Friday, November 16, 2018

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom, Heal Thyself

A part of my recent sickness involves a stuffy and sometimes painful ear when I swallow. It's like something needs to give. Poking my little finger in there, and trying to suction out whatever was stuffing up my ear canal, did nothing to alleviate the problem.

Nor did poking around inside there with the end of a cap from a red ink pen that sits on my dark basement lair desk. You know. Those plastic caps that cover the ball-point end. That stick-like part of it that clips onto your pocket. It didn't even feel particularly satisfying like when you sometimes get an ear-canal itch. No. I might even have made the stuffy-pain issue a tiny bit worse. Plus, it sounded like I was scraping the burnt off a piece of toast.

I probably shouldn't play a doctor or nurse-practitioner over the innernets. But then again, my treatment plan for the Posterior Tibial Tendonitis that I had in my left ankle has been a remarkable success! I can walk normally, without pain. Every now and then, like every night, mainly, I get a sharp shooting pain right there when I'm minding my own business, cooling my heels in my OPC (Old People Chair). It also hurts at night, if I get up without stretching it before standing on it. But I'd say that I've made a remarkable recovery.

I'm pretty sure I'll get over this cold, and the ear stuffy-pain, too. Just don't butter any toast around me for a while.

Thursday, November 15, 2018

Drug-Seeking With Mrs. HM

I almost said that to my doctor nurse practitioner on Monday, you know. While waiting in the exam room for him to enter, I knew he would say, "What brings you here today?" So I figured I could say, "Oh, I'm just a drug-seeker." Because, you know, I was only there for a routine 6-month visit, to get refills on my prescriptions for another 6 months.

I decided against it, though. You never know how a medical professional might take that. They might think it was a cry for help, or that I really was a drug-seeker. I'm sure he's heard it before. It's probably like how an airline pilot stewardess might not react favorably to somebody jumping up and yelling, "HI, JACK!"

Anyhoo...I called in my prescription refills this morning around 10:00. Sometimes they'll have them ready by the time I go to town. I get notified by text. But the automated man on the refill line kept repeating that my prescriptions had expired, and it would take an extra day to contact the doctor. Well. It does not. But you can't program an automated line to recognize that the medical office has sent refills over the innernets, I guess. That could be subject to drug-seeking hackers. In the old days, with a paper scrip, I'd drop it off and they'd put that refill notice in my file until mine ran out, then they'd check, and didn't have to contact the office.

Anyhoo...I figured the meds wouldn't be ready today. They're for my missing thyroid and my blood pressure. Nothing to sneeze at, but I always have a few pills left when I start the refill process. Unlike Farmer H, who goes the very day he runs out, or sometimes even a day after, saying, "One day isn't gonna hurt me." With 4-8 inches of snow in the Wednesday evening forecast, I didn't even think I'd be able to pick up those meds until Friday or Saturday. No big deal. I had enough to get me through.

Well. I'd come home from town, and had just consumed a big cup of vegetable beef soup (the canned version), several ounces of Diet Coke, and a bubba cup of ice water, when my phone buzzed to tell me that my prescriptions were ready. Okay. I could run back to town to pick them up. Before the snowstorm. I ascended from my lair, put my town clothes back on, took a potty break for all those fluids, and checked the cabinet for cough drops.

Farmer H had told me, upon my return (the first time Wednesday) from town, that I should have gotten myself some Mucinex, for my cough. I don't really like Mucinex, so I asked him if we still had cough drops. He said we did. THAT'S WHY I CHECKED BEFORE LEAVING HOME! Of course I found two bags of "throat soothers" that look like cough drops, but don't affect the cough, which I had bought for Genius quite some time ago. Oh, and there was a bag of cough drops, cherry flavor, that actually suppress a cough. Uh huh. There was a BAG of cough drops. No cough drops. Just the BAG. Empty.

Anyhoo...while picking up my prescriptions, I also got two bags of actual cough drops. A sugar-free version, dark purple in color, in case Farmer H needs them. And a bag of Honey Lemon, which I prefer. I think I'm set for a blizzard. We'll see what develops.

Wednesday, November 14, 2018

You Know Mrs. HM Is Sick When She Doesn't Drive To Town For Her 44 Oz Diet Coke And Scratchers

Yeah. I'm sick. With a stuffy head that makes me (even more) unstable, and watering eyes that wanted no part of driving through the bright sun reflecting off what was left of the snowy landscape... I told Farmer H that I had no intention of getting in T-Hoe. Not even for my magical elixir and lottery.

Do you know what he said?

"Do you want me to go get you a soda?"

YES!!! That was quite a change from a day or two ago, when I was complaining whining just telling him about how bad I felt, and he said, "HM. You just have a cold."

So, while I was frying hamburger to throw in spaghetti sauce with some mushrooms, and boiling rigatoni, and heating some garlic bread in the oven, all for HIS lunch...Farmer H drove off to town for my 44 oz Diet Coke. AND some scratchers, which I gave him the money for, a winner to cash in, and some losers to show what the tickets looked like that I wanted. PLUS a list of those very tickets. You can't hit Farmer H over the head hard enough with instructions.

He was back before his lunch was done. I spent 40 minutes on it. Plus another 20 cleaning up.

Oh, the scratchers he got for me? Every one a loser.

But I knew that before I even scratched them. I don't know what I was thinking, letting Farmer H touch my tickets. He's like a medicine that they prescribe for alcoholics to keep them from drinking. Only he comes without a prescription, and works for gamblers.

Tuesday, November 13, 2018

The Elderly Gentleman

When I left the third-floor lab on Monday, after my blood-drawing, I walked out to the elevator area. An older gentleman was standing there, waiting. I saw that he had already pushed the button.

"Going down. Good!"

He smiled, and it was such a ray of sunshine on that dreary day that I was taken aback. The vibe I got from this guy was SO POSITIVE! I hardly know how to explain it. He seemed to emit good cheer. The elevator arrived, and he stepped back and motioned me ahead. Such a nice guy!

I pressed the bar for MAIN LOBBY, and asked if that where he was going, and he said yes. I said, "That's good. My ride is waiting down there for me." Though it was actually only Farmer H himself, waiting to walk me to my ride.

We chatted a bit on the way down, Elderly Gentleman and I. It's a slow elevator. I mentioned that it looked like they'd re-done it since I was there last, six months ago. And he said, "Oh, you must be healthy, if you haven't been here in six months." I replied that SO FAR, it's been going pretty good.

I don't think I've ever encountered a person who exuded such positive energy, without trying, and so calm and soft-spoken. I guess if you can get evil vibes from folks, you can also get good vibes.

I wasn't worthy of his company.

Monday, November 12, 2018

Let's Hope These Are Not Mrs. HM's Last Words

As I type in my dark basement lair, it is Sunday evening, right before feeding time for Farmer H. The weather forecast shows SNOW for Monday. An 82% chance for 1-3 inches, starting around 3:00 p.m. We are under a Winter Weather Advisory, from 6:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m. on Monday.

Why am I bothering to tell you about the Hillmomba weather? Because it means I WILL BE RIDING WITH FARMER H tomorrow morning, to my regularly scheduled doctor nurse practitioner appointment! So if you never see anything to read again here, THAT'S WHY!

I instructed Farmer H to put fresh cedar chips in the dog houses for the cold snap which appears to be the new normal. Good thing he did. It was his THIRD warning to do so. I also told him to check Juno's ear, because something smelled not-so-good when she greeted me on the side porch. Farmer H reported that Juno's ear is not smelly, but that she has a big deer leg inside her house. So there's that.

He also said that Juno spends her days in her Farmer-H-built insulated house with the shingled roof, which is right outside the kitchen door. And her nights in a store-bought house on the end of the porch, the side by the goat and mini-pony pen, with Jack. They sleep in separate houses, both alike, with the doors facing each other.

Farmer H didn't exactly volunteer to sweave me over to bill-paying town for my appointment. I mentioned the weather, and asked if he wanted to sweave me. So he agreed. There's also a chance for freezing rain. I don't like to mess with that, but I AM perfectly capable of driving T-Hoe in such a mess. I managed to transport both boys and myself to Newmentia, Lower Basementia, and Elementia all those years without incident. Even though one time it took us TWO HOURS to make the 30-minute drive home, when we were dismissed early. Huh. Not early enough!

If I was still working, this forecast would have me whipped into a frenzy! I'd understand that the snow wasn't supposed to arrive until the time school let out. But there's always hoping the TV weathermen are wrong in the GOOD kind of way. Besides, the school wouldn't want a repeat of that time when they were stuck with students late into the evening, and had to feed them, and even assigned the athletic director to drive some home in his JEEP, with parent permission, of course, because they couldn't make it to school.

The boys and I barely dodged that bullet, because the counselor of Newmentia, who was acting in place of the principal, told me to get on out of there. The hill between Newmentia and the main road was ice-covered. THREE cars had slid off the embankment. Let me tell you, I put T-Hoe in 4 Wheel LOW, and inched my way down. The main office had decreed that none of our buses would traverse that hill until further notice. That was the problem. Middle School kids from Lower Basementia couldn't get up it, to pick up the Newmentia students to complete the routes. Elementia students could get to Newmentia to pick up their older bus riders, but couldn't go down it to complete their routes. That's how Newmentia ended up with High School students and Elementary students, to hold them for safekeeping until their parents could come get them, or the roads were passable.

Yeah. I wouldn't be surprised if some schools cancel classes around here, just from the forecast. But even if they don't, such a forecast always puts me in a good mood. Even though I will be riding with Farmer H.

Made it back safe and sound! No precip yet, at 11:18 on 11/12. Guess I cried sweaver wolf too soon! Found out I'm still on Newmentia's automated call list. They're dismissing at 12:30. I'm pretty excited. Even though it doesn't affect me.

Sunday, November 11, 2018

Hillmomba, Where Molehills Are Touted As Mountains

Just like our winter moved directly into summer, with barely a springlike couple of days...our summer has now turned to winter! We enjoyed maybe a week of 40-degree nights, and 65-degree days. On Friday night, Jack Frost paid a visit.

Okay. So it wasn't Jack Frost. It was his more cantankerous buddy, Old Man Winter. I saw it when I went to bed around 3:00 a.m. The front yard was covered with a dusting of snow. By the time I got around to leaving the Mansion Saturday morning, it had melted.

There were some remnants on the leaf pile behind the garage when I got back home. It actually looks more like sleet than snow. This is the ledge the dogs jump off of when chasing squirrels into the back yard. Still has green grass. The sun doesn't really reach this little section behind the garage until evening. Temps hovered at 35 and under during my noontime town trip.

More flurries on the patch of moss that Copper Jack loves to lay on in the heat. He's a big would-be sweaty dog, if dogs were able to sweat. I don't know about that dark area that looks like poop, though I can assure you that it is NOT poop. I stood right by it while getting groceries out of T-Hoe's back side. Maybe it's where the dead leaves blew away? Where the moss didn't grow on the mud, due to being covered up out of the light? I'm thinking it's just a bunch of accumulated dirt and decaying leaves that got wet in the rain a couple days ago, and didn't dry out, then the leaves blew off.

Anyhoo...I was kind of excited to see a little snow so early in the year. Usually, we don't see anything but occasional flurries until after the Christmas holidays. Believe me, I'd know. Teachers LIVE for snow days! The slightest suggestion sends us to our weather sources, diligently hanging onto every word of hope that those liars the TV meteorologists toss out like so much cheap candy at a high school homecoming parade.

Yes, I was excited, until I clicked on blog buddy Kathy's pictures. Let the record show that she IS located a little farther north, in the middle of the state, while Hillmomba is on the eastern border. We get her weather leftovers! Still, she's not THAT much farther north. It's not like she's at the North Pole.

Yeah. I'm kind of embarrassed, now, about proclaiming our first snow.

Saturday, November 10, 2018

A Relapse, Perhaps?

When I ascended the 13 steps from my lair on Friday evening, to prepare Farmer H his requested meal of fish and fries, I heard him breathing. I suppose that's a good thing. To hear him breathing assured me that he was alive. But normally, you shouldn't hear someone breathing from across a room, and halfway below it. Then I heard him wheezy-cough.

"Ooh! Have you had a relapse?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I forgot to take my medicine at 10:00 this morning. So I'll take it here in a minute when I eat."

"Well, you can't take it at bedtime. It won't be far enough apart."

"I know. I won't."

"You can still use VICKS. That should help."

"Yeah. I will."

Let the record show that Farmer H sounded great the last time I overheard him breathing, around 5:00 a.m. He was up and showered and to his Storage Unit Store by 8:30. Let the record further show that the temperature was 35 degrees. Farmer H reported, during my wakeup call at 9:15, that he was sitting in his TrailBlazer (with a new rear left tail light).

"Is that good for you? Sitting like that? You can't do it all day."

"No. I get out and walk around. Go talk to the owner. Use the port-a-potty. I sold a $3 backpack to my buddy!"

"Hm. That's good. I guess."

"Yeah. I have a lady who wants to buy those dog crates. I put it on Buy/Sell/Trade. She said she's sending her husband to pick them up. I told her I'd be here until noon."

"Well. You probably shouldn't. It's COLD!"

"I know. That's why I'm in my car."

Okay. Farmer H is not taking good care of himself, by forgetting his medicine and sitting in a car at 35 degrees. When I went by at 10:30, the TrailBlazer was not at the Storage Unit Store. Farmer H had mentioned going to the pharmacy for his prescriptions, so I didn't think much of it. Then he sent a text that the dog crate man showed up, and he was leaving to go on a Goodwill tour.

As far as Farmer H is concerned, today was a grand success. "I usually don't sell much on Fridays, anyway. I made $43 today! Three on the backpack, and $20 each for the dog crates."

Let the record show that he got the two giant wire dog crate/kennels from back creek neighbor Bev for nothing. She's always giving him stuff. I saw them in the back of Farmer H's truck, and they took up the whole bed of that pickup. He had another lady offer him $25 apiece, but he had already sold them to the first one to come get them.

I hope he makes a full recovery in the next couple days. I have a sore right ear, and a tickle down inside my right lung. Coincidentally, the side that is exposed to Farmer H and his breather while sleeping. Farmer H might have to take care of me.

Huh. I could swear I just heard laughing.

Friday, November 9, 2018

Feelin' Groove-y

Farmer H, although still professing to feel poorly from his sickness (mentioned yesterday), seems to have made a remarkable recovery. He went to bed around 11:00 Wednesday night, after the auction, and slept until 9:00 Thursday morning. I could tell that his breathing was easier, and that his cough was looser. Also, his voice didn't sound like he was talking with his head in a bucket. All after only two doses each of the over-the-counter Anefrin and Mucinex recommended by his pharmacist.

Farmer H went to his Storage Unit Store to move things around. Then came back home for stuff to take up there. However, he had a sudden change of plans. When I told him I was headed to The Devil's Playground, just as soon as I could get ready...he asked, "Did I have anything free this week from the casino?"

Uh huh. The old play-sick-and-switch strategy! He had declared Wednesday night that he had no plans for Thursday, other than his Storage Unit Store reorganization. "I'm not going anywhere. I don't feel like my Goodwill shopping."

Riiiggghhhht. The minute I said I was getting in the shower, then to town, Farmer H decided that he felt well enough to drive to the city to the casino. What a miraculous recovery! If only I had known about this plan, more than five minutes before its execution, I might have wanted to ride along! Funny how things worked out.

Oh, well. I might as well build up that casino bankroll for an Oklahoma trip when we meet The Pony in two weeks. Farmer H sent a text when he left the casino. "I spent $100.00. Cashed out $98.26. Lost $1.74, and got a $15 gift card for The Devil's Playground."

Just my luck, I get left behind on the day the casino is paying not stealing as much as usual!

In other news, I think I might be coming down with a debilitating skull-eroding illness! I have a GROOVE in my head! Yeah. You read that right. It's a freakin' GROOVE! Starts about my hairline, in the area above the middle of my right eyebrown. I swear, it's about 2 inches long, and as thick as a wooden pencil. Not very deep, though. Maybe a couple of millimeters.


I didn't notice it until about a month ago. Or six weeks. One night, sitting in my OPC (Old People Chair), I ran my hand along my scalp, and felt it! Surely it hasn't been there all my life. I would have noticed it. There's no pain, or any indication that something is amiss. I made Farmer H feel it, and he agreed that I have a hole GROOVE in my head.

I'm not EVEN going to Google it! If you do, and find out that something is eating my brain from the inside, and moving on to my skull, and will erupt through my scalp...don't tell me!

Thursday, November 8, 2018

Sleepless In Hillmomba

Farmer H has a cold. I pity the fool who has to take care of him. Wait! That would be me.

I think he picked up a virus at the casino last Thursday. Payback in advance for his little hissy-fit on the way home, after I asked him what he meant about "Pam called Santa." Farmer H thinks he might have caught it from his buddy's wife at the auction on Friday night. To which I wanted to ask, "Just how close ARE you to your buddy's wife?" She's 80, you know.

Anyhoo...I remember that on Friday night, Genius called, and I heard Farmer H telling him, "I think I'm coming down with something." So that was BEFORE the auction. And the right timing to have been infected at the casino. You never know what's on those slot machines from other people's fingers. Nor do I like to think about the ballpoint pens being reused at the voting precinct, or the stylus thingy that we had to use to sign in.

Anyhoo...Farmer H is on his death-La-Z-Boy. Tuesday night, he even sat in it from 10:00 p.m. to 1:30 a.m., after going to bed at 8:00, then re-arising. He does sound pretty bad, with his chest congestion. The cough isn't too bad to my ears, but Farmer H said he got out of breath walking from the BARn to the house. That's why we have a Gator! But he'd had me drop him off over at his truck, which lives by the Freight Container Garage, and the Gator was parked under the carport by the house.

Anyhoo...I told Farmer H on Saturday that he should go by the pharmacy, just down the hill from his Storage Unit Store, and ask about some over-the-counter cold remedies, since he was coming down with something. "It's going to be Sunday, with no doctors or pharmacies open. So you might want to plan ahead." Of course he did not.

Anyhoo...after being Sleepless in Hillmomba most of Tuesday night (he needs at least 10 hours a night or he's like those Snickers-needing people in the commercials), Farmer H went to his pharmacy on Wednesday morning. Where he got some Anefrin to spray up his nose, and some Mucinex to squeeze fluid out of his lungs.

"It was YOUR pharmacy, right? So they know your medicines? And nothing should interact with them?"

"She DID say Anefrin might make my blood pressure go up. But it shouldn't be too bad, since it's controlled by my medicine. And not to take the Anefrin for more than 5 days."

"Okay...I guess that won't kill you."

"I talked to the actual pharmacist. Not just some worker."

Yeah. I guess that's good enough.

Wednesday, November 7, 2018

The Devil Is Rushing The Season

Imagine my surprise on Tuesday, when I turned onto the approach road to The Devil's Playground, and saw THIS up against the front wall:

Sweet Gummi Mary! The temperature was 62 degrees, with 49 shopping days still left before Christmas! The aisle that held Halloween candy less than a week ago was FILLED WITH CHRISTMAS CANDY!

Anybody remember the good old days, when Christmas decorations didn't come out until after Thanksgiving?

Tuesday, November 6, 2018

We Grow Complacent With Dependency On Technology

Farmer H would have no idea what that title was about. The truth is, that title is about HIM!

I was sitting at the end of the gravel road around noon on Monday, getting ready to clamber out of T-Hoe to get the mail, when I saw Farmer H's TrailBlazer coming down the hill. He stopped to chat. Not so much chat, as confess.

"I had a wreck."

"What? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I backed into a truck at the repair shop. See? The tail light is busted. Mick the Mechanic has ordered a bulb for me. I left my insurance card with him. He's going to tell the guy who owns the truck. I'm not even claiming ours on insurance. We have a $500 deductible, anyway."

Here's the thing. There was no reason for Farmer H to even be at the repair shop. We've had work done on our vehicles there, and Farmer H likes to shoot the bull with the proprietor. I guess that's what he was doing there. Imagine being the owner of that truck, who took it to get worked on, and then finds out that it's now been in a wreck!

Farmer H can't see out of his left eye. He's had plenty of time to get used to this fact, and adjust. Let the record show, he could only see out of one eye when he took his driver's test at 16, since that injury happened at 14. He has no restrictions on his driver's license. But he DOES like that back-up camera in A-Cad. I can't use it, myself. Doesn't seem right. I have to turn and watch, but I DO like the beeper when something is behind me. A beeper which has not worked in T-Hoe for several years.

Anyhoo...the TrailBlazer is a 2002. Very old in vehicle years. It doesn't have the bells and whistles. I suppose Farmer H has grown lax in backing, now that he's spoiled with A-Cad. I've also noticed his reliance on the back-up camera when we took The Pony's Rogue to get new tires put on a couple months ago.

I'm glad that nobody was hurt. And that I wasn't there to face the wrath of the truck owner. I imagine Farmer H will get the bulb for the TrailBlazer, and replace it himself, along with the red plastic light cover that was shattered.

He's handy like that.

Monday, November 5, 2018

I Suppose Somebody Else Needed Them More

Sometimes it's hard to determine which side of Even Steven's graces you're currently on. Are you getting back the good karma you've put out, or are you on the downswing, having your fortunes Even-Stevened out, to put you back on even keel? It goes without saying that Mrs. HM does not deserve the downside of the Evening! Right? She's not an evil person. Doesn't even speak her mind (in person) when she's been wronged.

Anyhoo...I usually find several pennies through the week, which I consider to be Pennies From Heaven. Letting me know that I'm on the right track, being thought of, and just generally that I'm an okay person. What goes around comes around, you know. But with my lottery wins, I notice hot streaks, where I win more than the odds would predict, and then frigid streaks, where everything I touch loses like it purchased by Farmer H's big ol' bear paws.

I did not find a single penny this week.

Huh. Have I been a bad gal? No. I don't think so. Although I did NOT stop to visit my mom at the cemetery this week. That's because on my usual visiting day of Friday, the workers had a tractor out, digging a grave. I don't know about you, but when that happens, I go by the motto: If the groundskeepers are excavatin', don't go a-converatin'. It would be impolite, it think. Like going into that area during a funeral.

Anyhoo...on Sunday, my trip to town lasted about 45 minutes. As I left, I had a text from Farmer H telling me his whereabouts for the next four hours (auction, of course). I sent out a text to The Pony, since he had not responded the night before. This one just asked if he was okay. Which he was, one minute later, when he replied that he was on a date. Whoopsie! Excuse me! Must have been a lunch date, but I didn't pry.

Anyhoo...I went in The Gas Station Chicken Store to cash in a $50 winner. Then to Country Mart to pick up a couple tickets. I did not find a penny in either extablishment. So this week was starting off barren in the Future Pennyillionaire department as well.

While driving home, I was thinking about The Pony when I turned onto our gravel road, since that's where I'd received the text from him. I was hoping he had a good time (NOT LIKE THAT!). Coming up our driveway, I was thinking about my mom and her slaw, and clicking through the radio stations for a good song before I put T-Hoe in the garage where the music dies.

THAT SONG WAS ON THE RADIO! The one that reminds me of Mom. "How Can I Help You Say Goodbye." By Patty Loveless.

Heh, heh. I guess Mom has no bones to pick with my behavior last week. Nor Even Steven. I won $65 on the tickets I bought.

Sunday, November 4, 2018

This Is Why We Can't Receive Nice Things

Wouldn't you know it? The very same day that I read about the latest mail truck wreck in Hillmomba, I got home to find somebody else's mail in EmBee's gullet!

It was only a political advertisement postcard. We get so many each day, from both parties, and a buttload from individual candidates, that one more doesn't really matter to our wastebasket. However...some lady didn't get her mail!

Sorry, Some Lady, that I threw it right in the trash, and didn't try to find you. Yes, I am aware that I am violating a federal law by destroying someone else's mail. But by the time I took it back to the dead mouse smelling post office on Saturday, and they sent it over to the main post office on Monday for re-delivery, this would arrive after election time. Even barring a MAIL TRUCK ACCIDENT! Besides, I'm pretty sure you know who you want to vote for by now.

Here's the thing. This address is not even remotely close to being OUR address. Of the street numbers, only one of the four was the same as one of ours. We don't live on a highway. The town is not even the same! This lady lives way over in Bill-Paying Town, at least 20 miles from us. So we are NOT the CURRENT RESIDENT of that address.

Do you think Some Lady got Farmer H's mailer of casino comps for November, from our newest favorite casino? The one that gives coupons for actual MONEY instead of free play? We usually get $20 for each week. I got my comps. Farmer H did not.

They're probably in somebody's wastebasket.

Saturday, November 3, 2018

The Hillmomba Triangle

I might have mentioned once or twice that we've had a spate of mail truck accidents in Hillmomba. They were in mid-September, and I worried about my DISH bill making it to DISH people on time. They never send it out in a timely manner, you know, nor credit it right away. I guess those DISH people are too busy listening to the cat and his fiddle, and contemplating chucking the whole work-for-a-lving thing, and making plans to run away with the spoon. It doesn't help that we have the Hillmomba Triangle, more dangerous to mail trucks than its North Atlantic cousin is to ships and planes.

Anyhoo...I know my DISH payment arrived with a day to spare in October. My other bills don't give me such a short window of time between arrival of the statement, and due date of the payment. So I sometimes will drop them off at the drive-thru mailbox on the street across from the dead mouse smelling post office.

Of course The Universe and Even Steven are having a real chucklefest right now. Me...not so much. I opened up the online Daily Hillmomban newspaper Friday morning, and was shocked to see a headline:

One Injured After Mail Truck Overturns on Old Hillmomba Road

A U.S. Postal Service employee was injured in a rollover crash at 9:30 a.m. Thursday on Old Hillmomba Road.

According to the Missouri State Highway Patrol report, Mail Lady X, 39, of Bill-Paying Town, was driving a 1994 Grumman LLV mail truck westbound on Old Hillmomba Road just east of Private Industrial Road when the vehicle ran off the left side of the roadway. The vehicle struck a tree and a fence and then overturned.

She was wearing her seat belt and was transported to Hillmomba Health Center North with minor injuries.

It's good to hear that the Mail Lady had only minor injuries. Not so good to hear that THIS HAPPENED BETWEEN THE MAIN POST OFFICE AND THE DEAD MOUSE SMELLING POST OFFICE.

So much for my credit card bill that I mailed at the DMSPS drive-thru mailbox on Wednesday afternoon. Since I drive by this wreck area at least 3 times a week, I know from the pictures and description that this Mail Lady was heading TOWARD the DMSPS, on the way to pick up the mail there, after dropping off mail from the main post office.

I'm thinking my credit card bill should be safe. If, perhaps, a day later than I anticipated. There's still a good window of time for that one to arrive at its destination.

Friday, November 2, 2018

It Was, After All, My Old Personal Motto

Perhaps you've noticed a thread running through this blog. An underlying theme that reveals the true nature of Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. She lives her life in a state of perpetual pissed-offed-ness.

I can't help it. I was born that way. Spending 28 years holding my tongue in the teaching profession did nothing to improve my temperament. It's not that I mean anything by it. Not even that I'm truly incensed. But when stuff bothers, me, I have to let it out, and this is the place. I don't throw things, or go on screaming tirades, or plot tit-for-tat revenge on my detractors. I rarely even speak my mind in a modulated voice. I hold it in, until I can let it out here.


That used to be my personal motto, you know. They just do. I'm not a people person. I'll be polite, and expect to get politeness in return. But if I don't...


Thursday, for instance, when I accompanied Farmer H to our old favorite casino on his weekly Goodwill tour.

It seem like every time I go into the women's restroom (where else would I go) of the attendants follows me. Not so much follows me, like into a stall, or with evil intent to rob or assault. But one always appears. Sweet Gummi Mary! You'd think I'd been caught squatting in the vestibule and smearing waste products all over the walls and ceiling. I assure you that I have NOT. Been caught. Nor done the act. On the contrary! I even wipe down the counter if I've spattered water on it while reaching for a paper towel after washing my hands.

Anyhoo...Thursday, I came out of the stall, with two minutes left until time to meet up with Farmer H near the entrance. I went to the sink area to wash my hands. There are 8 sinks, people. Four on each side. A big wide area between them. I went to the right side. Sink #2 of the 4. In the mirror, I saw an attendant rush in, and go to the other bank of sinks.

The soap dispenser was not dispensing at my sink. I tried numerous times. Occasionally, I don't move my hands in the manner to which those sensors are accustomed, and it takes several tries. But this one was obviously out of soap. So I moved over to Sink #3.

That's when the Attendant rushed over to my bank of sinks. She flung open the cabinet door between sinks 2 and 3. Then she darted behind me, and flung open the cabinet between sinks 3 and 4. Seriously? She had to make this move right that instant, when I was the only one in there, and using those sinks?

This left me trapped between two open cabinet doors, about hip-high. Okay. I wasn't trapped, trapped. Not penned in. Not restricted from leaving. But who wants to dry their hands with an Attendant breathing down their thighs? I turned and went to the other bank of sinks, where I fished out some paper towels from the countertop dispenser, and then took a tissue (NOT Puffs With Lotion) from the wall-mounted dispenser, and blew my nose.

Let the record show that once I left the first sink bank, the Attendant rushed over to the big trash bin in the corner, by the entrance. I can't say door, because there isn't one. Just a large opening, across from the opening to the men's restroom, with a drinking fountain along the wall connecting the openings. Meanwhile, the Attendant had left behind, sitting out on the floor, all the full wastebaskets that she'd moved out from under the chrome-lined holes in the counter for dropping your paper towels and tissues in. I have no idea what she was fiddling with.

If I'd been a vengeful person, I might have dropped my tissue and paper towel into one of those openings, to fall into the open cabinet bereft of wastebasket to catch it. But I am not. I balanced my used paper products on top of one of the full wastebaskets.

And rushed out to meet Farmer H, afraid to look over my shoulder to see if I was being followed.

It's not that the Attendant did anything wrong. I would think that perhaps one might dump the wastebaskets from the side of the room where nobody is using the sinks, and then get the wastebaskets from the other side of the room when the only person using them has finished a hand-washing routine which generally takes one minute or less.

People piss me off.

Thursday, November 1, 2018

Playing Poke 'Er. Not Nearly As Much Fun As Playing Poker.

Last Thursday, we went to our new favorite casino with my sister the ex-mayor's wife, and of course the ex-mayor. They're a package deal. One won't go anywhere without the other. Perhaps they're afraid they might wake up in a roadside motel bathtub full of ice with a kidney missing.

Anyhoo...they finished the day as winners, thanks to Sis hitting a jackpot. Farmer H lost a couple of twenties, and I lost $5 over half of what I took to gamble away. wasn't a terrible day for me or Farmer H. My money depleted more rapidly than usual, and I was not willing to dip into the portion I'd planned for later. I kind of know how much I want to spend per hour, and stick to it.

With an hour still left before the dinner buffet opened, I headed for the poker machines. I haven't played them in a long time. It takes longer to lose my money on them, because I only bet the minimum, which is 25 cents per spin. Let the record show that I put my last (time period) twenty in that machine, and with Sis looking over my shoulder waiting for me to walk to the buffet...I cashed out $19.75. I could have left at $22 when Sis found me, but I told her, "Just let me play it down to $20. That's what I started with. However...I was talking to her, and accidentally hit the DEAL button. Still. I had played for an hour and only lost 25 cents. That's pretty good for Mrs. HM.

Which brings us to Wednesday's game of Poke 'Er, concerning Juno's big fat ear. When I was throwing out onion skins after dicing onions for a pot of soup, I saw that my Sweet, Sweet Juno's right ear had filled with fluid again. She was romping around on the porch, not convalescing like an invalid. She'd start to shake her head, then stop. At least she didn't list to the side when she walked. The ear had a healthy pink tint on the underside, but was definitely swollen near its limit again.

I sent Farmer H a text as soon as I got home from town. I knew he was back home from his earlier gallivanting, because the TrailBlazer was parked at the BARn, which had the big door open.

"Juno's ear needs draining!"

"Can you hold her"

"Yeah, I'll go put on my dirty clothes."

"Ok I'll be over in a minute"

I changed out of town clothes, into clothes that wouldn't matter if they were squirted with dog blood, or covered with burs, or picked up the smell of wet dog. And old shoes, too.

Farmer H brought the second needle he'd bought, rather than the one he'd rinsed out the day before. We lured the patient to the front porch with half a slice of Nutty Oat bread soaked in hamburger grease from the soup preparations. Jack did his best to disrupt the operation, but a scrap of the bread, and Farmer H's "encouragement" drove him away.

Juno was quite suspicious, even though Farmer H had hidden the syringe on the front porch pew. She followed me there, sniffed the grease bread again, really wanted it, but turned to slink away. As if we wouldn't notice her leaving against medical advice!

I put the bread on my knee, which lured her back. I leaned over as if to hug her, and got a firm grip around her belly, kind of lifting her front legs off the porch boards. Well. Miss Juno no longer wanted the grease bread, and became fidgety. A bit of sweet-talking made her eat the treat, as Farmer H stepped into place with his giant syringe.

Poor Juno whimpered as Farmer H stabbed her. Nothing came into the syringe, so he stabbed her again. Another whimper. Of course I was whispering sweet nothings into Juno's good ear, explaining that we were actually HELPING HER FEEL BETTER. Not sure if she bought it, or if she just heard "Wah wah wah" like a Charlie Brown lesson.

The second time was the charm, and the syringe filled halfway with watery dog blood. The ear collapsed considerable. Farmer H said to let her go, that a lot had come out, and with two holes in the skin, some more would drain slowly. I'm not sure if the needle hurt the most, or if Farmer H's grip on the swollen ear caused the whimpering.

Anyhoo...once we were done, Juno slunk around the porch to her house, leaving a small puddle of watery ear-blood at my feet. Which Jack investigate, and gave a lick or two. For her trouble, I went back through the house, and grabbed another half-slice of grease bread. This I tossed into Juno's house, where I couldn't see her in the dark (rainy day here in Hillmomba), but heard her feathery tail thumping.

"Here, Juno. You were a very brave girl!"

I'm saving some grease bread for bait on Friday. As Hick says, Juno will soon grow suspicious of grease bread. Maybe he should have HOS come back to assist the next operation.