Val's 5 Centses

The week started off right on SUNDAY, July 15th.

Lookie there, past the toes of my mesh New Balance, at a 2005 in Orb K. You might be tricked, being mere amateurs, and not hard-core candidates for Future Pennyillionaire, into thinking you see a penny right there in front of the red-bottled energy supplements. Au contraire, non-dwellers of the lair. The real penny...

...is face-up between the racks! Don't be fooled by random stains, people. Always know your surroundings. In Orb K, it's more likely to be a stain than a penny. I'm telling you this to save you future embarrassment.

I'll be darned if I didn't walk back to my almost-never parking space, and find THIS waiting for me:

See it there? Between T-Hoe's bumper and the curb, completely unnoticed on the way in? Not the cigarette butt. I wouldn't marvel over that. I could afford my own smokes if I was so inclined.

No, it was a 1999, face up, with a beautiful meniscus of rainwater built up on top, giving off such a bright glare that I had to adjust the phone several times to get a picture that showed ol' Abe.
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THURSDAY, July 19th, I was at Orb K again. Not as a pennyhound, but to get a scratcher. No sooner had I stepped inside the door that there was a penny winking at me. Of course I couldn't stop right there to take a picture, because I'd be slammed into by people rushing inside for their Polar Pop beverages.

So I stepped inside and turned back around for my photo.

It was a pretty little 2012, face down. You can bet I snatched it up forthwith, lest any new enterers dive upon it before I harvested the newest link in my Future Pennyillionaire chain.
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FRIDAY, July 20th, I stopped by Waterside Mart to get tickets for Genius's weekly letter.

No, I was not interested in this dude's crack, or his (one) shapely leg(s). It was the two PENNIES in front of his toe that I was trying to capture with my phone. One of these days, somebody is going to turn around and deck me in a horrible misunderstanding.



WooHoo! Both of these beauties were FACE UP. A 2012, and a 1981. Representing, I suppose, the start of Genius's senior year of high school, and my college graduation. Genius called me several nights ago, after not hearing from him in over a month. I am not re-enrolling in college. So I doubt the dates were significant, even though I had a dream that I was back in college a few nights ago.

I have no idea what that tasty morsel is beside the upper penny. It went unsampled.

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For 2018: Pennies  # 59, 60, 61, 62, 63
For 2018: Dimes  still at # 10.
For 2018: Nickels still at # 4.

Since 2017 (the beginning), this was Penny # 137, 138, 139, 140, 141.
Since 2017 (the beginning), this is still Dime # 16.
Since 2017 (the beginning), this is still Nickel # 4.
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Back-of-the-Book-Blurb Friday #108 "Spots and Soft Leather Got Together"

Blog buddy Sioux is hosting Back-of-the-Book-Blurb Friday. I have 150 words to convince you to fake-buy my fake book. This week's fake book is a beautiful love story. A tale of a romance such as the world has never seen. And hopes never to see again. Tired of coughing up cash to take your honey to see a chick flick? Cough up a little less, and buy her this fake chick-book.

Spots and Soft Leather Got Together

Ol' Blue and L'il White-Tail have stopped hunting for love. They've found each other against all odds. Their families aren't exactly thrilled. More like appalled. Li'l White-Tail's family thinks Ol' Blue is just stringing her along until she fattens up, and his ulterior motive involves his hound-dog appetite. Ol' Blue's family...well, they don't have an opinion, because he's so old that he's outlived them all.

Ol' Blue wants Li'l White-Tail by his side, away from all other predators. When his Man builds a campfire, Ol' Blue noses Li'l White-Tail closer and closer. To keep her warm, of course. And he is constantly grooming her with his long tongue. She's much-loved...and tastes so good...

Will Ol' Blue and Li'l White-Tail grow old(er) together? Or will an unfortunate "accident" rip (one of) them apart? (132 words)
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Fake Reviews for Val’s Fake Book

Doe, a Deer, a female deer..."My friend Ray shed some light on this fake book. He says Thevictorian sucks the golden drop of sun out of everything she fake-writes. Me, I say you'd have to run pretty far to find a worse fake-book than this. So, unlike a needle pulling thread, take note that this fake book will not keep you in stitches. Sorry for spilling the tea before you had a chance to fake-buy it, but you can find a better fake-read to go with your jam and bread."

Old Yeller..."HEAR ME, HEAR ME! The great tragedy of this fake book is that you're still alive at the end. To suffer, realizing what you just fake-read."

Bambi..."Let's hope that a raging forest fire destroys the trees destined to print Thevictorian's next fake book before it's too late. Thevictorian's fake career is skating on thin ice."

Lassie..."I fake-bought as many of these fake books as was caninely possible. I am stockpiling them for the next time Timmy falls down a well. By tossing them in, I figure they will absorb all the water, this fake book being such a dry read...and allow Timmy to climb up the stack and out the top."

The Yearling..."Well, shoot! Somebody needs to put Thevictorian out of our misery. Her corny fake-writing will make you cry out of pity for yourself, for having fake-read it."

Spuds MacKenzie..."Hey, Bud! I'm wiser than you if you're planning to fake-read this fake book. Trust me, having fake-read another of Thevictorian's fake works, all I can say is, 'I need a drink!'"

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer..."I once helped give someone Thevictorian's fake book as a gift, and boy is my nose red! I never would have done that, had I know the true spirit of her fake writing. Thevictorian's fake works should bear a sticker on the cover that says, 'For Those on the Naughty List Only!'"

Toto..."I'd rather be sitting in a basket on the back of Miss Gulch's bicycle, swirling around in a Kansas tornado, than read another fake book by Thevictorian. Fake-reading this one was like laying down in a giant field of poppies to sleep for eternity."

Hick's Mouth is Writing Checks His Butt Can't Collect Cash For

Poor Hick has a thankless, unpaid job. No, we're not talking about being married to Val.

Hick has always helped take care of the roads out here in our enclave. Now, he's about the only one doing anything to them. The recent evening downpours have taken their toll, creating ruts, and washing out rock from along the edges. In the past, Hick and a couple other guys with tractors have given their time and gas money to redistribute washed-away rock. A small contingent of residents have also chipped in money for loads of rock.

A couple times a year, it's evident that more rock is needed. Usually after the spring thaw, and after a rainy summer. Now that Hick is on a Facebook group with other enclave-dwellers, he sees them posting about how the roads are a mess/somebody needs to do something about them. You might recall how the last time Hick and Buddy did something about them, Speedy McSpeederson was harping to her pals about what a bad job they did. Which was kind of true, what with that blacktop fiasco. But still, even though unsightly and bumpy, the hill doesn't wash out any more.

Anyhoo...Hick posted on Facebook that he was going to work on the roads, and that gravel now costs $200 a load. We used to get it for $165 when Buddy was hauling, but now he's using his truck for a regular job. In the past two days, 3 residents have paid Hick, and 2 more have verbally committed to doing so. Let the record show that when the power goes off in our community, 46 homes are without power. So this is but a small portion of people who could contribute.

Anyhoo...Hick ordered $1100 in gravel on Wednesday. That's because one resident said he could only afford $100. And including our contribution, if those who committed pay, Hick will not be out anything other than his time, and gas for his tractor. Which uses diesel, and he drove up and helped himself to some from Buddy's tank. They're cool like that.

Hick was pretty agitated on Tuesday, when he saw a comment that "What you need to do is take that money and fix the hill. That's the worst blacktop job I've ever seen." We all agree that it's a bad job. The problem Hick had is that the comment was from a guy who doesn't even live out here. The son of the human mommy of the killer poodle and crazy rottweiler. Of course she got on there and told her kid to back off. But not before Hick made the general statement that "If you don't live here, and haven't volunteered to help or donate, then you shouldn't BITCH about it!" Another gal stuck up for Hick as well. I'm pretty sure it was Buddy's wife. The complainer replied back, "I'm entitled to my opinion! I guess the truth hurts."

The Complainer pretty much missed the point. That being the fact that no matter what he thinks, he doesn't even live here, so he doesn't really have a say. His mom sent private messages to Hick, and Buddy's wife, apologizing for her son's comments. Even though she didn't have to, because they know it's not her opinion.

Anyhoo...Hick spent four hours Tuesday, and six hours Wednesday, working on those roads. Alone. I passed him on the way to town, and got behind him on the way back.

That's a big hole he filled in. It was about six inches deep, and full of water over the past couple days. People coming around that curve would swing out to avoid it. Now it's smooth.

Hick is using 1-inch minus, because it's easier to pack down. The jagged, bigger gravel (like 2-inch minus that we get for the driveway, and seen also on this road), has a tendency to get bounced off the road as people drive on it, and it ends up along the side, and has to be graded back out after a while.

As you can see, Hick is using the roller he made out of a pipe and concrete mix. It seems to be doing the job.

Don't let Hick's hard-headedness fool you. There is nothing he'd rather be doing than riding around on his tractor like he has a mission. Unless maybe it's buying junk.

Lipstick On Pigs, and No More Free Kittens, These Aren't a Few of My Favorite Things

I was shocked to pick up the paper click on the local newspaper website this morning, and see what special version of NOT-HEAVEN that Even Steven has in store for me. A local community is planning to revamp a major thoroughfare. It's not so NOT-HEAVENISH as it could have been, since I am currently RETIRED, and don't have to drive that way to work every morning. But still, it's my direct route to the main post office and credit union. I suppose I can adapt. I know several alternate routes. Which I will have to use for A YEAR to avoid construction on approximately 1.5 miles of roadway.

Anyhoo...a first-year city administrator (wonder if it will be his last) has a vision. To show people who travel that roadway what kind of place this town is, and what kind of people live there. Never mind that 90% of those people traveling it are local residents, and already know that stuff. The plan includes decorative lighting, street-side parking (which is already available), and curbed sidewalks (the uncurbed kind are already in place). He wants the roadway "to represent the city as a great place to live and raise a family." C'mon now! It either is, or it isn't. A road can't lie, or promote such a concept. It's just a road.

Anyhoo...since "There’s really no sense to have the decorative lighting and try to get the image that we’re doing with that project when you have dozens and dozens of utility poles right in the way," all the utilities are being moved. The electric, phone, water, and sewer are being relocated to the alleyways. Apparently, 30 residents are on board for this, having agreed to give up portions of their property for right-of-way. Oh, and having their electricity off between a couple hours and a whole day, with some of them needing their weatherheads "just turned around," or their entire electric panels updated. No mention of who's paying.

Here's the thing. They can put all the lipstick they want on that pig, but the same houses are still going to be there. Just today, I saw two men picking up shingles in the front yard from a porch roof that had collapsed. These are older homes, many of them rentals, very close to the street to begin with. Some might lose their entire front yard for right-of-way. Of course Val is anti-progress, so her opinion might be biased

But that's not even what I set out to tell you about! Sorry you got cheated into reading that part. Kind of like these homeowners are getting cheated into upgrading their electricity and utilities. No, what I started to tell you about was a sight I beheld when I was looking at the two men loading up that partially-collapsed porch.

Strolling down the sidewalk, insouciant as you please, was a lady in cut-off shorts and a tank top. Not old, not young. Okay. Young to you and me. Maybe early thirties. She came from the direction of the old mom-and-pop grocery store that's been converted into a tax office with an apartment upstairs. Next to the house that had a FREE KITTENS sign on the chain-link fence for a couple of years straight.

I admit that I did a double-take. Not because of The Walker's great beauty, or physical assets. But because of her arms. The were both held out in front, bent at the elbow. As if carrying a platter of hors d'oeuvres.

GREAT GOOGLY MOOGLY! That was no platter of hors d'oeuvres!

Draped across The Walker's forearms were TWO LIVE SNAKES! They were about as thick as a good rope. Thicker than a jump rope and Jethro Bodine's belt, but thinner than a climbing rope attached to the ceiling of a gymnasium. The snakes were patterned, in dark orange and brown colors. Not bright orange like a coral snake. More subdued. And not striped. More of a mottled or diamond pattern, I think. I'm not sure. I only got two looks at them, and they were writhing at the time, each one hanging about a foot or more over each forearm.

I'm not sure what was going on here. Was The Walker merely taking her snakes for a walk in the noonday sun? Or was she taking them to show the porch-roof picker-uppers? Maybe she had FOUND them, and was walking to the police station to turn them in.

You never know what you're going to see in cities adjacent to Backroads. I wonder if there will be a new ordinance against walking your snakes, once that major thoroughfare is revamped...

There's More to That Carving Artist Story

Hick didn't bother to tell me, until a couple days later, that his pal the wood-carving artist gave him a parting gift.

"He had a bunch of Jack-O-Lanterns. Said he sells them for $250. He thought he'd given me one before, but he hadn't. So he gave me one to bring home. It's out in the car now."

According to Hick, his pal never sets up a stand to sell. When he goes to festivals and stuff to carve, he takes some along. But he's not there as a vendor. If people ask, he'll sell them.

Looks to me like you can put a candle inside, since it's hollow, and the lid lifts off. Here's a view from the side.

I'm guessing it will sit there, on the side porch, until Halloween. And beyond. On those shelves Hick just had to have, but never brought inside to put in the closet.

That's a good thing, though. Because for two days, that Jack-O-Lantern was sitting on the side porch in front of Gassy G. On the porch boards. I shamed asked Hick how many animals he though had peed on it in those two days. He said he was sure the dogs wouldn't bother it.

I suppose my raised eyebrow spurred Hick into action. That, and my declaration that having a $250 handmade gift from one of his oldest friends...seems like he might want to take better care of it.

One Golden Leopard Away From A Roadside Freak Show

You might have gauged from previous Hick-bashings that I fear his hoarder tendencies are spiraling out of control. At least he used to confine his collecting to the BARn, then his themed sheds, and now his Freight Container Garage. However, this past month, he's gone off the rails.

I am not living in a Seinfeld episode. There were no cigar stores involved. I seriously wish Hick would be one of those people who gives someone something, and then takes it back. The something, in this case, being those two figures flanking our front door.

Of course Hick was all excited. "Did you see what I got at the auction? Look on the porch!"

I did not share his excitement at the time, nor do I share it now. Please, allow me to give you a better view.

Left side.

Right side.

Oh, and let's not forget that accessory for the figure on the left:

I'm calling it a golden leopard, but for all I know, it could be a jaguar, or an ocelot. In any case, that little big cat isn't even in the same style as the guardians of my portal. There's only one. And it's way too small compared to the size of his companions, whereas the fake hound dog we've had for a while is way too big. Goldilocks need not drop by to give a review.

My Sweet, Sweet Juno is not a fan, either. When she's at the door for a treat, or a petting, and turns to leave...she whacks her head on the left-side sentinel.

Oh, how I yearn for the simpler days of that big red milk crate nailed to the front wall for packages.

Hick Lacks Attention to Detail

Hick spent part of last week visiting an old friend. Pal happens to be a retired teacher, who is also a wood carver. It's not like he's churning out Pinocchios every other day. He can carve on a large scale. Here's one of his works that Hick took a picture of on his travels.

Unfortunately, Hick lacks attention to detail. He said he was "in a museum near Moline, Illinois." Didn't say if he WAS in Illinois. Or the name of the museum. He says there's a name for this piece somewhere, but he doesn't remember it.

The most information I have from Hick is that this structure is 19 feet tall. He doesn't know what kind of wood. Parts of the carving are different colors, depending on whether they were carved outside, in the sun, or indoors. Hick also has pictures of the other side, but he has not bothered to send them to me.

If you can, zoom into this photo and look at the assorted figures. I missed the horse, for cryin' out loud, the first several times I looked at it.

Hick says they went inside the museum, and Pal asked the lady in charge something. She looked at him quizzically, and started to mention something about the hours they were open. Then Pal asked if he could step into the exhibit to do something to it. "I'm the artist who carved it." And the lady said, "OH! I knew you looked familiar, but I couldn't place you."

As some of you have ascertained...Hick has connections in many different fields.
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I think this might be him. Looks like it's a ginkgo tree, according to this article about moving it to the Hampton Heritage Center. Which is, I suppose, the "museum" that Hick mentioned. And I'm pretty sure this is the staircase carving that Hick told me about. That staircase site made me answer a survey question to see the content. Just sayin'.