Leave it to The Pony to push the envelope. To go boldly where no Hillbilly has gone before. The child who would only eat four food groups (hot dogs, butter, bread, and Happy Meals) has gone out on the libation limb and tried something new.
CHOCOLATE WINE!
I know! Who would have thunk it? He chose it for himself when I let him out at The Devil's Playground with a list and my debit card. I DID give him permission to get wine. I did not specify any restrictions. It's not like I drink it. Though The Pony DID bring a glass down to my lair, and offer me a taste. By offer, I mean he shoved it under my nose, said "Mmm!" and put it to my lips.
Let the record show that I first said, "UGH!" Then took a sniff. Then a taste. Then said, "It reminds me of something. I think it's YOO HOO (a chocolate flavored soda), with an alcohol aftertaste."
To be fair, it was better than any other wine he has made me taste, and better than the assorted unnamed wines in tiny pill-dispensing cups that we voted on at my sister the ex-mayor's wife's Christmas party game.
But the BEST thing I can say about the chocolate wine is:
I'M PRETTY SURE IT WASN'T MADE BY SOMEONE STOMPING THEIR BARE FEET IN A VAT OF FRUIT!
Sunday, July 12, 2020
Saturday, July 11, 2020
Uninvited Guests Are Forbidden At The Mansion!
Friday mornings are a lazy time here at the Mansion. Oh, who are we kidding... EVERY day is a lazy day here at the Mansion. But on Fridays, Farmer H goes off to his Storage Unit Store early. Then he takes his friend to her cancer treatments. Then he has lunch and goes Goodwilling until time to pick up his friend. Then he goes to shoot the bull with his buddy This Guy, who sold us the $5000 house. Then he gets his shot. So he doesn't get home until around 4:30-5:00.
I sleep in.
I was happily snoozing away, probably sawing logs like a lumberjack, when something startled me awake. Copper Jack was barking his fool head off.
POUND POUND POUND!
What in the Not-Heaven? Where was that coming from? Too forceful for the squirrel circus around the metal self-feeder for the dogs on the back porch--
POUND POUND POUND!
Hey! That was KNOCKING on the front door! Sweet Gummi Mary, who could be knocking at my front door at the NOT-HEAVENLY hour of 9:20 in the morning???
POUND POUND POUND!
Aw, Not-Heaven, NO! I was not about to drag myself to the front door in my pajamas, with bed-head, to see what some random pounder wanted, trespassing up in this private-homeowners' enclave!
The pounding stopped. I was wide awake. I crept to the living room. Couldn't see anyone through the slim windows beside the front door. I peeped through the mini-blinds of the big window by HIPPIE.
TWO MEN WERE WALKING DOWN SHACKYTOWN BOULEVARD!
One was stocky, like The Veteran, and walked like him, too. The other was nondescript. They continued to the BARn field. Copper Jack followed, at a respectable distance, still barking menacingly. They made a right turn to walk up through the field toward the gravel road. The Veteran never would have done that. He would have parked at the BARn, or driven over to the front yard or driveway.
The only visitors I could think of would be the tree-trimmers who showed up a few months ago, wanting to trim trees for the electric company, but the ground was too muddy.
On the way home from town, beside the Creach (Creek Beach), I passed a Townsend Tree Service truck, pulling a woodchipper, coming out of our compound, .
Mystery solved. I am SO glad I didn't get up to open the door for that.
I sleep in.
I was happily snoozing away, probably sawing logs like a lumberjack, when something startled me awake. Copper Jack was barking his fool head off.
POUND POUND POUND!
What in the Not-Heaven? Where was that coming from? Too forceful for the squirrel circus around the metal self-feeder for the dogs on the back porch--
POUND POUND POUND!
Hey! That was KNOCKING on the front door! Sweet Gummi Mary, who could be knocking at my front door at the NOT-HEAVENLY hour of 9:20 in the morning???
POUND POUND POUND!
Aw, Not-Heaven, NO! I was not about to drag myself to the front door in my pajamas, with bed-head, to see what some random pounder wanted, trespassing up in this private-homeowners' enclave!
The pounding stopped. I was wide awake. I crept to the living room. Couldn't see anyone through the slim windows beside the front door. I peeped through the mini-blinds of the big window by HIPPIE.
TWO MEN WERE WALKING DOWN SHACKYTOWN BOULEVARD!
One was stocky, like The Veteran, and walked like him, too. The other was nondescript. They continued to the BARn field. Copper Jack followed, at a respectable distance, still barking menacingly. They made a right turn to walk up through the field toward the gravel road. The Veteran never would have done that. He would have parked at the BARn, or driven over to the front yard or driveway.
The only visitors I could think of would be the tree-trimmers who showed up a few months ago, wanting to trim trees for the electric company, but the ground was too muddy.
On the way home from town, beside the Creach (Creek Beach), I passed a Townsend Tree Service truck, pulling a woodchipper, coming out of our compound, .
Mystery solved. I am SO glad I didn't get up to open the door for that.
Friday, July 10, 2020
Witness For The Persecution
Aha! Farmer H has been caught in the act. The trap may not have sprung shut, but it's slowly choking the life out of him. He shall rue the day that he tries to pull the wool over Mrs. HM's hazel eyes!
When we piled into A-Cad for the casino trip on Wednesday, I interrogated him on the position of the passenger seat. MY seat!
"Why is my seat leaning so far back? I never ride with it like that. I feel like I'm on a rocket, launching into space."
"That seat hasn't been moved since you were in it last week, HM, when we went to the casino."
"That was TWO weeks ago!"
"Nobody has been in here. I don't drive this car."
"You drove it to the auction last night! OnStar told me!"
"Well, sometimes I drive it."
"Yeah. I guess you had one of your girlfriends in here. Or your cancer friend."
"No. I drive my truck for that."
"Well, this seat has been moved. Anybody can see that! It's leaning farther back than YOURS!"
Farmer H continued to float down that river in Egypt. On the way home, he started talking about taking a trip.
"I need to go somewhere. A little vacation. I'd like to go to Kentucky or wherever that Noah's Ark is. But I don't want to go by myself. You won't go with me. Or maybe I'll just go down to Springfield, to visit my buddy, and go to Bass Pro Shop. Or down to Oklahoma, and spend a day going through those junk stores we seen along the road..."
We stopped for the mail. It contained some offers from Downstream Casino, where we have our CasinoPaloozas.
"Oh, look. Casino offers. Let's see. You have $5 a week free play. No free rooms. No rooms on the weekends, but you can get a $59 room during the week."
"Huh. No free rooms at all? That would have been good for me to stay there."
"I have free rooms during the week! But they're $49 on weekends. And $7 a week free play!" Said The Pony.
"Well, I'm a high-roller. I have free rooms all weekdays AND weekends! Plus I have $40 a week free play! Hey! We can all go and use my free rooms! The Pony and I can stay and gamble, and you can go do your thing."
"NO. I don't want to do that!"
"Oh, I get it. It's fine to have free rooms and stay there if you're by yourself. But not with US. I guess you're planning a getaway with one of your girlfriends."
"No. No. That's 70 miles from Springfield! I don't want to stay there, and drive an hour to go do my stuff."
"Dad. You literally just said how great it would be if you had a free room there. And then said you didn't want to stay there if WE were with you!"
Uh huh. I rest my case.
When we piled into A-Cad for the casino trip on Wednesday, I interrogated him on the position of the passenger seat. MY seat!
"Why is my seat leaning so far back? I never ride with it like that. I feel like I'm on a rocket, launching into space."
"That seat hasn't been moved since you were in it last week, HM, when we went to the casino."
"That was TWO weeks ago!"
"Nobody has been in here. I don't drive this car."
"You drove it to the auction last night! OnStar told me!"
"Well, sometimes I drive it."
"Yeah. I guess you had one of your girlfriends in here. Or your cancer friend."
"No. I drive my truck for that."
"Well, this seat has been moved. Anybody can see that! It's leaning farther back than YOURS!"
Farmer H continued to float down that river in Egypt. On the way home, he started talking about taking a trip.
"I need to go somewhere. A little vacation. I'd like to go to Kentucky or wherever that Noah's Ark is. But I don't want to go by myself. You won't go with me. Or maybe I'll just go down to Springfield, to visit my buddy, and go to Bass Pro Shop. Or down to Oklahoma, and spend a day going through those junk stores we seen along the road..."
We stopped for the mail. It contained some offers from Downstream Casino, where we have our CasinoPaloozas.
"Oh, look. Casino offers. Let's see. You have $5 a week free play. No free rooms. No rooms on the weekends, but you can get a $59 room during the week."
"Huh. No free rooms at all? That would have been good for me to stay there."
"I have free rooms during the week! But they're $49 on weekends. And $7 a week free play!" Said The Pony.
"Well, I'm a high-roller. I have free rooms all weekdays AND weekends! Plus I have $40 a week free play! Hey! We can all go and use my free rooms! The Pony and I can stay and gamble, and you can go do your thing."
"NO. I don't want to do that!"
"Oh, I get it. It's fine to have free rooms and stay there if you're by yourself. But not with US. I guess you're planning a getaway with one of your girlfriends."
"No. No. That's 70 miles from Springfield! I don't want to stay there, and drive an hour to go do my stuff."
"Dad. You literally just said how great it would be if you had a free room there. And then said you didn't want to stay there if WE were with you!"
Uh huh. I rest my case.
Thursday, July 9, 2020
Self-Serve Drinks Are Back!
Wednesday, we made a trip to the casino. Nobody was a real winner, though I came out on the plus side, leaving with more than I took in. I may tell the tale elsewhere. The thing I am announcing here today is that
SELF-SERVE DRINKS ARE BACK!
We didn't even know. Of all people, FARMER H is the one who made the discovery! We'd already had lunch, courtesy of my player's points. We each had a combo, so as to get the drink. Gambling is pretty thirsty work! There are no refills in the little grill where Farmer H and The Pony had burgers, and I had the chicken club sandwich. But the cups are tall, and I always have some soda (Diet PEPSI) left to carry around with me.
Imagine my surprise when Farmer H showed up at my left elbow, through the clear flap of plastic protecting passersby from my cooties, holding a little foam cup.
"The sodas are back."
Farmer H said he saw people walking around with little cups, and went to investigate.
I had seen the sign that hangs over the self-serve drink area. But I figured it had been there all along, and I hadn't noticed when such drinks were forbidden. Well! They're baa aaack! I don't see why not! Everybody gets a clean cup off the upside-down stack in the holder. Nobody refills those little cups. Nobody would touch a spout with their hand. Just shove the fresh cup against the lever, and the soda pours in. Perfectly safe.
Those clear plastic dividers, however, are NOT!
I swear, the dang weirdos hone in on me like a carbon-dioxide-seeking mosquito at dusk! The first one was a gal who sat down on my right, and lit up a cigarette. You might think that clear plastic divider would protect me from the stream of her second-hand smoke. And it would have! IF she held her cigarette like a civilized person, and not some ill-mannered freak!
SHE HELD IT IN HER HAND, ARM HANGING DOWN AT HER SIDE, SO THE SMOKE CAME UNDER THE CLEAR PLASTIC DIVIDER!
Who does that? Ill-mannered freaks, that's who!
Weirdo Numero Dos actually sat down at that same slot. On my right. And seemed to be minding her manners, immediately getting a bonus on the game I had been playing for an hour, unsuccessfully, on the slot right next to her. I didn't begrudge her the win... okay, YES I DID, I was a begrudgin' curmudgeon! But what really made me give her the stink- side-eye was her penchant for
KICKING ME IN THE ANKLE!
Sweet Gummi Mary! I bet Weirdo Numero Dos kicked me diez times! She didn't even have the courtesy to say she was sorry for chipping away at my lateral malleolus! Not even after I gathered the gumption to look down and sigh heavily enough to sway that clear plastic divider every time she did it.
Those clear plastic dividers need to be full-length!
SELF-SERVE DRINKS ARE BACK!
We didn't even know. Of all people, FARMER H is the one who made the discovery! We'd already had lunch, courtesy of my player's points. We each had a combo, so as to get the drink. Gambling is pretty thirsty work! There are no refills in the little grill where Farmer H and The Pony had burgers, and I had the chicken club sandwich. But the cups are tall, and I always have some soda (Diet PEPSI) left to carry around with me.
Imagine my surprise when Farmer H showed up at my left elbow, through the clear flap of plastic protecting passersby from my cooties, holding a little foam cup.
"The sodas are back."
Farmer H said he saw people walking around with little cups, and went to investigate.
I had seen the sign that hangs over the self-serve drink area. But I figured it had been there all along, and I hadn't noticed when such drinks were forbidden. Well! They're baa aaack! I don't see why not! Everybody gets a clean cup off the upside-down stack in the holder. Nobody refills those little cups. Nobody would touch a spout with their hand. Just shove the fresh cup against the lever, and the soda pours in. Perfectly safe.
Those clear plastic dividers, however, are NOT!
I swear, the dang weirdos hone in on me like a carbon-dioxide-seeking mosquito at dusk! The first one was a gal who sat down on my right, and lit up a cigarette. You might think that clear plastic divider would protect me from the stream of her second-hand smoke. And it would have! IF she held her cigarette like a civilized person, and not some ill-mannered freak!
SHE HELD IT IN HER HAND, ARM HANGING DOWN AT HER SIDE, SO THE SMOKE CAME UNDER THE CLEAR PLASTIC DIVIDER!
Who does that? Ill-mannered freaks, that's who!
Weirdo Numero Dos actually sat down at that same slot. On my right. And seemed to be minding her manners, immediately getting a bonus on the game I had been playing for an hour, unsuccessfully, on the slot right next to her. I didn't begrudge her the win... okay, YES I DID, I was a begrudgin' curmudgeon! But what really made me give her the stink- side-eye was her penchant for
KICKING ME IN THE ANKLE!
Sweet Gummi Mary! I bet Weirdo Numero Dos kicked me diez times! She didn't even have the courtesy to say she was sorry for chipping away at my lateral malleolus! Not even after I gathered the gumption to look down and sigh heavily enough to sway that clear plastic divider every time she did it.
Those clear plastic dividers need to be full-length!
Wednesday, July 8, 2020
Not Exactly WHO, But WHAT?
Farmer H sent me a picture Tuesday morning. He does that often. I think he's just trying to figure out what time I get up, by checking his phone to see when his message has been read!
Anyhoo, here it is:
You'll notice that Farmer H used his standard method of photography... centering the subject in a wide display of unneeded scenery. The picture of The Pony on his first tour of OU comes to mind.
Anyhoo, the current picture came with a message:
"Saw this I'll setting in the field this morning I watched him about 5 minutes"
I'm guessing that Farmer H was using the voice feature on his phone to put in the message. And that the picture was of an OWL. I wasn't sure at first. It looked like a cat to me. With white legs. I tried to crop and zoom in a bit.
Which still gives it a cat-like feeling. Or maybe an alien, when I zoom in closer ant it pixelates.
You never know what kind of wildlife might be hiding in Hillmomba.
Anyhoo, here it is:
You'll notice that Farmer H used his standard method of photography... centering the subject in a wide display of unneeded scenery. The picture of The Pony on his first tour of OU comes to mind.
Anyhoo, the current picture came with a message:
"Saw this I'll setting in the field this morning I watched him about 5 minutes"
I'm guessing that Farmer H was using the voice feature on his phone to put in the message. And that the picture was of an OWL. I wasn't sure at first. It looked like a cat to me. With white legs. I tried to crop and zoom in a bit.
Which still gives it a cat-like feeling. Or maybe an alien, when I zoom in closer ant it pixelates.
You never know what kind of wildlife might be hiding in Hillmomba.
Tuesday, July 7, 2020
The Creach Is The New Grand Central Station
After a brief lull, the Creach, our creek beach, is once again as busy as a Richard Scarry picture book! I almost need a push-button WALK/DON'T WALK signal to get across the road to fetch the mail from EmBee.
Monday afternoon, I might possibly have interrupted a tryst!
When I rounded the last curve, I saw a blue SUV kind of in the gravel road. It was beside the Bus-Waiting Shack. In the little gravel alcove where one of our local residents had her Creach towel spread out one day... was parked THE MAIL JEEP!
Let the record show that the USPS does NOT deliver up our gravel road. That vehicle had no business there during working hours. I might have mentioned that once before, I caught that mail jeep parked on the gated road across the low water bridge, again next to another car.
Why am I all at once humming "Afternoon Delight?"
I don't know what was going on, but there had been another car just ahead of me that turned onto the county blacktop road and headed towards town. When I parked T-Hoe to harvest the pile of mail I could see through EmBee's wide-open door (sloppy, sloppy, Mistress Mailman!), the blue SUV started its engine. I nonchalantly did not look! No good can come of interrupting the possible illicit tryst of a federal employee! One who might have an arsenal acquired from Farmer H's Storage Unit Store!
While my back was to them, the blue SUV drove up the gravel road, and the mail jeep made a T-turn and was leaving our gravel road as I walked back across to T-Hoe. It headed over the bridge, continuing its route.
I guess I know why our mail has been arriving later and later. There must be other Creach areas between here and town...
Monday afternoon, I might possibly have interrupted a tryst!
When I rounded the last curve, I saw a blue SUV kind of in the gravel road. It was beside the Bus-Waiting Shack. In the little gravel alcove where one of our local residents had her Creach towel spread out one day... was parked THE MAIL JEEP!
Let the record show that the USPS does NOT deliver up our gravel road. That vehicle had no business there during working hours. I might have mentioned that once before, I caught that mail jeep parked on the gated road across the low water bridge, again next to another car.
Why am I all at once humming "Afternoon Delight?"
I don't know what was going on, but there had been another car just ahead of me that turned onto the county blacktop road and headed towards town. When I parked T-Hoe to harvest the pile of mail I could see through EmBee's wide-open door (sloppy, sloppy, Mistress Mailman!), the blue SUV started its engine. I nonchalantly did not look! No good can come of interrupting the possible illicit tryst of a federal employee! One who might have an arsenal acquired from Farmer H's Storage Unit Store!
While my back was to them, the blue SUV drove up the gravel road, and the mail jeep made a T-turn and was leaving our gravel road as I walked back across to T-Hoe. It headed over the bridge, continuing its route.
I guess I know why our mail has been arriving later and later. There must be other Creach areas between here and town...
Monday, July 6, 2020
More Verbal Sparring With The Pony
Same Stuff, Different Day.
Sunday morning (and by that I mean 1:05 p.m.) I stood at the piano bench in the hall outside The Pony's room, putting on my socks in preparation for my trip to town. I called through the closed door to see if he wanted me to bring him something for lunch.
His reply was a bit terse. "I don't want to ask you to bring me anything. But if you insist, I would eat some pretzels from Dairy Queen."
"I don't know why you have to take that tone with me! Why you have to be so disgusted and depressed."
"I AM TRYING TO WATCH A SHOW!"
"Oh. Okay. Because I can see through the wall and know that."
SWEET GUMMI MARY! You try to be nice to someone, and that's the thanks you get!
Later that evening, I was slicing onion, tomato, and pickle for Farmer H to dress up his chicken sandwich supper. The Pony stood at the cutting block, putting a mixture of mayo and ketchup on his bun.
"That's a lot of mayo! But isn't it about to expire anyway?"
"Oh! It already expired!"
"When?"
"July 4th."
"Stop! Don't throw that away! It's good through the end of the month. Today's only the 5th!"
"It's not as much when I spread it out on the bun."
"I don't care how much you eat. I'm just thinking about it dripping as you lift it to your mouth. Over my CARPET!"
"Shush!"
As Farmer H and The Pony were strapping on the old feedbag, I sat on the short couch to converse. The Pony was at his regular dinner seat, on the floor, with his legs under the coffee table, leaning back against the long couch. He lifted his half-eaten sandwich to his mouth, and I saw two drops drip down between his body and the coffee table.
"Uh huh!"
"WHAT?"
"I saw that!"
"Huh! And how many food stains do you have on YOUR shirt?"
"It's a shirt. Not a carpet!"
The Pony reached down and swiped the mayo/ketchup off his leg. Twice. And licked his finger. Happy coincidence for him, another psychic premonition for me.
Sunday morning (and by that I mean 1:05 p.m.) I stood at the piano bench in the hall outside The Pony's room, putting on my socks in preparation for my trip to town. I called through the closed door to see if he wanted me to bring him something for lunch.
His reply was a bit terse. "I don't want to ask you to bring me anything. But if you insist, I would eat some pretzels from Dairy Queen."
"I don't know why you have to take that tone with me! Why you have to be so disgusted and depressed."
"I AM TRYING TO WATCH A SHOW!"
"Oh. Okay. Because I can see through the wall and know that."
SWEET GUMMI MARY! You try to be nice to someone, and that's the thanks you get!
Later that evening, I was slicing onion, tomato, and pickle for Farmer H to dress up his chicken sandwich supper. The Pony stood at the cutting block, putting a mixture of mayo and ketchup on his bun.
"That's a lot of mayo! But isn't it about to expire anyway?"
"Oh! It already expired!"
"When?"
"July 4th."
"Stop! Don't throw that away! It's good through the end of the month. Today's only the 5th!"
"It's not as much when I spread it out on the bun."
"I don't care how much you eat. I'm just thinking about it dripping as you lift it to your mouth. Over my CARPET!"
"Shush!"
As Farmer H and The Pony were strapping on the old feedbag, I sat on the short couch to converse. The Pony was at his regular dinner seat, on the floor, with his legs under the coffee table, leaning back against the long couch. He lifted his half-eaten sandwich to his mouth, and I saw two drops drip down between his body and the coffee table.
"Uh huh!"
"WHAT?"
"I saw that!"
"Huh! And how many food stains do you have on YOUR shirt?"
"It's a shirt. Not a carpet!"
The Pony reached down and swiped the mayo/ketchup off his leg. Twice. And licked his finger. Happy coincidence for him, another psychic premonition for me.
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