Monday, March 18, 2024

I'm Pretty Sure They Weren't ACTUALLY Trying To Burn Down The BARn

When I left for town on Sunday, the dogs did not come running for their treat. I smelled smoke, and assumed Farmer H was burning stuff on his burn pile over by the BARn. I filed this assumption away for discussion during This Is the Time We Talk About the Most Recent Thing You've Done Wrong.

When I pulled out of the driveway, I saw three trucks around some smoke billowing from our across-the-road neighbors' field. Actually, it's the field next to them, owned by the previous across-the-road neighbors' brother, though they pastured their horses in there indiscriminately.

Anyhoo... during the storm that rolled through a couple evenings ago, some spindly trees were twisted, and their branches lay partly in the gravel road. That's what was being burned. It was not a smart decision, with the trees whipping around all day in winds of 20 mph. All those flames had to do was send a spark across the gravel road, and the dry grass in our BARn field would catch, and send fire down that field to the BARn. 

At least there were five or six men standing around, as if they might do something to attempt to stop such a conflagration. 

Farmer H was off the hook for clueless burning. The BARn survived. I suppose those guys might work during the week, and wanted to do this task on Sunday. I would have gladly suffered swerving around those spindly road limbs in lieu of worrying about a wildfire destroying the BARn.

Sunday, March 17, 2024

Mrs. HM Rants On

Saturday, we got an insurance bill for Pony House. While he's making payments for it every month, we have not signed it over in his name. Our main insurance company does not handle "rental" property, which is what they term Pony House, since it is inhabited, yet it is not our primary residence. They have another company that insures "rental" property. Plus a different company that insures "rehab" property, like our flip house.

Anyhoo... we get the insurance bill for Pony House, pay it, then The Pony pays us for the premium. Here's the problem. Saturday, we got THREE BILLS for insurance on Pony House. What in the Not-Heaven? There was a bill addressed to our trust, which holds the title to Pony House. And a bill addressed to Mrs. HM. And a bill addressed to Farmer H.

The trust bill, and the Mrs. HM bill were in regular envelopes. They showed a cost of $1100-something, and a premium due of $808. The Farmer H bill showed a cost of $1100-something, and a premium due of $1100-something. Huh. Such a curious billing. None of the three envelopes included a payment stub and envelope. Said it could be pain online, or by mailing to "the above address."  

Well. Suppose we mailed in a payment. Would the other two unpaid billings be reflected as overdue or unpaid? 

Farmer H is going by our insurance office to discuss this matter on Monday. Because as usual, the bills are scheduled to arrive over a weekend, so you can't contact anybody with questions. At least our insurance bills, and medical bills. That's when they always arrive, regardless of date.

Our regular insurance agent is named on the billing. I assume he gets a commission, as with our regular insurance. So Farmer H is correct in going to the office to inquire as to the triple billing. He will also pay at this office, so there will be a record of payment on this account. I don't trust sending a payment without an official stub and a return envelope.

Imagine people who simply receive a bill and make payment. You can't trust anybody these days. Especially insurance companies. We have a different one for the flip house. It sends a bill three months before it's due. We hold off paying until a few weeks before the due date. Because if you pay so far ahead, and the property sells, good luck getting a refund on your payment! At least they include a payment stub and envelope.

Saturday, March 16, 2024

Mrs. HM Is Having One Of THOSE Days

Friday was not pleasant for Mrs. HM. From the get-go, at 5:30 a.m., something was afoot. My knees were extra-painful. No idea why. I hadn't done anything strenuous the day before. Just the regular errand trip. Yet upon standing, I felt like gravity had doubled. Perhaps the barometric pressure was falling, due to the severe storms on Thursday night. Thank the Gummi Mary, it mostly skipped us, aside from some strong wind and a brief downpour. 30 miles north, there were TAKE COVER tornado warmings. Somewhere there was baseball-size hail.

Anyhoo... the double gravity did not help when I was preparing chicken pot pie for our supper. I boiled some boneless skinless chicken breasts for that purpose. Then decided I might as well use the other half of the bag. So did it twice. The cubed hash brown potatoes I had bought for this purpose turned out to have RED AND GREEN BELL PEPPERS in them! Farmer H despises peppers. So I stood at the cutting block, picking out peppers. I went back and forth through the kitchen, gathering my ingredients.

This process took me from 9:30 to 1:30! It's like I was in slow motion. I'd get one thing done, then have to go back and do another. I had two big bowls for combining the ingredients, because it's hard to stir it all in one bowl. Of course I had to dice up the chicken once it cooled. And grease the 9 x 13 glass pan, and a 9 x 9 glass pan, to freeze, for leftovers later.

Whew! Then I had several dishes to wash. That done, I could busy myself with writing out payments for the electric bills on the flip house and the Beauty Shop. Of course during all this, The Pony was texting me, and then Farmer H also deciding to text, while my hands were in the dishwater.

Off to town, where a rumpushole was parked BESIDE my rightful handicap space. That means he was in the driving lane! Preventing people from passing by the diesel pumps. I'm so fed-up with these idiot-parkers, I just pulled into the handicap space anyway. Too bad, so sad if he couldn't get his door open. He could easily pull up beside the empty space in front of me. No idea why he thought that was a parking space.

Once back at the Mansion, I had to put the store-bought pie crust on top of the chicken pot pie, and bake it for 35 minutes. While putting ice into a red Solo cup with my Shasta Diet Cola, I dropped an ice cube. Third one for the day! Then I had to find where it had skittered, to toss it into the sink.

The smoke alarm went off when I opened up the oven to put in the chicken pot pie. When I sat down at the table to do a little scratching while waiting 10 minutes to put foil over the crust, I hit my soda with my elbow, and soda and ice cascaded onto the table and floor. So I had to mop it up with two towels from the laundry room. At least it wasn't sticky like real soda. But it wasted a soda, and the best ice cubes that I had picked out for it. Then I had to wash and dry the two towels.

At least the chicken pot pie was delicious. We'll be eating it again on Saturday and Sunday. Me probably some more on Monday, when Farmer H is gone to the auction.

When turning to get out of my chair, I felt a sharp pain in my left rumpus-cheek. I must have tweaked it while picking up those errant ice cubes from under the cutting block. Or maybe while mopping up my spilled Shasta.

I'm hoping Saturday is better.

Friday, March 15, 2024

Just Another Day In Hillmomba

I'd like to say that nothing interesting happened on Thursday. We've had quite a week so far, with The Pony falling and skinning his knee at work, then being bitten by a dog. And my rightful handicap parking spaces being FULL OF HANDICAPPED PEOPLE'S CARS, or blocked by inconsiderate rumpusholes pinning me in. 

Yes. I'd LIKE to say that nothing interesting happened. But that would be a lie.

Unfortunately, I can't reveal all the details. It's a story the basics of which remain to be shared. Perhaps in a month or so. As for now, I can only share that Thursday's incident routed Farmer H from his recliner right after he'd finished his supper and a Little Debbie Zebra Cake for dessert. Sent him to town for 90 minutes. And involved a naked man, a broken cane, a big lie, and the police.

An ti ci paaaaaa tion...

Thursday, March 14, 2024

Knick Knack, Jack Don't Hack, Give HM That Bone

I came rolling home Tuesday afternoon to find my little Jack on the porch have a blast with a bone. Scarlett was trying to be good on the side porch, so I was petting her. For once, Jack didn't run over and hope for some run-over petting, when I reach my arm extra-far across Scarlett's head to give him a pat.

Jack stood at the top of the porch steps, gnawing and dropping a bone. Just a small piece of bone, but quite loud. I thought maybe he had a piece of deer jaw. When I looked closer, that bone was all the way in Jack's tiny mouth, and it was RED! I assumed he had a fresh bone, with some meat or blood on the edge.

As I started up the steps, something about that bone did not look right. I called Jack over. He's quite compliant with me. I reached into his mouth and pulled out the slimy bone.

It wasn't a bone at all!


It was Carl Wheezer, friend of Jimmy Neutron! I didn't know that at first. I just knew that he didn't belong in Jack's mouth. No dog of mine is going to choke to death on Carl Wheezer. I took him inside, washed him off in the sink, dried him, and posed him on top of the paper towel rack. Then I sent a picture to The Pony, who had just gotten home from his dog bite.

"Who is this? He looks familiar. At first I thought it was Rugrat Chuckie, but his hair is different."

"That's Carl. Carl Wheezer. He was on Jimmy Neutron. Genius would know. He loved that show."

I sent Genius the picture on Wednesday. "Caught Jack chewing on Carl Wheezer yesterday."

"LOL. What a random find."

Yes. It was. No idea where Jack found Carl. We never had any of those figures here.

Wednesday, March 13, 2024

Farmer H Gets His Nose Out Of Joint At The Devil's Playground

AND, Mrs. HM got her ears out of joint at the Hillbilly Mansion! You know Farmer H cannot tell a story. He leaves out important details, thinking you can read his mind. When you question the narrative, you are told that you DON'T KNOW NOTHIN'! And that you CAN'T REMEMBER ANYTHING! Even though a captive audience at Madison Square Garden would unanimously concur that the narrative was full of holes and misdirection.

I will try to spare you the inconsistencies, and report the facts as I gleaned them from my interrogation. I feel like I aged six months, and 25% of my lovely lady-mullet grayed with commiseration. You're welcome.

Farmer H recently bought a trailer from former Back Creek Neighbors Bev and Nick. It's a nice trailer. I passed Farmer H on the way home with it. Nicer than our current trailer, which we had to buy to replace the one wrecked by a certain relative who won't be named. It's a long trailer, suitable for hauling a car or tractor. 

Anyhoo... Farmer H paid for that trailer himself. Then promptly broke it on the first day of use. He said something about the hitch section of it was broken. It came loose from SilverRedO! But at least not on a highway where somebody could have been hurt.

Anyhoo... Farmer H took that trailer over to The Pony's house. Poor Pony! And went to the Devil's Playground to buy a grinder to work on the problem area. But the grinders were LOCKED UP! I don't know what the deal is with that. The grinder Farmer H needed cost $22. Not like it's a high-dollar item that people are shoplifting on the regular.

Anyhoo... Farmer H asked a clerk at the automotive service desk (in the back, near the grinder case) for help. She could not get the key to work in the lock. She said she'd get somebody to help Farmer H. He waited for 20 minutes, but nobody came. So he started back to the service desk. On his way, he saw that clerk with a customer in the gun section. She saw Farmer H, and immediately started over to the service desk. 

Farmer H said nobody had come to help him. The Clerk said that the other gal didn't know how to work the lock, either. But Farmer H saw her in the automotive section, and asked her to help him. She was a redhead, who said that she was HELPING A CUSTOMER. Farmer H said, "I'm a customer, too, and I've been waiting 20 minutes after being told I would get help." The Redhead did not have a comment for that, other than repeating that she was HELPING A CUSTOMER. The Clerk said she was going to get a manager.

Farmer H went back to the grinder case, and in about 10 minutes a manager showed up. He, too, had trouble with the key, but got the case unlocked so that Farmer H could get his grinder.

"Your redheaded gal over in automotive is [a rumpushole]," said Farmer H. The manager had no comment. No question, no apology. Farmer H said the two gals, as well as the manager, were about the same age as The Pony.

"Well. That explains it. They don't care about helping anybody! They don't think they should have to do anything to earn their pay."

You'd think at least the manager could have PRETENDED that he was sorry for Farmer H's 30-minute wait, and said he was sorry for Farmer H's trouble. The rumpushole declaration did not help...

Tuesday, March 12, 2024

This Is Kind Of Creepy And Unnatural

Remember when Farmer H was getting boxes of FREE food from Ponytail Steve? Boxes that his wife was handing out in another county, to anyone who wanted them, but always had a surplus? So Ponytail Steve asked the guys at the old flea market, and brought the food to them so it wouldn't go to waste.

Anyhoo... that had to be at least two years ago. Maybe three! A few weeks ago, I was trying to make room on the top shelf of FRIG II, and found some cheese. Cheese from Ponytail Steve!!!

I remembered that it was a long time since we got food from Ponytail Steve. I looked for an expiration date, but couldn't fine one. That doesn't mean the cheese is not expired!!!


Sweet Gummi Mary! That is not natural! Cheese should not last that long! I realize that it's not "real" cheese, but a processed cheese. Still. When normal cheese is sometimes moldy before the BEST BY date, I don't trust three-year-old processed cheese. I tossed it in the trash.

The chemicals in it might have made me glow in the dark!