Life is All About the Timing. And Driving Undistracted.

Let the record show that Val no longer rises at 4:50 a.m., as she did for the last 18 years of her working life. I'm barely drifting into REM sleep at that time now. When I first retired, I kept more normal hours, and was off to town around 9:00 a.m. for my 44 oz Diet Coke. These days, I'm lucky to leave here before 1:00, and sit down to lunch by 2:30. On days that I go to Walmart or the bank, I don't get home until 3:00 or 3:30.

This afternoon (Thursday, as I'm writing this), I got a text from Hick at 4:23.

"Are you okay there is a bad wreck county road is blocked"

"I'm fine."

"Ok bad wreck no traffic either way from around prison"

"Could be the sharp curve, or prison people pulling out trying to merge, or an escape, or the usual idiots crossing the center line."

"I'm at car shop and he says it's a garbage truck and two cars."

"Oh, no. There goes our low trash bill."

Let the record show that this was our trash day, things being delayed one day from the holiday.

Hick sent the text at 4:23, so I have no idea when the accident occurred, for there to be responders at the scene, blocking traffic both ways. We both travel that 3-mile stretch of road every day.

Sometimes, it's a good thing that The Universe has synchronized its meddling in your life. Like making sure you're sitting in your dark basement lair instead of driving along a 3-mile stretch of blacktop.
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UPDATE:

On the way to town this morning, I saw some new skid marks going off the road on the right side. Here's my theory: the garbage truck was headed out of town, and was either too slow, or perhaps stopped, and some impatient ignoramus tried to pass on the curve, and hit somebody coming the other direction.

UPDATED UPDATE:

The story was just in the local online paper 30 minutes ago! I was somewhat correct...

"The report states that the accident occurred at approximately 3:35 p.m. when DRIVER ONE, 34, of BILL PAYING TOWN, was traveling west on THE COUNTY ROAD east of A LITTLE TURNOFF. A vacant 2018 Peterbilt 337 trash truck was parked on the right shoulder of the road and partially blocking the westbound lane, according to the report.

The 2016 GMC Terrain driven by DRIVER ONE struck the rear of the empty truck, causing her vehicle to rotate and cross the center of the roadway.

A third vehicle, a 2010 Toyota Prius driven by DRIVER TWO, 42, of BACKROADS was approaching in the opposite direction from DRIVER ONE and struck the rear of her vehicle. Two passengers of DRIVER TWO's vehicle, PASSENGER ONE, 74, and PASSENGER TWO, 72, both of Oregon, were injured in the collision; PASSENGER ONE received moderate injuries while PASSENGER TWO received minor injuries. Both were transported by ambulance to Mercy Hospital.

DRIVER ONE received minor injuries in the accident and was privately transported to the Health Center in BILL PAYING TOWN.

Damage to the GMC Terrain and Toyota Prius are listed as totalled; damage to the Peterbilt 337 is listed as minor."
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So...I was kind of right, except the trash truck was headed INTO town, and the driver causing the crash might possibly have been inattentive rather than an ignoramus. I missed the part about the trash truck being driverless and parked.

One thing's for sure. I'd rather be driving a GMC Terrain than a Toyota Prius.

The Universe Synchronizes Its Meddling in Val's Life

Sure is funny how coincidences work. Funny peculiar, not funny ha-ha. Don't be expecting any laughs, because I don't have the right raw material to work with today.

Yes, the very day after I'd smugly congratulated myself on not having to deal with an issue like blog buddy Joe's insurance woes, I received notice of my own in the mailbox. Such a coincidence.

AND, two days after digging up a month-old picture of Hick's progress painting his Freight Container Garage...I got a text from Hick with a picture of current progress painting his Freight Container Garage. Let the record show that I did not mention that picture or garage in the interim.

Sometimes, The Universe makes sure you are on the right wavelength, I guess.

Hick prefers not to paint the higher-up sections. So he hired HOS (Hick's Oldest Son) to stand in the bucket of the tractor and be lifted up to cover those lofty areas. Looks like Hick is keeping with a gas station theme. This is the back side of the Freight Container Garage, I think. Where the big doors are for driving stuff inside. The smaller people-door is on the front.

I don't know much about painting, and I don't know about your opinion, but that particle-board wall looks mighty thirsty to me! I would think a primer was needed, or it's going to take more than one coat of paint.

It's Better When I Get to Order Off the Menu

As I write this, it's Tuesday, and Val is not having a good day. Some people might call it a real crap sandwich of a day. Oh, not if you're a high-class snob who lifts your pinky-finger to sip exotic teas, and eats caviar on toast points, and rides around in a limo with a jar of Grey Poupon in the glove compartment. But if you're Val's people, that's what you might call it.

Val's crap sandwich is not contained between two soft rolls. Not-Heaven, no! Who do you think she is, Heidi's grandmother? Val's crap sandwich has moldy bread, tooth-chippingly stale, but thankfully comes without au jus (because it IS a crap sandwich, you know, and nobody wants to think about that kind of jus). It's bad enough that the main component of the crap sandwich has the consistency of potted meat, just yearning to ooze out the sides of the moldy stale bread, and drip onto your (of course) white shirt.

The sides on a plate of crap sandwich ain't that great, either. Not a crunchy baby dill, but an unseemly sweet gherkin. No sour-cream-and-onion chips, only Nacho Doritos that smell like vomit. Or perhaps a flaming Carolina Reaper. Hot enough to singe the epithelial cells right off Val's esophagus, and set her taste buds retracting like frightened turtles' heads, to pack their bags and abscond for parts unknown.

Yes, the crap sandwich day started down by the mailboxes. No shifty strangers, just a parked car, it being driven daily to the bus stop by a 15-year-old boy, to save his parents the trip. Inside EmBee, I discovered a bill for $649 for a medical test that my insurance deigned to cover. I somehow expected a little more for my $1498 per month health insurance premium. No doubt I am the victim of THE WHAMMY JINX caused when I read about blog buddy joeh's insurance tribulations only Monday. Not that he had anything to do with THE WHAMMY JINX. I suppose I just got too comfortable, thinking "better him than me."

Once I got to town, I observed the new lane changes. Seems like the only difference is the newer paint, and the lines being dotted white ones instead of solid. Because at no point did I see any arrows or instructions on the pavement, just that portable sign scrolling that the right lane is right turn only. Yes, while waiting at the light, I saw a pickup truck pulling a trailer blow through that light in the right turn lane, going straight. Silly city administrators. Nobody pays attention to lines and portable signs. You need TICKETS handed out all willy-nilly for the first month!

In line at Orb K, I let an old man (heh, heh, he was probably younger than me, just balder) go ahead of me. Actually, he was already ahead of me, wrapping up his transaction (no, that's not a safe-sex euphemism, he had already paid and then remembered he wanted something else). I encouraged him to go ahead, telling him that I was looking at the lottery tickets.

HE bought lottery tickets, though the draw kind not scratchers, and took over 5 minutes. Not like I had anywhere to go. Why rush home to bite into my crap sandwich? If there's ever any meal that you should not have to worry "Will it keep till I get home?" it's a crap sandwich meal. Elderly Dude said, upon completing his transaction, "I hope you at least get a good winner, after waiting all that time."

Let the record show that I did not. In fact, the shavings that I whisked aside with the back of my hand after scratching formed an "L" on the desk in my dark basement lair. An "L," people. Do you see the significance of that? An "L," for LOSER!

After that exercise in futility, it took me 90 minutes to scan and attach my insurance and resulting bill documents into an email to my insurance representative. Perhaps you've been let in on the non-secret: Val is not good with technology. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be able to do it again.

That little chore finished, while browsing the innernets, I saw the emails go from 5,856 to 5,857 in my email tab along the top of the screen. But NO, it was NOT that punctual insurance rep, but rather the bursar of The Pony's college with his monthly statement, showing the remainder of his tuition and fees over what was covered by his scholarship, and what I have already paid since July 31st for housing.

Knowing that it will be reduced by over $3000, to nearly nothing, once the remainder of his National Merit package (heh, heh, The Pony's package) is disbursed, does not make me any less annoyed at having to watch for it every day until the 25th, so I can be sure to not forget to pay the final amount. You'd think they could pin down a date for the release of those funds, rather than say "after August 31st." It appears magically in the account, and you don't get another update or reminder of the due date before a penalty kicks in.

Thevictorian people problems. I suppose if those things are all I have to complain about, I'm doing okay. I guess...

I whined because I was served a crap sandwich, but then I realized I married a man who doesn't give a crap.

The Hick-Mabel New Arrivals

Looks like Hick is still picking up golden items for Mabel. She might have to build her own themed-shed museum if she wants everything Hick has to offer.

First of all, we have this THING. Not sure what it is, but maybe a headboard for a twin bed? The topper decorative thingy for an elaborate curio cabinet? Your guess is better than mine. I think it would be lovely with a fresh gild of gold, but I'm not sure how it should be displayed.

Next, we have another frame.

A really BIG frame. Square, this time. The picture inside is not altogether unpleasant. I had trouble getting the photo, because any other angle yielded me the bright blue sky with fluffy white clouds.

As you might have surmised...it's been another slow angst day in Backroads.

There's Nothing Happening Here

For what it's worth...

Nothing is going on in Backroads. Nothing outrageous, nothing enraging. Nada. The only item out of the ordinary is one of those portable signs that scrolls a message. It's by the Hardee's turn-off, advising motorists to be extra alert for lane changes coming on Tuesday, September 4th.

I checked the local paper, and it seems that MODoT stripers will be making the right lane a RIGHT TURN ONLY lane (it's about time!), and changing a merge lane on the other side of the lights into the regular lane, with the current regular lane becoming a left turn lane by the Casey's. Got it.

So...all I have left for you is an old picture I don't think I shared, about Hick's Freight Container Garage.

The reason I didn't share it, possibly, is that it was taken by Hick out of focus. He wanted to show me that he's painting it barn red. Or, looks like to me, train car rust. I suppose freight containers ARE that color, what with hauling freight on trains as well as trucks.

Still, I was expecting Hick's Shackytown structure made to look like a railroad car to be painted this color. Obviously, he has it. Maybe he didn't get around to the final coat, or maybe he's squandering all that paint on this unnecessary depository of hoarder crap.

I'm pretty sure he has most of the Freight Container Garage painted now, except for the highest parts. This is the front side, towards our gravel road. Not that you can see it from the road, what with all the trees.

Val Thevictorian: Crime Stopper or Fun Sucker?

On my way to town Saturday around noon, I decided to stop and pick up the mail. I park on the edge of our gravel road, and walk across the county road to get to EmBee. As I drove along the creek, I saw four young people frolicking in the creek. You may be surprised to hear that I did not begrudge them this pleasure!

It was 88 degrees, and there was a newer-model gray crew cab truck parked on the bridge. I was actually about to give them mental props, for NOT parking on our privately maintained private gravel road. The kids looked to be mid- to late-teens. Three girls and a boy. One girl was bigger, perhaps 16 or 18, with two thinner girls about the same age. The boy wasn't all muscled, so I'm guessing he was maybe 12-13 years old. They weren't in proper swimwear. Just cut-off shorts. Maybe tank tops or bikini tops for the girls. I didn't pay that much attention. Only noticed a group of older kids jumping and splashing in the knee-deep water, and noted that they looked dressed for playing in the water, yet not like they had set out for a day at the beach.

I parked T-Hoe and started to open my door to get the mail...and the GRAY TRUCK DROVE OFF! What in the Not-Heaven??? That was a strange turn of events. I had barely even glanced at that truck, wondering if someone was in it, waiting on the splashing kids.

Then I saw a small black car parked on another private road across the bridge, which had been blocked from my view by that gray truck. I guess that black car was what the creek-splashers had arrived in. It slowly dawned on me that whoever was in that gray truck was CREEPY AS EFF! Why would they be parked right on the bridge, where they could look right up the creek, and watch a group of frolicking adolescents which were 3/4 girls?

Had I interrupted some ne'er-do-well(s) who might have had unsavory intentions towards these young people? I don't know what was going on behind those tinted windows. Nobody parks there to get their mail. Why would they leave when they saw me stop and open T-Hoe's door? I sure wish I had gotten a picture of that truck. But I had assumed it was legitimately with the creek kids.

As I started to pull out onto the county road after getting the mail, I saw headlights through the foliage, so I held back, lest I pull out in front of an oncoming car. It's a shady section of the road, and T-Hoe's daytime running lights also come on there, too. I waited. Waited. Huh. Was I mistaken? I was sure I had seen a vehicle coming. I inched out onto the blacktop, and saw that a small red car had parked itself along the road before it got to the bridge or the creek kids' car.

What in the Not-Heaven times two! I can't keep up with these people. Maybe they were just out to have some fun on the holiday weekend. I'm happy they didn't park on our road. I don't mean to suck the fun out of every situation. Yet I'm puzzled (and a bit concerned) about their intentions.

When I came home about 2:00, the red car was still parked there. Here's the view as I came down the hill by Mailbox Row.

My gravel road is there on the left. The bridge (where the gray truck had been parked) is straight ahead. The little road where the creek kids' car had been is on the right just past the bridge. And the red car is still there.

No idea why that red car would park there. If it's out of gas, it could have coasted to a better out-of-the way place to park, while the driver took a 4-mile walk to town. Obviously, it's nobody who belongs here, stopping to pick up mail. You'd think drinkers or druggers could find a safer spot to revel in their vices.

I don't know what's going on around here. But by golly, I'm either a hero for thwarting a possible abduction or a wanking episode...or I ruined somebody's holiday weekend.

Val CENTSed It More Than Saw It

Whew! I was coming down to the wire Friday morning, not a penny in sight all week for my Saturday CENTSus report. I scurried into Casey's to get scratchers to stuff in Genius's weekly letter on the way to the post office before the mail went out.

You know, if I haven't seen a penny yet in the week, I am constantly scanning the ground for them. I'm a Lincoln Hog. Any spare penny is going in my shirt pocket, for later gobleting. My eyes move from right to left, then from left to right. Like the return carriage on a typewriter. You DO remember typewriters, don't you? It's like I have a mine detector, covering every inch of ground to save my squad from annihilation. Or in this case, to snag someone's lost penny. I'm as thorough as a differently-visually-abled human with a white cane sweeping the terrain in front of them. If there's a penny, I will find it.

Only Friday morning, it was more difficult than usual. I had already asked the not-overly-cheerful young lady behind the Casey's counter for my selected scratchers. I was having a mini pity party for myself, having not seen a penny upon entry. A mini pity party. With those tiny cupcakes that Walmart sells 12 to a container, and individual vanilla ice cream cups with flat wooden spoons, playing pin-the-whisker-on-the-hamster, wearing enough tiny elasticized pointy party hats to make my head look like a medieval mace, because nobody came to my mini pity party, even though I'd sent out invitations the size of matchbooks. You remember matchbooks, right?

Anyhoo...I was standing there, waiting for my scratchers, almost out of breath, wallowing so hard in my self-pity...when I was compelled to LOOK AGAIN on the floor towards the door.

Do you see it? I almost didn't. But I glanced outside to see if anybody was, perhaps, late arriving for my mini pity party (it would be a shame if I had to eat all those cupcakes and ice cream and win the prize for pinning the whisker on the hamster)...and I SAW IT!

A 2017 shiny beauty, in the corner of the door frame, face down! Stop the mini pity party!

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For 2018: Penny  # 88.
For 2018: Dimes  still at # 13.
For 2018: Nickels still at # 4.

Since 2017 (the beginning), this was Penny # 166.
Since 2017 (the beginning), this is still Dime # 19.
Since 2017 (the beginning), this is still Nickel # 4.
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