2019
Maybe It's a Monument to Hick
Looks like somebody built a monument out of the rip-rap at the low water bridge. The county highway department filled in the edge of the creek with those large rocks, because the silt keeps washing away when water goes over the bridge.
I stopped for the picture on the way home, because there's more room to pull over. Little did I know, until I was holding my phone out T-Hoe's window, radio playing 70s music... that there was guy standing about five feet to the left of the "monument," fishing!
Well! I was kind of embarrassed. I guess he might have turned and seen me attempting to steal his soul with my phone camera. I assure you, he was not that interesting. Not as unique as a pile of rocks! Sorry, dude.
Anyhoo... the reason I think this could be a monument to Hick is that, um, sometimes, he is not the sharpest tool in the shed. I'm not calling him thick as a brick, because that would imply that some planning and preparation had gone into his proclamations. Proclamations which make him look dumb as a rock. A box of them! A whole pile of rip-rap!
Sure, Hick is a genius at mechanical implements, carpentry, and making money from junk. It's the little things that trip him up. Here's an example.
Friday night, I chastised Hick when he came back from the non-auction (it was cancelled, apparently) for not answering my text.
"I didn't get no text."
"I just sent it five minutes ago. I heard you upstairs."
"I'm looking at my phone now. I don't have a text from you. In fact, I sent YOU a text. But it said 'texting not available.' I guess my phone ain't workin'."
"So you were just accepting that? And not going to tell me? Or try to fix it? TURN YOUR PHONE OFF AND BACK ON."
Let the record show that Val is not an expert on cell phones. In fact, on a scale of 0-100, her understanding is about a 2. On, off, touch an icon for email, phone, text, or camera. That's it. I don't really even need a smart phone. A pretty-dumb phone would do. One of those old Jitterbug toilet-lid-looking phones for old people. But I always get Genius's hand-me-downs when he gets a new phone. So my phone, at one time, was state-of-the-art, many years previous. But one thing I DO KNOW, is that when my phone is acting up, I turn it off and back on, which fixes it!
I went back to my lair. No need to stand at the bottom of the basement steps, waiting for Hick's phone to come back on. Shortly, I heard his phone chime, as with an incoming text. Heard it several times. I guess he had some waiting. Then my phone got a text from him.
",test" at 7:33
"Got it" I replied at 7:34
"Test" at 7:35
"Got it" I replied again at 7:35
"Just got your text" at 7:38, meaning he got the one I had originally sent him at 7:19
"Okay" I replied at 7:39, letting him know that I knew
I figured everything was fine with his phone, and that I could communicate with Hick again. Basically, that he couldn't use the excuse of his phone not working any more if he didn't answer.
Saturday, Hick went to his Storage Unit Store. I was on the way home from town when I got a text. I can't read them, of course, when I'm driving T-Hoe. I could see that it was from Hick, who comes in on my phone as "Dad," because, Genius and The Pony always set up my contacts for me. Like I said, I'm a 2 out of 100 on phone skills.
I called Hick.
"I'm driving. Can't read a text."
"Okay. I was just seeing if my text works. It didn't last night."
"Um. I KNOW. Remember, you turned it off and on, and then it worked?"
"Oh. It DID?"
"Yeesss... you sent me TEST, and I said I got it."
"Oh. I kept seeing GOT IT, GOT IT, GOT IT. I wondered where that was coming from. I thought it wasn't working."
"Noooo... you sent me TEST, so I said I got it. Every time you sent it, I said I got it."
"I only sent it once! The phone must have been doing it over and over."
"I don't think so. You used different punctuation and capitals."
"Huh. I'm pretty sure the phone did that by itself."
Well. Still. I'm pretty sure most people would have grasped the concept that every time they sent a TEST by text, and got a GOT IT back... that showed the phone was working again. Doesn't take an Einstein or MENSA president.
Like the comedian Bill Engvall used to say, "Here's your sign,"
I want to tell Hick: "Here's your monument."
I stopped for the picture on the way home, because there's more room to pull over. Little did I know, until I was holding my phone out T-Hoe's window, radio playing 70s music... that there was guy standing about five feet to the left of the "monument," fishing!
Well! I was kind of embarrassed. I guess he might have turned and seen me attempting to steal his soul with my phone camera. I assure you, he was not that interesting. Not as unique as a pile of rocks! Sorry, dude.
Anyhoo... the reason I think this could be a monument to Hick is that, um, sometimes, he is not the sharpest tool in the shed. I'm not calling him thick as a brick, because that would imply that some planning and preparation had gone into his proclamations. Proclamations which make him look dumb as a rock. A box of them! A whole pile of rip-rap!
Sure, Hick is a genius at mechanical implements, carpentry, and making money from junk. It's the little things that trip him up. Here's an example.
Friday night, I chastised Hick when he came back from the non-auction (it was cancelled, apparently) for not answering my text.
"I didn't get no text."
"I just sent it five minutes ago. I heard you upstairs."
"I'm looking at my phone now. I don't have a text from you. In fact, I sent YOU a text. But it said 'texting not available.' I guess my phone ain't workin'."
"So you were just accepting that? And not going to tell me? Or try to fix it? TURN YOUR PHONE OFF AND BACK ON."
Let the record show that Val is not an expert on cell phones. In fact, on a scale of 0-100, her understanding is about a 2. On, off, touch an icon for email, phone, text, or camera. That's it. I don't really even need a smart phone. A pretty-dumb phone would do. One of those old Jitterbug toilet-lid-looking phones for old people. But I always get Genius's hand-me-downs when he gets a new phone. So my phone, at one time, was state-of-the-art, many years previous. But one thing I DO KNOW, is that when my phone is acting up, I turn it off and back on, which fixes it!
I went back to my lair. No need to stand at the bottom of the basement steps, waiting for Hick's phone to come back on. Shortly, I heard his phone chime, as with an incoming text. Heard it several times. I guess he had some waiting. Then my phone got a text from him.
",test" at 7:33
"Got it" I replied at 7:34
"Test" at 7:35
"Got it" I replied again at 7:35
"Just got your text" at 7:38, meaning he got the one I had originally sent him at 7:19
"Okay" I replied at 7:39, letting him know that I knew
I figured everything was fine with his phone, and that I could communicate with Hick again. Basically, that he couldn't use the excuse of his phone not working any more if he didn't answer.
Saturday, Hick went to his Storage Unit Store. I was on the way home from town when I got a text. I can't read them, of course, when I'm driving T-Hoe. I could see that it was from Hick, who comes in on my phone as "Dad," because, Genius and The Pony always set up my contacts for me. Like I said, I'm a 2 out of 100 on phone skills.
I called Hick.
"I'm driving. Can't read a text."
"Okay. I was just seeing if my text works. It didn't last night."
"Um. I KNOW. Remember, you turned it off and on, and then it worked?"
"Oh. It DID?"
"Yeesss... you sent me TEST, and I said I got it."
"Oh. I kept seeing GOT IT, GOT IT, GOT IT. I wondered where that was coming from. I thought it wasn't working."
"Noooo... you sent me TEST, so I said I got it. Every time you sent it, I said I got it."
"I only sent it once! The phone must have been doing it over and over."
"I don't think so. You used different punctuation and capitals."
"Huh. I'm pretty sure the phone did that by itself."
Well. Still. I'm pretty sure most people would have grasped the concept that every time they sent a TEST by text, and got a GOT IT back... that showed the phone was working again. Doesn't take an Einstein or MENSA president.
Like the comedian Bill Engvall used to say, "Here's your sign,"
I want to tell Hick: "Here's your monument."
Saturday, July 6, 2019
Val's AsCENTion to Future Pennyillionaire Status Has Been Slowed Significantly
Not a bumper crop here in Future Pennyillionaire Land this week. Not much of a crop at all. I can't even blame the recent flooding plaguing surrounding areas. It's more of a case of the coins obviously being meant for Not-Val.
TUESDAY, July 2, I thought I was in the money again.
I rounded the counter to leave The Gas Station Chicken Store, and saw it! A 1973 penny flaunting its tail. See those scratchers stuck to the wall? They're previous winners, $1000 or over, I think. That whole corner around the door is covered with them. Gives the place a certain ambience.
Which is a good thing. Because they're not known for being real good scrubbers at The Gas Station Chicken Store. Anything to draw your eye away from the floor is a plus. They can't trick me, though! I'm looking for pennies, and they are rarely (I'll go out on a limb here and say NEVER) found on a wall.
Yes, I had high hopes, nabbing that cent on only Tuesday. The week did not live up to its promise.
__________________________________________________________________
2019 Running Total
Penny # 74.
Dime still at 12.
Nickel still at 8.
Quarter still at 1.
2018 TOTALS
Penny 131
Dime 17
Nickel 6
Quarter 1
2017 TOTALS (Started in March, 2017)
Penny 78
Dime 6
Nickel 0
Quarter 0
___________________________________________________________________
TUESDAY, July 2, I thought I was in the money again.
I rounded the counter to leave The Gas Station Chicken Store, and saw it! A 1973 penny flaunting its tail. See those scratchers stuck to the wall? They're previous winners, $1000 or over, I think. That whole corner around the door is covered with them. Gives the place a certain ambience.
Which is a good thing. Because they're not known for being real good scrubbers at The Gas Station Chicken Store. Anything to draw your eye away from the floor is a plus. They can't trick me, though! I'm looking for pennies, and they are rarely (I'll go out on a limb here and say NEVER) found on a wall.
Yes, I had high hopes, nabbing that cent on only Tuesday. The week did not live up to its promise.
__________________________________________________________________
2019 Running Total
Penny # 74.
Dime still at 12.
Nickel still at 8.
Quarter still at 1.
2018 TOTALS
Penny 131
Dime 17
Nickel 6
Quarter 1
2017 TOTALS (Started in March, 2017)
Penny 78
Dime 6
Nickel 0
Quarter 0
___________________________________________________________________
Friday, July 5, 2019
Backroads Enemy #1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6
Hick saw a curious thing on the Facebook page of our unofficial road association. It's comprised of people who live out here in our gravel-roads enclave. Used for reporting power outages and lost pets and suspicious vehicles and road issues.
"I seen on Facebook this morning that other people have been getting flat tires. They were asking if it happened to anyone else. Our neighbor Copper Jack's human mom has had THREE flat tires! There's been six all together. That's not just a coincidence."
"Yeah. Don't forget T-Hoe! But that's been going on for a month or more. It must be on the main road, down by the mailboxes, for so many to happen."
"I wouldn't be surprised of it's stuff falling off all that junk that HOS [Hick's Oldest Son] has been hauling out of here on his trailer, from our other property. Like those old lawmowers. It was a BOLT that was stuck in A-Cad's tire..."
"Well. I don't think I'd mention that on Facebook."
Hick is quick to point the finger. But I think he might be onto something. It's a bouncy gravel road, and I'm sure that stuff gets jounced around. HOS is not known to be a slow driver.
Maybe I should send Hick down there on his Gator, with a metal detector. He really does need something to occupy his time, now that Hick House is no longer his main project.
"I seen on Facebook this morning that other people have been getting flat tires. They were asking if it happened to anyone else. Our neighbor Copper Jack's human mom has had THREE flat tires! There's been six all together. That's not just a coincidence."
"Yeah. Don't forget T-Hoe! But that's been going on for a month or more. It must be on the main road, down by the mailboxes, for so many to happen."
"I wouldn't be surprised of it's stuff falling off all that junk that HOS [Hick's Oldest Son] has been hauling out of here on his trailer, from our other property. Like those old lawmowers. It was a BOLT that was stuck in A-Cad's tire..."
"Well. I don't think I'd mention that on Facebook."
Hick is quick to point the finger. But I think he might be onto something. It's a bouncy gravel road, and I'm sure that stuff gets jounced around. HOS is not known to be a slow driver.
Maybe I should send Hick down there on his Gator, with a metal detector. He really does need something to occupy his time, now that Hick House is no longer his main project.
Thursday, July 4, 2019
It Takes a Beatin' and Keeps on Needin'
I would really like to stop beating this dead horse. Put down my cudgel, start CPR, run an IV of D5W, insert a nasogastric tube, fatten up that equine former-corpse, give him some quality physical rehabilitation, turn him out into the paddock to frolic like the colt he once was, and set him free to run like the wind in wide open spaces. But Hick keeps thwarting my dream.
Let the record show that Hick has lost his dang mind!
He went over the paperwork for the trust he's had a lawyer draw up, regarding the transfer of Hick House to HOS (Hick's Oldest Son). The original deed is in the name of This Guy's Wife. Hick was in no hurry to transfer the deed into his name. We paid the $5000 in cash, as requested. A week or so later, when Hick got around to thinking about the deed, This Guy had his back surgery, and This Guy's Wife tripped while visiting him in the hospital, and had emergency hip surgery. With them both laid up for a while, we didn't press for the deed.
Hick obtained the deed a few weeks later. He did not pursue the necessary paperwork to file the transfer at the county courthouse, waiting for This Guy's Wife to recuperate a bit before signing over the house to Hick.
Then Hick decided that he might as well bypass that step, and have Hick House deeded directly to HOS. It made sense to me at the time. Then Hick hired the lawyer to draw up the papers for the trust (in HOS's kids names, which seemed to be the best option, all agreed to by HOS and Hick and me).
Tuesday evening, Hick went over the paperwork, at the lawyer's request, before he finalizes the trust. Here is where Hick and I entered the Who's On First vortex.
Hick mentioned that HOS is the executor of the trust. When the youngest child (now less than a year old) reaches the age of majority, all four kids own Hick House. If anything happens to HOS in the meantime, the executorship reverts to Hick, with the kids still retaining ownership. If Hick kicks the bucket before HOS, then something happens to HOS... executorship falls to the oldest of the four children, who is even now over the age of 18. In the event of divorce, the house is not an asset to be divided. It belongs to the kids. They will always have a house to live in while growing up. This way, Hick House is untouchable. Can't be borrowed against, can't be taken in a lawsuit, and gets passed on to the kids without going through probate if anything happens to HOS. HOS wanted it this way, and is confident that his kids won't put him out in the street when they're adults and he's in his dotage.
Sounds simple, right? Except that Hick STILL hasn't done anything with the deed, other than give a copy of it to the lawyer. Technically, This Guy's Wife owns Hick House, and will sign a quitclaims deed at the courthouse, transferring it to HOS. Hick will have the trust papers recorded at the courthouse, so there will always be a record of it in case the paperwork is lost. Hick is listed in the trust as the person who had the trust drawn up.
REEEEEE! Here's where I have a problem.
How can Hick bequeath a house to HOS's kids if Hick has never legally owned the house? What keeps any random Tom, Dick, or Harry from drawing up a trust on any other random Tom, Dick, or Harry's property? Purportedly GIVING it to them, even though he has never owned it? There's probably some legal mumbo-jumbo that I'm missing, and my worry is for naught. But just in case...
I told Hick he needs to ask the lawyer about that before the papers enter their final form on Friday. In the very least, I think This Guy's Wife should sign to quitclaims deed over to Hick. Who will immediately sign another quitclaims deed over to HOS via the kids' trust. Easy peasy. Takes another five minutes, but there will be a record showing the transfer of the property.
Hick says, "Another quitclaims deed will cost another $20 filing fee!"
Seriously? A $5000 house isn't worth an extra $20?
But that's just Val: a bigger nag than the beaten horse.
Let the record show that Hick has lost his dang mind!
He went over the paperwork for the trust he's had a lawyer draw up, regarding the transfer of Hick House to HOS (Hick's Oldest Son). The original deed is in the name of This Guy's Wife. Hick was in no hurry to transfer the deed into his name. We paid the $5000 in cash, as requested. A week or so later, when Hick got around to thinking about the deed, This Guy had his back surgery, and This Guy's Wife tripped while visiting him in the hospital, and had emergency hip surgery. With them both laid up for a while, we didn't press for the deed.
Hick obtained the deed a few weeks later. He did not pursue the necessary paperwork to file the transfer at the county courthouse, waiting for This Guy's Wife to recuperate a bit before signing over the house to Hick.
Then Hick decided that he might as well bypass that step, and have Hick House deeded directly to HOS. It made sense to me at the time. Then Hick hired the lawyer to draw up the papers for the trust (in HOS's kids names, which seemed to be the best option, all agreed to by HOS and Hick and me).
Tuesday evening, Hick went over the paperwork, at the lawyer's request, before he finalizes the trust. Here is where Hick and I entered the Who's On First vortex.
Hick mentioned that HOS is the executor of the trust. When the youngest child (now less than a year old) reaches the age of majority, all four kids own Hick House. If anything happens to HOS in the meantime, the executorship reverts to Hick, with the kids still retaining ownership. If Hick kicks the bucket before HOS, then something happens to HOS... executorship falls to the oldest of the four children, who is even now over the age of 18. In the event of divorce, the house is not an asset to be divided. It belongs to the kids. They will always have a house to live in while growing up. This way, Hick House is untouchable. Can't be borrowed against, can't be taken in a lawsuit, and gets passed on to the kids without going through probate if anything happens to HOS. HOS wanted it this way, and is confident that his kids won't put him out in the street when they're adults and he's in his dotage.
Sounds simple, right? Except that Hick STILL hasn't done anything with the deed, other than give a copy of it to the lawyer. Technically, This Guy's Wife owns Hick House, and will sign a quitclaims deed at the courthouse, transferring it to HOS. Hick will have the trust papers recorded at the courthouse, so there will always be a record of it in case the paperwork is lost. Hick is listed in the trust as the person who had the trust drawn up.
REEEEEE! Here's where I have a problem.
How can Hick bequeath a house to HOS's kids if Hick has never legally owned the house? What keeps any random Tom, Dick, or Harry from drawing up a trust on any other random Tom, Dick, or Harry's property? Purportedly GIVING it to them, even though he has never owned it? There's probably some legal mumbo-jumbo that I'm missing, and my worry is for naught. But just in case...
I told Hick he needs to ask the lawyer about that before the papers enter their final form on Friday. In the very least, I think This Guy's Wife should sign to quitclaims deed over to Hick. Who will immediately sign another quitclaims deed over to HOS via the kids' trust. Easy peasy. Takes another five minutes, but there will be a record showing the transfer of the property.
Hick says, "Another quitclaims deed will cost another $20 filing fee!"
Seriously? A $5000 house isn't worth an extra $20?
But that's just Val: a bigger nag than the beaten horse.
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