Not much happened this week except I’m pretty sure I broke my foot today. I was pulling on an electric motor in an effort to tighten the belt on the pulley. The belt broke. My pulling efforts, the heavy motor’s sudden momentum and the sharp little connector box corner combined to impact my left foot just below my tennis-shoed and most defenseless foot just below my big toe.

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I laid in this agonizing position for 20 minutes. If you look closely, there’s a possibility I was crying. I don’t remember much after the initial contact except a whole lotta pain and suffering. I usually don’t cry but this was one of those rare injuries that calls for tears and happens, at the very least, once a week.

Usually when I get hurt, Don just snickers and keeps on doing what he’s doing. When he observed today’s incident, he must have realized the serious pain I was encountering because of the conversation I immediately launched into. He asked “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

He didn’t even ask that when I loped off my two fingers. This shows the heightened level of pain I happened upon today.

20 minutes later, I hobbled to the pickup, drove home and called it a day. If it’s broken, it will be the 28th broken bone in my long and illustriously ill-fated career.

Just because of the number 28 aspect, I’d like to know if it’s broken. But I hate paying the high-priced bounty that medical establishments pride themselves on charging. Even for X-rays.

Then I got an idea. One of my brothers masquerades as a dentist. Sometimes Brent will do a freebie on meebie which means I have no out-of-pocket dental costs. The downside is that if you look closely at my chompers, you will rightly guess that I don’t pay good money for dentists.

Anyway, I know that at Brent’s work, they do X-rays. I immediately dialed him up and asked if I could stick my foot where people normally stick their mouths to get X-rayed. I figured as soon as I got my foot in place (after moving one of his patients out of the chair for a minute), he could snap a picture. It wouldn’t take much time except for the equipment cleaning he’d probably have to do after his patient complained from seeing my toejam on his oral cavity X-ray fixture.

Brent was ok with the idea although he said it might not work since the dental X-rays they take only cover an inch or two of the patient’s problem area. I didn’t need an inch or two. I needed a good foot X-rayed. On second thought, I should say I needed a bad foot X-rayed.

So much for the cost-saving idea.

If this little happening hadn’t appeared on my day’s radar screen, I would have finished drying corn today.

To recap:

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Left foot down, followed by the rest of the Seattle Super Sonics fan. Speaking of the Sonics (who are now out of business), does anyone recognize the Sonic coat I am wearing? This coat is the latest of a long line of work coats I seem to go through. My coats get attacked by grinders, torn by sharp corners, set ablaze by welders and torches, compressed by falls, bloodied by blood and lost by me.

This coat belonged to my son Derek when he was in high school. That was 1994-1998, if I’m not mistaken. But then again, he might have flunked a year or two which would compound the dates of him attending high school. That was a long time ago. I also was wearing this coat when I rescued the kid that got submerged in the corn.

It’s kind of a good luck/bad luck coat.

And speaking of Seattle sports teams, you might remember my last post talked about our Phoenix trip to watch the Seahawks a week ago Thurday. This was a great opportunity as I try to restrain myself from attending games on Sunday.

Well, guess what. I got a call this morning from a very wealthy guy who invited me to go to Seattle and watch the Seahawks on Monday night football. No charge.

Two games in a row, neither on the day I go to church!

I felt honored. Until I hurt my foot. Then I realized there is no way I can walk the distances required to hoof it from the outlying parking areas to the seats at Centurylink Field. I called to cancel. My wealthy friend said not to worry, we would drive into the VIP stadium parking lot and walk (or in my case hobble) a few feet to his luxury suite.

Like I said, I’m just finishing up on the corn drying this year. Sometimes it gets pretty messy during the drying season. It’s a job trying to keep a 40-year old dryer clean and running.

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Now I just hope I can stay out of another accident and live till Monday night to enjoy this new experience of sitting in a box seat.

1 brother

2 son-in-laws

3 sons

and I decided to take a trip to Phoenix and watch the Hawks against the Cardinals.

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Bro Brent and I drove to Spokane and ended up being given seats in the first class section. This special section was not in the front of the plane but more in the middle of the second class part of the plane. We had lots of leg room while those in front and in back of us were scrunched up like commoners.

I felt pretty special until Brent informed me we were in the emergency exit row and would be the first to get trampled in the event of any discontinued flight operations.

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Lucky for us, there were no emergencies on that particular flight.

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While waiting to get picked up at the airport, I snapped a picture of some TSA employees accomplishing what we are paying them big money to do nothing about. I asked the guy if their desk was for recruiting new employees and if it was, could I fill out an application? All he said was that it was illegal for me to be snapping pictures of their work area. He looked like he was having a bad day and got even more bothered when I started laughing.

I guess they don’t want any pictures floating around showing the great efficiencies  of their highly motivated employees.

I told him I would destroy the entire roll of film as soon as I found where it was in my phone, I mean…camera. He told me that that would be a good idea and let me go.

And speaking of TSA, I’ve gotta give them credit for me going on my latest diet. When we went through the security checkpoints in Spokane and Phoenix, both checkers patted down my midsection to make sure I wasn’t packing dynamite or an A-bomb.

We made it to the game. I was surprised how many Seahawk fans in green jerseys there were.

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The game was exciting. As usual, the referees favored the team I was not cheering for. Many of the Seahawks got injured in the game including Richard Sherman getting knocked out for the rest of the season.

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My eldest son Derek sat between Brent and I while son-in-law Jake sat next to Brent. Jake is a native Arizonian and therefore a Cardinal fan. When the Hawks pulled ahead in the second half, Jake turned up missing. For a long time.

He claimed the hot dog line was really long but I am pretty sure he was in the bathroom, sick to his stomach because of the game. He finally returned, looking dejected and sad. I saw no hot dog.

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Will and Michael surrounded me on the right side with my other son-in-law Todd rounding out the party.

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Victorious, we finished off the night by doing what any die-hard Seattle Seahawk fan does after winning the game. We went home. Happy.

Why? Because Jake decided he was going to start being a Seahawks fan and be numbered among the winners.

This was wise for two reasons. He would no longer be ostracized amongst the brethren and we also agreed to let him ride home with us.

And no, I didn’t get inebriated and spill liquid refreshment on my shirt. The flag Todd was holding cast a liquid-like shadow from the porch light.

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Midway through the flight home, I popped open the shade and took a gander. There was another jet on our 3 o’clock. I snapped a picture and then checked to see which plane was faster. The ‘liners looked like they were doing the same knottage.

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I snapped another picture and realized we were getting close to occupying the same airspace. I looked down and switched my camera to “video”. When I looked back up, I saw the monstrous underbelly of the other plane pass right over my window.

I guess the pilots must have known about each other. Maybe they were playing around, trying to see how close they could get without kissing aluminum. If the other plane’s wheels had been down, I could have counted his lug nuts and told you what color his valve cap was.

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We stopped at a truck stop Subway next to the airport. We ordered our sandwiches. I noticed a tall and lanky cowboy walk in. He was checking the place out but not looking down. He tripped over the Caution sign and just about landed at my feet. I noticed the caution sign didn’t have a warning about a wet floor or a holdup in progress. It must have been there just to teach tall lanky cowboys to watch where they’re going.

I turned my attention to the footlong I had ordered and two teenage boys were trying to assemble. I heard one of the kids say “Look, here she comes again” just as a girl walked through the door and around the Caution sign. He then said something else I couldn’t quite hear. The reason I didn’t hear is because he was applying sauces on my sandwich I hadn’t ordered.

When he saw what he had done, he apologized and offered to make me another one. I said it was fine but that he needed to do his chick watching off the clock. He gave me a very weak and faint denial.

Right then, another babe walked in the door and he started whispering messages to his buddy again. This time, I decided enough was enough. “Focus, man! Focus!”

Brent and I laughed. We got our sandwiches and walked out the door. I’m sure they didn’t see us leave.

We got home last night after a three-day break. I went down and started the corn dryer back up. Less than two minutes after starting work after the holiday, I smashed my stub.

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I know. Focus, man! Focus!

So I’ve been getting a $60 a month electric bill for a vacant building. There is no power being used so I ordered the service off last month. This made Franklin County PUD mad, I guess.

They sent me the final month’s bill. It was a little on the high side for doing nothing. $6829.81 to be exact.

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Last year we used quite a bit of power. Around $4,000 worth as you can see by PUD’s own records. (Look at the graph!)

I’m assuming that last month one of the clerks figured she would get brownie points with the boss if she made a sales increase. When I ordered the shut-off, she decided it was now or never. A few little finger depressions on the keyboard and BAM! They got their sales increase.

I immediately Googled PUD power bills and the first newspaper headline that popped up read:

With monthly bills comes sticker shock for many PUD customers

So I guess I’m not the only one. I was going to call PUD and complain but I guess if everyone is getting these outlandish bills, my call won’t change anything. I guess the bright side is after looking closely at the bill, PUD has already charged our credit card. This means we’re going to get a bunch of air miles from the credit card people.

Now we can fly some place where the electric rates are cheaper.

However, I am a little worried that the cops are going to start sniffing around my place since I’ve had this big spike in my power bill. I’m sure they’ll figure I just started a new Mary Jane grow operation.

A finally, some good news…After reading up on electric companies, Franklin PUD has the following programs available for broke folks like me:

Budget payment plan–Helping hands

 FREE Energy Saving Kits are now available to Franklin PUD customers.

I’m sure both of these programs are going to help us get through this crisis. Now, I just have to worry about the sheriff’s office snooping around.

 

Since this is Thanksgiving month, I’ve been reminded of all of the blessings we get to enjoy in this country. Kind of a daily cornucopia.

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Definition of Cornucopia…

a symbol of plenty consisting of a goat’s horn overflowing with flowers, fruit, and corn.

Incidently, I haven’t seen a goat’s horn for ages. The last goat’s horn I can remember was one my mom kept on our washer 50 years ago.

However, I have seen plenty of goat heads on a daily basis. These critters are usually deposited on our welcome mat just inside the front door as I traipse in at night from work. Without fail, that same evening, I always manage to pick up the deposits whilst in my stockinged or bare feet.

This makes for some interesting dialogue, new words our neighbors have never heard before and Olympic-record-style standing broad jumps. I initiate these broad jumps in hopes that upon landing there will not be another goat head waiting.

My cornucopia is different than most people’s. No flowers. No fruit. But corn? Oh yes, a cornucopia of corn. Semi-truck load after semi-truck load.

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Corn harvest is always interesting. The truck drivers are nice and friendly guys and have been delivering for seven or eight years now.

One of them wears interesting tee-shirts. This last week his shirt read in bold letters: “I don’t want a job. I want money.”

Another is always hustling and seems to be in a hurry. As each load of corn dumps out of his truck, he tries to hurry up the process by banging on the side with his fist. I’m not sure if he thinks this will hurry up the corn being dumped or if it is just an outlet for his impatience.

I figured I would save his fist from possible future injury so I fetched a big sledge hammer and handed it to him. He looked at me like I was nuts. Since we have a big language barrier, he never has told me how the fist banging helps the unloading or why the hammer wouldn’t compliment the process.

 

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After so much excitement leading to the money giveaway, I’m suffering post-partem-with-the-dough depression.

So I must put the negative feelings away, face the music, look the gift horse in the mouth and do another giveaway. It’s going to happen but I’m starting to lean toward giving less mullah to more peeples. In other words instead of 500 bucks I’m going to decrease it a little and give away 50 cents per each Saturday.

This will give more people a chance to win, help me stay within the budget Michele just slapped down and still keep the level of excitement up there with my readers, right where it was when Dan cleaned house. My house.

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Here’s this fancy-Dancy winner (with the name appropriate name of Dan), suddenly-rich blog follower who is probably making every stop along his route, whether he has a package or not, and bragging about his winnings until his customers tire of the unwanted delivery and slam the door.

I’m telling you, I worked a lot harder for that money than he did.

And then, to top it off, some dude cried foul concerning the drawing. In fact, a couple dudes. One dud said “Rigged”. The other dud said I should be audited.

But I don’t have to answer to them. Only to the Great Auditor in the sky and that’s probably still a few days off unless I fall off a corn bin tomorrow.

And if anyone really does question my name picking veracity, they should talk to my wife. She watched me count and tally the numbers and names to get the correct one each week.

So to snap me out of this post-partem of the dough, I decided to watch the World Series tonight. Some cool things happened.

Before the Series, the news informed me that Fats Domino died at the fat and ripe old age of 89. This is the best news I’ve heard in a long time. I’ve thought for decades that if I packed around an extra 50 lbs like Fats, I wouldn’t live much past the age of 60.

Now I know that that old wives tale is rubbish. Fats got almost thirty years more than his doctor prophesied.

For once Nightly News brought me some news of hope, something I can and want to believe.

And then the Series. Before the game, they honored Vin Scully, an old game broadcaster in LA who is about the same age as Fats D. I looked up Vin’s vitals and found that he was born on Dec. 29, 1927. This is cool for me because my dad was born one day before Vin. Same month, same year.

Another cool thing is Dad’s middle name was Vere which starts with the same letter as Vin.

And the last cool thing is Vin Scully is five-foot ten-inches. You’re never going to believe this. I am 5′ 10″ too!

A related blog, back when I started, concerned my dad and strange twists of fate. If you’ve got the time, we’ve got the blog.

It can be found here:

Cool War Story

So what’s my problem?

The dreaded day finally arrived last Saturday. I had to pay up. I drew an eligible blog follower and had to deliver.

I wanted to change the rules so the prize money would be awarded immediately after the coroner declared me legally dead at a future as-yet undetermined time. But I figured if I did that, swarms of people would hunt me down and kill me. Again. I threw that idea out.

I wanted to change the amount of the $500 payout to $5.00 and hope nobody would notice. But then I remembered the swarms of people.

So I had Michele write out the check and mail it from the little mailbox down by the library. I never see the mailman stop there and thought maybe the check would lay neglected for a few years before it hit my bank.

Michele was gone for a long time. When she finally got back, I learned she had taken the envelope to the Post Office and handed it to the clerk personally. We haven’t spoken since.

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This photo was taken right before I gave the money-laden envelope to Michele. It was not a good day. The check was mailed to my blog follower in Alaska on Saturday.

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Today is Tuesday. This picture was posted on Facebook today. That dang US Mail is getting way too efficient. I used to could rely on them taking forever to deliver. Until now.

Dan and his lovely wife Amanda are now going to have a Christmas. Before today, they were saving up to buy each of their kids a lump of coal for Christmas. Now, the kids are going to get two lumps, due to the high cost of living in Alaska and the fact that Amanda has already spent the money.

The reason I did this giveaway was to see if I could pick up a few followers on this blog. It worked. The blog follower numbers increased 21 x’s what the blog had before I started this crazy deal.

It actually was kind of a kick in the pants. The best part was sending Dan Allred the check, even if he didn’t need it.

I would recommend becoming a blog follower of RecoveringIdiot.com. I have a funny feeling that there will be more giveaways to faithful followers in the near future.