A Different Kind Of Drive-Off

Several vehicles were at the gas pumps of the Gas Station Chicken Store on Friday afternoon, as I parked T-Hoe in my rightful handicap parking space. By the time I got inside, I was the only customer. Fave was looking out the front window.

"I KNEW they were going to drive off!"

"Was it this black truck? It's pulling around to park right here by the door."

"No. It was a van. It had several military guys. I owe them $18. I was afraid they'd drive off."

"Maybe they'll remember and come back."

"Well, the guy said he couldn't take cash. They pre-paid for their gas with a credit card. I said if the van didn't take it all, to come back in and I'd give them the money back. But the guy said he wasn't allowed to have money. Now I feel bad."

"I guess maybe that's the policy, so people don't charge too much gas and skim the money. So he didn't want to risk his job."

"Maybe. Now what am I supposed to do with the extra $18?"

"Leave it with a note for Woman Owner! So you don't get in trouble for not telling her."

"I guess all I can do is leave it in my drawer."

I hope everything works out. Fave doesn't need to be in trouble for something that's not her fault. Woman Owner runs a tight ship.

Where The (Errand) Day Takes Me

I don't really have anything to talk about today. But that's never stopped me from posting, heh, heh! I'm picking up The Pony at 1:30 for Errand Day, which was thrown off by the trip to cash in the winning scratchers before they expired. We're a day late, and $2000 richer.

Anyhoo... The Pony has a friend coming in from out-of-town, for an afternoon/evening visit. So doesn't want to do all the errand things like bank and gas. We will just do our shopping at Country Mart, then I'll do the rest on my own.

Let's see who can annoy me enough to warrant a story today...

___________________________________________________________________

Welp! Of all the days for things to go relatively my way. Nobody was particularly offensive. So no real story there. Just a wait of 13 minutes at the bank drive-thru, with only one car ahead of me. And when the teller finally returned with my cash and deposit receipt, she said,

"I have everything taken care of." No "Sorry for your wait." Nor any explanation. Taking care of my business is exactly her job. So don't act like you've done me a favor. Very slowly.

The young checker at Country Mart actually used TWO bags instead of cramming everything into one. And grouped items accordingly, with Farmer H's rectangular box of Little Debbie cakes and fake Fig Newtons together with two boxes of my instant oatmeal packets. The deli container of chicken tenders got a bag by itself.

My rightful handicap parking spaces were available everywhere I went. The closest thing to a story was from Fave at the Gas Station Chicken Store.

Coming up tomorrow...

The End Is Near

At leg therapy on Wednesday, OT was excited to hear that my pumps were arriving that very day. She measured my legs, and said she would cancel my Monday appointment, then see me again on Wednesday. That would give me a week for using the pumps. Then she'd measure again next Wednesday. To see if the pumps are doing HER job sufficiently, heh, heh. OT said most often, everything works just fine. And that if my measurements were in the right range, 

IT WOULD BE MY LAST APPOINTMENT!

Of course all good things must end. I will miss having OT as my "crutch." There to answer any questions that come up, or point out things I don't think of. Like when she said I should use a shaver, not a razor, to have less chance of a wound on my legs.

OT said she's had patients who don't want to stop. One asked if she could just come once a month. And OT said no, it doesn't work that way. She takes people through the stages from the beginning. The diagnosis, the wrapping, the reduction wraps, and then the long-term compression wraps. Once they get the pumps, there is no need for her to do the CDT (complete decongestive therapy) several times a week. As long as people use their compression garments and pumps regularly, they can manage this condition.

Then again, OT said she also has some "frequent fliers" who are not compliant. "They'll come back, saying 'OTeeeee... you're going to hate me! I'm all swelled up again.' And I tell them. 'I don't hate you. It's not MY body.' Then we start the process all over again. It goes a little faster the second time. Or third, or fourth, or fifth. Yeah. Some people have come back that many times."

Well. That's not my style! I am compliant, by cracky! OT even said so. On several occasions. Can you believe she turned down my offer for her to come live in a cardboard box under my coffee table, and come out for an hour a day to do the leg massage for me? Yeah. How do ya like that? It was an offer she could refuse. So my pumps will have to do.

Anyhoo... I'll be taking my purse in with me next Wednesday. Because if it's my last session, I'll have exit paperwork, and need my glasses. Plus OT says she gives a handout with information.

As I was getting ready to leave Wednesday, with OT assisting with the putting on of my compression wraps, she forgot to slide my shoes over before I stood up to get the upper wraps applied.

"You always forget! You've only remembered one time, and now I'm almost done!"

"I know! I always say I'm not going to forget, then I do!"

"I'll show you! I'll just quit coming!"

"That'll teach me!"

"Well. I'm not going to yell at you, with our breakup so close."

"Oh, it's not a breakup."

"My graduation, then."

"Yes. That's more like it. A graduation."

I might ask OT if I can be valedictorian, heh, heh!

P-Day

This is P-Day! The day my leg pumps are supposed to arrive. I got two emails about it. They're coming by FedEx. Supposed to be here between 11:40 and 3:40. 

Of course I have leg therapy today. I leave the Mansion at 11:45. And return around 3:30.

Ain't that the way it always goes? I don't think there's rain in the forecast. I guess the driver won't be deathly afraid of dogs, like my killers Pepper and Jack. FedEx will leave the package without a signature, and take a picture of it. I imagine that when I come out of therapy, I'll have an email with that photo. I really hope it's ON THE MANSION PORCH, and not at some random house down the road.

Farmer H says he will be here around the time I'm gone. He's having HOS (His Oldest Son) repair the roof on one of his themed sheds. So it could be a good thing to have him underfoot while I'm gone.

I'll add an update when I get home. 

******************************************************************

I got back at 3:30. Nothing on the porch. No sign of Farmer H. I carried in my own groceries and put them away. I was changing back to my Mansion clothes when I heard the dogs bark. Then a thump on the porch. Then my phone getting a text or email.

THEY'RE HEEEEERE! 

Just a few minutes late, at 4:05. Tomorrow we'll rearrange the furniture to fit my basement Old People Chair. I need to have my legs elevated when I use the pumps. Farmer H's recliner is too low for me to get out of comfortably. 

I hate change, but a different living room configuration is something I'll have to get used to. Just like using the leg pumps every day.

POOLIO Is Kaput

A while back, Farmer H and Old Buddy took the cover off POOLIO, and spent a half hour leaning on the side, gazing into the shallow depths of the buttwater soup that Farmer H shocks with chemicals every year to start POOLIO season.

That was the last attention Farmer H paid POOLIO.

About a month ago, he said that POOLIO's liner was torn. Apparently, the solution to that is to do nothing. Not see about getting another liner put in. Not declaring that a fix would be too expensive. Just ignoring the situation. 

I'm not upset that Farmer H isn't pouring money into chemicals to get a handful of swims out of POOLIO. I'm sad that he doesn't have this option of an evening dip after a hot day of flipping and mowing. The part that concerns me is that POOLIO can become Mosquito Central. You don't want still water sitting around to be a breeding ground for mosquitoes. 

A "These are the things you've most recently done wrong" discussion is in order.

Meanwhile, here's a splash from the past. Including photos of Just-Born POOLIO. It seems like only yesterday that the boys were eagerly awaiting the installation. But it was May 30, 2006. Back when the Hillbilly Mansion was young, and people were not so politically correct with their ribald comments.

Enjoy.

You Can Trust Him To Build Your House, But Not To Serve Your Meal

It's another edition of Farmer H in the Kitchen. Where his behavior is like that of an alien who has no concept of bacteria nor the laws of physics. Last week it was a struggle getting Farmer H's food to his plate.

I'm sure you remember how Farmer H likes to grab food with his bare hands. Fries off the pan just removed from the oven. A grease-popping bratwurst. No tools necessary if I have set them beside the stove for his use. But if he subconsciously senses that he could make extra work for me, he'll empty a drawer for those utensils.

I make sure Farmer H has what he needs. Well, what a NORMAL person would need. Like all the food set out, with essential utensils.

"Wait! What are you doing? I figured you'd use your fork to get your slaw. I TOLD you that's what it was for. Now you've stabbed the sausage with it. You never do that."

"I can still use it for the slaw."

"No. It has grease on it. You're not putting that into the slaw container."

"I can use the potato salad spoon for the slaw."

"NO! That has potato salad on it, which will also contaminate the slaw. Let me get you ANOTHER spoon. It's only something extra I'll have to WASH BY HAND."

"I tell you all the time, just pick out a dishwasher and I'll put it in."

"Yeah. That hasn't happened in 28 years. I don't expect it to happen now."

Sunday evening, Farmer H's supper was baked chicken breast, stuffing, and corn on the cob. I set out the big yellow lunchroom tray for him. I figured the two ears of corn could go in the big rectangular section. The chicken in the circular section. And two servings of stuffing in two of the square sections. But no. We're working with Farmer H's brain.

I had microwaved the corn, each ear wrapped in plastic wrap. It's quicker than boiling (only two minutes), and the corn gets steamed just right. I moved the steaming hot corn over to the cutting block, still on the flimsy paper plate I'd put them on in the microwave. The butter was there, and it was easier than watching Farmer H play hot potato with the corn by grabbing it out of the microwave.

Silly me. I thought my job was over. I sat down at the kitchen table. Then looked to see Farmer H starting towards the living room balancing a bottle of flavored water, his tray, and THE PAPER PLATE WITH TWO EARS OF CORN rolling around!

"Hey! You can't take buttered corn on that paper plate! They'll roll off on the carpet! And the butter is already soaking through."

"Huh. You had them on the plate."

"For you to unwrap! I thought you'd put them in the long section of the tray."

"They don't fit.They're too long."

"You already had your chicken there!"

"I'll put them right here."

Farmer H laid those two rolly ears of corn across two of the square sections of the tray, his stuffing being piled in the round section.

"Again, that corn is going to roll off. Here! Put them in this lid from the Chinese container. Then they can't roll."

Farmer H did. And set that lid across the two square sections of the tray. I suspect he will be taking up a new hobby soon, pounding square pegs into round holes.

A Mission For Two

I am sending The Pony and Farmer H on a mission this week. They must drive to the regional lottery office to cash in two tickets. They are not NEW wins. In fact, one ticket will be expiring in August. So this "chore" needs to be done. One is a $10 ticket that I got at 10Box's left machine, worth $1000. The other is a $5 ticket that I got at the Gas Station Chicken Store, and sent to Genius. Also worth $1000.

Of course Genius can't cash a Missouri lottery ticket in Pennsylvania. So he sent it back to me, and I paid him with a return check. It takes two people to cash in these tickets, so each can "claim" half the win. That way, there is less paperwork, and taxes are not withheld, because you don't have to report a win under $600.01. It only gets included as "other" income during tax time. Each ticket is a separate win. So they are each claiming two $500 wins.

I used to go with Farmer H to claim my tickets. Now I'd rather not, because my legs stiffen up on the 90 minute drive. Oh, I don't have such a problem when going to the casino, heh, heh! I can tolerate stiff legs then. But if The Pony can take my place, and ride for three hours to accomplish this chore that takes 10 minutes, then I will gladly show a token of appreciation in the form of gift scratchers.

Farmer H just does it because it's part of his responsibilities that come with being married to me!