Once Again, The Mail Makes Deadbeats Of The Hillbilly Family

I'm sure you won't be shocked to hear that Mrs. HM is past due on her bills again. Through no fault of her own, mind you! There is plenty of money in the coffers. We just sold a flip house(s), you know! Got all our investment back, and more. Nor is Mrs. HM a scofflaw who thinks she deserves something for nothing. When she gets a bill, she pays it. Usually that same day, or the next.

Saturday evening, Farmer H brought in the mail. That was August 9, you know. It included an oversized square envelope with the return address of our insurance company. Not the one we've had for over 30 years, but the newest one that we use for the Bargan House flip, and our Hillbilly Mansion, since Farmer H switched our coverage for our home in January. He said the old company's rate was too high, and our agent agreed, but said he couldn't change it, and was losing a lot of customers.

Anyhoo... we left all our cars insured with the old company, out of loyalty. And also The Pony's house and the Double Hovel flip house(s), though they were through separate companies associated with the old insurance, only for rental properties. Let the record show that we always paid our Mansion and Pony House annually. When Farmer H changed our policy to the new insurance, he put it on a 2-pay plan. He went to the agent's office and paid him with a check in January. I made a note of it in the checkbook register.

Back to Saturday evening, when I opened the insurance envelope, thinking it was the bill for the next six months.

IT WAS A CANCELLATION NOTICE!!!

That was quite a shock. Unsettling. Embarrassing. We pay our bills! IF we GET them! 

I do not contemplate paying a bill six months down the line. I have other things rattling around in my head. I figure I'll get a bill when I owe something. I'm not setting up autopay for a twice a year bill that is thousands of dollars. 

Anyhoo... the letter said that the payment had been due by July 31. And that unless payment was received, the policy would be cancelled on August 17. Thank the Gummi Mary, the mail had been on time with this cancellation notice, having been sent on August 6, arriving on August 9. Well. There's no way to pay that bill on a Saturday night. Or Sunday. But Monday morning, Farmer H was at the insurance office, with a check made out for the amount we paid on January 31.

I didn't know if that was the right amount, because sometimes there's a few cents difference, or there might have been a late fee because we missed the deadline. I told Farmer H that I doubted that would keep them from accepting our check, and that if it was more, he could just pay that portion from his pocketful of cash he uses when he finds a bargain.

The Agent is a young guy. He told Farmer H he'd been watching our account, and saw that it wasn't paid. He had thought of calling, but he didn't. I WISH HE HAD CALLED! Farmer H explained that we hadn't been getting much mail. Sometimes days without it. He is missing a package. And our separate financial statements that always come at the same time did not, with mine arriving five days before his this month.

The Agent said he understood, and took the check. Heh, heh! He probably ran right to the bank with it, lest we stop payment, or not have the funds. I wouldn't fault him for that. His living depends on a percentage of his policy payments.

Farmer H came home with the big envelope, but not the cancellation notice! Of course he got a chewing-out for that.

"It had all the policy and account numbers on it! How am I supposed to keep a record of this? What if it happens again? How am I going to find out the details?"

"He kept it! He attached our check to it. He give me that receipt."

"This receipt is the size of a Post-It Note! It just has the amount and his signature. No policy or account numbers or dates of coverage! I don't know why he needed that notice. He has all the numbers in his records."

"I don't know, but that's all he gave me."

I guess we're lucky that the policy didn't get cancelled on July 31. The way my luck has been going, the Mansion might have been struck by lightning on August 1.

A Bad Day At 10Box

Mrs. HM does most of her everyday shopping in 10Box. It's conveniently located in Hillmomba, the workers are really nice, they have most of what I want, and the produce isn't rotten. Even when the left-side lottery machine rips me off, I'm not TOO discouraged, because it's my own fault. I know that machine is glitchy.

Saturday was not a good day. Only my second day to venture out after my couch-injured rumpus started giving me shooting back/rumpus pain and a numb ankle/foot on Tuesday. I went in 10Box for a large bottle of acetaminophen tablets. While there, I got some cookies for Farmer H. No, it's not a plan to try to kill him. He will find sweets without my help.

Anyhoo... as I was cart/walking to the checkout, the newest checker was closing up her lane at the end, the one I prefer. She's an older lady, with a helmet of gray hair. Looks like she might have once been a professional bowler. She's all businesslike, and not nearly as friendly as the other checkers. The checker who always asks me about scratchers was going off duty. I had just seen her outside smoking, and now she was buying a big jug of sweet tea. Helmet Hair had already put her CLOSED sign on the conveyor, as well as having her light off. Of course she agreed to ring up the tea for her colleague.

Only one more lane was open, with the Young Guy with strawberry-blond hair. He's a pleasant fellow. I wheeled over there, and was second in line. A couple was buying what looked like a month's worth of groceries. Most was already at the end, with the skinny guy bagging it and putting it back in the cart.

This is when other people decided they had to check out RIGHT THEN. Behind me were two girls, maybe 21 or just under. They had one item in their hand. No cart. I only had three items, so I didn't feel a need to let them go ahead. They were young, on four good legs between them. One had out her phone. They were giggling. Talking about guys.

Those Gals kept getting closer to me. There was no need for that. People behind them had to curve down the main aisle anyway. I turned to give them the stinkeye, and Gal One put her phone down. Gal Two giggled. That made me suspicious. Were they FILMING ME? I don't know. Didn't think so, from their conversation. But they'd shut up when I turned around, and put the phone down. SO ANNOYING! Most people would catch on that such a look means to GIVE ME MY SPACE. Not Those Gals. I could have been holding one on my left hip like a toddler, she was so close. 

I was getting more steamed by the minute, because Those Gals wouldn't back off. So I quit turning around and fumed silently. The customers ahead of me had all their groceries rang up, bagged, and in the cart. The lady took out her phone. Oh, no. Here we go again. A Save A Lot replay. Maybe she was using her store coupons from the app. Or trying to pay. She made many attempts to do something with her phone. Then the skinny guy came around and used her phone. Then he took out HIS phone. Whatever they were trying to do didn't work. So he took out a card and paid.

While all this was going on, Hemet Hair was flitting around, watching, and BAGGING TRASH. Seriously? You see a bunch of customers backed up, nothing moving, and you can't leave that trash for 10 minutes to help Strawberry Blondie get caught up? Shame on you! She even caught my eye. Which was NOT a welcome glance in any way.

Finally I got my turn. It was quick. I got away from the giggle girls. Went to the right-side lottery machine. I'll be ding-dang-donged if Helmet Hair didn't come over there and hover. It looked like about five tickets in the wastebasket between the machines. I moved my cart/walker so she could get around, but she just hovered. Distracting me. I was scanning in winners to play on. I always wait to see the worth, and make sure I tap the selection for using it in the machine, and wait for it to show up in the total. 

Well. Helmet Hair shook her big trash bag, which she was using for dumping in the smaller bags. Leaving the bags in, just shaking out the trash. I scanned three tickets, and tossed them in the wastebasket. Helmet Hair said, "Excuse me, I'm just going to dump this wastebasket." She came around the end of my cart, dumped the trash, and went on looking for more trash.

When I turned to make my selections, I saw that my total was not what I expected. One of those tickets had scanned to show me the amount, but had not added it to my total! That happens sometimes on all the machines. I either did it too fast, or the screen didn't recognize that my finger was a living appendage. Normally, I would pick my tickets back up and scan them again, to find the right one and apply my winnings. But I couldn't, because my just-scanned tickets were in Helmet Hair's big trash bag. It was a $15 winner!

No way was I going to try finding that ticket. My rumpus was acting up. I just had to eat that loss. Of course I blame Helmet Hair, but if I had been feeling my normal self, I would not have been rushing, and would have had no qualms about making her wait to get my trash.

It was just a bad day at 10Box.

Another Attempt, I'm Pretty Sure

Farmer H grows craftier with each attempt to kill me. So many (possible) accidents, so little time (before I naturally kick the bucket).

I don't remember if it was here or elsewhere, but I revealed that Farmer H was stung by a wasp in POOLIO last week. It was right on the chest. He whined over it for a couple days. Kept picking at it, saying there was a stinger in it. I didn't feel or see a stinger. You know if there was, with all his picking, it would have squeezed more venom into him. Anyhoo... I guess it's better.

It was the day before, or day after the POOLIO sting that I told Farmer H there was a wasp nest over the kitchen door. It's a favorite place for them. I used to go on a killing spree every summer, then knock down the nest. With less mobility, I am loathe to write that check that my rumpus can't cash. I don't want to try running from angry wasps if my first RAID doesn't get them all. I have never had an allergic reaction to a wasp sting before, because I have never been stung by a wasp. But my dad was allergic, and had to carry an epi pen when he was a telephone lineman. That's back in the day when an epi pen wasn't really a thing.

Anyhoo... Farmer H supposedly sprayed that nest while I was in town. I cautioned him not to use too much, because it would drip down where the dogs lick the porch after a treat.

Indeed, when I got home, there were no wasps sitting on the nest, and the porch was dry. I didn't think anything else about it.

Today (Sunday) while sitting at HIPPIE at the kitchen table, I saw a wasp buzzing around the window. I had seen him yesterday as well, and meant to ask Farmer H if maybe he should spray again. Being preoccupied with my back/rumpus pain, it was not a high priority.

Anyhoo... as I was watching the wasp flit around, a chill went down my spine, stopping short at my rumpus nerve. The wasp was on the other side of the mini blinds, but on THIS SIDE of the wooden window pane trim. The flitting was INSIDE THE MANSION!

But wait! It gets worse! The wasp was on the window by the kitchen door. It would fly/crawl up so far, then get a wing caught on the blinds, and fall to the sill. Next thing I knew, I heard that bumping/buzzing/bumbling at my right shoulder. The wasp was at the window beside me, where I look out into POOLIO! It's pacing along the top of the bottom window. The part where the locks are.

I have contemplated using Farmer H's grabber from his back surgery to poke it to death. I fear that it might slip and break a hole in the window pane. Or that the wasp will not take kindly to my attempts, and come after me. Or what if I only wound it, and it falls into my gambling purse that hangs on the back of a chair. I think this is a job for Farmer H.

He must have "accidentally" let the wasp in this morning as he left for his SUS2.5. It was not in the Mansion yesterday.

Surely Farmer H is not crafty enough to make a wasp sting him in POOLIO, and then let one in the house a few days later, so if I succumb to a possible allergic reaction to a sting, he can tell investigators: "We've been having a wasp problem lately."

A Wanker And A Yanker

Mrs. HM has been homebound since Tuesday, with a sharp shooting pain in her rumpus when she walks. With around the clock alternating ibuprofen and acetaminophen, and walking bent over to assuage the agony, there has been limited improvement. Tears only a couple times a day.

Friday, I took a chance and ventured to town. The hardest part was getting from the Mansion into the garage. I took my casino cane out of A-Cad, just in case. In fact, I used it at the Gas Station Chicken Store. There was still pain, but I felt more secure, because my balance has been off from the leaning walk, making other muscles stiff.

Anyhoo... before I went to the Gas Station Chicken Store, I stopped by Save A Lot to get a couple giant baking potatoes to go with Farmer H's BBQ pulled pork supper. I also needed bananas. There's a scratcher machine just inside the door, too! 

My rightful handicap space was open! And there were two carts in the return corral next to it. I figured that was a good sign. As I slid out of T-Hoe, a lady came pushing a cart to the corral. 

"I'll take that, if you don't mind." 

"Sure." She even turned it around and put the handle where I could grab it.

The bread and produce are right up front. I don't like buying bananas there, but it's not as bad as the other store. I got the bananas, and buns, because the baking potatoes were smaller than a regular potato that comes in 5 and 10 pound bags! So I didn't get any. 

All I had to do was wheel my cart/walker to the closest checkout, the only one open. There was just one guy there, with something in his hand. Not even a cart. I got in line. That's where my luck ended.

The guy was in shorts, with a cap, kind of reminded me of Kid Rock, only in his 20s. He paid for his items. I think it was a 4-pack of something like Gatorade. A colored liquid in plastic bottles. Maybe something else, because his bill was just over $9. He handed the checker cash, and pocketed the change. Then he told the checker guy that he also needed three packs of something. It was behind the counter. Some kind of tobacco product. That bill was $11-something. 

Kid Rock got out a card and tapped all his info into the scanner. Meanwhile, the line was backing up. Guy Checker called a lady up front to check. She asked me if I wanted to move lanes, but I told her it was easier for me to wait. She said, "I totally understand how it's easier not to move!" The lady behind me with a full cart followed her. I SHOULD HAVE!

Checker Guy said, "For some reason, your card is declined."

Kid Rock stood there a minute. Fished around in his pockets. Then said, "Oh. I have it locked." More fishing in his pockets. Took out his phone. Seemed like he typed half of War and Peace in there. Tried again. Declined. Told Guy Checker he was sorry. More pocket-fishing. Tried another card. It worked.

By now I had been standing there about 10 minutes. My rumpus was angry about that. At least I had my cart/walker to lean on. In fact, as I started setting my bananas and buns on the conveyor, I asked Guy Checker...

"Can we just put this back in my cart?"

He said okay. I moved up, where Guy Checker could just reach them over the card-scanner area and set them back into the child seat of my cart/walker. I noticed Kid Rock stepping around the end. I thought he was picking up his items from the waiting cart there. But he took the whole cart! I don't know why. He hadn't brought one to the checkout.

With that, Guy Checker grabbed the end of my cart, with my purse still in the child seat, and yanked it around to park there. Then proceeded to put my bananas and buns into the BOTTOM SECTION. My rumpus was quite unhappy! First with the yank that threw me off balance, and then having to walk a few steps to grab onto the cart again. And also with having to bend over and lift up bananas to put back in the child seat. The whole point of using my cart was so I could keep leaning on it, and have my items right there with no bending.

Kid Rock and Guy Checker are dangerous to the elderlies! One due to poor planning, the other not understand the fragility and immobility of old people. At least the woman checker he called up knew exactly what was going on with me.

Maybe I've Been Watching Too Many Murder Shows

Tuesday night, I heard Farmer H's phone ring. I figured it was a resident of his old-people dwelling units with a complaint. I couldn't hear very well, being in the bathroom, seated upon the throne, the door closed and the automatic fan running that is built into the ceiling light. Farmer H talks pretty loud, though. I thought I heard him saying he didn't know, and that he didn't want to "worry HM with it." 

As you might imagine, something didn't seem right. Mainly that he didn't want to worry me! So when I came out, I asked about the call.

"It was this guy I used to work with, asking if I'd seen your cousin. I told him no, I don't see him since I retired. He said he'd been trying to call him for several days, and your cousin don't answer. He called the neighbors, and they ain't seen him either. They said they picked up his mail, because it was falling out of the box. I said maybe try to call his sister, because I wouldn't want to worry his mom right now."

Let the record show that this is my cousin, a few years younger than me, who bought my mom's house. He's lived there since 2016, first with his wife, now alone since they got divorced. His mom is my favorite gambling aunt, who is now in assisted living. The neighbors have been there since I was in high school. They came from Croatia, and have noticeable accents. The man is a carpenter, and the wife was friends with my mom. Their house is across the blacktop road. Both houses have rural mailboxes on my cousin's side of the road.

Of course I was worried.

"Has he been going to work?"

"Yeah. The last time my buddy saw him was leaving work on Friday."

"That's FRIDAY! How much mail could he get on Friday, Saturday, Monday, Tuesday? Maybe he hasn't been staying there. Maybe he has a girlfriend or something."

"Maybe. The mail might have been in bundles, like they do ours, and it was just full."

"That mailbox is way bigger than ours. Maybe he just doesn't pick up his mail. I hope nothing's wrong with him! Should somebody do a welfare check?"

"He asked me if I had a key to that house, but I said no. So he's trying to call his sister."

That's my cousin too, of course. His older sister. She's pretty efficient. Lives in the city, works at a bank. If anybody could solve this mystery, it would be her!

The next morning, Farmer H said he had a text from his buddy that my cousin had been found, and he was okay. Nothing more. Not where he was, or where he'd been. Not really my business, but I'm curious. Most of all, I'm relieved. 

My murder shows tell me nothing good comes of an overflowing mailbox and a person who hasn't been seen for four days...

Pupsie Minds Her Manners

WHAT is going on in Hillmomba lately? Are these signs of the Apopadopalyspe (as Farmer H calls it)? Has the earth tilted on its axis? Are Even Steven and The Universe conspiring to make this the Bizarro World? Not only did Farmer H eat leftovers for five days without complaint, but

PUPSIE WAITED HER TURN FOR A TREAT!!!

It defies Hillmomba logic, I tell you!

When I came back from town last week, I stood at the kitchen door as normal, dispensing small pieces of whole wheat bread to the fleabags. I have to be careful, whatever I give out, because Pupsie rushes to grab it first. I could be tossing out ball bearings, nails, mini spiked mace balls, or razor blades... anything but medicine, and Pupsie would have them swallowed before realizing they were not for eating.

But suddenly she was minding her manners! I'd say "Pupsie," and toss a bread bit into the air, which she would catch and eat. Then I'd say, "Jack," and toss his to the porch at my feet. Puspie WAITED! Didn't shove Jack out of the way and eat his, too.

What in the Not-Heaven? For a couple weeks, I had been tossing Pupsie's treats across the porch, so she'd have to run get them, giving Jack time to eat his unmolested. Maybe Pupsie got tired of the back and forth, and thought Jack was getting more than his share.

It's a small sign of progress. Pupsie is still unpettable and uncatchable. Not so much a pet as a freeloader using us for food and shelter.

We still don't know how to solve our Pupsie problem.

It's Farmer H's World. We Are In It To Serve Him.

As you know, Thursdays are my errand day. I now have a detour due to that dastardly roundabout construction by the Devil's Playground. It sends me in a different direction, but navigating through there is not too painful. I just drive along the road beside the Devil's Parking Lot, get back on the main road going a different direction, and go two or three miles out of my way to get back to where I could have traveled through the light for a quarter-mile to get there.

I am in town for a couple hours. Farmer H is usually home before I get back. You know, unless I have groceries to carry in! Anyhoo... he was there when I got home last week.

"I waved at you but you didn't wave back!"

"WHERE?"

"By the bank."

"WHICH BANK? Our bank?"

"No. The other bank."

"Up town by the post office?"

"No. By the pawn shop. That's where I was headed."

"I thought you said the pawn shop closed, and you can't play your fake slot machines there anymore."

"It DID close! But they were selling their inventory, so I went by to get some things."

"I don't even go by there, because of the construction. Traffic is always backed up past the pawn shop."

"I was on the road behind it. Coming up from the Devil's Playground. That's where I waved at you."

"Why would I be expecting to see you THERE? Traffic is crazy, trying to avoid that construction. I was just watching out for crazy drivers."

"Well. I waved at you, and you didn't wave back."

Just to let you know, all the towns connect around here. I drove from Hillmomba over to School-Turn Town, where I avoided the roundabout. Then out to Bank Town. Then back through Sis-Town. And again back to School-Turn Town to return to Hillmomba. 

Of course I should have been looking at every red truck just in case Farmer H passed me and waved, right? To point out the ridiculousness of his egotistical expectations, I counted all the red trucks I saw on my way to ONLY Hillmomba on Friday. 

It's five miles to Hillmomba. Takes 10 minutes there. 10 minutes back. I'm there around 15-20 minutes, depending on how long the lines are in the two places I buy scratchers. When I got home, I told Farmer H...

"While I was in town buying tickets, I saw 17 red trucks! Was I supposed to look in each one, in case it was you waving at me?"

"Yes. You should of."

Nevermind that two weeks ago, I actually saw Farmer H in SilverRedO, at the stoplight by the Gas Station Chicken Store, coming from Domino's with our pizza, waiting for his left-turn arrow to start home. I was coming from Casey's, and passed through the light right in front of him, waving. He was first in line at the light! Yet when I said he didn't wave at me, he just said...

"Oh. I never seen you."

Even though he was stopped, at the light, and should have been watching the traffic in front of him flowing across the intersection.

It's Farmer H's world.