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!

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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...

An Unwelcome Intrusion

I left The Pony in T-Hoe as I went in to pay for gas on Thursday. The Pony gets out and pumps the gas after I pay. Or sometimes goes in, if I'm planning to use the bathroom there, to carry my scratchers back out to the car. Either way, I don't have to try and rush back to the pump before the payment info expires. That has happened before, and I was NOT a happy pumper!

Anyhoo... you may recall that I AM NOT VERY MOBILE! I don't use my cane in town. I can walk, but slowly, because I don't trust that right knee. Also, there's a limp, because that leg is BENT, and I don't have a normal heel/toe stride.

Anyhoo... I started across the parking lot, waiting for a car to back out, before proceeding over the expanse where cars drive by. I always park at Pump 3 or Pump 4, because they're directly across from the striped handicap zone with its ramp onto the sidewalk. An employee was standing there taking a break, wearing her Casey's apron. She must work in the kitchen, because I don't recall her every waiting on me at the counter. She was blond, 28-32, smoking a cigarette.

"C'mon. That's it! You can make it!"

What in the Not-Heaven??? I don't need people pointing out my infirmity. I KNOW I have trouble walking. No need to patronize me. It's not like I'm finishing a marathon. Not like I'm competing for a gold medal. Not like I'm right out of bed after a major surgery. I'll get there when I get there. I don't need encouragement from strangers.

"Yeah. I need a new knee."

"What?"

"I'm just slow. I have a knee problem."

"You do?"

Seriously! If you're going to make a big deal about how I walk, the least you can do is pay attention when I respond to your unwanted interest!!! I only spoke to her to be polite, and not leave her hangin'.

I'm sure she meant nothing by it. I guess she thought she was "helping" me. The interaction didn't seem in any way malicious, or for the purpose of ridicule. But not all elderlies love to talk about their aches and pains.

Sometimes, people just need to mind their own business.

A Welcome Intrusion

Last week, we had rain in the afternoon forecast. I checked the future radar, and saw that a heavy burst was due to hit Bill-Paying Town around the time of my leg therapy appointment. Dang it! Mrs. HM is not a fast-mover. Gone are the days when I could sprint from T-Hoe to business without getting too wet. I was lucky that the rain held off for the drive.

I always sit in T-Hoe, once I have secured a parking space where I am sure nobody can park against the driver's door. My favorite space is a handicap slot in the top row, the farthest from the door. I have to back in, scratching T-Hoe's passenger side on an unruly bush. But the striped walkway is by my door. And I am facing out for an easy exit. That lot is TIGHT when you have to back up and other cars are there.

On this rainy day, my preferred space was taken. There are four handicap spaces, but as you might imagine at a THERAPY facility, a lot of "customers" need them. My second choice is on the bottom row, next to the entrance/exit. Nobody can park on my left side, or it would block traffic. I only have to back up a few feet, and T-Hoe's nose is clear to leave. The downside is that I have to walk up a slight hill, and across the lot to get to the door. I was lucky again that the rain had just started to plop down as I left T-Hoe.

I was NOT so lucky when it was time to leave. I could see rain sluicing down, through the double glass front doors. Oh, well. I was gonna get wet. I could dry out on the 25-minute drive to Sis-Town, where I would stop for scratchers. I ducked my head, went out the door, across the sidewalk, and out from under the roof, onto the blacktop. I was especially careful not to slip on that wet smooth surface.

There was a car parked on T-Hoe's right. No matter. I wasn't opening that door. Glancing out from under my dripping eyelashes, I saw the driver's door of that car open. An old man got out with an umbrella. I figured he was going inside for his appointment, though a lot of spouses wait in the car. The man walked toward me. I was halfway to T-Hoe when

THE MAN STOPPED BESIDE ME WITH HIS UMBRELLA!

"Let me help you."

"Oh. That's so nice! Thank you!"

He walked alongside, covering me with the umbrella, allowing himself to get wet. He held it at my door as I opened it and climbed inside. 

"Thank you, sir! I need a new knee!"

"I need a new back! Gettin' old ain't for sissies!"

"That's for sure! Thanks again!"

"You have a nice day."

Such a nice gentleman. He got back in his car as I was buckling up. A true good-deeder.