We Whined and Dined The Pony

One request The Pony made, for the 10 days that he's home for Christmas, was to go eat at Lambert's, the Throwed Roll Restaurant. We've only been there a couple of times. It's at least a 90-minute drive for us, maybe two hours depending on which way we go. Because things have a way of going all wonky when we plan them out, Hick declared that we'd go on Tuesday. Even though he'd been driving hundreds of miles on Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday.

We decided on lunch, to make the trip there and back during daylight hours. Off we went in A-Cad, on the two-hour route, in order to stop and get The Pony some new shoes. Can't have him prancing all over Oklahoma unshod when the winter wind comes sweeping down the plain. The crowd wasn't too bad when we got to the restaurant at 1:00. We didn't have to wait to be seated. Got our booth on the first row, three booths back. Where we were on the main roll thoroughfare.

Our waitress was right with us, filling our drink orders, giving us time to decide what we wanted. She seemed to have a slight attitude problem. Not cheery. Like she was put-out to wait on us. Which I'm pretty sure is a task listed in her job description. She was still a bit surly when she returned with the drinks. She was a young thing, maybe college age, maybe a few years older. I brought it up to Hick, but he said I was imagining it, even though The Pony concurred that she had a bit of an edge.

We tore paper towels off the roll to use as our plates when the dinner rolls started being thrown. We each caught a worthy specimen, and set to eatin'. The Pony prefers just butter. Or the butter-like product provided in tiny tubs in a large tub on the table. Hick likes his the same way, and would have liked some apple butter that was brought around by a lady with a bucket, but we had no plates yet, so he couldn't have it. I enjoy honey on my rolls. I write plural but I only had one. They're HUGE.

A guy went by with fried potatoes, which Hick wanted, but again, we had no plates yet. The Tater Dude caught his eye, and said, "I feel ya, man. I'll be back." The food arrived, in a pretty timely manner, it's just that when you get there, you want to try all the stuff that's going around right then. I had my heart set on some blackeyed peas, but they were slow in coming.

The Pony had the shrimp, with applesauce and cornbread. In this picture, he had set his bowl of applesauce aside to make room for some of my baby carrots.

I had the chicken livers. They come with gravy, but I specified without. That's a big ol' pile of livers right there. The Pony said, "Do you know how many chickens it must have taken to make your plate?" Huh. I might have told him that the ocean called, and it was running out of shrimp...but I didn't. I also had the baby carrots, and SLAW (which wasn't all that great). In this picture, I have set aside my bowl of not-that-great slaw, in order to make room for some fried potatoes from Hick's hook-up guy (he gave me too many, which ended up in Hick's skillet), and some blackeyed peas (which also weren't that great). The livers, though, were FABULOUS.

Hick had the BBQ pork steak, baked beans, mashed potatoes and gravy, and baby carrots, along with the pass-arounds of fried potatoes and fried okra. His came in a skillet for some reason, with three sides instead of two. Hick said his pork steak was not as good as the ones he makes on Gassy-G.

Anyhoo...we were all wrapped up in our feeding frenzy, barely starting on our dinner plates, when Hick ran out of Diet Coke. I feel for him. I really do. But I'm a sipper, not a chugger, and savor my beverage, especially when I have a lengthy drive ahead of me. It doesn't pay to be a Diet Coke glutton when Hick will be sweaving you home over 90 minutes of twisty road.

Hick kept looking for our waitress. She seemed to have disappeared. So much so that I thought maybe there'd been a shift change, though that was unlikely at a 1:30 in a restaurant that opened at 11:00. Hick told the Fried-Okra Gal that if she saw our waitress, to send her over for soda refills. He also told an older lady who was walking around asking if everything was okay. She went and got those refills herself, and was back in an instant with Sprite for The Pony and Diet Coke for Hick. I'm thinking she must have been some kind of manager.

Hick had that Waitress stuck in his side like a thorn. He kept complaining about her, saying I'd been right. And then she appeared! To ask if we needed anything. I'm thinking that Manager Lady must have had a word with her, because she was borderline polite now. Faux cheerful. Hick petulantly told her that we were fine NOW, now that we had some soda. Waitress started making regular appearances, each with a civil tongue in her head. I actually told Hick that I thought she was getting better. The Pony agreed. But Hick was still cranky.

I bet that Waitress came back three more times, to see if we needed anything. I think she was fishing, to see if we'd ask for take-out boxes and get the Not-Heaven out of there. We kept eating, telling her we were fine. Then Hick asked for boxes. She brought them, and Hick let her go. She came back again. I told her we were just putting our stuff in the boxes. She kind of lingered. Then left. Hick dropped the bill, then almost put his good eye out on his skillet handle while bending under the table to pick it up, The Pony not being persuaded to crawl under. Waitress came back, and STILL Hick didn't pay her.

I knew you paid at the table, because we'd heard the people on each side of us discussing it. In fact, they'd tried to use their card, and were told that Lambert's only accepts cash or check. I KNEW that Hick knew, because I'd said that we could send The Pony out for my purse, so I could write a check, or take out some of the Christmas cash I'd been shopping with. Hick said he had enough in his pocket from his auction money. So I couldn't figure out what was going on, and I finally said, "Did you pay yet?" Even though I knew he hadn't.

"Oh. Do I pay you now?"

"Yes." The Waitress wasn't elaborating. Just waiting for her money.

"Oh. I thought you paid up front on the way out," said Hick.

"I wondered what you were waiting for." I'm not going to be a party to Hick's petulance.

"He even dropped the bill on the floor, and wanted ME to get it for him," said The Pony. There is no loyalty among Thevictorians.

"Maybe he was going to leave without paying," said the Waitress.

SCREECH THE ANTIQUATED PHONOGRAPH NEEDLE!

That didn't quite seem like an appropriate thing for Waitress to say, given that she was already in Hick's doghouse. But maybe she was just one of those awkward people, thinking she was making a joke. I gave her the benefit of the doubt, even though she might have been getting all passive-aggressive because she got a butt-chewing from that Manager Lady due to Hick's comment.

Anyhoo...Hick took out his cash and gave it to her with the ticket, and Waitress left to get change. She brought it back and didn't try to keep it or hint for a tip, and Hick told her to keep the change, and gave her a bit more, which I think amounted to a 16 percent tip.

That Waitress should thank her lucky stars that Hick was full of bread and fried food!

While we'd been waiting for our plates to arrive, this came down the aisle

Cinnamon rolls bigger than a cat's head. Bigger than (formerly Puppy) Jack's head! These were not free pass-arounds, but a delectable treat to be had for the low, low price of $3.50. I'm sure The Pony would have enjoyed partaking of this coma-inducing dessert, but when asked, he said he didn't want one, as he was busy eating rolls and butter. I don't see how they sell any of these cinnamon rolls, with people being stuffed to the gills with regular food. I guess maybe they just get one to take home.

All in all, The Pony's requested restaurant meal was a success. Something special for him, and food that wasn't too bad. We all had our leftovers tonight. My livers were still fabulous. The Pony had a dozen shrimp, a roll and a half, and that huge slab of cornbread. Hick warmed his own food before we were ready. I'm pretty sure he used a paper plate and not a skillet.

Just the Facts, Ma'ams and Sirs, and a Little Filler For Good Measure

Here's the condensed version, in case you're an antiValswanderingferalpigtrailite:

In the past 24 hours, I've found 4 pennies.

Penny 1: Last night at Country Mart, going to buy scratchers for Christmas gifts. My noontime errand schedule was thrown off because we took The Pony out to lunch.

I made that door open and close as I stepped back and forward taking its picture. A 1989 version.

Penny 2: Last night at the gas station chicken store, my very next stop after finding the first one. You have to look close. It's in the crack of the door frame.

I made sure not to block egress and ingress, and snapped my pictures before pocketing that 1983 beauty.

Yes, the gas station chicken store could probably use an inspection from the health department. But I see it as they're increasing people's immunity to germs. C'mon. It was after 6:00 p.m. Nobody had time to sweep yet. It's not like there are chicken feathers flying around.

Penny 3: This morning The Pony and I went to the bank to see why he can't set a PIN on his account. I stepped out T-Hoe's door, and turned to find that penny lurking.

If it was a snake, this copper 2016 version would have bitten me!

The Pony came to peer at it, and exclaimed that it was FACE DOWN. I'm going to start thinking he's a penny snob if he doesn't come to his senses. I would NEVER leave a found penny just because it's face down. All pennies are welcome in Val's Found Penny Goblet.

Penny 4: On the way home from town, we stopped at the gas station chicken store today for a 44 oz Diet Coke, and two corn dogs for The Pony. On the way back out, hands full, I saw this little 1959 lurker.

I had to put my magical elixir and lottery tickets in T-Hoe and come back. I almost couldn't find it again. Conditions have to be just right for Val to see a penny obviously meant for her. If she can't see it, it must be meant for someone else.

Some people think pennies are good luck. Let the record show that I've already been having good luck, and if these four pennies are bringing me more, it must be TURBOCHARGED good luck. Maybe you could consult The Pony. He asked for a scratcher today, and I fanned out the five I'd just bought, and he picked a winner.
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These were pennies # 72, 73, 74, and 75 for my Future Pennyillionaire collection.
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A Day I Wished Hick Would LITERALLY Give Somebody the Shirt Off His Back

It's not every day that your son graduates from college. And it's not every day that's the day before your son graduates from college, and has an offer from the university photographer to take some graduation photos for free. So...you might imagine that some thought would go into what to wear on this momentous occasion.

Apparently, the thought that came to Hick's head was: I think I'll wear a shirt that hasn't seen the outside of my walk-in closet for nigh on 25 years. A shirt that is older than Genius, the graduate himself.

Hick actually had about 5 chances to change that shirt. When he came to the living room in it, and sat down on the long couch, I asked him.

"That's not what you're wearing, is it?"

"I thought I would. Why?"

"No. Just no. I don't think you want that in graduation pictures for eternity."

"I don't know why not. It's a good shirt."

"I'm pretty sure you have something better. Didn't you have a solid red shirt, kind of that style?"

"Yeah. But I gave it away when I got fat."

"I know you have something else."

"You even bought this one for me."

"Well...back when it was in style. Back when western was a big thing, because of Garth Brooks."

"I think it looks good."

So I let it rest. Close to time for us to leave, I reminded Hick that he might want to go get a different shirt. Nope. He didn't. As we left the house, I again asked if he was really wearing that. Yes. He was. AND he had added a vest!

We stopped by the dead-mouse-smelling post office to mail a bill on the way out of town, and I tried to get a picture of him walking out. My camera has that lag time, though. And he was back in the sweaver's driver's seat before I knew it. But I took the picture anyway. Because you wouldn't believe from a mere description that it could be so awful unless you saw it.

Hick looks like he could be in a Kenworth, pullin' logs, 'bout a mile outta Shaky Town, about to put the hammer down. Rather than behind the wheel of A-Cad, on the way to be in his son's graduation pictures.

Don't get me wrong. I don't claim to be a runway model for commencement fashion. I eschewed my regular button-front shirts with a side pocket, though, in favor of something a bit more refined.

Tasteful. Solid color. Not pulling attention away from the graduate. Let the record show that Genius DID roll his eyes when his dad stepped out of the car upon arrival. That vindicated me, at least.

Seriously. I might just as well have worn my favorite old ratty baby blue sweatshirt for those graduation pictures.

Let the record further show that the wind was chill that day, and some of the pictures were taken outside, on campus. Hick put on his black Goodwill hoodie (emblazoned in gold with MIZZOU) to stay warm, thus covering the floral print of his blouse shirt. I suppose that it was lost on him that we were not on the Mizzou campus, that Genius did not graduate from Mizzou, and that the main color associated with Genius's college is dark green. As if that in itself might deter one from wearing a Mizzou hoodie in the graduate's photos.

Let the record also show that Genius's Friend, who was along with us after having lunch that day, did not have a jacket, and was shivering, but still declined to wear Hick's vest to keep warm, even though he was not in the pictures. Yes. A recent college graduate preferred to risk hypothermia rather than be seen in a tan corduroy vest that could have preserved his core temperature.

To the graduation itself, Hick wore a short-sleeve, mostly-white, polo shirt with a thin blue stripe, large grid pattern. Not that there are any pictures of it.

They Find Me, I Tell You!

This is always a busy time of year. Not just the holidays. We have Genius's birthday, and then Hick's birthday, and we also had Genius's graduation over the weekend.

On the two-hour drive to commencement, Hick took time out from sweaving to converse with me about this milestone in Genius's life. We discussed how my mom was still with us when he started college, and how she wanted a copy of his schedule and a map of campus, so she could think about what he was doing during the day. As we drove into College Town, we argued over which dorm Genius lived in freshman year, and which one he was an RA in the following year. We knew which was which, but we couldn't decide on the name for each building. Hick pointed out the Chinese restaurant that Genius used to walk to, that had resulted in my mom sending him $6 a week for the special. A tradition I continued for her after her passing.

We got there at 2:00 for the 3:30 commencement, and found parking with ease in the lot Genius had recommended. Almost had a kerfuffle with a lady with a cane over saved seats in the auditorium. Just like movie theater seating, when you get there an hour early and then, as the preview are rolling, an usher asks you to move over so latecomers can waltz in and take your chosen seats...the announcer kept reminding people that seats could not be saved. As you might imagine, people who had arrived two hours before the ceremony were not receptive. We only had two seats saved, and that cane lady wanted six. She had to make do with five, and was not happy. As it was, HOS had to hold his 7-year-old son on his lap for the two-hour ceremony, because we just had seats for him and his wife.

Anyhoo...sitting there with Hick, waiting the last hour for it to start, I mentioned that my mom would have probably ridden out there to see Genius graduate. "Oh, yeah," said Hick. "You couldn't have kept her from it. She would have been so proud of him."

Poor Hick. He's on the road again today. And it's his birthday. He spent Friday and Saturday driving to College Town, and Sunday driving down to Joplin to meet up with The Pony halfway from Norman, Oklahoma, so HOS could drive him partway so as not to fall asleep like the time he crashed his car and could have perished. Then Hick and HOS picked up the truck loaded with Genius's apartment furniture that he doesn't want, to bring it home. NOW, in the fourth day of his travels, Hick is on the road to Kansas City with Genius, to haul stuff to his new apartment.

We'll celebrate Hick's birthday tomorrow. While I was in town Sunday, picking up some of The Pony's favorite foods before his evening arrival, I figured I might as well look for a birthday card for him to give Hick. The Pony knows it's his birthday, but with finals all week, and packing for the trip home, and getting up at the crack of dawn to leave on this journey...I was pretty sure he hadn't gotten a card yet. He's a bit of a procrastinator like me.

I was looking at the rack of cards in Country Mart, because I wasn't going all the way to Walmart today. I've still got Christmas preparations to do. I looked at the birthday section, but didn't see anything that grabbed me. So I moved down toward the section that said HUMOR. Next to it, something caught my eye.

See it there? Just daring me to notice it?

I didn't get it, because it wasn't the kind of birthday card The Pony would have given Hick. And it wasn't particularly humorous, instead having a message about blessings. But you can bet I'm going to show Hick the picture.

I'm pretty sure that if mom was able, she would wish Hick a happy birthday.

Val Solves the Case of the Disappearing Parachuter

A few weeks ago, I was standing in line at Save A Lot, and out the big front window I saw a parachute. Not a round kind of parachute, like a WWII paratrooper might use, or the shape of one of those giant space capsule ocean-landing parachutes. This one was a long kind of parachute. The kind that people use to maneuver around more easily.

I kept watching, wondering where that parachute was going to land. There's an old man-made lake bed that's been converted to a drag strip. I figured that would be the most logical place, but I couldn't figure out why someone would want to jump here. When I got to the gas station chicken store that day, the cranky clerk said that she'd seen it, too. So I wasn't hallucinating, even though I never saw that parachute descend.

Today, I was in line at Orb K when I saw that same style of parachute again. A long chute, multicolored. I got my phone ready to take a picture, but that guy dropped below the roof over the gas pumps. When I went out the door, I stuffed my scratchers in my armpit, and used both hands to get that camera ready, and zoom in. From this vantage point, I could see the jumper again, up above the gas pump roof. I took a picture, then got out of the way of the door and walked back to T-Hoe, keeping an eye out for when that jumper landed. Again, I didn't see him. I guessed that maybe he had descended while I was walking, and was now on the ground over in the dry lake bed, way past the Save A Lot plaza across the street.

Eager to see what my picture looked like, I opened up my phone and saw a picture of the parking lot blacktop. Darn that delay on my phone camera! No wonder I take a picture of Jack, and only have an empty field when I go to look at it.

Anyhoo...I drove on home, after a short affirmation about how I really DID see that parachute. I wasn't imagining it. I'd seen a man opening his car door looking up at it, too. Imagine my joy at rounding a sharp curve by the sheep field, the one just before the curve where I saw the pheasant, and noticed that parachuter in the sky above the sheep field. Now bereft of sheep and watchdog. I pulled off at the sheep gate to get a proper picture.

Funny how he was way higher than I saw him in town. Maybe there was another parachuter. Maybe a plane was dropping them off at intervals, though I hadn't seen a plane at all.

Closer he came. I could see the color of his parachute. He even waved at me. And then I saw the solution to my parachute mystery.

Zoom in, my blogfriends! Zoom in! He has a fan kind of contraption on that parachute! He's blowing himself across the sky all willy-nilly as he takes a whim.

No wonder I never saw him come down. He's probably flying to his house, wherever that may be. Not landing behind the Save A Lot like a common parachuter.

And the Feat Goes On

Hick is still working on his Freight Container Garage. It's all under roof now. A couple days ago, he installed the garage door. It's an old one he had from somewhere, with plans to use it eventually. The big one will have to wait, since Hick has already gone over budget.

There was a minor glitch with this garage door, as Hick couldn't get it to work right. He said the door went up, but he had to put a lot of effort into it. He adjusted the spring several times, then drove the Gator over to the house to look at our garage door springs there.

"This spring is a totally different shape. But it should work the same way. I'll go wind it tighter. Again. See if that works."

"NO! It might snap and kill you!"

"It's not gonna kill me, Val. It's wrapped. The most it will do is startle me if it snaps."

"Well...go get a new spring. Quit messing with it."

"It'll be fine, Val. I don't need to buy a spring."

You know...Hick was right. He got that problem worked out by the end of the day. Turns out he had the spring on BACKWARDS!

He's been putting insulation in the ceiling, I think. Or something on the walls, to block the drafts. That Freight Container Garage is coming right along.

As you can see, Hick is already using it as a garage for his Gator. When he's over there. He usually parks the Gator behind his 1980 Olds Toronado if he's in the house. I hope (formerly Puppy) Jack doesn't hop in it and take a poop!

That's the actual side of the freight container. Hick might be planning to put a door in one side, to go from the container to the garage. And then he's got his New Holland tractor sitting in there, too, for lifting assorted sons up to work the high beams.

There's his car-lifting thingamabob that he had to have. I guess he's going to become a Goober and run a little garage like down in Mayberry. NO gas pumps, though. I'm drawing the line! Only Thursday, I called to tell Hick I was headed to town, and on the way out, I met his buddy, Buddy, driving a dump truck full of gravel. The pile of gravel which I noticed beside the Freight Container Garage when I returned. This might turn out to be like that Winchester house. Not because Hick is afraid of spirits, but because he seems to be afraid of finishing anything.

It sure looks different from when he was just putting the floor down.

Back-of-the-Book-Blurb Friday #89 "Do You Smell What I Smell"

Blog buddy Sioux is hosting Back-of-the-Book-Blurb Friday. I have 150 words to convince you to fake-buy my fake book. Ladle yourself an eggnog, brew up a hot toddy, break out the peppermint schnapps, and pop the cork on that jug of moonshine you've been saving for a special occasion. It doesn't get more special than the release of Val's latest holiday-edition fake book. Put it on your list, and check it twice. You'd be naughty not to buy Val's new fake book. Twice.

"Do You Smell What I Smell?"

Sal Thethicktorian is sorely disappointed that her Great-Aunt Effie won the sniffing competition at her sister-the-former-governor's-wife's Christmas party last year. Many items were sniffed that day, from holly to frankincense to a snowman's balls to a reindeer's butt. But Effie identified them all in record time, including the major stumper: an overgrown elf's armpit.

Finishing only seconds behind Effie, Sal has vowed to wrest that title from Effie's liver-spotted hands, and rip the championship belt out from under her waist-boobs. She's been practicing for months to identify the most obscure scents she can find. Will Sal emerge victorious this year? Or will (that effing) Effie repeat as champ? (108 words)

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Fake Reviews for Val’s Fake Book

Will Farrell as Elf..."Does somebody need a hug? YES! Everyone who reads this fake book! It's terrible! I'd rather eat gum off a subway railing, or have my spaghetti without maple syrup, than read this rotten book! This Thevictorian lady needs to be on Santa's Naughty List."

Mr. Grinch..."I wouldn't touch this fake book with a 39-and-a-half-foot pole! I wouldn't give it to a seasick crocodile. The three words that best describe Thevictorian's writing are: stink, stank, stunk."

Little Town of Bethlehem..."See how still I lie? There's a reason for that. I don't want Thevictorian coming here on her fake book tour. At least the dreamless sleep without having nightmares after fake-reading her fake book."

Sal's Sister-the-Former-Governor's-Wife..."This fake book is not based on truth! It's all a fabrication by Sal. I throw tasteful parties with top-notch games and coveted prizes. Nothing about me is substandard like Sal's fake writing. Sal once parked her Yukon in our driveway and ran over a bone and got a flat tire. Yuck-On was so dirty that I was embarrassed for the BONE! Just like I'm embarrassed for people who are mistakenly given a gift of Sal's fake book for Christmas."

Irish Spring..."I'm a deodorant soap made to handle a man's sweat. But even I'm not strong enough to stop the stench that emanates from Val Thevictorian's fake writing."

Irish Spring Commercial Actress..."Irish Spring is manly, yes...but I like it too. Unlike Thevictorian's writing, which is liked by nobody, man nor beast, and especially not by a woman with a discerning literary palate."

Dixie Cup..."I am being held here against my will! I don't know which is worse, my rim touching the armpit, or my base touching Effie's nose. And to top it all off, I hear that I'm disposable! Please, please, please...whatever you do, don't drop me in the wastebasket on top of one of Thevictorian's books. On top of a magazine, next to an eclair in a doily, would be nice."

B.O. emanating from armpit..."Look away, look away, look away, Dixie Cup! You must have pulled the short straw this time, because your relatives are busy serving up Jello shots. Thevictorian's relatives are probably contemplating serving up shots to her. Shots of elephant tranqulizer, to immobilize her so she can't write any more fake books."

Underwear Tester..."I see a future for Great-Aunt Effie as a deodorant tester. At least she'll only have to smell the ARMPITS of the testees! As for Thevictorian, I see nothing but garbage in her future. Her writing skill stinks."