Val Is Slowly Losing Her Will to Blog

Here I am, trapped in my own home, no casinos, no scratchers, no daily 44 oz Diet Coke, shopping requiring a wait in a strung-out line to even buy groceries, a rotting hole in an infected blister on my leg and unable to see a doctor, and FORCED TOGETHERNESS with Hick. I was handling the situation. Keeping my sunny rainbows-and-unicorns disposition. Making the best of it. Until...

MY CELL PHONE DIED!

That's right. I'm pretty sure Hick had something to do with it. I was sitting on the short couch, having just gotten my phone back from Hick's meaty hand, after showing him a picture of the sourdough bread Genius made. I was merely sweeping my fingers together, shrinking down that picture, when the screen of my phone went black.

No amount of effort nor cajoling could bring it back. Sure, my cell phone is mighty long-in-the-tooth. It's a Nexus LG 7, I think. Something like that. When it came out, Genius waited extra time to get the BLUE version, rather than white or black. It's always looked GRAY to me. But he swore it was blue. Genius used it a couple years before he took our new phone offer for himself, and gave his old one to me. That thing's gotta be over 7 years old.

Anyhoo...Hick put in an emergency text to Genius. Who was busy watching a movie (!) and said he'd get back to me. When he called (on the house phone, good thing I didn't get rid of the landline), he said:

"Sometimes the older phones do that. The battery will go dead all at once, even if it shows 40 or 50% power remaining. It might actually be dead. You can try plugging it in to charge all night. Then we'll work from there if it's still dead. It's not like you can run out to the Sprint Store and get another one these days. If it's dead, you can order one online."

"I don't know how to make a new phone work!"

"Calm down. We'll deal with it."

I searched online, and found two possible fixes for it. I'll try them tomorrow, if the charging doesn't work. Can't hurt nothin'.

I'd rather have something go REALLY GOOD in my life, and blog about THAT.

Val, the Pale Recluse Hider

With my activities curtailed, I have no bait to lure you into my web. I'll just have to snag you as you wander by. Don't struggle! Skim through, and you're out. Don't want to end up like that Mary character, cocooned in the lair, in Aliens! The one who was still alive, and said,
"Kill meee..."

Now that we're on stay-at-home-down here in Backroads, I have only ventured out once since Thursday. That was to get the mail at the end of the gravel road. It's a mile, a dusty, uneven-footing mile, so I drove T-Hoe. Didn't see a soul. Not man nor beast.

After fetching my hard-of-hearing junk mail, I sat in T-Hoe with the windows down, listening to the babbling brook/cackling creek. Spring is in the air. It was a beautiful day to be out, though I couldn't be OUT, out. So I went back home, descended to my dark basement lair, and started working on my taxes. They're DONE!

Sure, I could go outside. We have 20 contiguous acres around our hillbilly mansion. However, if I'm not leaving the house every day for a trip to town, it doesn't enter my mind to go outside. The poor dogs have gone treatless, even though their tray of grease bread sits on the counter by the kitchen door. If the sun pops out, I'll try to get out on the porch, at least.

Not much to report about here, until I do my grocery shopping. I'd planned to go Monday, but yesterday's notice about Country Mart limiting the number of people in the store has me considering a reschedule for Thursday, when I get out to mail the boys' letters. Country Mart is never very busy, but this notice will probably make people flock there! I have no desire to wait in line to get inside.

I hope Hick does something interesting or irritating this week. For YOUR sake!

2020 Important Documents. They Said.

Heh, heh! How many people will I get coming to read this, thinking it's important? That's not my intent. I only want to reveal the tactics being used to TRICK THE ELDERLY!

I got ONE item in the mail on Thursday. So of course it had my full attention. It looked kind of official. 

Please excuse the Puffs With Lotion that I ripped in half to cover my address.

So... if you got this in the mail, with the Statue of Liberty hoisting her flame, the HEALTH NOTIFICATION ALERT, postage paid, in this time of THE VIRUS...would YOU expect some important information?

Val did. She's not generally gullible, you know. She views life through a suspicious, jaundiced eye. Not many people put one over on Val.

With our county being recently placed on stay-at-home-down, I thought that perhaps this was something I should look at. Maybe it was about a possible exposure. I tore the perforated ends off, and opened up that important document.

WHAT?

its in bold caps, in case i really AM hard of heardind, i guess
,pore l;ike hard of typoign!

Yes. That's pure, unadulterated Val at the keyboard. Let me translate.

It was just junk mail asking if I was hard of hearing! In large, bold print, just in case I was, perhaps. Junk mail to trick me into responding so I'd be on a million hard-of-hearing scammer call lists. Val is not hard of hearing. More like hard of typing.

No, it was not a warning that I had been exposed to an asymptomatic carrier, with a need to self-quarantine. Nothing important at all.

A CENTSational Last Week of Freedom for Val

The Future Pennyillionaire week kicked off SUNDAY, March 29, with a twofer at Orb K. I'd already surveyed the regular harvest zone. Nothing there. I turned my head to the right, and voila!

At the base of the hand sanitizer dispenser were my two cents!

I had just become the proud new penny-momma of a face-down 2002, and a heads-up 2011. More penny-power to me!
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Val's last hurrah on THURSDAY, April 2, about 12 hours before the county-wide lockdown stay-at-home-down, was really worth cheering about! Her weekly errand trip yielded a drop in the old Future Pennyillionaire Fortune bucket at three separate stops!

The School-Turn Casey's had a DIME waiting for me. Wouldn't you know it, somebody had to be polite and HOLD THE DOOR OPEN for me, when all I wanted to do was jump on the dime like Shirley Feeney on a floor cracker! To be polite, I went on inside, did my business, and waited for the way out to hold my own door open, get my picture, and harvest my dime.

Don't let that door-jamb screw fool you! My dime was a face-down find from 1976. You know how significant that year was, right? It was THE VALEDICTORIAN YEAR!

After a stop at the post office to mail the boys' letters, I proceeded to the Sis-Town Casey's for T-Hoe's gas. That darn clerk was so speedy that Hick didn't get his saver club points for my purchase. At least I benefited by finding a floor penny!

I had to drag this Lincoln out with the toe of my shoe. I wonder how many of those snacks they sell, stashing them down in the corner like that.

I held up the line to nab my heads-up 2013 pretty penny. I did not give a fat rat's patootie!

Off to pick up some last-minute groceries, I hopped out at Country Mart, smug with my shirt-pocket dime and pants-pocket penny, and was shocked to see ANOTHER penny waiting for me!

It was right there where I couldn't miss it, next to my favorite parking spot.

This was a face-down 1980 cent. I snatched it up and deposited it in my right pants pocket.

What a fine send-off week to fill my coffers, just before my forced strongly-recommended self-quarantine. Five pennies and one dime! I'll take that any week!
__________________________________________________________________

2020 RUNNING TOTAL

Penny       # 30, 31, 32, 33, 34.
Dime         # 8.
Nickle      still at 3.
Quarter  0

2019 TOTALS
Penny     134
Dime        20
Nickel        8
Quarter      5
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The Rude Intruder

Hick was home for lunch on Wednesday, after taking his friend to the city for her procedure that was needed before her chemo. She had a 7:00 a.m. appointment, so Hick was up at 4:00 to pick her up at 5:00 and make sure they got there on time. Of course she'd been given wrong directions, to an office that was not the surgery center. By the time they googled it and found out it was next to a fast-food restaurant four miles away...they arrived at 7:04. It did not affect her appointment.

Hick did not have to use the JAR he found for his pee-pot, because they allowed ONE person into the waiting room for each patient. They checked his temperature and all that. But at least he had use of the indoor facilities.

Anyhoo...Hick was home at noon for hot dogs and chips. He said he was going out to mow the yard. Shocking how much it grew over a few days. Spring has sprung. The dogs were excited to chase after the Gator as Hick drove over the get the riding mower. I could hear him in the front yard, and see him pass by the window on the mower, as I got ready to go to town for a few items from Country Mart.

As I stood at my mom's piano, in the hallway by the boys' room, under the pictures of Mom and Dad and a Glamour Shot of my grandma, one foot on the bench as I put on my socks... I heard the kitchen door creak open. I cocked an ear. Something wrong here. Then it hit me!

INTRUDER! INTRUDER!

Hick was mowing the yard. I heard the mower still running out front.

WHO WAS OPENING UP MY KITCHEN DOOR?

It dawned on me that maybe Hick had gone out that door, and not closed it until it latched. It will open if there's a draft. Like if somebody opens up the front door, the kitchen door will be pushed open from the air movement if not latched. But nobody was opening the front door.

As I was contemplating the possibilities, I heard the kitchen door creak again as it closed.

"HEY! HEY! What's going on?"

No burglar is getting in MY house while I'm around! I dashed through the kitchen, sock-footed, and flung the door open. Jack looked at me quizzically. "Oh. Hey, buddy. What's up?" I barged past him, that terrible, terrible watchdog, to look around the corner of the porch, toward the garage.

THERE WAS THE INTRUDER!

It was Hick. Putting on his vest that he'd gotten off a kitchen chair. He'd left the mower running out in the yard.

I'm pretty sure he's trying to kill me... this time by fright.

You Can't Send a Hick to Do a Val's Job

Hick and I don't run errands together. That never ends well. But Tuesday, we gave it a try, before the home-confinement goes into effect on Friday. Before the entire county shows up at Walmart for apocalyptic supplies of toilet paper on the 1st.

Since I was driving, Hick was the go-fer. At the main post office, I handed him money, and gave him instructions. Kind of like pinning lunch money to a little kid's shirt.

"Here is $11. Ask for a book of flag stamps. It will cost exactly $11. Get the stamps first. Put them in your shirt pocket. Then get the boxes for the boys' Easter package. Two boxes. They're flat. Unfolded. The LARGE Flat Rate boxes. They're on shelves across from the counter. Under the windows. They're white. You know. The ones we always use for the boys' packages. And get some labels. They'll be right there by the boxes."

"Them boxes won't cost me nothin'?"

"No. They're free. Because you pay so much to mail them, heh, heh. They WANT you to take them and use them."

Off he went. My little Hick. Eager to accomplish his mission. When he returned, I saw the stamps in his pocket. Good job, buddy! But then I noticed the boxes he was putting on the back seat.

"Wait a minute! WHAT are THOSE? They're BROWN! Those are NOT Flat Rate boxes."

"What do you mean. They was the only boxes I saw."

"I don't think so. Maybe they have two sets of shelves. I've never seen those boxes. Look. They don't say Flat Rate on them. These will cost by weight. Easter candy is heavy!"

"That's all they had! Here's the labels."

"Those aren't the labels we use! Can't you remember?"

"No."

"You've helped me tape them! You've taken them for mailing! Look. These labels say Priority Mail EXPRESS! That will cost a fortune! I'm not even sure those boxes are free..."

"Huh. Maybe I should have paid for those boxes. They seen me, though. They seen me walk out with them, and didn't stop me."

Heh, heh! Hick might beat me to being the next Public Enemy. On the way home, I stopped by the dead-mouse-smelling post office. To prove to Hick which boxes he should have gotten. Imagine my surprise when Hick remained in T-Hoe. At least he acknowledged that the boxes I returned with, as well as the labels, were different.

Not the same color, not the same size, different labels.

Hick says he'll use these boxes for something else. I'm sure he will.

The labels we use.

The labels we don't.

Hick does not seem to be very observant. Don't ask him for a description of a purse-snatcher. When we went in Walmart, I gave him a list with items in order of his route through the store. I made him take pictures of three items before we left home, so he'd get the right ones. He did with 2 out of 3.

He's learning.

Hope This Doesn't Put the Kibosh on My Pennyillionaire Fortune

Welp! It's happened. On Friday at 12:01 a.m., our county officially enters a lock-down stay-at-home phase. Thanks to the five women who are VIRUS-positive. A wedding guest, three home health care workers, and an 78-year-old who didn't travel or associate with known infecteds.

Funny that it's really no different from the precautions that have been in place for two weeks already. The restaurants have been closed to eaters. No gatherings. I imagine there will be another toilet paper shortage, starting Wednesday, from people who get their money on the 1st, just learning this news. That darn Hick has even suggested that we pick up a pack, even though we have 10 rolls of Charmin in the hall closet already. I nipped that idea in the bud. We don't need it. Our usual purchase is a 9-pack or 12-pack as we run out. I'm pretty sure we'll be fine.

It won't affect us much here in Backroads. The main difference being that Hick won't go to his Storage Unit Store, and I will be making my 44 oz Diet Cokes at home. This "order" from the county commissioners instructs us to call the county health center if we spot violators. Not 911. Not the sheriff's department. Also, it's open-ended, which has the reluctant homer-stayers in a tizzy.

I'll be going to the grocery store a couple times a week. Once for Country Mart, once for Save A Lot. They each have things they do well. The butcher at Save A Lot has enviable meat, heh, heh! I also prefer their romaine lettuce, cheese, sour cream, salsa, and tortilla chips. Huh. I must be hankerin' for some taco salad. Country Mart has Hick's special individual ice cream cups, vanilla with swirls of strawberry and chocolate. Also, we like their deli food. The bananas and tomatoes and onions are better there. It's not like we can have carry-out delivered, here in the boondocks.

Of course, since I'll be in town anyway, I'll drop by the Gas Station Chicken Store for my magical elixir on those days. And perhaps a scratcher or two. Until then, I'll be making my own, lesser, elixir. And not scratching.

This guy might be the last of my big fortunes for a few weeks:

I picked him up at Country Mart (left side machine) on Monday. This is an old ticket, out for several years. I buy it when I find it. I never had the MONEY BAG symbol before. It means WIN ALL. Of course every prize was the minimum on this ticket. That's how this dapper dude keeps his MONOPOLY, I suppose. Still, I'm not complaining! That's another hundo. Only two days after my last hundo!

Hick has said that he'll give up his daily clandestine donuts. We'll see. We're making a run on the grocery store on Tuesday, because I get my money on the 31st. Not that we don't have a considerable cushion in the account to cover it anyway. It's just our way to stay on budget. Hick has already named items he wants to replace his daily donuts. They're not really an improvement. Little Debbie Cakes, or (probably "AND") some bake-at-home cinnamon rolls.

I hope I can still find pennies during my five-sevenths (5/7) lockdown!