Recollections May Vary, Especially When Farmer H Points The Finger

A domestic war nearly broke out in Hillmomba on Wednesday night. I was talking to Farmer H about putting The Pony's house payment in our credit union, and his half of the flip expenses in our bank. I reminded Farmer H that he had not yet given me the February list of cash expenses he pays Old Buddy for work, and the "bargain" materials he gets.

"I gave it to you! On Sunday when The Pony was here to grill steaks! You was sittin' at the table, with Pony drinkin', and I laid it down. You got all mad and moved it!"

"I don't remember that at all! If I moved it, I would have put it in the box with all the house stuff. I just looked through that this morning for taxes, and all that was there was the January list."

This went back and forth, with Farmer H having a fit that he's out all that money because he can't remember what he spent. And me having a fit that we need those records for the house and future taxes. Farmer H huffed off to bed after The Amazing Race. I went to look again in that box. Nope. Not in that box. Not in the other box (we have a lot of documents from our flips!) on the chair.

Then I got to thinking about Sunday, and when Farmer H got home. I sure let him hear about it Thursday morning.

"You could not have given me that February list the way you said! I was not even sitting at the kitchen table when you came in. I was halfway through the kitchen, on my way to the bathroom. The Pony said, "Oh! Dad's home!" and I said, "NOOO! He's too early!" That's when you got mad and asked me what I meant about too early. I said we had just gotten done with his checks, and didn't have any time to talk yet."

"No. I put the list on the table, and you complained about it being on the end, so I moved it over to the other side."

"I don't think so. Because I would have put it in the box. That's where I always put the list. Why would The Pony have announced that you were here, if I was sitting right there and could see you come in?"

"I don't know. But I put that list on the table."

"Did you move it, or did I move it? I wasn't sitting there!"

"Yes you were."

"No. I was on my way to the bathroom, and I hollered to Pony, "Make your dad's drink." And when I came out of the bathroom, you were sitting in your recliner, and The Pony was handing you a drink."

"I cut out that list from my tablet with my knife. In the truck. And I brought it in with my list for my business. I took it down to the basement to leave it with my stuff there. And you went back to the kitchen and moved the list then."

"So you saw me from your recliner? You can see out the back of your head and around the corner, to see me moving a list you left on the table?"

"Well, I was in the basement."

"I don't know if you went to the basement or not. All I know is that I did not see you put a list on the table, and I don't remember moving a list off the table, and at the time I came out of the bathroom, you were sitting in your chair."

"I could have been. It don't take me long to go down in the basement and come back."

Farmer H went to search the basement. He came up with his business list. Then he went to search the kitchen. He returned with the February list!

"It was right there!"

"Where? In the box? I looked all through it! There's only January, and some insurance papers from when you switched our homeowners."

"No. It was on the floor. See? I told you!"

"On the floor where?"

"Behind them totes."

"Totes?"

"Them things! Them containers you use for Chex!"

"On the stool by the wall? Behind my chair? Why would it be there?"

"I don't know. That's where I found it."

"So my arms reach backwards? Did you see me do that while sitting in here?"

"SOMEBODY moved it! I put it on the table."

"Maybe The Pony moved it. While I was in the bathroom."

"I don't know. But I DID lay it on the table."

Farmer H is like a dog with a bone. He will not give up on a story that can only be true HIS way. I asked The Pony about it on our phone call. The Pony did not remember what happened with the list. He DID say that I was indeed not in the kitchen when Farmer H came home.

"He MIGHT have put the list on the table? But you were going to the bathroom. I made Dad's drink. I don't remember moving the list or you moving the list. But as you recall, I had been drinking rum and Coke."

Whatever. We have the list for me to deal with now. In fact, I had just told The Pony on Wednesday morning, when he dropped by to pick up his forgotten computer mouse, that I didn't have the February list yet to give him the February expenses. He made no mention of the February list at that time.

I'm not so sure that Farmer H didn't lay that list on the Chex containers when he came in, and it fell to the floor. Of course with no witnesses, Farmer H would never admit such a thing.

Mrs. HM, Gladly Keeping People Employed By Requiring Their Services Twice A Year

It happens every year. I know there's one vital piece of information that will be required on my tax form. It can only be found at our financial advisor's office. Every year, when we go to the required hour-long meeting in October, I write down that vital piece of information. It's called the RMD. The Required Minimum Distribution. It's an amount that MUST be withdrawn from a retirement account during the year, or you'll face a penalty. It's different every year.

I always take out the RMD. A little extra, usually, to offset the taxes that I have withheld. So I don't have to worry about getting a penalty. I have a record in my checkbook register of how much I get, when it's deposited in my account. And the amount I withdrew is on the tax form I get from the investment company. But that RMD is elusive.

Oh, there are tables on the IRS website. But I don't know what kind of retirement plan I have, regarding the tax lingo numbers and letters. So every March, I make that call to the secretary for the RMD amount. She's quite congenial and efficient.

I'm helping them, really! Helping the secretary and our tax advisor stay employed! An appointment every October, and a phone call every March.

Mrs. HM is a giver like that.

Nevermind that a few minutes after I entered the requested information on my tax form, I looked in my checkbook register for property tax information, and FOUND WHERE I HAD WRITTEN DOWN THE RMD AMOUNT. You know. Because I was SURE I would be able to find it at tax time.

Mrs. HM Is Not The Brightest Bulb In The Bathroom

I was on my way to the bathroom when our power outage struck at 5:45 on Friday.

"Oh, great. Now I can't even flush. I'll save it for when I REALLY need it! Now I won't even be able to see."

"It's still light out. You can leave the door open."

"I'm NOT leaving the door open! My little flashlight is in here. Wait! It's NOT here! Where's my little red flashlight? I swear, I left it in here since the last time the power was out."

"There's this big red flashlight out here on the table."

"No! Not that one. It's huge and heavy!"

"Well, it looks pretty dim anyway. It won't last long."

"That's because you never check the batteries. That one probably takes four of the big ones."

Anyhoo... I closed the bathroom door. It's a small bathroom, between the boys' bedrooms. Not like I could get lost. I know where everything is. My business in there was simple.

When I got back the kitchen table, still with natural light coming in through the windows, with which to navigate... I saw my little red flashlight at the end of the table, behind Farmer H's Route 66 fake gas pump keyholder thingy, which he has never bothered to put anywhere else.

"Found my little red flashlight! So now I can take it with me."

This was not actually the little red flashlight that I was thinking about. The other was a bit fatter. It was part of a six-pack of mini flashlights that I got several years ago, to give at Christmas in everyone's stocking. A red and green were left. The green one is probably still down in my dark basement lair. I'll figure out where the original red one is one of these days, when I least expect it. Anyhoo... these are LED lights. They are handy in a power outage. This particular one came from our credit union, so I suspect it was a giveaway at the annual dinner one year.

Luckily, our power came back on within an hour. The next time I made a trip to the bathroom, I had regular light. That's when I looked at the sink, and saw:

A flashlight had been there all along! Just not the flashlight I'd been looking for. 

Sometimes, Mrs. HM is a bit of an idiot. And not the savant kind.

Oh, How Mrs. HM Wishes She Was Commissioner Of The Bad-Driver Police

I made three stops in town on Monday. Each one included a bad driver. What are the odds??? It's like Mrs. HM is a magnet for these rumpusholes!

When I came out of the Gas Station Chicken Store, I passed a person walking in from the direction I had parked T-Hoe in my rightful handicap space. This man was late 30s/early 40s. No sign of any affliction that would make him differently-abled. 

When I got to T-Hoe, I saw only one other vehicle on that side of the building. A red pickup truck, fairly new. It was parked BESIDE T-Hoe. That's the driving lane, people. Not a parking space of any kind. It blocks access to the diesel gas pumps, and a way out of the lot.

As I was climbing into T-Hoe, a white sedan drove around the other side of the diesel pumps, to get to the FREE AIR hose in front of T-Hoe. The guy had his window down as he pulled in with his nose towards the air hose. He was rassen-frassen to his woman in the passenger seat. I'm pretty sure it was about the rumpushole parked in the driving lane.

At my next stop, the Casey's across the moat, I could not access my rightful handicap space, because a gray sedan was parked there. No handicap plate, no handicap placard. The car was running, but nobody was inside. I parked to the right of it, even farther from the door, in front of the dumpster area. There were very few customers parked in front of the store, but there might have been, when that gray sedan parked.

I was the first person to the register. While I was waiting for the clerk to come back to the counter, some women got behind me, with several children of young school age. They were clamoring for their treats. Not to fault the kids. They had spent a day in school, and were finally free, and no doubt hungry.

Once I was back in T-Hoe, this party came out. Of course they were parked in the handicap space. I took time to write the location on the back of my tickets. But these gals were not leaving. In fact, the passenger had both front and back doors open. I suppose buckling in those three kids, and waiting to get in herself. The gray sedan was parked all cattywompus in the handicap space. I was reluctant to back out, lest T-Hoe's side mirror strike the gal who was standing at the back door. I waited until she got inside, though she left the passenger door open.

But wait! Over at 10Box, my last stop, for bananas and Vidalia onions, I was again accosted by a bad driver. I was backing out of one of my four rightful handicap spaces. Rolling. Backup lights on, in motion. But a shiny blue mini-sedan felt it was necessary to whiz past T-Hoe's rear way too fast for that driving lane in front of the door.

Common sense should dictate that shoppers may be coming out of that area, unable to see past the cars parked there. AND that when a backing vehicle is in motion, it has the right-of-way. Anybody coming up on its path should yield. But no. Common sense is a rare commodity in Backroads. 

If I was Commissioner of the Bad-Driver Police, I would throw the book at those rumpusholes! At the speed of a major-league baseball pitcher. Not to hurt them. Just to knock some sense into them.

Other People Scratching Get Under Mrs. HM's Skin

Saturday I headed into 10Box to get my crossword scratchers. There were two guys at the lottery machines. They looked like early 20s. One had on an employee shirt. His back was to me while he stood at the little stand that holds lottery stuff like forms to fill out and scan to select draw ticket numbers. He blocked my way to get to the right-side machine, because there's a big pole behind him, supporting the roof. 

The other guy was using the left-side machine. He blocked the straight-across path to get to the right-side machine. So I stood there to wait. He was getting 10 one-dollar tickets, taking his time. That's his right. He was there first.

Along comes one of the manager gals who usually talks to me, from out of the service desk. She spoke to them, asking if they had any luck. It seemed like maybe they had a little contest going. Like who can play the longest, or win the most, on a certain amount.

Sweet Gummi Mary! Manager Gal walked right up to the left-side machine as Other Guy turned to move. Um. I WAS CLEARLY WAITING FOR MY TURN! I didn't say anything. She's always been nice to me. I didn't want to show my rumpus and then be reluctant to show my face in there for a while. So I kept waiting.

Other Guy went to stand at the side of that lottery stand. Completely blocking the front of the right-side machine. So I just had to wait until Manager Gal was done. Which I did. But then I wanted a crossword out of the right-side machine, so had to wait as Other Guy turned around and scanned his tickets he'd just scratched. 

Is it wrong of me to be happy that he had losers? Because that meant he was DONE, and couldn't buy any more, and had no reason to continue blocking that machine!

I usually don't wish loss on ANY gambler. Except maybe the RumpusHole Handicap Parker. But my knees got all stiffened up while standing there without a cart/walker to lean on. At least I kept my mouth shut.

Again, the two guys were there ahead of me. My issue is with them using up space to scratch their tickets in front of the machines. And with Manager Gal cutting in front of me.

Mrs. HM is growing grumpy in her old age...

A New Kind Of Hillmomba Magnet

I came out of 10Box on Tuesday, pushing a cart with five bags and two 12-packs of Best Choice Diet Cola, because they were out of my desired Shasta. Lucky for me, I had the closest handicap space, so not far to go with that cart I'd had to take from the line in the outside cart return. Darn that Do-Gooder who so kindly returned the cart that had been parked directly in front of T-Hoe, just waiting for me!

Those carts were still waiting to be corralled inside. Three lines of them beside T-Hoe. I'd have to be careful when I backed out, because people LOVE to walk right into his rolling path. The magnetic pull of those waiting carts would bring even more Do-Gooders that way.

I noticed a man lurking beside the carts. Hmm. He LOOKED okay. But it was a little creepy. I only had two bags left to stow away when he walked over.

"I can take that cart for you. I know it's only a few steps, but I don't mind."

"Oh. Thank you SO MUCH! My knees are really sore today. Every step helps."

"I've lost the use of my legs twice over the last few years. So I completely understand."

"I'm glad you're getting around now. Thank you."

"God bless you, Ma'am."

That Guy took my cart an proceeded into the store.

Well. Maybe I am part of some grand experiment in the Greater Hillmomba area, where people see if I'm a grouch, or if I appreciate kindness. Maybe I am serving a greater purpose, allowing people to collect good karma for previous wrongs.

I don't know what plan The Universe has for me. Right now I seem to be a Kindness Magnet.

A Woman Walks Into A 10Box

Earlier this week, I was happy to get the closest handicap parking space at 10Box. I was also thrilled to see a shopping cart somebody had left by the door. So convenient for me, rather than going inside to find one, because the cart corral in there is not very near the entrance. You have to go past several vending machines and the hallway to the bathrooms. Can't just step in and grab a cart, like in the Devil's Playground, or most other stores.

As I was putting my phone in my purse, and taking my glasses out of the case to put them on top of my head, I saw an older woman in T-Hoe's side mirror pushing a cart towards the door. Good for her, bringing her cart back. She entered my peripheral vision, and I watched, SHOCKED, as

SHE ALSO GRABBED THE PARKED CART I HAD BEEN PLANNING TO USE!

The Universe mocks me! Mock, mock, mock! That cart was so close I could taste it! Well. You know what I mean. I wouldn't LITERALLY taste a shopping cart. But I had planned on taking that cart. It would have been SO convenient. Now I had to hobble inside, all the way to the cart corral. But wait!

Rather than seeking a cart inside, I instead hobbled around T-Hoe's rear, to three rows of waiting carts that had not yet been corralled inside. I pulled one of them loose, and went back around T-Hoe's rear toward the entrance.

The Good Deeder came out the door, headed back to her car. Little did she know how much she had NOT-HELPED me! People who walk on two good legs don't consider such scenarios. Those who don't walk on two good legs fully understand. 

A tale we shall get to tomorrow...