It's A Local Epidemic, I Tell You!

The Greater Hillmomba region is beset with a new epidemic. STRIPE PARKING! I'm pretty certain there is no cure. Anybody attempting to start the parker on a path of recovery might face deadly consequences. Seems like only a couple weeks ago I was nearly run down by a Stripe Parker at the Sis-Town Casey's. Saturday's incurable sufferer was observed at 10Box.

I got a picture of this one. Don't blame the man. He was parked farther down the row, and was merely putting his cart up against the building. 

The red car was parked on the striped walkway when I got there. The handicap space next to it was open, which is where I parked, though scooted over a bit because, you know, there was a CAR PARKED ON THE HANDICAP WALKWAY, and I needed to make sure T-Hoe's door could open all the way.

This Stripe Parker DID have a handicap placard. That does NOT excuse the behavior! You might think it more justifiable than the man on the 4-wheeler who was backed in and sitting there last week. I do not. If a handicap space is not available, I park in a regular space out in the main lot, and watch. Until somebody comes out and leaves a handicap space open. Then I drive up and park there.

Sure, it's EXTREMELY hot. People are getting their first-of-the-month checks and groceries. Perhaps some goodies for their 4th of July cookouts. That does not excuse them from the unwritten rules of society. Striped handicap walkway parking might actually have a WRITTEN rule somewhere. Yet it's never enforced.

The handicapped have a different-titleness where some behaviors are concerned. But not an ENtitledness to park wherever they want.

What Is Wrong With Me?

After seeing that The Pony got inside with groceries on Thursday's Errand Day, I headed to the Gas Station Chicken Store, to cash in some winners and get more scratchers. The drive takes about 15 minutes from The Pony's house. My rightful handicap space was open. I stepped out into the searing heat, walked across in front of T-Hoe, and my whole world went to Not-Heaven in a handbasket!

I WAS SO DIZZY!

It hit all at once. I was strolling along. Had just about stepped under the roof of the gas pump area. When the world started to spin! I put my hand out to steady myself, first at the brick support post, then along the brick wall under the window. I stepped inside. The room swirled. Two people were at the counter. I stepped over to the counter area by the door, in front of the register, where there's the machine you can use to scan tickets.

"Sorry. I'm not trying to butt ahead. I just don't feel well right now."

I leaned on the counter. The two people were together. They finished up. I moved to the side, and gave Fave my winners and her envelope with tickets. She tried to print my Show Me Cash draw ticket.

"This has not been working! Let me try again."

"That's okay. You can skip it. I don't feel good."

"Something is wrong with that printer. I keep trying to put the paper in again, but it doesn't work. I keep getting this message on the screen from the lottery. I can't scan tickets. If you want to wait, I can try again."

"No. I don't feel like waiting today. That's okay. I'll just use what cash I have in my pocket."

I picked out four tickets, paid, and left. Hobbled dizziliy back to T-Hoe. Called Farmer H and explained the situation, after drinking the last 1/3 of water in my water bottle. Plus half another unopened bottle that has likely been in T-Hoe for a couple years. I dare the microplastics to take me!

"I guess I will try to drive home. It might take me a little longer. But if I don't show up, come looking for me! I'm trying to think of places I could pull off if I need to."

"If you feel like you can drive..."

"I think I'll start feeling better in a few minutes. Last week when this happened, I felt better after water and half a soda."

I wrote on my tickets. Cranked the air up colder. Strapped on the seatbelt. And started off. But had to slam on the brakes when a lady walked across in front of me! I made it off the lot. Made my right turn at the first light. Had a green through the second light. Then felt woozy going under the overpass.

"You're fine. You're fine. You can pull over at Orb K if you need to. Just a little farther. This is just panic right now. That's the tingling in your legs. Just breathe. Now just over the hill. You can turn by Mick the Mechanic's if you need to. Okay. The prison entrance is up here in case you need to get off the road. Just a little more. There's the bridge, and the county blacktop road. Once you're there, you can go slower. Just keep going. Okay. There's room to stop at the low water bridge. Up around the curve. Almost to the mailboxes. Gravel now. Almost home."

I made it to the garage. Farmer H was coming through the people door. How sweet! Checking on me. NOPE! He was getting dogfood. To put in bowls with eggs that I told him to throw out. The dogs were totally not interested in eggy dogfood. It was 96 degrees! But they DID want a piece of grease bread from my hand as I went in the kitchen door.

I drank more water. Changed clothes. Ran cold water over my wrists. Started to feel a little better after 10-15 minutes. Made Farmer H's supper, then sat down with my scratchers and regular snack of an ounce of cheddar, and 12 dill pickle slices. An hour later, the dizziness was completely gone.

My last doctor NP visit was May 13. My blood pressure was 140/60. I have lost 16 pounds (intentionally) since then. I wonder if maybe my blood pressure is going too low. Maybe my medication (10mg lisinopril) that I've been on for 25 years might need the dose adjusted. Or maybe it was a combination of that, and the heat. I try to stay hydrated. I take a bottle of water with me to town, and drink it during my travels. I felt just fine going in and out with The Pony during errands. But this hit me all at once.

I've been having some dizziness off and on for a month or two. Since I've been trying to stay more hydrated, it had seemed better. I don't know what's going on. I'm thinking about not taking my BP medicine until I get back home from town, rather than in the mornings. Or maybe cutting it in half to see if that changes anything. My next appointment is in August.

Errands For All

The Pony and I did our usual errands on Thursday. I'd already stopped by the bank on my way home from leg therapy on Wednesday. So we just did T-Hoe's gas, post office, and groceries. The day was SO HOT! Upper 90s, with the heat index over 105. My fingers, and the end of my nose, were cold to the touch, since I had T-Hoe's air conditioner set at 66 degrees for The Pony. Once we started making stops, it took a while to cool back down.

I pulled into The Pony's driveway, and said goodbye before opening up T-Hoe's hatch for the groceries. The Pony rummaged around. Rummaged some more. And came up empty-handed.

"Huh. I can't find my keys. I'm sure I had them when I came out. I'd just gotten the mail, and had that card to show you. Um. I guess I'll walk around and see if I left anything open."

No. Nothing open. The Pony was locked out.

"I'll call Dad. He has your other key."

Farmer H was home (for once!), and cleaning GassyG Jr for the impending cookout on Sunday.

"Yeah. I can bring the key. It will take about 10 minutes."

That was wishful thinking! The Pony and I both know it takes a minimum of 20 minutes, if you don't get behind a tractor, or mowers, or utility workers.

"I don't want to sit here that long with T-Hoe running. Look. The temperature says 105. We'll go for a little drive so T-Hoe can cool off. Dad won't be here until 4:40 at the earliest. Probably 4:45."

Off we went, driving around looking at houses for sale, comparing their curbside look to our flips, and checking prices on their listings online. We were back at 4:43. At 4:46, Farmer H drove SilverRedO into The Pony's back yard. The Pony thanked Farmer H, and trotted to get the spare key. Then loaded MY groceries into SilverRedO, for Farmer H to take home and refrigerate/freeze, because I still had to stop by the Gas Station Chicken Store for my scratchers.

Such a relief to find Farmer H available. I told him to make me a spare key.

Mrs. HM Takes A Baby Step

Are you sitting down? Do so. But first get those smelling salts within reach. Brace yourself. 

MRS. HM STOOD UP FOR HERSELF!

Sure, it was not to an actual person, mind you. But to AI. Still, for once Mrs. HM was not content to just let things go after being taken. No siree, Bob! Not this time.

Here's the deal. I use powder after the shower. Especially in those crannies behind my knees, which get strapped into velcro wraps 23 hours a day. I don't want to take a chance of any moisture getting trapped there, causing an irrigation of skin-on-skin. I've used powder for years. Like in those areas that might get sweaty, like leg creases, or the underboob area. 

The powder I like is The Devil's own. Equate brand, Pure Cornstarch With Aloe. Though I'm not sure how it can be PURE cornstarch, if there's aloe. It used to come without. Anyhoo... my point is, no talcum for me. I don't care to be a participant in a cancer settlement with Johnson & Johnson.

You may recall that I haven't been in The Devil's Playground since around the end of 2021. My powder lasts a while. Then I had Farmer H pick it up for me. THEN he couldn't find it. Despite asking a worker, who also couldn't find it. That's when I bought it on Amazon.

I'm not out of powder yet. But I always like to have a backup. So a few weeks ago, I made an order from Amazon. All my other items showed up as promised, within a couple days. The powder said it would be here between June 15-23. I kept watching my emails to see if it was out for delivery. Nope. It was coming by USPS. So I figured it might take a couple extra days, due to our rural delivery.

June 23 came and went. Every time I tried to check the tracking provided, it only said the package was expected on June 23. Then after that passed, it said the package "was likely delivered on June 23." But that if I didn't have it by June 30, to contact the seller.

By July 1, I was mad as Not-Heaven, and not gonna take it anymore. Of course there was no way to contact the seller. I got in a loop, being given choices like:

late

damaged

wrong size

found it cheaper

not as described

There was no option to say it didn't arrive. And going to the item, then tracking, being told it was likely delivered on June 23. There was no way to get to the step-by-step tracking. I was exhausted from so much hoop-jumping. You're out of luck if you want to complain that you never got an item. Did I want to leave feedback? NO! What good would that do? It would not address my issue. Just be bitter venting.

Meanwhile, Farmer H went to the Devil's Playground for dogfood. He took a picture of my powder. Couldn't find it. Asked a worker. And it was RIGHT BESIDE HER HEAD! He got me two of them, though the 22 oz rather than the 15 oz that I wanted. Nothing like weightlifting a heavy powder for a workout after the shower.

Anyhoo... on Wednesday, before I left for leg therapy, I spent 25 minutes trying to work out my Amazon issue. And by some miracle, which I will never be able to repeat, I got a box to pop up so I could type with AI. I was able to state that my package ordered on June 4 that was supposed to arrive by June 23 was still not here by July 1. AI asked if I wanted them to ask the seller for a refund. YES!

While I was looking at my phone on the parking lot before going inside for therapy, I got an email from Amazon. 

I got $16.93 credited back to my credit card for my missing order, plus tax. Which is fine, because I paid with the credit card.

YAY, ME!

Farmer H Gets A Manly Pedi

Tuesday evening, I sat on the short couch, ripping off my velcro leg wraps, and peeling off the support stockings that trap my feet 23 hours a day. Farmer H was kicked back in the recliner in only tighty-whities, having just returned from his own shower. He rotated his ankles, admiring his feet. I hate feet, but Farmer H has amazingly tiny soft white feet.

"I got my monthly pedicure today."

He said as I was dealing with my snaggle-y toenails that grow like horse hooves, with the right big toenail still trying to fall off.

"That's nice. I'm happy just to let my feet breathe for an hour a day when I have a shower."

"I noticed when I went in the shop that their sign was dangling. While I was in the chair, I heard sirens. Then the fire marshal came in, and said, 'We can't let you stay open with this sign hanging. It could fall and hurt someone. It's a hazard. So you'll have to close until it's fixed.'"

"Huh. I hope they get it done in time for your next appointment."

"When I come back through later in the day, I seen that the sign was fixed. So they didn't waste no time. They had that area under it blocked off before, so people couldn't walk under it. But I can understand why they got shut down."

Farmer H leads a charmed life. The Universe is not going to allow him to miss a monthly pedicure.

Therapy Might Rub Some People The Wrong Way

Have I mentioned that I've been going to leg therapy for the last two months? Maybe just in passing. I certainly am not one to dwell on such things, heh, heh! It started on May 5 with a consultation and a session. Poor Farmer H drove me, and was waiting in the waiting room. Since it was just an assessment, I didn't think it would take long. But it was 90 minutes!

Anyhoo... I've been keeping my three times per week appointments, just recently reduced to two. For each session, I have to do an online check-in, during which I electronically sign a form stating that I am the responsible party to pay for any fees not covered by my insurance. Just the standard waiver that all medical facilities use.

Thursday on the way to the casino, I got a notice on YourChart that I had a bill. Well. I suppose that's not surprising. There's often a copay for medical visits, and I had received no bills to date. I can't access YourChart on my phone, because I can't get back to the screen that needs the security code they send. Someone more phone savvy, like The Pony, or perhaps a toddler, might be able to do it. The Pony could not, because we were out of internet range, and I said I'd do it back home.

When I logged in, I saw the amount due. I could NOT get an itemization of what the charges were for. It may be SOMEWHERE in YourChart, but I could not find it. I paid anyway, because I figured it was something to do with my therapy.

Monday, I got a paper statement from my hospital/clinic. It was the bill I had already paid through YourChart. But it had the itemized charges.

Well. That was a bit shocking! Let the record show that my appointments, except for the first, are for 60 minutes. I'm usually in and out in about 50-55 minutes. Only once, I went over by 5 minutes. I'm sure all the therapists use the last 10 minutes or so to document what was done, after the patient has left.

Each of my sessions goes the same way. I get called back, remove my velcro leg wraps (which were the short-stretch wraps in the beginning). Then I get on that hydraulic table/bed, and OT does the massage therapy on my legs. Except every couple of weeks, which begins with measurements, then the massage.

It looks like the billing is for EVERY 15 MINUTES! That's the best I can work out from the charges. An hour costs $792! That's $198 for every 15 minutes. That's $13.20 per minute! A more petty person might expect a HAPPY ENDING for such an expensive massage, heh, heh!

This is the problem with our healthcare system! Insurance bloats up those charges, then gets a negotiated discount. The fee for my one month of occupational therapy was $9,167.00. Which was negotiated down to $1,108.57. Of which my responsibility was $360.

I'm pretty sure OT does not reap the rewards of this scam in her salary.

Casino Road Tales: Barefoot And Petty

You'd think that being the only winner on this casino trip would have rendered Farmer H to a tolerable mellowness for the trip home. You'd be wrong. We were barely back on the interstate when I tried to make conversation.

"I only saw the last half of the new Alone show last night. I wish you'd told me it was on. It used to be Thursdays. So I was surprised."

"I didn't think of it. I started watching it, but it was nothing special."

"I don't know all the contestants. I'll have to look them up. I kind of like that New Zealand guy, in his 20s, but it bothered me that he kept walking around barefoot. That's just asking for trouble."

"He's like Cody, that barefoot partner with Bear Grylls."

"What? Bear Grylls never had a partner!"

"He did too! Him and that Cody guy who was always barefoot."

"No. Bear Grylls had a bunch of guest stars. It was HIS show. He never had a partner."

"I know you watched that show. Now you're saying he didn't go barefoot. He DID TOO!"

"First of all, you need to know what I said before you go yelling at me. The only "BEAR" I was denying was that Bear Grylls did not have a partner on his show!"

"Then what was the name of Cody's partner?"

"I don't know."

"SEE! You don't even know his partner, but you're saying it wasn't Bear Grylls."

"I don't know Cody's partner because he had more than one. The first guy left. So there were different shows with him."

Well. Farmer H's nose was out of joint. I guess because I couldn't prove the name of Cody's partner on his survival show. Or maybe because he was wrong about Bear Grylls, but wouldn't admit it. He didn't ask The Pony to look it up! And he refused to speak the rest of the way home. Then went to bed before 6:30, while I was in town. 

Farmer H is a petty, petty man. But came home the next day acting like none of this happened. You'd think by now I would have learned that no conversation with Farmer H goes unpunished.

Casino Road Tales: Bending Facts

Because Farmer H was driving, we listened to country music in A-Cad. It's usually on a local station, but we get out of range about halfway to the casino, so he switches to Prime Country on SiriusXM. That's okay. I know most of those songs, from the 80s/90s, back when I met Farmer H, and was forced to listen to them then. A Vince Gill song was playing.

"He's been around a long time. Who was he with in the beginning? It was a folk/country band. I think it was Pure Prairie League. I'm pretty sure."

"No. That's not it. I know what you're talking about. But it wasn't Pure Prairie League. It was someone else. I think it was the Eagles."

"Vince Gill was NOT a member of the Eagles! He has sung with a lot of famous people over the years, but he was not in the Eagles."

"Look it up, Pony. Vince Gill in the Eagles."

"It says here that Vince Gill performed with the Eagles in 2017."

"See? I told you it was the Eagles!"

"He might have sang with them in 2017, but that's not what I asked. I want to know which band he started with, before he went solo. That was way before 2017. He was famous in the late 80s. I'm pretty sure it was Pure Prairie League. Pony! Look up Vince Gill and Pure Prairie League."

"Huh. He's from Norman, Oklahoma! He joined Pure Prairie League in 1979 and made them hit the Top 10. Then he went off on his own in 1981."

"There. I thought so. Pure Prairie League."

"It said he was in the Eagles!"

"Again, not my question."

Farmer H likes to think he knows everything. And when he doesn't, he bends the facts until it seems like he does.

Casino Road Tales: Always In The Wrong

I'm sure you know by now that Mrs. HM is always wrong. Anything proclaimed by Farmer H is the absolute truth. It's his world, and Mrs. HM is allowed to reside in it for the fee of supper dished out every night, and saving him from his self-destructive ways that are perfectly logical to him and anyone else in his world besides Mrs. HM.

We were barely off our gravel road. Maybe five miles from home, still on winding too-narrow blacktop. Farmer H and The Pony were having a conversation about The Pony offering to bring a pitcher of ice water to Lap House when Farmer H is working there. And Farmer H summarily dismissing the offer, without even a THANK YOU, by saying, "Nah. I have water there, and the refrigerator still works." Despite having had no electricity there for the past month, which just got hooked up this week.

Anyhoo... Farmer H was tooling along in A-Cad, gawking at sights along the way, making eye contact with The Pony in the rearview mirror. And we were consistently ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE ROAD! Not just going down the middle. ON THE WRONG SIDE! On this narrow blacktop road with twists and turns and hills.

"Can we drive on our side of the road?"

"Mom!"

"I'm just asking, because I'm afraid I might die when something comes over the next hill."

"Just be quiet and ride."

"Oh. So I'M the one who's wrong here?"

I really don't think that was out-of-line to ask Farmer H to obey the rules of the road, and allow me to stay in his world for a bit longer.

An Unfortunate Turn Of Events

Errand Day switched from Thursdays to Friday this week. We went to the casino on Thursday. Nothing to report about that. The Pony was having an out-of-town friend come for an afternoon visit Friday, so we planned our errands for noon. Then it all went to Not-Heaven in a handbasket.

Mid-morning, The Pony texted that the friend was having car trouble, and the visit was off. So we switched to 1:00 for the errands. 

Later-morning, The Pony texted that lower digestive system issues would be putting the kibosh on joining me for the errands.

I left an hour later, because I could. It was only about an hour earlier than our regular errand time.

Five miles from the Mansion, at the roundabout by the bowling alley, I got behind a semi truck that had just exited the highway. The back of the trailer was emblazoned with STUDENT DRIVER. I will say that the student took the roundabout swimmingly. Stayed in the lane, didn't run up on the fancy brickwork in the middle.

The Semi seemed to only have one speed. 20 mph. As if there were no other gears available. When the speed limit was 35, we went 20. When the speed limit was 45, we went 20. When the speed limit was 20, we went 20. That dang truck was going my way. ALL the way. I know where the parking lot is where they practice parking. I would be going right by it on my way to get gas at Casey's.

I could take no more! I changed my course, to avoid a stop at a stop sign, and waiting for the student driver to find that 20 mph gear again. I took a detour down past the middle school near Bargain House and Cheap House. Ironically, the speed limit through there is 20 mph.

I went to Country Mart first. No issues there!

THEN it was time for T-Hoe's gas. I chose Pump 4, because the last three times we've been there, Pump 3 (the only one available those times, near the handicap walkway) was having issues. Like you can't click the automatic notch on the nozzle, becaue it keeps turning itself off. And you can't even stand and hold the nozzle handle to pump, because it does the same thing, no matter how much you lighten your grip pressure. It takes FOREVER to squeeze out $50 worth of gas. Which is just slightly over half a tank for T-Hoe.

The minute I stepped out from under the gas pump roof to walk inside, rain started falling. Heavier and heavier. In fact, when I got inside, the clerks commented on that sudden downpour. Like, where did it come from? That rain was even heavier when I had to go back to T-Hoe to pump the gas. There was no option to wait. The pump shuts off in a few minutes, and you have to go back inside and tell them to turn it on again, reminding them that you already paid. I had to trudge through the downpour. It was wetter than a shower!

I put the nozzle of Pump 4 into T-Hoe's tank, and discovered that Pump 4 has the same problem as Pump 3! It took over 10 minutes to get my $50 of paid gas into the tank. At least I was under a roof. Which really didn't matter by then, because a couple minutes after I got back to the pump, the rain ceased to fall.

The drive to the Gas Station Chicken Store was chilly. I was soaked through. The worst part was my feet, in their mesh shoes, in my regular socks over support socks, all dripping wet. I tried blowing the air at 78 degrees, but it was still cold to me.

Once home, I stripped off the soaking clothes, and decided I might as well have a hot shower. Which was at an odd time, but most logical.

My scratcher wins were less than my standard percentage. But you knew that, right?

Farmer H Gets Served

The Pony made tacos on Wednesday.

They were chicken tacos. According to The Pony, the ingredients were chicken, garlic, red onion, rice, and refried beans, with some hot sauce.

The Pony ate two tacos. Put the others in a baggie, and froze most of it. The plan is to thaw it out for a few meals when desired.

Farmer H was there mowing the yard. 

"I offered Dad one, since he was mowing while I was eating. But he only wanted ice water."

Indeed, Farmer H had already told me that The Pony brought out ice water, and offered him a taco. "I didn't want it, because I was so hot from mowing the yards. Besides, I'd had liver and onions at the Senior Center for lunch, so I was full."

Farmer H was happy, though. For the fact that The Pony came out to offer anything.

Dang! I Should Have Held Onto It!

Look what I found in the bottom of my purse this week:

STAMPS! From 2018. There were actually two, but I had already put one on the water bill for Lap House. Then I put this one on our three-month trash pickup bill.

DANG IT! I should have kept that last one, at least. I had first asked The Pony if they were still valid. Even though they are FOREVER stamps, I didn't want my bills boomeranging back to me, and then being late. The Pony said it was fine. They are FOREVER stamps.

Well. The price of a first-class stamp back in 2018 was 50 cents. The price today is 78 cents. Which will go up to 82 cents on July 12. Had I waited to use my last 2018 stamp after July 12, I would have saved 32 cents when I mailed my bill. Rather than the mere 28 cents I saved yesterday.

Gosh! Maybe I should have sunk a whole lot of money into stamps back in 2018. After July 12, I'd be getting a 64 percent return on my investment!

I need to go buy stamps before July 12.

That Tide Ebbed Sooner Than Expected

My laundry detergent is Tide. It's a family thing. My mom always used Tide. Until one week she didn't, and my ankles broke out in a rash. Just the area covered by my white crew socks I wore for volleyball practice. It took a couple weeks to figure out it was a reaction to a new detergent. I can't remember what Mom switched to. Maybe ALL. Or CHEER. Something on sale. Never to be bought again!

Anyhoo... the Mansion is a Tide house. Specifically, Tide with Bleach. The powder. The Pony uses Tide Pods. Has since college. More convenient then, and he developed the habit. Thing is, powdered Tide is harder to find these days. Farmer H gets it for me at the Devil's Playground. He often messes up and gets the regular version, without the built-in bleach. It works just as well, but I figure it doesn't brighten the clothes as much.

Anyhoo... you might recall how I needed a bleachless detergent for washing my leg wraps, and now my support stockings and velcro wraps. Of all the times for Farmer H to have just bought a new box of Tide WITH Bleach, heh, heh. No mistakes laying around to use on my precious bleachless accessories. But on an Errand Day with The Pony, we found Tide (without bleach) in little square "packets." 

I don't know what they're called, but these "packets" feel like they have a terrycloth surface. They're about three inches square. They come in a flip-top box, two rows, lined up like soapy square cookies. I have them sitting to the left of the washer. You just drop one in as the water is filling. Easier than the not-so-hard task of taking the powdered Tide box off the shelf overhead, and dipping out half a scoop.

Also, I love the fragrance on these Tide packets. I suppose it will forever remind me of the summer of leg-wrapping, heh, heh. I save those packets for my non-bleach accessories. I use the regular powdered Tide for everything else. For the past couple of accessory-washings, it seemed like my Tide packets were running out quickly. In fact, I bought two more boxes of them, because they are also hard to find. Country Mart is the only place I've seen them.

A few nights ago, I was scratching my lottery tickets when I sensed a familiar smell. I didn't think anything of it. Maybe I just got a whiff of my fresh socks when I had changed from town shoes to Crocs. I vaguely sensed on the periphery that Farmer H was doing his laundry (!!!), coming back and forth to the laundry room to check on the dryer. 

By the time my distracted mind put all these clues together, Farmer H was in bed. Interrogation had to wait until 5:45 a.m. When Farmer H was sitting on the long couch, next to a pile of underwear and socks which he had not yet folded.

"What did you use to wash your clothes?"

"Tide."

"WHICH Tide?"

"Tide."

"Like we always use? From the box on the shelf?"

"Uh. No. Them things you got there."

"MY PACKETS? I knew I smelled it! WHY would you do that? I told you when I got them that I found them for my wraps and socks. Because they can't have bleach, or they won't be stretchy. If there's anything that NEEDS bleach, it's your UNDERWEAR! So WHY are you using my packets?"

"I don't know. They was just there."

"DON'T USE THEM! They're only meant for a medium load anyway. And you fill that washer to the top. Use the regular Tide with Bleach for your stuff, just like always!"

"Okay. I didn't know."

How could he not know??? In fact, he just bought us a new box of the Tide with Bleach a couple weeks ago. I'm sure he doesn't want to open it to scoop some into the smaller box we keep on the shelf. Again, not such a hard task. But something a lazy man would not want to do. He's probably been using my packets for the last three or four times he did laundry. Multiple loads.

This is why we can't have long-lasting stretchy things...

The Bad-Parker Magnet Was Extra Powerful

Remember last week, when Mrs. HM was almost mowed down by a little black sports car that insisted on PARKING in the striped handicap walkway? That wasn't the only rumpushole parker Mrs. HM encountered that day.

Over at the Gas Station Chicken Store, she returned to T-Hoe to find:

A delivery truck parked in the driving lane. Essentially blocking her in, except the FREE AIR parker left, creating an exit to the back alley.

I'm sure that delivery driver considered ME to be the one in the wrong. How dare an unstable old lady park her handicap-placard-enabled T-Hoe in the lone handicap parking space!

This driver is here every week. At times, I've driven over to the 10Box parking lot, to await this space becoming available again. I don't know what this guy delivers, but it's in small boxes. He has a two-wheel dolly that he loads them on, and wheels them inside. Last time, he was parked there for 30 minutes. At least from the time I got there, then waited. There's a clear view from 10Box.

He had already loaded his empty dolly back into the back of the truck. Spent another 15 minutes sitting in the truck. I call shenanigans! Whatever he was doing while sitting could have been done anywhere on that parking lot. Also, there are plenty of other places for him to park for delivery.

The other side of the store has five spaces that are equidistant to the door as this handicap space. He could park alongside the moat. That would increase his distance to the door by about 20 feet. Not insurmountable. He's wheeling a DOLLY! The lot is paved and smooth. I don't know why he "must" park in the only handicap space. And linger. 

Too bad, so sad. I got there first this day. So rather than inconveniencing handicap parkers, he inconvenienced the dump truck drivers and fire department vehicles that use the diesel pump that he had blocked. 

Such a simple solution. Park a few feet farther away. 

Mrs. HM Has Been Jilted!

OT wants to see other people! Can you believe it? She didn't go so far as to say, "It's not you. It's me." But I'm pretty sure that's her sentiment.

As I was leaving on Friday, OT said that we are still waiting on my leg pumps that I must use for an hour a day to maintain all the work she has done in shrinking my legs. My insurance is the slowest one, according to the pump rep who met with me during my second week of therapy. The documents have been submitted, but approval is pending. Let the record show that my treatment was scheduled to run from May 5 to July 29.

"I don't want to release you yet, because what if the pumps take two months to get here? Then you could be all swollen again. But with your progress, I don't really have to see you three times a week now. We could cut it down to two."

"Okay. Does it matter which days? Should we drop Wednesdays?"

"It would probably be better to drop Fridays. It's my short day. With that opening, I could see more people."

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Was it something I did? Yes. Apparently. I responded quickly to OT's treatment. It's only fair that I drop one day a week from OT's schedule. I remember how long it took me to get an appointment. I don't hold this against OT. We will still be (working) friends on those two days a week.

Breaking up is hard to do.

Just One More Reason She's My Favorite

When I entered the Gas Station Chicken Store on Friday, there was only one other customer. He was a bearded man in a red plaid kilt, with a cast from wrist to bicep on his right arm. He was having trouble sliding his card through their portable card-scanner.

"I can't do it."

"Yes you can."

"I've only got one arm, GIRLFRIEND!"

"All you have to do it tap it right there... BOYFRIEND!"

That's when it dawned on me that this was actually Fave's boyfriend, he who fell off a roof and broke his wrist last weekend. At the time, the news-bearer said it was his wrist, but it definitely involved an arm. I guess with only the use of one hand, a kilt is practical. Though I don't know if he otherwise wears one or not.

Anyhoo... she told him I'm the "nice lady" who brings her scatchers every Thursday. He said, "Oh, so YOU'RE the one responsible for all those tickets littering the car."

"Yes. That's me. Enabling the habit."

I don't think he held it against me. When he left, Fave said that she won $60 this week. Which included a $50 winner on a $5 crossword. Which means I just missed a $50 winner, heh, heh. Because when I buy hers, it's always the second one after I buy my own. I'm glad Fave won it. I've had my own luck this past week.

Anyhoo... as she was getting my scratchers, Fave said:

"Have you lost weight? You look thin today."

I had to laugh. You know me, quite the jokester. Fave sensed it right away, what I was about to say. "Oh! I didn't mean it like that! That sounded bad, didn't it? I just meant that I really noticed it today..."

"Not a problem. Yes, I have. It's something I've been working on for two years now. I take it as a compliment."

"I feel so bad. Really. I didn't mean it to sound that way. Me and my big mouth."

"It's fine. Don't worry. I'm not offended."

A couple guys came in to pay for gas, and I left with my tickets. I was in T-Hoe, writing on the back of them, when Fave came out the side door by the propane tanks. I put my window down.

"I just wanted to come out and apologize."

"I told you, it's fine! I won't hold it against you, heh, heh! Your tickets are safe!"

"Okay. I just wanted to make sure. I would never say anything to hurt your feelings."

"They're not hurt! It was a compliment for me. We're fine."

Heh, heh. I can't wait to tell Fave on Saturday that I won't be there Sunday, because of The Pony coming out for Father's Day. Maybe I'll say, "I won't be here Sunday. I'll be home gaining weight."

It will be fun to have something to rib her about. But I won't touch her boyfriend's kilt... that might offend her.

Maybe Not A Brainiac

This Shaver adventure has made Mrs. HM question her intelligence! After all, she's a former VALedictorian, who has reproduced two valedictorian offspring. Yet all it took was a tiny Chinese shaver to make a fool of her! AS IF a normal person would know which side was up, and which side was down. Surely I'm not the only person to mistake a reading of 100% for a reading of %001. Well... maybe I AM.

I was ready to call that purchase a loss. I'd learned my lesson about buying on-sale Chinese merchandise from Amazon. I would search again, and try a domestic shaver with good reviews, at a moderate price. Of course, Farmer H, in his annoying way, had to say:

"Walmart probably sells them."

DUH! Do you think? Never mind that I haven't stepped foot in the Devil's Playground since I came home from my Unfortunate HospitVALzation after a 4-day stay for pneumonia. At first I was just too weak. But as I grew stronger, so did my resolve to not play into the Devil's hands. I was mad about their approach to The Virus, with the cattle chutes out front, forcing a zig-zag extra-long walk just to get inside. And then the one-way aisles. Which Farmer H said he just ignored. But which I pulled my cart down backwards, lest I be spotted on surveillance, and this transgression added to my Permanent Record.

"I haven't been in there in four years, and I'm not starting now! YOU can get me a shaver, then."

I said to the man who could not find my lotion there, even though I sent him with a picture on his phone, and he consulted a clerk for help. Thank the Gummi Mary that he got my little Shaver fixed. Who knows what kind of contraption he might have brought home. Probably some sheep-shearing clippers. Or Edward Scissorhands himself (since I caught Farmer H watching this movie the other day when his MeTV channel was missing).

Yes, my intellect has been insulted by a tiny shaver. It brings back unfond memories of my first day of teaching, in Mountain Grove, Missouri, when I wrote my name on the board, along with my subject, for all my new students to see:

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom

SCIENE

Darn That Little Shaver

The good news is that I did not amputate a leg with my new Shaver. The bad news is that I don't think I used it as intended. Like Ed Sheeran and his first kiss on a Friday night... I don't reckon that I did it right.

I settled down on the short couch to attempt a shave. I spread a towel across the floor for my feet and legs. It's not an ideal place for leg-shaving, but that's where I take off my velcro leg wraps before showering, and then put them on again. I wanted to shave my legs before the shower, so they'd be ready for lotioning when I got out.

I pushed the power button on my shaver. It did a 3-2-1 countdown. That locks it for travel, so it doesn't accidentally get jostled and turn on. Not what I intended. I held down the power button again. 1-2-3 countup. That puts it back in the using mode. But it didn't seem to be on. The light showing the power charge was on. But there was no noise. No hum. No vibration. Huh. Was this some special magical shaver?

I tried pushing the power button again. Got the countdown. Then the countup. Well. Maybe it WAS on, somehow. I moved it across my leg. Looked like some of that hair was trimmed. I don't have a lot. But what I had was long and scraggly in a little patch. Now it looked short and scraggly. I did it again. Yep! That hair was gone. I ran that Shaver over a couple of other patches. Then gave up.

When Farmer H came home, I explained my Shaver issue. That man purely LOVES to tinker with any kind of machine. I gave him the instructions, but he only took a glance. He said he was trying to take it apart.

"I had the top off. To look in where the blades supposedly are. There's that white plastic part on the two edges. I think it belongs there. It doesn't seem to be a guard you have to remove to make it run. I didn't try to pry it loose, because I didn't want to break it. Be careful if you take that off. There's going to be some hair in there, because somehow it still shaved."

Farmer H's supper was ready, so he stopped his investigation. Before he came back to the kitchen for assorted desserts, he said, 

"I got your Shaver working. I took off the top. It was just stuck. I knocked it loose, and now it works."

He brought it to the kitchen, and I could hear the hum. Good to know!

A Close Shave For An Idiot

Mrs. HM is sometimes not the brightest crayon in the box. The sharpest tool in the shed. Every now and then, her porchlight is on, but nobody's home upstairs. Like on Wednesday, when she opened her latest Amazon delivery.

The delivery itself was fine. Three items. An assortment of colored file folders for sorting flip house documents/bills. A large bottle of Curel lotion, for use on my legs after shower/before enclosing in their support stockings and velcro wraps. And a shaver.

Let the record show that Mrs. HM has never used a shaver. She has used a disposable plastic razor. Over the past couple years, her legs have gone bald! So no need for leg-shaving. But with my current leg therapy, the lower legs have started sprouting again! OT says this is good. It happens sometimes as the circulation gets better. She said she's not offended. She's worked on hair legs before.

Each session when we've unwrapped my legs, marveled over their appearance, and I've climbed up on the hydraulic table/bed... I've said, "I really need to shave my legs." OT advised me to use a shaver. Not a razor. Because we don't want to risk any nicks that need healing. 

Anyhoo... it's a cute little shaver. Only came in one color: purple. It was on sale for 63% off. Compact. Charges with a USB cord. I figured it was just what I needed.

I took it out of the box, figuring I could charge it by plugging into HIPPIE while doing my morning innernetting. Then it would be ready for shaving when I unwrapped my legs for a shower around noon. It had a short white charging cord. I connected the shaver to HIPPIE.

As you may recall, HIPPIE has been having power issues. Often shutting down spontaneously, with a message that he was overheating. Sometimes the message is that the battery needs to be replaced. The Pony says that will cost more than a new computer. Which I already have anyway, but prefer the familiarity of HIPPIE until his last gasp.

Anyhoo... I noticed that the power was not changing. It didn't seem that Shaver was getting a charge from HIPPIE. I changed the USB cord to a different port. Still nothing. Maybe HIPPIE's battery didn't want to exert itself on an auxiliary device. I took Shaver to the kitchen counter, and plugged it into my quick-charging thingy that I used for my phone. When I checked five minutes later, there was still no change. Huh. The instruction booklet said that charging would take one hour. But surely it should be showing minor progress after five minutes.

Dang it! I figured I'd just have to order a different shaver. It WAS made in China. I guess you get what you pay for. I unplugged it and got ready to put it back in the box. As I laid Shaver down to open the box, I noticed something:

Shaver had been upside down! It came with a 100% charge! I had been thinking that China just had a funny way of showing the percent. Like Spanish has the question mark in front.

I hope I'm smart enough to use Shaver without amputating a leg...

The Lack Of Awareness Is Mind-Numbing

Mrs. HM is on another crusade. Join her, if you will, on her foray into a world rife with entitledness and/or ignorance. This necessitates climbing upon her high horse. Put your foot in the stirrup there, and give me your hand. Upsy-daisy! There you go. Careful not to pound my elevated steed's flanks with your heels. There's no rush. It's not like we're waiting to pay for soft-serve ice cream cones...

Monday after my leg therapy, I stopped by the Sis-Town Casey's for scratchers. The line was orderly. My mission accomplished, I went out the door and walked down the front sidewalk to T-Hoe. I had my handicap placard hanging, but didn't park in the handicap space. I don't like it here, because there's a regular space next to it on the left, which allows regular parkers to get too close, and block T-Hoe's door from opening completely. Instead, I prefer the farther-away space on the other side of the striped handicap walkway with the concrete ramp onto the sidewalk.

This space lets me open the door completely, and walk up that ramp. As I started down the little built-in ramp, a little black sports car started pulling in. HALFWAY IN THE STRIPED AREA! I stopped, lest I be struck by an automobile. Small, but still bigger than Mrs. HM! 

The sports car stopped, halfway in. I figured the guy was probably going to use that space to turn around, since there were plenty of regular parking spaces in front of the door, plus on the other side of T-Hoe. The handicap space was also open. Maybe he had just misjudged his turn.

I gave the driver a quizzical look, then continued down the ramp. T-Hoe's door opened, since the sports car had stopped before pulling all the way in. Once settled in the driver's seat, door closed, I was SHOCKED to see that sports car back up, straighten out, and pull forward directly into the striped space! As if it was a parking space. The sports car blocked the whole ramp.

That's when I frowned at the driver, who was looking at me. WHAT IN THE NOT-HEAVEN? Was he a psycho? I raised my left eyebrow, my unspoken teacher language for, "What in the Not-Heaven, Dude?" The guy got out of his sports car and stepped up on the sidewalk and went inside. He had no handicap placard, nor plates. He had no visible infirmity that might require close parking. In fact, he had eschewed closer parking, and even the actual handicap space, to park IN THE STRIPED HANDICAP WALKWAY!

Take a snort of that rarefied air atop our high horse, and sigh heavily along with me.

Tales Out Of Treatment

My leg therapy continues. I got Tuesday off! I'd like to think of it as a reward for good behavior, but it was just a result of circumstances. I usually go M/W/F. My OT will be gone on Wednesday. She decided, as I was leaving on Monday, that I could do without the Tuesday session.

"With your progress, I don't see back-to-back treatment having much of an effect. Would you like to just skip Tuesday, and come in on Friday as usual?"

"Yes! That would be fine with me. As long as it doesn't count as a no-show. I don't want that on my permanent record!"

"I'll tell her. It won't count against you."

My treatment lately has been massage to stretch the skin and get the circulation going. There's not much for me to do besides lie on my back on the lifted table/bed, looking at the ceiling. Some days we are more talkative than others. Monday, we somehow went from my DISH local channel woes and talking to ESL help centers with representatives named "Susan" and "Bill," to how kids act in the store.

"My kids were so different. Genius would walk off by himself, saying 'I'm going to electronics to see if they got in any new hard drives.' The Pony wanted to ride in the cart. Even when he was so big his feet would almost drag the floor. He's sit in the basket, playing his GameBoy, and complain. 'Ow! That box of cereal hurt my legs!' I had to tell him no more! He was taking up too much room from the groceries. And when he wasn't in the cart, he'd hide in the middle of those circular clothing racks."

"I was a kid who hid in the racks! But my favorite thing to do, at the mall, was stand in the shop windows with the mannequins. I'd pose just like the one next to me. My mom would go on shopping, then come back to get me when she was ready."

"Oh, no! That's hilarious! Did you look people in the eye when they stared at you?"

"Yes! Some of them would smile at me. But I'd just keep a mannequin face, and look right back at them."

I don't know why I find that so funny. Maybe because it's ONE thing my kids didn't do to embarrass me.

If It Weren't For Bad Luck

I missed my rendezvous with Fave on Thursday. The Pony and I had an early Errand Day, and then a bill-paying session at the Mansion, with a Chinese takeout lunch. I had already let Fave know last Sunday. Just as a matter of courtesy, because she always says, "See you Thursday!" And Thursday is the day I usually give her a couple scratchers sealed in an envelope. Not because she does me any favors in the scratcher department, but because she's a nice gal, and I think she's lucky for me.

Friday, I noticed several cars at the gas pumps. A minivan was parked in my rightful handicap space, but it was pulling up by the FREE AIR hose as I turned onto the lot. Fine with me! I took back my space. A woman got out of the passenger side of the minivan, and went past me inside.

A few customers were waiting to pay. A suspicious guy walked back and forth in front of the fishbowls that hold assorted alcohol in the little shooter bottles, clutching a dollar. Fave seemed preoccupied. She was talking to a lady standing by the door with a cell phone. The one who had passed me. Something was up.

"I don't know what to do. Maybe try to call "M" and "B," to see if they can cover for me. I can't call Woman Owner. It's FRIDAY again! She'll fire me! I just don't know."

"I'd jump behind there and take over the register if I could. I'll keep calling. They're not answering."

Fave greeted me and we did our business. Then she said, "Sorry. My boyfriend fell off a roof."

"Oh, no! I hope he wasn't working on my flip house! I just drove by there and saw the roofers."

Fave chuckled. So I guess her boyfriend was NOT on (and now off) my flip house. I don't know if he was working, or fixing something on her roof, or rescuing a cat. Whatever, he fell off a freakin' roof!

The next day, I found out that Fave won $20 on the tickets I gave her. And that her boyfriend had "...a mild concussion, and a broken wrist. He kept me awake all night crying over the broken wrist."

"Oh, that's too bad. But it COULD have been a lot worse. So I guess it was unlucky, but kind of lucky, in a way."

"Yeah. It could have been worse."

Poor Fave. If it weren't for bad luck, she'd have no luck at all. Especially over the past month. I'm glad her gunshot wound wasn't acting up.

Ham Handed Farmer H

Supper for Farmer H on Friday night was ham. Nice thick slices of ham that had been thawed out, from our Easter Dinner. Farmer H asked for ham sandwiches. I had a new loaf of Hawaiian bread, his favorite. Don't think the side dish was vegetables. Not for Farmer H! He wanted some mozzarella sticks with marinara dipping sauce.

Farmer H had only been home for about an hour. He had gone straight to his recliner, to try and watch his old TV shows like MASH. But the local channels are again not working on DISH. He had to settle for a movie, Daddy Daycare.

I was warming his sauce in the microwave (which is the size of a box of velcro wraps sent by my occupational therapist, heh, heh!) when I called Farmer H to the kitchen. I was waiting until the last minute to get the ham (with pepper jack melted on top), and the mozzarella sticks out of the oven.

"You can come get your sandwich ready."

Farmer H came to the cutting block, where I'd set his plate, a paper towel, his flat pickle slices, and the loaf of bread. I was sprinking some parmesan cheese on top of his sauce when I noticed Farmer H over my shoulder. He was pawing down three slices to get the bread that he wanted.

"Yuck! The sight of that makes me sick. You KNOW you haven't washed your hands after a day of digging around in who knows what, and peeing all over the place!"

"Huh."

"You know it's true! You can't even deny it."

"Whatever."

"SEE?"

"Whatever."

"That's what I mean! Whatever. NOT a denial. I'm glad I don't eat that bread."

I took the tray with the hot ham and mozzarella sticks from the oven, and set it on the cutting block. Farmer H immediately reached with his (dirty) bare hands to pick up the slice of ham/cheese and put it on his bread.

MAYBE the burning heat killed a few bacteria on his fingertips.

Not All It's Cracked Up To Be

The Pony has been cooking more frequently, rather than ordering out. A recent effort was an omelet. That's it. Just eggs and cheese.

The Pony said it was a 3-egg omelet.

Here you can see the added Muenster cheese.

Served up on a mini cafeteria-style tray that I found at 10Box. I bought us each four trays. They only came in pink and green, so we have two of each. The green does this omelet no favors! But I imagine the pink would have made it look worse.

Anyhoo... The Pony reported that next time, it will probably be a 2-egg omelet, because it got cold 2/3 of the way through eating it. And perhaps a slice of toast next time. I agree. Those other compartments need something to make the omelet look less lonely. Toast. Maybe an apple.

Mrs. HM Plays Soccer And Loteria

Thank the Gummi Mary, leg therapy, and Father's Day for Mrs. HM's good luck on Monday. I was way over in Bill-Paying Town for therapy. I needed to get a Father's Day card for Farmer H. I figured I could stop by Country Mart on the way home. They have a good card selection. And I could also pick up bananas, and some marinara sauce that I needed for Farmer H's mozzarella sticks for supper. Plus scratchers out of their machine!

Such a good decision. I normally don't go in Country Mart until Errand Day on Thursdays. But with this therapy, I pass through the area. Casey's is my extra stop for scratchers, but their parking lot was full. So I was left with a changed plan for which tickets I wanted.

This is a new soccer scratcher. I didn't plan on getting it out of the Country Mart machine. I didn't plan on getting it at all. But with the selection, and the no-change from winners I had scanned into the machine, this is the one that spoke to me. As in, "Take me home!"

I'm so glad I listened! The first chance was the SHOE symbol, which is an automatic winner. When the second was also a shoe, I knew I'd won at least $10. Then $15. I don't uncover the prizes until the end, but I know the minimum win on the $5 tickets is $5. By the time I got the fourth SHOE, I felt like I might be winning all the prizes. I DID. That's a $75 winning ticket!

But wait. I also bought other tickets out of that same machine. The ones I'd planned on, which were two of the Loteria tickets. I like playing them. The first one was a winner.

I have a certain order for scratching these. Starting with the upper left symbol. Then the lower right symbol. Then alternating. I was thrilled when I uncovered that BOOT symbol. It gave me a $100 win on the top puzzle! I set it in my purse with the $75 Soccer winner. Such great luck!

It was only upon scanning later that night that I discovered I'd been wrong. It was NOT a $100 winner. It was a $200 WINNER! I had missed scratching the DEER symbol on the bottom puzzle. Good thing I scan my tickets! Some unscrupulous clerk could have pocketed $100 if I'd handed that over saying I had a $100 winner. I'd have been none the wiser.

Anyhoo, it was a good scratching day. Now I can't buy these tickets out of that machine on Thursday. I don't think I could get a better winner off those rolls.

Ban Youthful Checkers!

Kids these days! I commend those who actually get out and work. But they need more life experience to be my grocery checker! Or at least TRAINING from a seasoned professional life-liver.

The thing is, these kids don't pay for their own groceries. I don't for an instant believe that the 18-22 set is living on their own with a grocery store checking job. Maybe in years past it was possible. Not today, unless they have 10 roommates to offset the cost of rent/utilities/food/car/insurance, and electronic gewgaws. They don't understand that if you pay for an item, you want it in the same condition as you bought it when you get it home.

Monday after leg therapy, I stopped by Country Mart. I needed bananas, marinara sauce, and a Father's Day card for Farmer H. Three items. My checker was a young man jovially conversing with a fellow buddy young man. He turned his attention to me. He was polite and cheerful. But he didn't know squat about bagging. He put all three items in the same bag.

I don't think he was trying to save the earth by using less plastic, or save the store extra costs. I think he just glanced and thought, "Those will easily fit in one bag."

I would have offered the card to the stately elderly woman (myself, heh, heh!) to see if she wanted to carry it in her purse, lest it be bent in the main bag, or get something sticky off the bananas. Like those darn labels they want to put on each one, that regularly grab the side of the bag in transit.

As for the big can of spaghetti sauce (actual marinara was only in glass jars, which I did not want to deal with), I would have put it in a separate bag. Only because a heavy can is not a friend to a bunch of eight bananas. It tries to beat them into mush as the bag is lifted to and fro, conveyor to cart, cart to car, car to elbow to swing freely in transit to the kitchen, after being plopped on a metal chair while steps are climbed.

But no. Young Jovial Checker put everything in one bag as I was paying with my card, handed me the receipt, then resumed his jovial conversation. By the time I took that bag out of T-Hoe, the card corner had burrowed through the plastic bag. The can of sauce was on top of it, giving the card a U-shaped bend. The bananas are no doubt holding their bruises secret for a few more days.

Keep these boys in the stockroom!

_________________________________________________________

Here's my poor banana the next day, bearing the mark of the pasta sauce can!

Such a travesty! I never would have chosen a banana that looked like that in the store.

Last Week's Leg Tales, Part 2

I set out alone to my leg therapy appointment on Friday. I got my favorite parking space, up top, by the scratchy bush. I took the Amazon box of boxes off the back seat, where Farmer H had loaded them for me. The walk inside was okay. I've been leaving my cane in T-Hoe, since I know the layout, and what will be expected of my legs. I set the box down on a waiting room chair, and checked in at the window.

I don't like being a spectacle. For other waiters to see me with a big box of boxes, and wonder what is wrong with me. But there I was, me and my boxes. The waiting room filled up, as it does completely for a 1:00 appointment. I felt a little guilty about my boxes taking up a seat, but there was nowhere else for them to go. OT came out at 12:59 to call me in. She took the box out of my hands and whisked them away to my treatment room.

"That's not the box they came in! I had to find a smaller one to carry."

"Well, I would hope not! That they didn't come from Amazon!"

"The packing slip is in there. It looks like they sent four SMALL upper leg wraps!"

"Oh. That's what I ordered."

"I've never worn a small ANYTHING in my life!"

"These upper thigh wraps run really large."

Indeed, they fit just fine! Nothing to send back. So I have two complete sets of new wraps, along with the support stockings and stretchy sockinet underliner so that rubbery stuff is not against my tender skin.

OT continues to be astounded at how fast my legs have responded to her treatment. Only four weeks into the 12-week plan, and as she said a week or so ago about my right leg: "That looks like a normal leg!" To which I agreed.

"I look down and think, 'Where did THAT come from?' I haven't seen my leg like that in 30 years!" Minus the crinkly loose skin, of course, at the inner knee.

I have deduced that the standard course of treatment is to push the extra lymphatic fluid out of the legs with the ACE-like wraps, and massage to loosen up hardened tissue. When enough progress is seen there, the "reducer" velcro wraps are ordered. They are cut (by OT) to fit, and trimmed as the legs get even smaller, to provide enough squeeziness. Then the long-term wraps are ordered, to wear to maintain the goal. To be worn all the time, unless you want to remove them for sleeping. AND the last step is the leg-pumper thingies to use once a day, at least five days per week. This takes the place of the OT massage. The pumps (used at home) take an hour each day. That's my last step, and they're waiting on insurance to order them.

Anyhoo... OT had a couple of other tales. As we removed my velcro wraps to try on the new ones, I commented that my legs has been particularly itchy since the last visit.

"Yes, that happens sometimes as the circulation improves."

"I had a good time scratching when I took off the socks for the shower."

"One lady used KABOB STICKS to scratch her legs, when I had them wrapped! She stuck them down in there. I couldn't believe she did that. You know, kabob sticks have that pointy end. I was so worried what I'd find when I unwrapped her, but there were just little white scratches. It didn't really break the skin."

"Oh, no! Was it the same lady who ironed her wraps that were supposed to be washed in only cold water, and hung to dry?"

"Sadly, it was not. There are two different people doing these things that they should know better!"

At least I didn't do anything like that! I mentioned that the worst part for me is having my feet in those support stockings all the time. 

"Every step I take, my toes remind me that they don't like it!"

"I can understand. I'm a barefoot person myself. Some people cut the toe off the stocking. I don't recommend that, because the socks will work their way up the foot. But if you have to, you could try it."

"No. I pull on the end of the sock, to stretch it out and give me a little room before it tightens up again. I can deal with it. I just don't like it."

"One lady made one cut, between the big toe and the rest."

"I never thought of that. I don't know how much that could help, though."

"She did it so she could wear flip-flops."

I'm guessing that is a THIRD person doing know-better things...

Last Week's Leg Tales, Part 1

Wow, it's been a whole week since I bored you with my leg tales. As I recall, one of the last things discussed was the arrival of a giant box of velcro wraps to replace the three (per leg) ACE-style wraps that had been used for the first two weeks. Oh, and that oozy spot on my leg went away by the next visit. And I had lost 4 inches in the right knee circumference.

More measuring was done last week. OT said she had ordered my long-term wraps. WHAT? Another giant box was coming my way??? I'm not all that upset about the "long-term wraps." I don't want to lose any of this progress. This condition is not curable, you know. But it's manageable. It's not the worst thing in the world to go through life with my legs wrapped up. It doesn't hurt. It's not clunky like Forrest Gump braces. Just stretchy wraps, fastened by velcro flaps. I can deal with it. I'm not needed on the high-fashion runways (anymore, heh, heh). I don't plan on wearing shorts or swimming, since I haven't done that in at least 25 years.

What worried me most was the arrival of that box! FedEx gave me a window on Thursday for 10:50 to 3:50. I was gone after 2:00 for Errand Day with The Pony. Of course I was worried about the package. Another one was coming as well, which would be clothes I had ordered, in a soft bag. I don't trust Pepper, and I don't trust Jack, the original eater of 1/3 of a monogrammed Sharper Image bison leather wallet with RFID blocker. I sighed with relief when I got an email at 3:48 showing my packages at the door.

I was in town, and called Farmer H immediately. He said he was at the BARn, and had seen the FedEx truck, and was heading over to the Mansion. The dogs were with him. My packages were safe.

I was supposed to take the box of wraps to therapy with me. Farmer H made no offer to carry it this time! And there were twice as many!

"I ordered you two of each," said OT. "So you can have a one to wear, and one to wash."

They need to air dry, so it takes a while. This was a good plan. She said I would be getting two each for the lower left leg, lower right leg, upper left leg, and upper right leg. That's 8 wraps! And all came in their own individual box inside the big box! Thankfully, OT said I only need to bring one set of each. So four wraps.

I checked to see if I could fit them in a big leather bag I have. Nope. But I had a smaller box from Amazon earlier in the week, and the four individual boxes just fit! Still, it was a microwave-size box for me to carry. I THOUGHT I could do it.

But wait! What's this? In sorting out the boxes to make sure I took the right thing, I saw a Large for the lower left leg, which OT said she had ordered, though it was borderline for a Medium. There was a Medium for the right lower leg. But all of the upper leg wraps were SMALL! Four small wraps! Two for the left, and two for the right!

I was not looking forward to finding out it was the wrong items. That would mean sending them back, which I was sure I would have to do.

To be continued...