The description of a movie on the Gettv channel:
“Night of Terror” 1933
“A reporter, a detective, a scientist, and a guy in a turban revolve murders.”
I love it!
The weather has finally taken a turn for the better. The rain has stopped and the sun is shining with puffy clouds this morning. Luckily, we had no damage. The Low Country (Charleston area) and the Midlands suffered major problems—flooding, washed out roads, property destruction, dams breaking, etc. I hope things get back to normal soon for people those areas. We in the Upstate did have flooding, downed trees, and loss of life, but in our little corner, we did okay. Of course, there is still the danger of toppling trees because of the saturated ground.
Last night I had a little accident—I fell. I was carrying the cat down to put her in the garage for the night, and I thought was at the bottom of the steps. I wasn’t. I fell. I have abrasions, bruises, and cat scratches. I think I sprained every muscle in my body from the neck down. The worst is my toe. It is bruised and there is a little swelling. I didn’t realize how bad it hurt until I accidentally hit the riser walking up the steps a little while ago. It brought tears. I haven’t called the doctor because I don’t think there is much they can do even if the toe is broken. I don’t think they put tiny little casts or Ace bandages on injured pedal digits. It hurts and walking is a bit uncomfortable, but I suspect the best thing to do is just to tough it out.
Mr. Fixit came down while I was still sprawled on the steps, moaning and groaning loudly, toe throbbing, muscles aching, and blood saturating the sleeve of my shirt from the cat scratches. He said, “Are you okay?” Being the tactful person I am even while in pain, I said, “No, I’m not okay. I just fell down the steps.” I explained how it happened while waiting for the pain to subside so I could get up. His response: “So you didn’t fall from the top.” I got up found the cat and put her in the garage.
I’ve noticed that when I go to the doctor for checkups, someone always asks me if I have fallen lately. Is this a question that is asked only of old people? If I say yes, what happens?They cancel my Medicare or the rates go up on the supplemental? Do they send me to a specialist to see why I fell? Next time I go, I guess I’ll find out.
Even though we are located in the western section of South Carolina and Joaquin is still quite a distance away and the storm, as the forecasters are saying now, probably won’t make landfall on the coast, it is causing major problems here now. Heavy rains are predicted through Saturday with 6” to 8” expected from Friday evening through Saturday.
We have had rain for most the last week and a half. I’ve been able to walk outside only a couple of times. Yesterday we had a bit of sunshine for the first times in days.
It has been pouring this afternoon. Our yard is a lake. Our yard drains into the yard behind us. That yard is even worse than ours.
There has been one fatality in the Upstate and $2,000,000 worth of new cars and trucks were washed out of the dealer's lot into a nearby stream.
Right now, there is a lull. My one worry is all the big pines very near the house. When the ground is saturated, they have a tendency to topple because their root systems are shallow.
Wish us luck!
Yesterday I did a bad thing. If I were a person running for political office, I could say I “mispoke.” The truth is, I told a lie. I hate lies and liars. To me, lying is stealing--stealing the truth.
There are different kinds of lies—the really mean, hurtful ones and those that sometimes can fall in the white-lie category. White lies are lies you tell to keep from hurting someone’s feelings. People should never ask for opinions (“Does this outfit make my butt look big?” or, “Don’t you think my baby is beautiful?” If you don’t want to hear, “Yeah, it makes your butt look about two ax- handles across” or “My kid is lot more beautiful that yours,” don’t ask the question and practically force people to “mispeak.”) There are lies of omission that are lies because you don’t state the facts when asked directly about something, and lies that are simply exaggerations that take things out of context to make people look bad to others or to simply make the liar feel important. To me they are all wrong. True, some are worse than others, but a lie is a lie.
I told a lie yesterday to avoid an unpleasant conversation and to simply get a person to just leave me the hell alone. It was the young lady who tried to sell us a car a month or so ago. She keeps calling and I have lied by omission usually because I didn’t really want to say that I think her sales manager flat out lied to us about the deal he offered and we decided not to take a chance on a deal that was just too good to be true. I really liked the young lady; I want her to do well at her job. But I felt I really couldn’t tell her the truth.
I wish she would take the hint and stop calling. When I don’t get a response, I don’t call/ask again. I realize that she is in sales, but, jeeze-louise, get a clue. If people keep putting you off, give up!
I feel guilty telling her a lie, but I have an excuse—actually, I have two excuses. First of all, I didn’t want to sound mean by telling her the truth, and, secondly, I have had enough stress the last year or so and lying seemed the easiest solution. At this stage, easy is best even if I have to tell a white lie. It was a white lie, I think. There really is no excuse, but I did it and I’m sorry. But not sorry enough to call her back and simply tell her the truth and ask her not to call again. I’m also cowardly.
St. Peter probably has already recorded this in the sin column on my page in his Book.
A few months ago, we received word that the company that makes Mr. Fixit’s cancer medication was selling that particular division to another drug company. The transition should have been easy. He signed the forms to allow his information to go to the new drug company, and we returned it in a timely fashion. The transition was to take place August 15.
A set of circumstances cropped up that caused me so much stress I was about to lose my mind. It’s been very rough for the last couple of weeks.
Mr. Fixit’s prescription ran out and needed to be renewed before August 29. Since the 15th fell on Saturday, I called to request a new prescription from his oncologist Monday, the 17th. They faxed the new scrip and received confirmation on the same day that the fax had been received. The nurse said I could call that same day to request the medication. His last dose is August 29. I decided to wait until Tuesday to give them time to get the fax into the system. I called. They told me that it takes 2 days for the fax to be sent to the pharmacy. I was told to call back Thursday. I said I would give them an extra day and call on Friday. I called Friday. I was told by the rep that it hadn’t been processed, but someone would call me back that afternoon or Monday, for sure, to make delivery arrangements. No one called. I was beginning to get upset. I called again Tuesday. Again I was told that someone would call me that afternoon or Wednesday. Every time I called I mentioned that his last day for the meds he had on hand was the 29th. No one called.
By Thursday I had given up. I decided that I was not going call again. Mr. Fixit had an appointment so see the doctor today (Fri.), and I was going to bring the problem to his attention hoping that his staff could accomplish more than I was. My stress level was out of sight. At that point, I didn’t know if an interruption in his meds schedule would be a problem. (I found out today that the medication stays in the system for 4 days.)
Finally at 3:30 pm Thursday someone called and said that the meds were scheduled for delivery Monday. I told her that wasn’t soon enough. We had to have it by Friday since UPS doesn’t deliver on Saturdays here. I explained to her the many phone calls I made and the fact that no one had the courtesy to call and explain what was happening. I also told her I had followed all their instructions to the letter. She said she would overnight it. She said that a signature was required on delivery. I said I would wait at home until the UPS guy knocked on the door.
Okay, great. I might mention here that from August 17 to August 27 I was practically tied to the house waiting for phone calls. It’s true that I have a cell phone, but I didn’t know what information would be needed, and I felt like I had to have all documentation close at hand.
Then I remembered after I hung up that Mr. Fixit had his doctor’s appointment Friday. I called our son to see if his son could come our house to sign for the package, but he had to work. I thought that Mr. Fixit could go to the doctor alone and I would wait at home. I realized that wasn’t such a good idea because Mr. Fixit has a problem with his hearing, and with English being his second language, he sometimes has trouble understanding what’s said to him. Again my stress shot up. Ben, our son, said he would take time from work to go with him. That worked out great.
The UPS guy did show up while they were gone. It’s a good thing I was there.
It seemed like everything that could go wrong did go wrong. It was the perfect storm of circumstances.
Now that it’s over I feel like a wet dishrag, but at least he has what he needs. It ended okay. I hope I don’t have to go through that again. The responsibility is onerous.
One nice thing did happen. Yesterday afternoon, a large tree limb fell from the oak tree in the front hard. It didn’t hit the ground; it was hung on another branch. I decided while waiting for the UPS guy, I would get the handy-dandy branch-lopper tool thingy and try to get it down and clean up the mess. I snipped and pulled, snipped and pulled, but the darned thing wouldn’t drop. As it is my nature, I was worried that just as some little kid or small animal wandered into the yard, it would fall and we would be sued. I have such a pleasant outlook, don’t I?
Anyway, the UPS guy came and saw my problem. He pulled it down and even dragged it to the street. Wasn’t that nice of him? Now all I have to do is cut it up with the chain saw so the city will pick it up. I have to wait until someone is here with me in case I need a tourniquet. I remember too well what happened when I used the electric trimmer on the hedges.
Car salespersons do not enjoy reputations of trustworthiness. They rank usually right there with politicians. We recently had occasion to interact with a car salesperson. I won’t impugn his trustworthiness (although I do have my private opinion of him); I can only say that he was a heck of a salesman.
When we started car shopping, I knew how much money I had for a down payment, I knew the approximate book value of our car as a trade-in, and I had an idea of the monthly payment we could comfortably afford. I had also done some on-line shopping and had my preference for the make and model of the car we needed. Mr. Fixit and I were on the same page. I felt prepared.
After speaking with the salesperson and explaining our wants and needs, he insisted that we test drive a vehicle. I didn’t want to do, but Mr. Fixit was ready to go. Of course, the vehicle he showed us was one with all the bells and whistles and way out of our price range. We went for the test drive. Mr. Fixit loved it; I loved it. I knew that would happen. He didn’t even show us the model we asked to see. He started talking money. Actually he started saying things like “What would I have to do to get you in that car today?” (It was the next to the last day of the month and they had quotas to meet.) I told him we had to think about it. He was persistent, very persistent. He offered to let us drive the car home. I demurred; Mr. Fixit wasn’t sure, but he knew our circumstances so he agreed with me. We left with the salesman’s sweetheart (seemingly) deal banging around in my head and wondering if everything he said was true and if we really wanted to sign up for such a big commitment.
It continued to occupy my thoughts all night. I came up with many questions about the deal he offered. I needed clarification. The next morning’s conversation with Mr. Fixit went like this: “Do you remember what he said about __________________?” He replied, “No, I don’t.” We had the same dialog on several items we had discussed the previous day.
We decided to go talk to him again with all our questions and reservations on the deal. On the way there, I said to Mr. Fixit, “I know you really want that car. We’ll do it if you want to. We’ll manage somehow.”
He said, “Let’s stop at the other dealer we spoke to yesterday (we had shopped around a bit.) and talk numbers to him first.”
We did. It was then the last day of the month. Time was short for the dealer to make his quota. We got the car we needed (not necessarily wanted) without all the bells and whistles. It looks nice, too. We signed on the dotted line, and I think we are pleased with it. The only drawback is that it doesn’t get the mpg that our little car did. It’s a small SUV. My knees no longer ache from sitting with my legs stretched out before me, and I don’t have to roll out of it. There is something about rolling out of a car that is very undignified for a lady of my body type and age. Mr. Fixit agreed that it is much easier to get in and out of for him, too.
I do have to say that the first salesman was terrific at his job. He almost talked us into buying something that we really didn’t need and really couldn’t afford. I’m still not sure of his trustworthiness, but he was a crackerjack salesman.
This morning after Mr. Fixit went to paint at the trailer park, I decided to trim the short length of hedge at the end of the driveway. It was becoming difficult to see traffic coming around the corner. It was a good time to do it, because the temperature was only about 90 degrees.
I found the hedge trimmer and the extension cords and began the trimming. It’s a little bit hard for me because it’s a tall hedge and I have to hold the trimmer above shoulder height. In fact, on the low side (the ground slants) I have to hold it about head height. That trimmer gets a bit heavy.
As I was doing the sides, somehow or the other I cut the electric extension cord. Yep, lopped that sucker right off—with sparks, of course. What to do, what to do!? I changed my clothes, put on make-up, and headed for Lowe’s. I thought if I could find a new cord just like the old one perhaps I could neglect to mention the little mishap. The only orange one like the decapitated one was only 20 feet, and that wouldn’t do. I needed a 50 footer.
Dang! The only one I could find was red with a black strip. I think he will notice it’s not his extension cord.
I can just picture it now. He will come home notice the the injured orange one. His first question will be, “What happened to my extension cord?” The first question won’t be “Did you trim the hedge?” or “Did you get electrocuted?” I can see his upper lip get thinner and almost disappear as it does when he is p.o.ed. He will then tell me I bought the wrong replacement. I sure he wanted the heavy duty model, but they only had the medium one.
So here I sit near that road paved with good intentions, waiting the for the bus to take me to hell. But at least I will be able to see it coming around our corner. The hedge is now a couple of feet shorter.