Mrs. HM Pays It Forward, But Not In Cash

After TWO people gave Mrs. HM cuts in line on the SAME DAY, you can bet she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. That level of kindness had not been apparent in Hillmomba for the past year or more. So Even Steven probably had some dastardly plan up his sleeve. Like maybe another door-enterer who would slip through the opening, then PULL THAT DOOR SHUT in Mrs. HM's face. Or a donut-buying man who would start screaming and tossing his donuts when asked politely by Mrs. HM if he was next in line. Yes. Those two thing happened, and at the very same Casey's. Which is now closed and being dismantled. KARMA!

 

Anyhoo... the very next day after the double-cutsies, I was a bit on edge. Certainly not expecting any niceties from strangers, and kinda worried about THE EVEN-ING OF STEVEN. I had no idea what form it might take, so I was ever-vigilant.

As I walked under the gas-pump-roof on my way to the door of the Gas Station Chicken Store, I noticed a mid-sized SUV parked there, with a little girl flitting around. She might have been 5. Just cutting up like a young 'un will do when released from a vehicle after a drive. A woman I presumed to be her mother was also moving around, from one side of the back seat to the other car door. 

 

I didn't greet them, nor they me. I was too busy stepping through the assorted detritus that had spewed from the vehicle. It looked like caramel corn, some wrappers, another foodish crumbly array. I made it through the store door without incident. Had a clear path to the soda fountain, though a chubby man was waiting to pay.

While filling my cup with 44 oz of Diet Coke, I heard Woman Owner, who was on register duty, jawing at Chubby.

"We don't do that here! That's just nasty! This is NOT a car wash! I really don't appreciate it."

Chubby didn't say anything. He put his card in the contraption tethered by its power wire, and paid for his gas. Then left. Woman Owner didn't even ask him if he wanted the red tickets for the gas drawing. She's usually overly fake-nice to the customers. So this was surprising. 

By this time I was waiting to pay. A young working man came in and stood back respectfully, cash in hand.

"Are you just paying for gas?"

"Uh huh. And getting cigarettes."

"Go on ahead. I might take a while."

"Oh. Thank you!"

SEEEEE? Mrs. HM can be polite! She can give cutsies. Don't cost nothin'. Surely this would repay at least half my debt to Even Steven.

When it was my turn, I told Woman Owner that I got the impression that Chubby didn't want to hear it. The lecture she gave him.

"I don't care if he wanted to hear it or not! I doubt he even speaks English. His woman was scraping her trash out of the car, like a dog digging a hole, ONTO THE GROUND!"

"And the trash can is RIGHT THERE! Only three feet away!"

"I KNOW! Not only that, but when she started doing it, I tapped on the window, and shook my head at her. And she looked at me, then KEPT DOING IT! We have trouble with these people all the time. They come from the border on their way to Minnesota. I don't know why they all have to pick OUR PLACE to stop! I'm shocked that he bought gas. He must have been on empty. Usually, they park here in front, blocking the two gas pumps, then they all come in and use our bathrooms, and leave without buying anything. I don't need their trash all over my parking lot! That is one thing I won't miss when we finally lock up the doors for good!"

She was all wound up. Even Man Owner, who is the cheeriest fellow you will ever meet, had a scowl on his face as he headed out the door with his broom and dustpan-on-a-stick.

Anyhoo... I got an interesting story, and made a dent in my karma with Even Steven.

The Good Deeds Continue

I left Country Mart after being given a line jump by that sweet lady with a full cart, and headed for the Gas Station Chicken Store for my magical elixir.

 

Upon entering, I had to go down the narrow aisle on the far left, which has an ATM and a cooler of juices and a shelf of automobile accessories. That was because a lady and her teenage daughter were blocking the middle aisle, putting their red tickets in a cardboard box for the weekly gas drawing. Not really blaming them. That's the only place they could have been standing, although they could have shoved over to let me pass.

 

Anyhoo... I went across the back aisle under the long shoplifter mirror, and came up to the soda fountain. The guy who came in the door behind me (yes, I gave him the courtesy wide-door-yank) was more svelte than I, and had squeezed through the aisle-blockers and the dude checking out, to come down towards the soda fountain. Thank the Gummi Mary, he was using the Pepsi fountain! Getting TWO sodas.

The lids and straws are now on the other side of the Pepsi fountain. I was done drawing my 44 oz Diet Coke, and was biding my time until I could get a lid. After-Guy was trying to fill his second 44 oz cup, a Diet Pepsi, which was foaming too much. 

"Oh! I'm sorry! I'm blocking the lids."

"No, that's okay. I'm not in a hurry. I just have to go home and warm up leftovers."

"Yeah. My kid called and asked if I was stopping to bring home food, and I said, 'We have a whole refrigerator full of food!'"

He put on his lids, and went up front. He set his sodas on the left side of the counter, where the register was closed, and pulled out his wallet.

"You can go ahead."

"Oh, you don't have to do that!"

"No, it's fine."

I went ahead, cashing in my $20 scratcher winner. Got new tickets. Paid for my magical elixir. The Afternoon Cashier asked how was my Thanksgiving.

"Good! I'm headed for some leftovers. How was your Thanksgiving?"

"It was good. Even though I had to drive WAY DOWN SOUTH!"

"Oh? Where did you go?"

"I don't know! Somewhere down below Bill-Paying Town!"

"Uh. You could go a LOT farther 'down south' than down below Bill-Paying Town!"

"I didn't know the area. It was a bunch of trees! It was so dark. I kept trying to follow the directions on my phone. I was hoping nobody would jump out of the woods!"

"Heh, heh! When I worked in St. Louis, one of the secretaries said her mother told her, "NEVER go south of Lindbergh! There are no streetlights down there." [Blog Buddy Sioux will get that reference.]

"Some city people don't understand that we're not ALL bad down here! We'd even help them out if they needed it."

He wasn't a-woofin'!

 

I thanked After-Guy again for letting me go ahead. I guess everybody is full of Christmas cheer now that Thanksgiving is over.

Warming Mrs. HM's Cockles

Friday, I ran in Country Mart to pick up some bananas. Some marketing genius has set up a table of Little Debbie Cakes on the narrow entry from the indoor cart corral to the store proper. So of course I grabbed a giant box of the Cosmic Brownies for The Pony. He goes through a box a week.

 

That was all I needed. The shortest shopping trip ever. I grabbed those brownies like a NASCAR winner grabbing the checkered flag, only I didn't need to slow down. The banana stand is the second one back in the produce department. I picked up the greenest of the yellow bananas, and went directly to the checkout. Only one lane open. The short conveyor.

 

One man was paying, and a lady with a full cart had already emptied half of it onto the short conveyor. I pulled in behind her, leaving a tasteful 6 feet, and leaned on my cart/walker to wait. I am never in a hurry. 

 

The lady had a daughter with her, about 9-10 years old. She might have had special needs, or maybe was just high-spirited. She was running around, and whirling with her arms out like Julie Andrews in the Austrian Alps in The Sound of Music. Not annoying like some little monsters, but just enjoying herself, passing time. Every now and then, The Lady would say, "Come help me put this out." And she would for a minute.

As The Lady turned again to ask Daughter for help, she saw me in line behind her.

"Oh, please. Let my stuff sit, and take her first. She only has two things!"

WHAT IN THE NOT-HEAVEN???

"That is SO KIND! You don't have to do that!"

"I want to. Go ahead."

"Thank you!"

I handed the Old Gal Checker my bananas. She weighed them. Put them in a bag. I handed her my (The Pony's) box of Cosmic Brownies.

"Oh, these are always SO HEAVY!"

"Yes! They seem way heavier than brownies should be. My son loves them. He works for the post office, delivering mail, but says he can't eat one in the morning, because it's too heavy in his stomach while carrying mail!"

As I paid with my card, I turned to The Lady. "Thank you so much!"

"She's a sweetheart, isn't she?" said Old Gal Checker.

 

Yes. She most definitely was. I'm not used to such kindness. It warms the cockles of my cold, cold heart. Melts the ice like a chemical handwarmer given a good smack and jammed down into my aorta. Like slathering BenGay on my sternum. Like resting with a newborn sleeping against my chestal area.

Another Cryptic Message From Farmer H

Living with Farmer H is not a walk in the park. Not a bicycle-built-for-two ride. Not a picnic. You have to constantly be on your toes, one tippy-toe ahead of Farmer H.

Here's the text that I received at 12:52 p.m.

"I got a ball for the refrigerator light and I'm going over to work on the house for a little while"

First of all, I was SHOCKED by the correct spelling and grammar. It was almost as if somebody else typed it for him. But knowing he'd been at his Storage Unit Store, I knew that was unlikely, as all Farmer H's "unit" cronies are of similar communicative ilk. Farmer H must have gotten lucky with autocorrect.

But then there was the issue of the BALL.

Why did Farmer H get a toy for FRIG II's light? I know Christmas is coming up, but we normally don't give our appliances gifts. And how would FRIG II's light even play with a ball? It has no arms! Besides, FRIG II is so stuffed with leftovers that there's no room to play ball inside. And how could anyone see to play ball inside closed FRIG II--

WAIT A MINUTE!

Did Farmer H mean he'd bought a BULB for FRIG II's light? Was there something amiss inside FRIG II? Everything was fine on Thursday night when I got out some leftovers. I hadn't opened the door since.

Yep! FRIG II was dark as a midnight in a black hole!

I would have taken a picture, but Farmer H got home as I was leaving the garage when I came back from town. He was so efficient that I couldn't get a pic! 

I hope FRIG II's light wasn't expecting a ball.

Mr. MoneyPony, In The Kitchen, With An Act Of Kindness

They're gonna get me one way or the other. Either Farmer H, whom I'm pretty sure is trying to kill me in a variety of ways on a regular basis, or The Pony, whose vehicle of my demise will be unintended, offbeat, and untraceable.

When Farmer H returned with the Milk Chocolate cake mix, and the usable Fudge cake mix, he couldn't wait 10 seconds for me to gather up my sore knees under the kitchen table. I had just collapsed on the chair, after holding onto the kitchen counter, and was waiting for them to unstiffen from all the standing, so I could swing around to put my feet under the table. But no. Farmer H had to charge through like an entitled bull playing chicken with the proprietor of a china shop!

As he rushed past me, Farmer H kicked the toe of my right CROC, twisting my knee, and sending himself hurtling into the kitchen wall about three feet away. Then HE acted like the one who should be upset! Sweet Gummi Mary! He barely stumbled, and caught himself with outstretched arms on the wall. I've seen athletes doing wall push-ups with more vigor. If you can't pick up your feet and step over, or thread your steps through the non-CROC-occupied 18 inches of walkway, then WAIT UNTIL THAT WALKWAY IS CLEAR!

The cook's feet have right-of-way, and were there first!

A few tears and a few harsh words from Farmer H later, my 32nd wedding anniversary continued, with me deviling a dozen eggs, and Farmer H turning so forgiving that he sat down across the table from me and sampled three of them. Three half-eggs. Not three full eggs. I am not that forgiving.

Anyhoo... I finished pre-preparing my Wednesday dishes. Thanksgiving prep went smoothly enough. And I gotta say, EVERYTHING WAS DELICIOUS! Even though I made my food the same way as always, it turned out particularly tasty this year. MMMMMM.

We all filled our plates and sat down to feast. Farmer H went first, and said he was TRYING to wait until everyone was at the table before he started feeding. If he was smart, he would have let ME go first. Because I don't inhale my meal like the other two. 

 

Of course Farmer H finished. Then The Pony. Who went to get dessert, which was NOT his very special Oreo Cake that he had requested, but rather the frozen sampler of cheesecake slices that I picked up at Country Mart, because Farmer H likes cheesecake. Then Farmer H had a slice. I continued to work on my plate of savory dishes.

I might need to check Farmer H and The Pony for fever. Farmer H actually sat at the table ALMOST until I was finished eating. He did not run out of the Mansion to go somewhere. And wait till you hear this...

THE PONY STARTED PUTTING AWAY FOOD!

That's right! The Pony put the lids back on containers, and found room in FRIG II to stash them. He seemed to care about helping people not get food poisoning! He set all the dishes from himself and Farmer H over by the sink where I could wash them. Such a thoughtful act! 

We need to start calling him Mr. MoneyPony. He got his fake check stub in the mail, even though he can access it online. He's been NETTING in two weeks, more than I gross in a month of my teacher retirement. Extrapolating that data, over a year's time, The Pony would be clearing more than my 28-years-experience with a Master's Degree gross teacher salary for the last year I worked.

The Pony relaxed in the big triangle tub in the master bathroom for two hours on Wednesday night with his wine. But he was a teetotaler on Thursday at Thanksgiving dinner. 

 

"I'm only having Sprite today. I have to be at work at 6:00 Friday morning, and I expect a lot of people to call out. So it might be 7:30 or later when I get home."

The Pony binge-drinks responsibly! And cares about preventing food poisoning.

MAYDAY At 1600 Hours!

Which is, I think, military time for 4:00 p.m. It was actually 4:33 when I sent Farmer H the text. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Wednesday was quite busy for Mrs. HM. I had to be up NO LATER THAN 11:30 a.m.! No hitting the snooze button. I had many side dishes to pre-prepare.

First cat out of the bag, I popped my baby carrots into a black speckled roaster pan, with a dash of vegetable oil (because they're vegetables, heh, heh!) and some powdered Hidden Valley Ranch. Then I cut up three onions into wedges, and added them with another sprinkle of Hidden Valley. I put five small potatoes in a pan to boil, and took the larger ones to sit beside my laptop HIPPIE at the kitchen table, and peel and chunk to add to the roasting carrots and onions. With another sprinkle of Hidden Valley, before draping a package of bacon over the top, and shoving that roaster in the oven. Gee, my house smelled terrific!

I spent an hour peeling 24 eggs I had boiled on Tuesday. Details forthcoming elsewhere, perhaps. By that time the potatoes were boiled, and I set them in the sink drainer to cool while I showered and went to town for my magical elixir.

Once home, it was nearing 4:00. I whipped up some delicious potato salad. Then cut a bunch of Oreos in half to surround the base of the Oreo Cake I was about to start. I had the mixer and bowl and spatula all ready. I chopped some more Oreos to go in the batter. My plan was to get that cake in the oven, and let it bake while I deviled the eggs. 

I grabbed my cake mix I had bought 2-for-1 last week. Wait a minute! Did they change the box on my Betty Crocker Fudge Cake? WHAT??? That traitorous box said FUDGE BROWNIES! I had been tricked into buying brownies instead of cake! How was I going to make The Pony his special Oreo Cake? I tried to call Farmer H, but he wouldn't answer his phone. So I sent a text saying he wouldn't answer his phone, and I really needed to talk to him. He sent a text back that he was almost home. What good would THAT do me?

When he came in the door, I told him he needed to go back to town and get a box of cake mix. Betty Crocker. Any of Triple Chocolate, Devil's Food, or Fudge. CAKE MIX, not brownies! He took a picture of the box, and left. When he came back, he had a box of MILK CHOCOLATE cake mix, and FUDGE cake mix. Which was fine.

"I think somebody messed up, and only ordered FUDGE! That's all I could find. And that chocolate one."

Anyhoo... crisis narrowly averted. I don't know what time Country Mart was closing. But almost nothing is open on Thanksgiving Day. So good thing I didn't wait until Thursday morning to start that cake. The Pony would have been sorely disappointed!

I'm Pretty Sure It's Just The Boiled Eggs, And Not Brimstone...

The Mansion is smelly today, my friends. Smelly, like a poopy dead skunk dragged into a crawlspace by a long speckled dog who gets blamed for everything. No. My very special Jack has never done such a thing! And this smell is a bit more like sulfur. I'm pretty sure it's just the aroma of the two dozen eggs I boiled on Tuesday, to be ready for my deviled egg preparations on Wednesday, Thanksgiving Eve.

Yes, Wednesday will be quite tedious for Mrs. HM. I have to peel a lot of potatoes, and shuck a lot of eggshells, and chop romaine and green onions for the 7 Layer Salad. The sides dishes of that salad, and roasted veggies, and deviled eggs, and potato salad, plus the Oreo Cake dessert, should be done before I can retire to my dark basement lair for a respite and repast.

My FREE turkey has been thawing in FRIG II since Monday. It was still hard as a boulder on Tuesday evening. It will be baked, along with some ham, on Thursday morning. Also, the hash brown casserole will be slipped into the oven for a 45-minute bake. And the Sister Schubert's rolls. So everything should be under control on Thanksgiving itself.

I WILL make time for my town trip on Wednesday. I will buy extra scratchers so I have some on Thursday evening. I think that's a fitting reward, after cooking for two days, and washing up all the impending dirty dishes. I'm pretty sure Farmer H will make an excuse to go up to his Storage Unit Store after the feast. And The Pony will most likely take an early bath, since it will be back to work on Friday.

That's okay. I'm pretty sure I can recover from the effort expended. PLUS, there will be delicious leftovers, which people can prepare for themselves!

Straight From The Pony's Mouth

I hate it when I'm bested by The Pony. He is so droll with his comebacks. I want to exclaim, "DOH!" like Homer Simpson, when The Pony zings me.

Country Mart employees probably gossip about me in their break room. Which is a bench in front of the store. I'll have to tune a recently-healed ear on their conversation, to see if they have labeled me their most profitable alcoholic. It seems like every recent trip I've made there has involved an alcohol purchase.

I picked up some wine for The Pony to have on his next scheduled day off eve. He didn't have time (nor leg strength) to get if for himself as usual at the Devil's Playground. I replenished Farmer H's Wild Turkey. I picked up two more bottles of wine for The Pony to have at Thanksgiving and his next day off. AND I have rum on the list (and of course limes) for my next trip, in case he fancies a rum and Coke instead of wine at the dinner table.

Anyhoo... getting back to that wine. When I bought the two bottles of wine, the cashier actually put each one in a long thin paper sack favored by skid-row surreptitious sippers, and then into a plastic bag suitable for looping over an arm to carry into one's Mansion from the rear of T-Hoe. 

As I transferred the groceries from porch to kitchen, I put the two bottles of wine on the kitchen table by my laptop HIPPIE. I knew they didn't have to be refrigerated yet. Because I'm cautious, I laid them on their sides. They didn't want to stand right with a paper sack and plastic bag under their base.

When talking to The Pony later (much later) when he got home around 8:30, I said,

"Oh, I picked up your wine. You might want to take them out of the bags and set them up, since right now they're laying down by my laptop."

"Um. You DO know how wine is stored, right?"

"Okay! Enough! It's not like I'm a wine drinker! But yes... I do see those fancy wine racks in some of those building shows."

"That's actually to keep wine against the cork, but this last kind you got doesn't have the cork, just the metal lid. So it doesn't really matter. It won't hurt anything."

I hate to be schooled in the ways of alcohol by The Pony.

Nothing Left To Say, So I'm Giving You The Finger

The Mansion is as dull as a 1960s western. Nothing going on. Farmer H TRIED to lecture me and The Pony on the orientation of the kitchen bar at Pony House, but we waved off his efforts to control our minds with the same repeated phrase at increasing decibels, and pooh-poohed his efforts. Right now we're in a holding pattern until Thanksgiving. Actually, until Wednesday, when I spend all day in the kitchen.

So... here's evidence of my mailbox injury last week:

 

You may think that's just a scratch. How dare you belittle my nearly-severed finger! It's a GOUGE! A chunk of my flesh is gone!

 

It's starting to swell! Starting to bruise! It hurts like the dickens! Requires a bandaid and some triple antibiotic ointment, and to be kept out of the dishwater!

Well. You might be surprised to learn that I survived. Three days later, and I'm on the mend.

 

Still got a little hole in my finger, but no bandaid required. Dishwater soak is barely painful. Only a direct bump to that area makes it hurt. I even got the mail on Sunday without incident. 

Do you see something wrong with that last sentence? I got the mail on SUNDAY. It must have been delivered really late on Saturday. I checked EmBee around 5:00 when I came home from town. Dry as a bone, bare as Old Mother Hubbard's cupboard.

I'll be keeping my badfinger to myself for a while. Unless another calamity befalls it.

The Baggingly Challenged

Apparently, I expect too much. When I buy groceries, I assume they will be bagged in a logical manner, as I myself group foodstuffs when I bag my own at Save A Lot. Apparently, I expect too much.

I bought my Thanksgiving meal groceries at Country Mart on Friday. On the conveyor, I set out the products in groups that I thought would be bagged together. You know, I was doing the checker a favor, putting them in order.

The Checker Dude was training a new employee. Newbie looked like a teenager. He might have been 21 at most. He did not seem like the most absorbent sponge. A couple times, Checker Dude had to remind him to WATCH THIS, and SEE HERE. But all he was really doing was taking the rung-up groceries and putting them in bags.

Newbie must be one of those original thinkers. Not one to grab items as they were shoved his way, and put them in a bag. Nope. He needed to pick and choose. One thing from here, one thing from here... I was NOT HAPPY when I got my cart to T-Hoe, and started putting bags in his rear.

Normally, I'd have a bag or two of cold items that I could put in my soft-side St. Louis Cardinals zip-top cooler, and cover it with my coat. Which would also drape over any overflow cold-stuff bags leaned against that cooler. But no. That was not possible.

NEWBIE HAD PUT A COLD ITEM IN EACH BAG!

It was almost like he saw them as gift bags, and wanted each recipient to get a cold item. Farmer H was home to help me carry them in. Meaning HE carried them in. Except for me carrying a box from Save A Lot and two 6-packs of Diet Mountain Dew from garage to side porch.

I documented this bagging atrocity as I was putting things away:

 

Kerrygold ain't cheap! I think it was $3.49 a package. I get it for The Pony, because he's persnickety about his butter. There were only three packs left on the shelf, and I took two. They were perfectly pristine (as opposed to imperfectly pristine, heh, heh) when I put them on the conveyor. As you can see, now the corners are dog-eared, from being battered in that bag by 1.75 pounds of Cosmic Brownies, and two jars of olives. Neither of which needed to be kept cold.

 

I also bought regular salted butter for us peons. And a package of two pre-made pie crusts, in case I make some turkey pot pie with leftovers. But WHY did they need to be in a bag with two Stove Tops Stuffings, and two chocolate cake mixes (both on a 2-fer sale)? Don't say because they're in boxes. The Cosmic Brownies were in a box. They could have gone in here, and the cold Kerrygold and butter and pie crusts together. As I sent them down the conveyor.

 

You know what else would have fit in the cold bag? SOUR CREAM! Which I guess was relegated to this bag with mayo, cream of chicken soup, and black olives because it was round? 

Newbie has a long way to go in his training. I hope it will include bagging, but I have a feeling it won't.

If The Pony Can Just Plod Through One More Day...

Sweet Gummi Mary! I have been confused on how many days The Pony has worked without a day off. I have been counting the day off he was SUPPOSED to have, which got cancelled at 6:00 p.m. the night before. According to Farmer H, who is now an insider, privy (heh, heh) to information I don't get, because he TAKES LUNCH TO THE PONY... the last day off was November 2.

According to Farmer H, The Pony will be off Sunday. IF ONLY he can plod through Saturday without incident! Apparently, The Pony fell on Thursday, and skinned his hand. He didn't tell me. Just confided in Farmer H, his feedbag-strapper-onner. The Pony sends Farmer H a text, asking him to pick up Burger King for lunch. Then Farmer H takes it to wherever The Pony is at that time. He eats on his 10-minute break. And probably grabs a bite before getting out to deliver at the next few stops.

The Pony says his legs are so tired that he can barely stand in the shower in the morning. I say why does he need a shower, since he goes to bed right after a soaking bath in the big triangle tub in the master bathroom. At most, he might need to step in and wet down his unruly mane. Then get out! No need for a 30-minute shower when you're already clean! I'd think wetting your hair would suffice to wake you up.

The Pony has been asking the manager who schedules if he can have a day off. She says they are SO BUSY. The night manager overheard The Pony wishing for a day off, and said to call that day manager before coming to work on Friday. That, "It's ridiculous to work these hours when we have workers coming out of our ears." Okay. I'm pretty sure that's not the exact quote. I didn't write it down, but that was the gist of it. The Pony says they have so many that there are not enough vehicles, so there are several pairs that share one, and can't work until the vehicle is back.

Pony was NOT allowed the day off on Friday. Furthermore, somebody had lost or kept the key to his assigned vehicle, so he had to drive his car up to the repair garage near the Sis-Town Casey's, to get the spare key. THEN somebody had lost the key to the apartment complex mailbox unit that was first on his route. So he had to wait until they could find it. He didn't get off until 7:30. An 11.5 hour day. Making his total for the week 78.85 hours.

Good money. Bad legs.

At least The Pony was fortified with a Whopper, two orders of fries, a Sprite, and a Strawberry Shake. I'm pretty sure he walked off all those calories.

A Rousing Review

Somebody is trying to tell me something. 

On my not-so-secret blog, I had a comment. Not a real comment. One that should have gone straight to the 5PAM file.

"I really like the writing here, it's very special and doesn't seem to exist."

 

Sweet Gummi Mary! Somebody likes my writing.

BECAUSE IT DOESN'T SEEM TO EXIST!

 

That would make a great review for the back cover of one of my fake books! 

Yes. That would make a rousing review. Not to be confused with AN arousing review... 

Just like punctuation matters, so does spacing.

Farmer H Provides Dessert

When I made the pot of sausage, potatoes, and cabbage on Sunday, dessert was already waiting. Farmer H had picked it up at the auction on Saturday night. I didn't ask what he paid for it, but I'm thinking a dollar. Two at the most.

It was a plate of brownies, already sliced. They were sliced into triangle shapes, which is kind of odd for a brownie. Maybe it was baked in a round pan. Or maybe the cook was being all artsy-fartsy. Maybe the brownies were made by those girls whose wares Farmer H has bought previously.

Anyhoo... I made sure I picked out the least triangle-y brownie for myself:

 

It was in a smaller bowl than my main course. Wouldn't it be great to have such a giant brownie? Or maybe not. This brownie was good enough. It was truly a brownie, not a mud cake masquerading as a brownie. As you can see, I got the best piece! It's a corner!

Now, if I may critique... C'mon! You knew it was comin'! I think maybe the triangle shape was meant to represent a Christmas tree! See those little decoration Christmas trees on top of the brownie? And the red stocking? The white stuff is PEPPERMINT! That gets this brownie a thumbs-down from me. I like peppermint well enough alone. But not on a brownie.

At least I figured it out after the first bite, and picked the rest of it off. Only a little of the peppermint flavor lingered. I also warned The Pony, who was appreciative of the tip-off.

I can't wait to see what Farmer H brings home from the auction this weekend!

Of Cabbages And Rings

Since the snow flurries Friday night, and the colder temps over the weekend, I whipped up a big pot of sausage, potatoes, and cabbage. Mmm. So delicious! However... there was an anomaly with my cabbages! Both bought at Save A Lot on the same day, from the same bin. I always need a big cabbage and a little cabbage. Two large ones are too much, and two small ones are not enough.

The first cabbage I carved was the large one. I avoid the core, and slice off about half from one side. Then I again avoid the core, and slice off the about-half from the other side. That leaves me with a flat piece that has the core in the middle. I cut off the remaining small sides, and use the top part of the core area, where it's still leafy.

This was a very strange cabbage!

 

The whole cabbage was the consistency of the core! Very dense. One big core! The actual core area is at the bottom of the picture. Not that you can tell. I still cut it up, and pulled apart the dense layers to put in my pot. I left this disk, to see how much room I'd have in the pot with those hard pieces.

On to the small cabbage. Which had its own irregularities:

 

THIS cabbage was almost all leafy! Barely a core at all! Loose rings, not dense thick non-leaves. I cut it up and used the whole thing.

Even though I have a degree in biology, I am not well-versed in vegetable husbandry. Was one of my cabbages not ripe enough? Have scientists developed both core-less cabbages, and all-core cabbages? I don't care enough to consult my estranged BFF Google. All I know is...

THE RESULT WAS DELICIOUS!

 

This concoction contained sliced smoked sausage, sliced Polish kielbasa, and Little Smokies. My Smokie is broken in that photo! Also, golden potatoes, and the two cabbages. That's a corn muffin top balanced on the bowl for a photo op. I also ate the muffin stump, by crumbling it in the juices at the bottom of the bowl. 

We will be eating it for four days. The Pony had only meat and potatoes the first night, and declared that he would be picking up pizza for himself the next night. I'm surprised he even tried it.

Juno Is Leading A Double Life

My Sweet, Sweet Juno has turned out to be a riddle wrapped in an enigma stuffed in a Feeley Meeley box! She usually stays close to home. Close, meaning inside her house on the back porch next to the kitchen door, for about 12 hours a day, and then once it's dark, on the porch or in the front yard BARKING HER FOOL HEAD OFF.

Saturday, Juno did not run out of her house as I left for town. Jack was nowhere to be seen either. That's not uncommon. He gets around. Without Copper Jack coming over to be the glue that tears the threesome apart, I guess Jack and Juno had agreed to go their separate ways. I set my handful of fake meatball treats on the generator in the garage, to give them when I came home.

I had barely pulled out of the driveway and onto the gravel road when I saw Juno loping towards T-Hoe. She came from our down-the-road neighbor's field. The neighbor that Jack nipped on the heel when Farmer H was returning a piece that fell off the neighbor's tractor. Oh, well. Jack IS a heeler. The neighbor barely felt it through his boot. Jack DOES have that tiny dachshund mouth.

Anyhoo... Juno crossed the gravel, and ran along our BARn field. I put the window down and said, "See you later, alligator!" Which is what I say to her every single time I leave for town. She expects it. She doesn't eat her treat until I say it. Then she puts her head down to nosh.

When I came home, both dogs were there as normal. Both were there to see me off on Sunday. But Monday, only Jack came to get his going-away treat. I didn't see Juno until I came back home. She was standing under the big cedar tree near the carport. Maybe marking it with her scent for the next time Copper Jack comes back to assume his lounging space. When she saw me, she pranced over to the garage door. As it opened, she stuck her head under, then came back stand behind the other door where A-Cad lives.

I closed the garage door behind T-Hoe without incident. Jack was waiting for me by the front passenger tire. I picked up the two remaining treats from the generator, and gave one to each fleabag. Juno usually gets two, but too bad, so sad. That's what happens when you're gone at treat-dispensing time.

I hobbled up the four steps to the porch. Jack was still trying to chew up that treat that must have seemed like a giant jawbreaker to him. I always pick up two big meatballs, and one little one for Jack. Which he had eaten as I left.

Anyhoo... Juno was finished gobbling her meatball, and instead of flouncing around and maybe whacking her head on the metal chair or the wooden stair rail while feinting with Jack, she headed around the corner to her house. But FIRST...

JUNO GRABBED A BLOODY BLOB OF MEAT FROM THE PORCH!

When did she put THAT there??? She didn't have it in the yard or behind the garage. Maybe she had run to get it as I parked, and took it to the porch before standing just outside the people door for when I finished petting Jack and let him out.

It was BLOODY, I tell you! I didn't see fibers in the meat, like a steak. But it wasn't smooth like an organ. Just a bloody blob of meat. With a piece of sinew that attached it to a smaller blob of meat. Juno snatched it up and ran into her house. It left a blood stain on the porch boards.

When I handed out the adult lunchables for the coming-home treat, I saw that Juno had also left a bloody stain on the threshold of her house. I'm pretty sure I could see that bloody meat blob inside. I shook her salami, cheese, and Triscuits inside. 

I hope Juno ate that bloody blob of meat! I don't want to think of the stench that could arise. Or of her feet and belly fur soaking up that blood... I suppose she sniffed out a deer hunter's butchering area, and helped herself to a treat. It's so much easier on my mind when they just toss out a couple legs on the gravel road down by the mailboxes. I figure that's fair game, and Juno won't anger a hunter if she drags a leg home.

I will be very selective about where I pet Juno for the next couple of days.

Treats: Party Of Two

Copper Jack is missing. Probably not ACTUALLY missing. I think I can hear him barking from his home next door, where he usually never stays. Copper Jack has been missing from OUR YARD. Where he likes to lie under the big cedar tree near the carport. Or on the front porch if Juno doesn't get wind of him.

Copper Jack's disappearance was first noticed on Friday. I have a sneaking suspicion that it has something to do with deer season. Copper Jack is deer-colored. Every year at this time, he is confined to home. I think he is tied up so he can't roam freely and be accidentally shot. But I also think maybe his human daddy does not want to be followed by Copper Jack, and perhaps his buddy, my own speckled Jack, when he goes down in the woods to lie in wait for a passing deer.

When I got back from the store the other day, my loyal fleabags were waiting for me. More likely, they were waiting for their TREAT. Copper Jack usually gets one, too. He hangs out behind Juno's dog house, where she can't see him, and waits patiently for me to toss him something.

I had a heavy box that I left on the chair on the side porch, and a couple bags. The dogs know they don't get the treat until all my stuff is in the house.

My little Jack waits patiently by the kitchen door:

 

He's not that chunky! It's the camera adding pounds and subtracting inches! He just has his wide half-heeler chest, and his long half-dachshund body is camouflaged by the angle of the photo. Such a sweet little patient fellow.

Juno usually runs to her house to wait for me to toss a treat inside for her. When a deposit was not made fast enough, she thought Jack was getting something extra. So she had to investigate:

 

Jack took a step closer, but he's used to being shouldered out of the way by Juno. She's molted off most of her matted fur, except for a couple of tufts along her spine, and the feathery parts of her haunches and tail. I thought Juno was going to come right into the kitchen! She hardly ever crosses the threshold, even if called in for a tornado warning. Jack will trot in in a heartbeat if invited.

 

 

There's Juno, looking to make sure nobody gets in her house while her back is turned!

The gale force winds this past week have wreaked havoc with the drying leaves. There's a pile in front of Juno's house door. I need to sweep it, but more will blow back within the hour, and Juno has been digging stuff out of her door. I'd like to think she's doing a little fall cleaning, but I'm pretty sure she laid down on an antler in her collection, and was trying to get more comfortable. Farmer H needs to dump out her hoard again, and fill her house with fresh cedar shavings. They make her smell so sweet, sweet.

The absence of Copper Jack upsets the routine of Treat Time. However, all he is missing are Triscuit crackers. They come in an adult "Lunchable" kind of pack that Farmer H bought about 20 of at the auction a while back. He ate a couple, and lost interest. They have a stack of salami slices, a stack of white cheese slices, and Triscuits.

Jack and Juno enjoy the salami and cheese. The Triscuits, not so much. I'm sure Copper Jack would not be so finicky.

Jack Has A New False Accuser

Every day when I come home from town, the dogs go crazy. When T-Hoe is halfway down the driveway, Jack and Copper Jack run across the carport, barking their fool heads off, and jump over the side to run down to the tree line chasing an occasional squirrel that is trying to sneak dog food out of the bowls on the side porch. Except by the time I get out of the Mansion, the dog food is long gone.

Anyhoo... Juno joins in with the fool-head-barking-off, but generally stays at the edge of the carport, and sticks her head under the garage door as it opens. She doesn't go inside. Juno does not like the garage, ever since her very special operation when she was about six months old, and was kept in the garage for 24 hours to let her anesthesia wear off. Even loopy, Juno did not like the garage.

As I park, my little buddy Jack comes in to wait for me by T-Hoe's right front tire. I close the garage door with the remote clipped to the sun visor, and get out, talking to my little Jack. "Is my little buddy in here with me? I bet he is! What a good dog! Coming to greet me every day! Even though I KNOW you're only excited about your TREAT!" 

 

By the time I round the front bumper of T-Hoe, I can see Jack sitting on his haunches, wriggling with anticipation. By the time I reach T-Hoe's license plate, Jack can't hold it any longer. He runs to me and jumps up for petting. Then squats in front of the people door, waiting for me to turn the doorknob so he can slither through the minimal crack he forces with his long body.

Every now and then, Jack gets in trouble. He can't decide IN or OUT. I hit the remote to close the garage door, and it makes a clanking sound. The overhead garage light blinks off and on. I have to wait for the door to go all the way back up, and the lights and clicking to stop, before I can press the remote to close it again. Sometimes this happens more than once. Nothing puts Mrs. HM in a fouler mood, except perhaps dealing with Farmer H's byproducts on the toilet seat.

DANG IT! YOU STUPID DOG! IN OR OUT! I GET SO SICK OF THIS! JUST STOP!!! STAY OUT FROM UNDER THE DANG DOOR!

Of course Jack hears "WAH WAH WAH" like Charlie Brown's teacher voice. But he KNOWS that HM is not happy. When HM ain't happy, ain't NOBODY happy! Jack comes around the front of T-Hoe then, his happy-go-lucky bravado gone, crouched down in supplication, very sorry about what he's done. Of course that melts my cold, cold heart. I tell him never mind, I'm over it. He's a good dog after all. And I pet him a little extra.

On Thursday, that dang dog stopped the garage door again. I had my little fit. Only THIS time, I left the garage door up. I got right out instead of gathering my purse and 44 oz Diet Coke first. I walked BACK around to T-Hoe's rear, to get some groceries out. As the hatch was rising, JUNO came darting down the middle of the garage, and out the door! Jack came waddling along behind her, looking confused by my new routine.

I THINK I HAVE BEEN BLAMING THE WRONG DOG!

I think JUNO is the one who darts in and out of the garage, while Jack just comes in and stands there waiting for me by T-Hoe's right front tire!

Sorry, little Jack. I will watch the mirrors next time. You might be too short to see, but Juno's feathery tail should be easy to spot as she darts back and forth.

Mrs. HM Has A Bone To Pick With The Chicken Salad

You might recall that I used to get the chicken salad sandwich from Country Mart's cold deli section. It came on a croissant, with a side of grapes. Mmm. It was delicious. Then I didn't see it for a while. I bought their croissants in a four-pack from the bakery section, and made my own chicken salad at home, out of baked boneless skinless chicken breasts, to eat with red grapes I bought at Save A Lot. Still delicious, but not exactly the same flavor profile.

Mid-week, before I returned for deli salads and was highly annoyed with the slacking deli workers, one of whom gave me the stinkeye for no reason... I again found my chicken salad at Country Mart! Only it wasn't on a croissant. It was in a container with grapes and apple slices.

 

I glanced at the price, which was $7-something. Fair enough. A Dairy Queen Honey BBQ Chicken Basket is $6-something. A Whopper Meal is $10-something. This chicken salad would make two generous sandwiches on the croissants I already had. So I bought the chicken salad.

When I got home, I put it in FRIG II. The date was good for three days, and I had two salads that I was planning to eat for the next two days. When it was time to open and eat my chicken salad, I tore off the label to get the lid off.

Wait a minute! That chicken salad meal was priced BY THE POUND! The cost of the chicken salad was $8-somehing per pound. Do you notice anything fishy here? I did NOT have almost a pound of chicken salad. I had some chicken salad, and SOME HEAVY FRUIT! 

 

The salads are not priced by the pound. In the section of the label marked WEIGHT, it's listed as "1". As in 1 unit. Which I think this chicken salad should be. All the containers have about the same amount of chicken salad. The fruit may vary a bit. I think there should be a standard price for a tub of chicken salad with fruit.

Oh, I'd buy it again. I just think their method of pricing is akin to the Devil's Playground shooting their meats full of saline to increase the weight.

No. I do not plan to raise chickens again, and pluck and butcher them to make my own chicken salad.

Low-Rollin' With The Pony

Every day when I cash in my winning scratchers and buy more, I get some for The Pony. He doesn't ask. I send Genius tickets every week, so I figure The Pony should get some too. Unless The Pony has winners to cash in, I spend about $6 on him. He likes the draw tickets, mainly Cash4Life with the easy match option for an instant win up to $500. For a while, he was winning $2, $3, $4, or up to $10. For about the past 7 days in a row, The Pony has not had a win on the Cash4Life.

Wednesday, I bought The Pony two $1 tickets, a $2 ticket, a $3 ticket. I didn't have high hopes. I can't win on anything under a $3 ticket.

The Pony sat down with his supper plate and the tickets at the marred coffee table. He commenced scratching. Farmer H was on an important phone call, so The Pony and I were whispering. The Pony scratched his first $1 ticket, and raised his eyebrows. Then he moved on to scratch the other tickets. Not much reaction. When he was done, I said,

"Oh. I guess maybe you only won on the first one?"

"No. Actually, I won on ALL FOUR of my tickets! The $1 won a ticket. The $2 won two dollars. And the $3 won three dollars. But this first $1 ticket... LOOK!"

 

 

No, it's not a heart-stopping win. But it's pretty darn good for a $1 investment. The Pony said, "It wasn't big enough to interrupt Dad's phone call, but it's a lot for that ticket!"

 

I don't know how The Pony is so lucky on these lower tickets. I could buy 10 in a row, and maybe only win a ticket. IF that.

The Insanity Of A Farmer H Description

You may recall that Farmer H does not describe things like any other human on earth. Oh, no. He has his own way of explaining, and if you don't get it, YOU CAIN'T UNDERSTAND NOTHIN'!

Wednesday evening, The Pony got home around 7:00. Only a 10.5-hour day! I warmed up his leftover pasta that I had frozen last time we used the expired pasta, and heated two slices of frozen garlic toast from Save A Lot. Otherwise, The Pony says he'll make something after his 2-HOUR NIGHTLY SOAK IN THE BIG TRIANGLE TUB IN THE MASTER BATHROOM. Then he falls asleep, or is too tired to cook. So he gets up hungry. Or eats a snack of soft garlic cheese with crackers at 3:00 a.m., and is nauseated on his 6:00 a.m. route. Like on Monday.

Anyhoo... The Pony was sitting at the marred coffee table, just waiting to drop some saucy pasta on my carpet, I'm sure. I was on the short couch, and Farmer H in his recliner. They were discussing Pony House closet. The main closet that will be in the master bathroom. Farmer H plans for it to be a walk-in closet, but with an accordion door. I think it should be a regular long closet, and not waste the room to step into it. Farmer H thought I meant to LITERALLY not step into it. The part about NOT leaving a 2-3 foot corridor in the middle of the closet was lost on him.

"HM! You'll HAVE to walk in the closet! Nobody has 4-foot-long arms! You can't stand outside the closet and reach the clothes!"

"I don't mean THAT. Instead of a short rack on one side, and shelves on the other, you could have a long rack across the whole closet. You could still have shelves or cubbies at one end. Just don't hang clothes all the way down the rod. At the other end, you could have a lower rack, too. So you could double the hanging room at one end."

"No. You're not getting it!"

"Mom. He knows what he's doing."

"I just think that would be wasting space, to leave an open area to walk in."

"HM. Look. Since you can't ever understand anything..."

Farmer H held up an envelope. A regular business-size envelope. He ran his finger along the bottom edge.

"Here. This envelope is the closet. You're here. At the back of the closet--"

"Wait! Why am I at the BACK OF THE CLOSET? Can't you show me like I'm standing in the bathroom, getting ready to reach into the closet? Nobody is going to be standing against the back wall of the closet, looking out!"

"OH MY LORD! Here, then!"

Farmer H actually took that envelope, and FLIPPED IT 180 DEGREES. He ran his finger along the bottom of the envelope again. Which was actually the flap part now, since he'd flipped it over.

 

"NOW you're at the FRONT of the closet..."

 

The Pony cut eyes at me. So much for being loyal to his dad.

"SERIOUSLY? Did you just do that? Did you FLIP the envelope over to say I'm at the front of the closet??? Why not just say, 'Okay, you're at the front of the closet looking in.' It's not like the envelope is the actual closet!"

 

Farmer H droned on as if any normal person would flip over an envelope to pretend I was on the other side. We know they would not.

Farmer H Is One Of Those People Who Give Something And Then Take It Back

If you're a Seinfeld aficionado, you'll understand the title. Let's just say that episode involved a certain life-size wooden statue found at a cigar store, and political correctness concerning Jerry's new girlfriend.

Anyhoo... it's relevant here because once upon a time, Farmer H gave me a new heater for my dark basement lair. You might recall that my underdesk heater went on the fritz, then came back to life, then finally bit the dust. I've been freezing for a while now. It's not quite as bad during the summer months. Even though I DID used to run it because the air conditioning was too cold down here.

Anyhoo... the new heater Farmer H gave me wasn't new at all. I think he found it in the stuff from the original 18 storage units that he bought. It's a little beige radiator-looking heater. Like in my 2nd grade classroom. A RADIATOR! You don't wanna touch that baby when it's running! 

This little radiator is about 2 feet tall. It has 6 "folds" that radiate the heat. It's electric. I'm not sure it is fully working. Oh, it DOES take the chill off. I am at this very moment without my orange sock cap! My fingers have enough feeling to type. Sure, my thighs still feel like corpse thighs when I'm sitting on the throne in the NASCAR bathroom next to my lair. But it's definitely an improvement over NO heater.

This little radiator would be more effective if it had a fan or blower. I think it does have one, but it doesn't work. There are two dials. One clicks into notches that saw LOW, MEDIUM, HIGH. I hear nothing when I change from one setting to another. The other dial turns smoothly. It has a little circular stripe that starts out thin, and gets thicker on the other end. So I'm thinking that's the amount of heat you're getting.

Anyhoo... this little radiator radiates like a charm. If I walk past and hold my hand over the top, I can feel the heat coming off of it. I have to set it in the middle of my lair walkway. It's supposed to be 2 or 3 feet away from objects. Right now one side is only about 18 inches away from my newer (unused) rolly chair. But nothing is close enough to burst into flames. Nothing is in contact.

The plug-in cord of this little radiator gets hot. Farmer H says they will do that. The thick extension cord I have it plugged into gets hot on about the last four inches of the cord. I monitor it closely. It's within arm's reach. I always unplug this little radiator when I leave my lair. The only exception being trips to the NASCAR bathroom next door.

Farmer H said this weekend that he's planning to take this little radiator over to Pony House, so he can have heat while he works. I'm not thrilled about that...

Sweet Treats For The Unpetite

Sunday, I discovered that Farmer H had brought home a PIE from the auction Saturday night. It was down in the bottom of FRIG II, in the top of the two crisper drawers. Huh. Funny how he didn't mention it. Yes, of course I asked.

"Oh. I was gonna tell you. Look! I bought you some treats. A whole BAG of them!"

Farmer H walked to the table, and held up a Devil's Playground bag, full of clear bags of a cereal/candy mix of the type we call Puppy Chow. Which still didn't explain the pie. Yes, of course I steered the conversation back.

"It's not really a pie. It says it's a turtle cheesecake. With caramel and pecans. But when I ate some, it didn't really taste like cheesecake to me."

I tried a piece on Sunday night. Not a fan. It has a dark cookie crumble crust, like ground Oreo. Kind of a smushy tasteless middle. An occasional pecan. And some liquidy caramel drizzle. Not bad, but not much flavor. I won't be having any more. 

 

However... I tried some of the Puppy Chow stuff on Monday. My mom used to make Puppy Chow. It consists of Crispix cereal, which is like Chex in a more round, perhaps pentagon shape, coated with a combo of melted chocolate and peanut butter, then shaken with powdered sugar. The auction version is a little different. 

 

All but one (of the 9 remaining, since I found an empty one in the wastebasket) bags is the Puppy Chow. One is labeled as Haystacks. I've had them before. I think they are sesame noodles coated with melted butterscotch chips. I left them for Farmer H. Here's a closeup of my Puppy Chow:

 

I posed the label off the bag in the ramekin with a portion. Apparently, THIS Puppy Chow has a special pedigree. It's White Chocolate Pom Chow. There is Rice Chex, white chocolate chips, and M&Ms. There's some peanut butter blobs, too. Maybe mixed with powdered sugar. Very tasty. Farmer H got the candy and pie for the grand sum of ONE DOLLAR! He entered the table drawing, the price of a ticket being $1, and won it, choosing these treats as his prize.

Thanks, Farmer H. Even though you tried to hide your secret pie.

Once They're Sanitized, They Can Slip Into Something More Comfortable

Hand sanitizer it not the only "treat" I bought The Pony at Country Mart. I also got him a pair of gloves for work. I know they won't be useful for the hand he uses to type things into his scanner. Most likely his right hand, as he's not a crazy lefty like Genius. But he can use these gloves when the weather is chilly, on days he delivers packages.

 

Temperatures have been dipping below freezing overnight here at the Mansion this past week. The Pony does NOT park under the carport, even though Farmer H cleared space for him by moving the Gator. He says he allows time to scrape his windshield. So he could use the gloves for that, too.

 

Aren't they cool? The background color and shadow of my phone does not do them justice. They're that bright HIGHLIGHTER YELLOW color. Not bad for grocery store gloves! The best part is: they were only $1.99! You can't beat that with a stick!

I actually bought The Pony a pair last week, but what I thought was size L was actually size XL. The Pony said the fingertips were a little bit long, and he'd prefer a simple size L. For $1.99, I picked up a pair the next time I went. PLUS a pair for Farmer H, who had seen the XLs, and said he wouldn't mind having some for himself. You know, for $1.99. They both like their new gloves!

 

Here's a closeup of the "honeycomb" grip, and the mesh back. Farmer H will be using his gloves to work on Pony House. He's working without a furnace, you know. Having trouble getting a call back from the heating & cooling guy, who's a former student of mine, and a distant relative of Farmer H.

If the display still has gloves left in the proper size, I might pick up a couple more pair!

The Piper Is Paid, And The Infection Is Partially Slayed

Sweet Gummi Mary! I feel like a dentist sometimes! It's like pulling teeth to get one simple task accomplished by The Pony! Not sure what would happen without me being the gale force wind beneath his wings.

The Pony worked 11 hours on Friday. I was pleasantly surprised to learn, upon his arrival back at the Mansion at 8:00, that he HAD received the email link from the USPS to repay his salary overpayment.

"Oh, are you going to pay it tonight?"

"Probably not. I think I'll wait until Monday, when the shop steward should be back at work."

"Um. I don't think so. Did you read the email? Is there a time limit? A lot of links like that are only good for a couple of hours. Like when you get a code to reset a password."

"I haven't looked at it that close, because I was working. I'll read it after I get out of the tub."

"I think you need to pay it on Saturday. There's no need to wait. You already told your shop steward that you're paying it by debit, and she agreed. So just get it done. If your case gets reversed, you'll have to fight to get your back pay anyway. So this will just be one more week added in. At least it will be done, and they can't accuse you of scamming."

I didn't talk to The Pony again until Saturday (day off because he'll be working Veteran's Day on his planned day off) at 1:00.

"Did you pay your money with the link?"

"Not yet."

"What are you waiting for?"

"It doesn't have a time limit. And besides, I haven't been up very long."

"You need to pay it before you get in the tub tonight."

"I will."

About 5:30, as I was chatting with Farmer H before he left for the auction. here came The Pony on his way to his nightly bath in the big triangle tub in the master bathroom.

"I figured I'd just pay it now. My debit card is out here. I'm pretty sure I'll need the numbers off of it."

He had the screen open. He started pecking away. Mumbling numbers. Said it was DONE! And that he had a confirmation email. He took a picture of the screen with his phone. I told him to save the email, too. And said not to be surprised if he got another such notice, since he thought he had been paid for 3 weeks.

The Pony looked back at his bank account activity, and deduced that we were both wrong. He had been paid 2 weeks. So there might be another notice coming. Meh. If it does, it does. Mrs. HM will be on the case!

In other news, I am on my fourth full day of taking my Doxycycline antibiotic. Only Saturday morning, my teeth felt almost the right size again. The shooting ear pain has been gone almost a full day. The only issue now is dizziness, and a shooting vertical pain over my left eye. Maybe a sinus is trying to get attention. My right ear is still a little painful, as is my lower jaw. I didn't take any pain medicine for 24 hours. Just my usual nightly aspirin on Friday night with supper. Then again Saturday night with supper. However... I might have stopped too soon. I think I'll take an ibuprofen around midnight. It might help a bit with the inflammation. 

Still six days left of the antibiotics. You can bet I'm going to finish every single pill.

Some Hoof Sanitizer For The Pony

Every time I go to Country Mart, I bring home a little surprise. It's usually something that catches my eye, which I had no intention of buying when I entered. They might have wonky packaging in their deli, and expired foods on their shelves, but Country Mart has a clever marketer in their midst.

I was on the household cleaning supplies aisle. I'd picked up a 9-pack of toilet paper, because you never know when hoarding might start again. And a 3-pack of Puffs With Lotion, because I was down to one box. I really wanted a roll of paper towels, but that clever marketer must have exclaimed: "Paper towels don't belong on the household cleaning aisle! Paper towels belong with the paper plates and plastic forks." While looking and looking with slim hope that I'd just overlooked the paper towels, I spied THIS:

 

Mini bottles of hand sanitizer! Something you never know you need until you see it. The orange fragrance version in my purse is getting low. I've had it a couple years. Maybe more, because I know I used it when I shopped at the Devil's Playground where I haven't been since The Pony graduated and moved home, in May 2020. My casino purse bottle, with a cinnamon roll fragrance, is still over half full.

Anyhoo... the price on this 2-pack was $1.00. That is amazing! Remember how the prices got jacked up, back when you could hardly find hand sanitizer because the hoarders bought it to jack up the price? Only $1.00 for TWO bottles! I'm pretty sure it must be the kind that's been found to be poisonous! Surely you don't think Country Mart would take poison off their shelves, when they can command 50 cents per small bottle for it!

Heh, heh! I'm sure I'll be all right! It's LUCKY Hand Sanitizer! Maybe I should switch it out with the cinnamon roll version, to carry in my GAMBLING PURSE!

I asked The Pony if he could use a small bottle. For his hooves, heh, heh! The Pony said he could.

"Mine boiled off from riding in the LLV (Long Life Vehicle) when it was so hot."

"Well, it's not a brand name that you'll recognize. It might possibly be poisonous. So don't lick your fingers after using it!"

"I don't plan to."

Farmer H will just have to be unsanitary...

Forecast: Bright And Sunny, Chance Of Leg-Pee

Sweet Gummi Mary! I wish I'd read the forecast for Thursday. I blame this oversight on my head pain from the double ear infection. I just was not thinking clearly. 

The Pony had the day off. I was still in my OPC (Old People Chair), having slept in fits and starts, when I heard his shower running at 9:30 a.m. I took my medicine, and went up to bed. At noon when I arose from my beauty sort-of sleep, The Pony was in the kitchen making pasta for his lunch. I had him bring me a banana to the table. No use over-exerting myself.

"Did you send the email to get a link to pay your post office money back?"

"Yes, Mother. Before I had a shower."

"Any response? Do you have the link?"

"Not yet."

"Did you check?"

"Yes, around 11:00."

"What about now?"

"It's NOT an automated response. Somebody has to read it."

I went about my morning routine. The Pony ate and rinsed out his dishes, then went back to his room. About 2:30, I asked again through his door if he had a response.

"Not yet."

"Okay. I'm getting in the shower, then going to town."

When I got back from town at 4:15, having NOT gone to the main post office, because I had didn't feel like driving very far, The Pony came out to the kitchen.

"Did you get a link yet?"

"No! But I DID get a SPAM email saying it's from Louis DeJoy, the Postmaster General! It's like a Nigerian money scam. It was in my spam folder. LOOK!"

I glanced at it, kind of dizzy, noting that it was, indeed a scam. 

"You STILL haven't heard anything? Did you send all the right information?"

"Yes, Mother. I sent what it asked for. My name and employee number and the amount to pay back."

"What did you put in the subject line?"

[I forget exactly what The Pony told me, but it was the right info to catch attention]

THEN I SAW IT! On the sidebar. The SENT email. With a time of 2:34.

"PONY! Why does this email say it was sent at 2:34? You told me you did it this morning!"

"Um. I THOUGHT I did it this morning? I know I had it ready. I thought I hit SEND. Sometimes my laptop won't send it if I don't have the right things open..."

"Oh, come on! You didn't send it until I left for town!"

"Nooooo... You left for town later than you think. Around 3:00."

"Then you didn't send it until I got in the shower!"

Shrug.

"I can't believe you let me keep worrying and asking if you heard back, when you hadn't even sent the email yet!!! Why couldn't you just say, 'I actually was just getting ready to send it.' Or 'I haven't sent it yet.' JUST SAY IT!"

"You're making this a bigger deal than it needs to be."

"You have 15 days to make the payment! You got the notice on Monday the 1st. You haven't got a link to pay yet. Tomorrow will be five days gone out of your 15!"

"No. Only four. I GOT it on Monday. So Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. Four. You don't count the day you get it."

"You SHOULD have done it when you were off on Tuesday. But you wanted to talk to your shop steward first. What if you don't get a link by Friday? Then you need to get a check in the mail, and HOPE that darn post office can deliver it by 15 days!" You know it won't go out until Monday morning. And there's the Veteran's Day holiday in there..."

"Mom. It's not a big deal."

I beg to differ. Don't pee on my leg and tell me that it's raining. I've seen Judge Judy.