What's Going On Here?

You never know what you might see at the Gas Station Chicken Store. Even if it's not within the store itself. Saturday I nabbed my rightful handicap parking space beside the building. Facing the back alley, I noticed something unusual. [Despite this photo giving a crisp fall day feel, it was actually 92 degrees.]

Do you see it, there in the distance? Not the building. That used to be a can-opener factory. Might still be. I know people work there, and a shift gets off at 3:00 or 3:30, which makes me wait on a string of traffic to get back on the main road.

No, it's not the building I noticed.

Why is there a truck in that big field? Was somebody joy-riding and broke down? Trying to evade the police and take a long bumpy shortcut? It's not like concerts are held there, or festivals, where cars are directed to park in that field. I don't know who owns it, but it is usually kept mowed. I'm pretty sure this truck doesn't belong.

Looks like it's going to need a tow.

Five Years Seems Overly Optimistic

You may recall that the end of July was when I received my leg pumps for lymphedema. I have been using them every day. It takes an hour, hooked up to that contraption. Getting my legs unwrapped and wrapped again adds another half hour. But I have a routine. It's not unpleasant. Actually kind of relaxing and massage-y. Just time consuming.

Anyhoo... I've only had the leg pumps for about six weeks. And a couple of weeks ago, I BROKE part of the contraption!!! Which is supposed to last me for five years, before insurance will pay for another. And even with insurance, this one cost me $1,172.01.

I didn't recall doing anything wrong. But one morning, the last hose would clip on. No matter how much I wiggled it, or pressed harder to click in into place, it wouldn't fit.  Here I was, my legs all zipped up in the canvas-y fabric, eight other hoses clicked in, and I couldn't proceed. I looked closer at the controller/pumper.

Two of these things are not like the others. I took this picture a couple days later. At the time, all the ports had hoses plugged in except the lower left, which is meant to be empty. So I was only looking at the lower right port. I hadn't been using this contraption long enough to know what I should be looking at. Before, I just snapped the hoses into place, and didn't have to think.

Finally, I looked into the end of the hose connector, and saw something that seemed different. I realized that the little cap thingy was stuck inside the connector. I used the point of an ink pen to pop it loose. Then I set it into the port. There's a little groove that has to line up at top. And a little notch in the connector that must fit, to click the hose into place.

That's the underside of the cap. Those white areas are where I think glue was put on at the factory, to stick it into place. I just flipped it over and set it on, then the hose connected. But when I took it loose later, that cap popped off again. The closer I inspected, I found a raised area. It's like when you buy a model car, and snap the pieces off the plastic holder they come attached to, and sometimes there's a raised nub. This raised nub had kept the glue from holding, because the entire cap was not flush.

You can see the other circles on the underside. The white one at the bottom is where there was a raised section. I filed it down with a raspy sandpapery nail file. The other white areas on the rim are just from where the factory glue was put. I didn't do any filing except that lower circle. Got it almost down to the surface.

I got some Elmer's School Glue at 10Box. I put it on with a toothpick, over those white areas. I held it with pressure for two minutes. Then I left it alone for 24 hours. Now my hose clicks on like a charm. The cap stays in place when I remove  the hose.

I'm a regular MacGyver!

I guess I need to be. This pump still has 4 years and 10.5 months to go.

How Much Bad Luck Can One Person Endure

Once again, I am worried about Fave. She was there Thursday as normal, behind the counter at the Gas Station Chicken Store. I was the only customer at the time. I handed her my winners, and the envelope with her tickets I give every week. She thanked me, and rang up my scratchers. 

Something was off. Fave was a bit subdued. Not herself. I wondered if I had said something out of line last week. We joke around. But I couldn't recall anything. We were fine when I left on Sunday.

Fave wished me good luck. I started the three steps towards the door. Then Fave said,

"My dad is in the hospital. He had two strokes. He went in to fix something in his shoulder. He had the strokes on the operating table. Also he aspirated. He has pneumonia and an infection. He's been there since Tuesday. The hospital just called to see if I knew his wishes. I didn't know what to say."

Well. That is very sad news. I am hoping something good will happen, and Fave's dad will respond to treatment. It will be no mystery if she is not there on Friday.

Farmer H Marches (And Lies) To His Own Drum

Wednesday evening, we watched Big Brother as usual. It was 90 minutes this time, though usually an hour. Farmer H was in his recliner, wearing only tighty-whities after a soak in the big jetted triangle tub in the master bathroom. I was in my Mansion-wear, reclined in my OPC (Old People Chair).

We had just gotten to the end of the veto competition. After commercial, the winner would be revealed, and we'd see if the veto was used. There was about 20 minutes of show left.

To my surprise, Farmer H had gotten up for a bathroom visit, during the last competitor of the veto competition. Then lay down on the long couch. The surprise was his cocooning.

Yeah. He's in there. His head is on the left, on top of his pile of clean laundry that's only been there two days so far. His feet are to the right, hanging off the end. Farmer H was moaning that he was cold.

"Huh. Some people might just put on clothes, rather than sit around shivering in their underwear."

"I don't need no clothes. I'm going to bed."

"NOW? We'll see who won after the commercial."

"You can tell me tomorrow."

So after less than five minutes on the couch, Farmer H got up and went to bed. That seems like a lot of effort for me, to grab the afghan and unfold it and wrap up in it and shimmy into an acceptable position on the couch. He could have grabbed it and covered up in his recliner and finished the show. Or just gone to bed instead of coming back out after his bathroom trip.

There's no explaining the behavior of Farmer H.

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The afghan was a gift from one of my uncle's friends when my family visited him in Alaska way back in the 70s. The blanket on the back of the couch was made by my niece, Niecy, just for fun. 

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A Plan Not To My Liking

Remember how we were all set to get an electronic fence to keep our newest dog Pepper home at night? Or any time of day, really, but the complaint was about the night. Anyhoo... Farmer H spent $424.32 on that fencing system. I thought we were all set. The Pony was coming out Monday, and they'd get it going.

Nope. 

Farmer H changed his mind! He took that fencing system back on Sunday! Returned it, and got a credit of $404.27 back on the debit card. He said he didn't think that a radius of 150 feet was enough space. And then told me his new plan.

"I'm gonna board up the back porch. Like when Pepper was a pup. [That part of the porch is STILL boarded up, except around the water bowl!] I'll put a gate over by the BBQ grill. We'll keep the dogs on the porch at night. Then in the morning, I'll open the gate and let them out. Because he only complained about the night, and the barking from his dogs."

"NO! I don't like that! I don't want the porch boarded up. You've already ruined the porch with all those dang wagon wheels. And all the junk you have sitting around. I couldn't walk around the porch if I wanted to. I don't want to mess with a gate. And Pepper can get his paws and arms up on the rail. I'm afraid he might try to jump over, and get hurt going off the back porch."

"HM. You wouldn't have to do anything with the gate. I would open it in the morning, and close it at night. Pepper ain't gonna jump off the porch. And them wagon wheels look good! Everybody says so."

"No. I don't like it. They'll have to hold their poop and pee, or you'll have to clean it up. And they can still get over to annoy the neighbors in the day."

"They ain't complained about the day."

"She said they eat her cat food that she leaves out."

"She SAID. But any animal can come eat cat food. We had that possum coming up on the porch. And that dead armadillo out by the carport."

"I don't like the porch idea. Why can't we just get a fencing system? You bought it, then took it back!"

"If you can find one that gives them more space, fine."

"The Pony looked one up. It's only a little more, but there's a $10 a month subscription fee. That's nothing. We won't even notice it."

"If it works..."

"I'll let The Pony describe it on Monday when we grill."

To be continued...

Speaking (Or Writing) Of The Spy-ers...

I was not surprised last week when we got a particular piece of junk mail. It was a cardboard ad for a seminar. We get such things often, usually for Farmer H, concerning hearing aids. He never goes, but somehow those dirty, dirty spy-ers must have heard me yelling daily at him, often ending with: "You need to get hearing aids!"

This ad was not for hearing aids.

Heh, heh! It's for a PEE seminar! I got a chuckle out of that. Especially with it coming during the time The Pony was getting an ad for talking about spinny chairs. I didn't know if this ad was generated by me writing about Farmer H's pee issues from his "prostate roto-rootering" surgery, or from our phones listening in on when Farmer H was talking about his pee issues after the surgery.

Anyhoo... here I was, chuckling over this pee seminar ad, getting ready to send a picture to The Pony and expose another dirty, dirty spy-er. Then I looked at the address, to see if it actually had Farmer H's name, or just said Resident, and could have been a mass mailing.

Imagine my surprise when I saw that it was addressed to ME!

I don't know what that's all about! I guess it could have been from my writing, or from my phone listening in. Which reminds me, I don't think I've shared this with The Pony yet.

Those Dirty Spy-ers!

On our way home from picking up my long-awaited prescription on Thursday, The Pony and I were talking about old school days.

"I really liked having practice for Academic Team at the middle school. We had those spinny chairs. It was fun."

Of course, because why would The Pony want to concentrate on practicing spouting knowlege when there was a chance to spin round and round on a chair in the computer lab?

This was around 3:15, near the end of Errand Day. Later that evening, The Pony sent me a text.

"Remember how I mentioned the spinny chairs from middle school Academic Team in the car? Just got an ad for them."

I think the blame for this electronic eavesdropping goes to The Pony's phone. Mine would have sent ME the ad. And the OnStar feature in T-Hoe would also send it to me, not The Pony.

Dirty, dirty spy-ers! I will never invite Alexa or Siri or Dot into my Mansion!