Like Hillbilly Mom, Like Pony

The Pony was at the Mansion on Tuesday, to pick up the Acadia to drive while his Rogue is in the shop getting a new compressor for the air conditioning. To the tune of $900, we found out on Wednesday! Good thing The Pony has that casino jackpot to help him out!

Anyhoo... while here, The Pony pulled up his pants leg to show me a red area at the bottom of his calf.

"Oh, Mom. I almost pulled one of your tricks! I just about closed my leg in the car door."

"NO!"

"Yeah. How IS your leg, anyway?"

"It is healing! In fact, my nighttime bandaid has been dry for about a week. I'm leaving the bandaid off tonight when I go to bed. It has a scab, and the scab isn't sticking out now. I know it's healing, because it itches so much!"

 

"Don't scratch it!"

 

"I scratch all around it, but not on it."

"You are playing a dangerous game!"

Heh, heh. I am very careful not to scratch off that scab. I hope The Pony is very careful not to close his leg in the door of A-Cad.

Zirconium, We Hardly Knew Ye

Welp! That's done. As I feared, Back-Creek Neighbor Bev had her dog euthanized on Tuesday. Maybe she didn't have a choice, what with the bitten old lady going to the hospital for treatment of her hand. Maybe it's a requirement if a biter isn't up-to-date on the rabies shot. Still, it's a sad situation.

 

I call that dog Zirconium, but her real name was Diamond. She stayed with us for a week, and never bit anybody. Well. Except for Jack and Juno, and there was probably some provocation there. Here are 3 posts about dear departed Diamond. One even has a picture of her.

Zirconium In The Ruff 

Farmer H Discovers That A Zirconium Requires Protection 

The Mansions Fleabags Go Fer-Zirc 

Anyhoo... I'm sad that Diamond came to this end. I guess if I had a prolific biter, I'd make sure he had all his shots on schedule. We started out with all our pets having regular vet visits and vaccinations. Always with the baby ones, for the shots and worming. Then it got pretty time-consuming to drive them all 30 minutes to their appointments. Five cats and three dogs and two boys is a lot of pent-up energy to juggle. So gradually we'd let a checkup slide, and then a vaccination or two. By the time my little Jack arrived, he just got his puppy visit, and skipped the 'very special operation.'

So... I'm not judging Bev on her pet care. My pets are not angels. Jack nipped the neighbor down the road when Farmer H drove the Gator to return the guy's tractor part he found in the road. Jack was just fine until the guy turned to walk away, and then nipped him on the ankle! Heelers gonna heel! As I recall, no skin was broken. I don't remember if it's because of Jack's tiny dachshund mouth, or if the neighbor was wearing work boots, or if Jack just didn't bite that hard. And my Sweet, Sweet Juno herself took a chomp at young HOSS (Farmer H's Oldest Son's Son) one evening out on Shackytown Boulevard. Not sure what was going on there, since Juno is more likely to keep a distance and bark than run up and get involved.

Poor Diamond was just doing what a dog would do. Defending her new territory against intruders. Bev is an excitable kind, and doesn't like anyone on her property, and dogs pick up on that energy.

Farewell, Diamond/Zirconium. We hardly knew ye.

The Curious Case Of The Dog In The Daytime

I don't even know where to start with this story, and I WISH I didn't have a hunch how it's going to end.

Farmer H went back to work on Back-Creek Neighbor Bev's house on Monday. He said Bev in a frenzy. Seems her dog had bitten an old lady on the hand, and shredded the skin. It was the lady she bought the house from.

"Bev was nuts! She came up and told me she had to do something about her dog. She begged me to take her out and shoot her! I told her I couldn't do that. She kept insisting, because now that dog has bitten five people that I know of. Two of them are ME and Old Buddy! But still, I'm not going to shoot her dog."

"Didn't you say that dog had her shots?"

"Yeah. As far as I know."

"Well, then the person will be okay, and surely Bev has homeowner's insurance, so it should pay for the medical bills if that bitten lady sues her."

"You'd think. Old Buddy said Bev jumped all over HIM, telling him he should have tied the dog up! It's not Old Buddy's responsibility to take care of Bev's dog!"

Later in the evening, Nick called Farmer H at home, to see if he'd be working there on Tuesday.

"I told him yeah, until 2:00. They don't like to leave their house unattended, so one of them will have to be there when I leave. But he said they are taking the dog to the vet for a rabies test. The old lady she bit went to the hospital."

"I thought the only way to test a dog for rabies is to kill it, and mail in its head."

"That's what I thought."

"Surely she's not taking that dog to be euthanized! They live in the country! That dog isn't bothering anybody. They should tie her up when they're expecting somebody. Or they could put up a clothesline, and let her have a run in the yard. I wouldn't want a dog that has to be penned up or chained. A dog should be able to be a dog, unless you want to keep it in the house."

"They don't keep her in the house. They used to put her in the basement at their old place, if someone was coming."

"I'd just hate to see them put her down. She has nipped people coming into her yard, not escaped and latched on with a death grip trying to kill them."

"I told her, 'Bev, just take her to obedience school to break her of that biting.' But she still wanted me to shoot her dog! I thought the dog had its rabies shot, the way Bev carried on about feeding it scraps, and how she takes care of her. Now I'm not so sure."

The only optimistic information I could find is that if a dog has the rabies virus in its saliva when it bites you, then penning up that dog to watch it for 10 days can show if it has rabies or not, because they'll die in 10 days if rabies has progressed enough to be in their saliva. 

 

The bitee still has to have rabies shots, I think. Though dog rabies in the U.S. is very uncommon. A dog has to be bitten by a rabid animal to catch it, and if the dog has its shot, it won't. But seriously, it's not like the countryside is crawling with rabid animals.

I guess we'll find out the conclusion in a few days...

Food, Less Than Glorious Food

The bad thing about the casino we went to Thursday is their food options. We used to love going there, to have lunch at Burger Brothers. Ahh... good times. However, since the VIRUS years, Burger Brothers is only open on the weekends, and their hours start at 4:00 p.m. We are daytime casino people! We need lunch!

 

The other choices we have are a breakfast place, open until 11:00 a.m., where we took Genius during his last visit. OR we could go to the BeerHouse, which opens at noon, and has burgers for $15.95. No thank you. We consulted The Pony on Thursday, to see if he wanted to have breakfast food. He did not. Seems he had eaten two Little Debbie Nutty Buddies before driving out to the Mansion.

We discussed where to have lunch. Along with my nagging back pain that day, I was feeling a bit off in the food department. Not exactly nauseated, but the thought of food was not appealing. It's like my food stomach had squared off with my poop stomach, and both were spoiling for a fight to see who would reign victorious.

"We could eat lunch at Raising Cane's. I know you liked it in Oklahoma."

"I never ate at one. That must have been Dad."

"Oh. Yeah. Maybe it was just Dad."

"I don't know. Do they have anything besides chicken?"

"No. Just the chicken tenders. And fries. And a sandwich, but it's made of the chicken tenders. I get mine on Texas Toast."

"I don't know if my stomach wants that."

"Yeah. If you're queasy, then fried food isn't the way to go."

"There's Bandana's Barbecue on the way home."

"I don't think I ever ate there."

"We took Genius. But you might not like anything there. They have a Terrible Tater. You could get than, and have them serve the meat on the side. Then you could have a giant baked potato."

"I could figure something out."

Anyhoo... lunch was still up in the air until we left the casino. I was feeling better, and agreed to try Raising Cane's. But after the final developments at the casino, we let Farmer H choose where to eat. He didn't tell us. He just drove us there. To a place that used to be a Bonanza Steak House, but was now some off-brand steak house with a buffet. It wasn't bad. But it wasn't great.

We all chose to have just the buffet, since I asked if it had meat, and was told that it had fried chicken. Good enough for me! As we stepped up to get our plates, there was a sign, and a box of clear plastic gloves, asking you to put a glove on the hand you used for grabbing the handles of the dipping utensils. Farmer H and I dutifully put on a glove, which was a struggle. They were like those clear plastic bags you rip off at the store, to put your produce in. The kind that sticks together, and you can't get them open.

Anyhoo... The Pony ranged ahead, not wanting what was in front of the glove station. We worked our way around the horseshoe-shaped buffet. Hick and I got two plates, since walking back for the second might have accidentally used up some calories, heh, heh. The Pony got one plate, and went back for another.

 

The Pony had macaroni and cheese, some pulled pork, which is already gone here, since he made a sandwich on another roll. Also mashed potatoes and gravy, spaghetti, and rigatoni or some such pasta. That's a big feed for The Pony, who usually doesn't strap on much of a feedbag at places like this.

 

Farmer H had a salad and some peas. There's another one of those yeast rolls. The Pony and Farmer H are real bread-lovers. I would have had a salad, but my stomachs were still having a disagreement, though it had de-escalated considerably.

 

Farmer H also had two pieces of fried chicken, green beans, macaroni and cheese, and mashed potatoes with brown gravy. You can see our discarded gloves in the background. And my Diet Pepsi in the foreground, which looks so delectable now, but at the time was just something I took a few sips from.

 

My first plate had three chicken wings, which I came to before I found the actual chicken. The wings were a bit dry. Also some pulled pork, which was delicious. And a roll, which I had intended to use to make a sandwich like The Pony, but changed my mind. I also had some of that rigatoni style noodle. It was one of the worst things I ever ate. Cold. Overdone. An unremarkable sauce without much flavor. I only took two bites. One would have been plenty, but I thought the second bite might be better.

 

My second plate had mashed potatoes with white gravy. They were okay. And a chicken thigh, which was the most tasty thing on that buffet. It was juicy and crispy and done just right. That's more pulled pork. Not as much as it looks like in the picture. It was about the size of the chicken thigh if I had straightened out that pile. I didn't eat all of it, because I'd already had some on my other plate, and it was very rich, which I think is another word for fatty. I don't like to waste food, but I took too much, after seeing everything on the buffet, and picking what I thought I'd like.

I forgot to take pictures of the dessert plates. The Pony had some chocolate mousse, which he liked, and a sugar cookie with sprinkles on top that he raved about, and went back for another. He also had two more rolls, with a pile of butter that he had missed the first time.

"I can't believe it, Mom. To get the butter, they had an actual TROWEL!"

Farmer H had one of the sprinkle cookies, and I think some kind of pudding, and a bowl of soft-serve chocolate ice cream with chocolate chips and cookie crumbs he sprinkled on it. He let me try a bite of the ice cream, but it was tasteless, and I didn't like the consistency, which was kind of icy, not smooth. If I had gotten my own dessert, I probably would have gone for the blue jello squares. Good thing I was too full for dessert.

Anyhoo... that was our dining experience. I would go there again, and probably have fried chicken, mashed potatoes, a roll, and some pulled pork. Maybe start with a salad of lettuce, cheese, mushrooms, and onions. Maybe the jello.

Now we know it's a dining option when we go to that casino.

It Must Have Been A Casino Hangover

Friday morning, I awoke with a headache. A severe headache. Even though I went back to sleep, in a different position, my headache did not go away. It was in my forehead, over my eyes. The area hurt to touch it. It hurt without touching it. I could not get comfortable. Sitting up would relieve it a bit for a couple minutes, but then whatever was going on in my head shifted itself to hurt again.

I can usually withstand pain fairly well, though you may not think so because I bring up every little issue. Hey! It fills space! Anyhoo... this headache made me try tapping on my forehead as a distraction. And exhaling in short bursts like childbirthing. Again, it was a distraction that helped a bit, for a short time.

The headache pain made me feel nauseated as well. I'm pretty sure it was just a pain thing. I was pretty miserable going through my regular routine. The thyroid pill did nothing to help. Nor my other two regular medications for blood pressure and heart-slowing. Nor the daily aspirin.

Maybe the headache just wore itself out, because by 4:30 I felt well enough to make my trip to town. On the way, I met Farmer H in SilverRedO coming home. It was on the section of road where I saw two kids wreck their 4-wheeler many years ago, and take down a farmer's barb wire fence. Just before SilverRedO got to T-Hoe, a little deer bounded across the road. So cute! Good thing we had both slowed down in preparation to stop in the road to chat.

"Are you just now going to town?"

"Yeah. I felt terrible most of the day. A really bad headache."

"I had one too! When I woke up. I was sick to my stomach. I felt really bad."

"Maybe it was from the casino air. I had a headache last time too, the day after we took Genius."

We parted ways then. I did my town thing. Later that evening, I sent The Pony a text. Thursday evening, he had been planning to celebrate his next-day off with some rum and grape juice. That's what he'd been talking about on the way home from the casino.

"I don't know if rum goes with grape juice. But it might. I don't have any wine, because that day I got called back to work while shopping in the Devil's Playground, I was in uniform, and they don't want us buying alcohol or lottery or stuff like that unless we put on a sweater or change clothes first. But I have that rum from when I moved out. And I already had the grape juice."

In the text, I asked how was the rum and grape juice.

"It wasn't great. I think the grape juice might have gone bad? It smelled musty, sorta? I only had a few sips, but it might've been that rum and grape juice don't mix well."

"Hope you didn't get sick. Dad and I both woke up with severe forehead headaches, and nausea."

"Not as of yet! Taste was just too off to get into it. Oof! No, didn't have a headache or nausea. I think the only thing you two had for lunch that I didn't was the fried chicken at the buffet?"

"I'm thinking it was not enough water all day. And also not enough Diet Mountain Dew for Dad. AND that smoky air in the casino."

We'll see what happens next time we go... Coming up tomorrow, pictures of our meal. Which may give you a clue to diagnose us!

Sick Bay Report

Don't worry! None of the Hillbilly family has an actual sickness. We're just old. And used to breathing fresh air. The Pony is fit as a fiddle, and hopefully has developed an immunity to dog bites after being bitten three times.

Anyhoo... The Pony arrived at 8:30 Thursday morning for our casino trip. While waiting for Farmer H to come in the house, fresh from getting all sweated-up before our trip by rider-mowing for an hour... I confessed to The Pony that I felt like crap.

"Oh, no!"

"Don't worry. I'm still going. But my back hurts SO MUCH that I can hardly stand it."

"I was worried that it was something with your leg. How is it?"

"See? It's got a scab on it. Almost well. Do you think I should cover it for the trip?"

"I think so. You wouldn't want that scab to fall off if you bump it."

True. That scab was all bumped out, just waiting to be jostled so it could break loose. So I put a bandaid over it for the day. It traveled well. My back was another story. I was writhing while riding shotgun in A-Cad. Even more than I usually squirm on a trip with Farmer H behind the wheel.

"I hope this is just something muscular, and nothing to do with my kidneys! I have no idea what's wrong. It's on both sides, and I can hardly stand it."

I leaned from side to side, kneading my back with alternate fists. I didn't want to think about walking around the casino with my cane. That locks it up if I go too far without sitting to relax. In fact, I start out just carrying the cane, using it mostly as I stand and let my knees loosen up. 

Anyhoo... lucky for me, once I took my thyroid pill right before we arrived, and it had about 2 hours to work, my back pain almost disappeared. Funny how the thyroid works. Without it, all the other hormones and vital endocrine-system condiments barely do their job. So maybe I just needed the natural pain-killing part of my body juices to get that little boost back to normal.

On the way home, my back felt just fine, thanks to A-Cad's seat-back heater. Then Farmer H turned onto the back entrance gravel road with two miles remaining to the Mansion, and hit every pothole. The deepest one wrenched me off the seat, and my back started screaming at me. So much that after a trip to town (of course!) I had to lay down on the bed on my side, and let it relax.

My knees were a little cranky, but that's to be expected. What was NOT expected was the next-day infirmities. More on that tomorrow. Before you frown and groan, let me brighten your mood by informing you that FARMER H was also afflicted!

Technical Difficultness

Sorry. I'm not in a mood to spend more time with BLOGGER tonight. It took 2 HOURS to get a post up on my not-so-secret blog. Something is jacked up. Hinky. There's clog in the cogs of BLOGGER. We won't even discuss the effort to put up a picture. And that cursor jumping up to the middle of a previous paragraph about eleventy-billion times. Or why I keep finding Blog Buddy River hiding out in SPAM.

The cloud thing went all spinny and wouldn't save. Every time I typed in a title it disappeared as soon as I was done. It could be my internet, but HIPPIE says it's working. It could be HIPPIE, though I did a restart, which also took a long time, but then my PHONE was going all slow too.

I also had trouble getting my music to play on Spotify. It never would load. So I heard every detail of the 90-minute episode of Alone that Farmer H was watching, even though I planned on watching it on the second showing at midnight. So now I know somebody went home, and who it was, and why!

THEN my phone said I had to do an update to use my MoLottery app to scan my tickets and make sure I didn't miss a winner. So it sounds like my internet issue. But Farmer H used HIS phone and had no problems looking things up as he is wont to do.

I'm pretty sure Even Steven is messing with me. You'll find out why on my other blog, on Monday.

The Hillmomba Triangle

Farmer H brought me the mail today, just as I was gathering up my stuff for town. I had Genius's weekly letter, the trash bill payment, and the AT&T bill payment. Of course Farmer H handed me the electric bill.

"Oh, great. I was just leaving. Now I have to write out two more bills!"

When I opened the electric bill, only ONE bill was inside. That is not normal. We always get TWO bills. The house is separate from the BARn, since when we first bought the property, the BARn was all we built on it. They have separate meters, so separate bills. Yet I only had one!

I turned to tell Farmer H about it, but he had disappeared faster that The Sidler in Elaine's office. Next thing I saw him out the window, parking the Gator next to Poolio. I sent him a text that there was only one bill. I wrote out the check and took it to town with me anyway. I'll have to call if we don't get the other one in a separate envelope in a couple days.

Farmer H returned my text, saying "That was all that was in the mailbox."

Well. Yes. The envelope was not opened. So I couldn't blame a ne'er-do-well, or even Farmer H himself for stealing a bill. 

When I got home from town, I sent Farmer H down to the basement to my lair, because he's been needing the tax receipts from the past two years to go get license for T-Hoe that expires in July. When he came upstairs, he had nothing resembling the little envelope with the tax receipts. He had a BIG envelope, handwritten by me, with 2021 Tax Receipts. They are different.

Oh, Farmer H can use the one in that envelope. But he still needs 2020. It takes the past TWO years of receipts. He swore that he got exactly what I told him, but he himself knows that the regular tax receipts are in a tiny envelope mailed by by the county clerk. He always uses them to get licenses. I bring them up, and he gives them back for me to put away.

Funny thing, upon checkbook register perusal, I discovered that Farmer H got license for A-Cad in JANUARY this year. He was trying to tell me he hadn't used those receipts since last year, before I even paid the taxes in November.

So if he got the license in January, that's when I was sick. So definitely not hiking up and down the basement stairs. And THEN I was in the hospital for four days, trying not to die. And THEN I was in no shape to hike up and down those stairs for a couple months. 

I'm thinking Farmer H has something to do with the disappearance of those tax receipts. He can always go to the courthouse and get a copy. But in a few days I'll go downstairs and look for myself. I have a casino trip planned, and I'm not going to irritate my knees right before that!

Anyhoo... Farmer H had his hands on those missing documents. I just can't prove that he made them disappear.

When You're On, You're Off...

And when you're off, you're on!

How convenient, a companion piece to yesterday's post has fallen into my lap. Or at least into my shattered cell phone. The Pony sent me a text this morning.

 

10:10 "Well, work did a whoopsie. Scheduled 4 of us while they only had 3 cars to give out. So I'm off until like 2:00 when they get something back for me to drive. Could've had the full day off if I wasn't so nice - I offered to come back in later when they have a car so that the other CCAs don't have to drive out to Backroads and deal with it on top of their own stuff."

 

10:41 [I was in the midst of my beauty sleep!] "So nice!"

 

10:42 "And of course halfway through a Devil's Playground trip they found one!"

 

10:43 "So now you're going?"

 

10:43 "Yeah, once I get checked out and unloaded." 

I suppose The Pony decided to take his un-air-conditioned car to the Devil's Playground, since he was already up and dressed and out of the house. At least Pony House is between the Devil's Playground and "the office," so he could drop off his groceries on the way back to work. He was only about 4 miles away. Not like he was still living out here.

2:41 "Had a tire go out! They got it fixed, but I'm off early."

It's probably for the best. The Pony returned to his cool, cool, house. The temperature was 99 degrees when I was in town at 4:30.

Farmer H has an appointment for next Wednesday to get The Pony's car fixed. He can't figure out why all the mechanics are so busy. I hope Mick the Mechanic didn't put a note in Farmer H's file, saying he was "difficult."

When You're Hot, You're Not...

And when you're not, you're hot!

The Pony brought Chinese food out to the Mansion on Monday evening. Farmer H went over to Shackytown Boulevard where it's shady, to work on The Pony's car. He came in looking for his special computer thingy that diagnoses what's wrong with a car. Finally found it in SilverRedO. Couldn't find the book that tells what the codes are. So The Pony looked them up online with his phone.

The Pony's Nissan Rogue is not fixable by Farmer H. Something is wrong with his air conditioner's compressor. Farmer H says he will try to get an appointment to get it fixed, but probably the earliest would be on Thursday. Which is okay with The Pony, who is scheduled off work on Thursday. 

 

The Pony turned down the offer of driving A-Cad to have air conditioning during these days of temps in the mid-90s. To be fair, The Pony DOES just drive about a half mile to work, and then home. It's not like he's commuting to the city, or driving to town from the Mansion.

Anyhoo... while The Pony may be hot temperaturewise, he is NOT hot on the scratchers! I cashed in his previous winners over the past week, but all he won on his new tickets was ONE TICKET, which is worth $1. 

Although I am chillin' in my air conditioning, and have T-Hoe back with cool air blowing during our drives, I am HOT! Hot in the lottery department! Yesterday I won $184!!!

 

I had a $100 winner on this $20 Cash Bonanza ticket. It's the oldest ticket still available, and has some good winners left. Got it out of Country Mart's left machine.

 

That's a $60 winner on a $3 Crossword! I had 7 words, plus the bonus word that's worth $10. I also got this ticket out of Country Mart's left machine. Guess where I'm not buying tickets from for a few days!

The others were smaller assorted winners, and I don't take pictures of them. 

Poor Pony. Hot and not-hot. In the worst way.

Mrs. HM. Not-hot, and hot. In the good way.

The Unfortunate Series Of Calamities Continues

The Hillbilly family's streak of unfortunate calamities has extended to The Pony! It found him on Wednesday or Thursday.

 

"Sorry for all these texts, but my car's AC may or may not be working. I'll have to wait until I drive somewhere far enough away to give it enough time to get to where it would usually work, but yesterday at least it just blew hot air for like 15 minutes."

It's not the quantity of The Pony's texts that are a problem, but the quality. Instead of being one or two lines, each one is a complete War and Peace. Or, as Jerry 'informed' Elaine, the original title: War, What is it Good For? [at around 1:15 of this 2:43 clip] 

"I guess Dad could come by and take a look at it."

"Except my car will be, yknow, at work."

"He will be one block away at the Senior Center having lunch!"

"As long as he can find it and, if he drives anywhere, park it back where it was."

Because, you know, Farmer H can't remember what The Pony's car looks like enough to notice it lurking among six other cars on the post office parking lot, and likes nothing better than to play pranks on The Pony by hiding his car...

"The AC could be fine, but it just felt weird that sitting there on max for so long it just kept blowing hot. He'll probably know better."

"Dad says he'll take it to your house to look at it, then put it back where he got it."

Farmer H says the compressor is not working. He bought some freon, but can't add it unless he resets something about the compressor, because it won't kick on if the freon is low, and won't know that the freon isn't low unless he resets that thingy. Or there might just be a bad fuse.

Anyhoo... The Pony is bringing his car out on Monday, I think. Farmer H needs a place where he can sit down on grass, and reach around on both sides under the dash.

Hopefully, he can get it fixed so The Pony doesn't have to pay for a new compressor, and drive A-Cad around while his Rogue is in the shop.

A $20 DARE

I went in Country Mart on Wednesday, just for the scratcher machines. A young man was in the vestibule between the two sets of sliding doors, beside a table set up with T-shirts and caps. He smiled and nodded as I went in. On my way out, he started his spiel. 

 

"Excuse me, can I talk to you for a minute about the D.A.R.E. program? It stands for Drug Abuse Resistance Education. Funding has been discontinued, and some schools are having trouble keeping the program--"

 

"I am familiar with the D.A.R.E. program. I'm a retired teacher. So you don't have to sell me on D.A.R.E."

 

"Would you care to make a donation?"

 

Here's the thing. I have no problem making a donation. I've said before, I prefer to do it on my own, with a check, for record-keeping purposes. I am not a fan of people asking for handouts in person. Unless they need 10:00 a.m. whiskey, or a cheap vape, of course!

 

Anyhoo... this young man was such a good "salesman" that I wanted to make a donation. The problem was that I didn't have my purse. Only money in the pocket of my shirt. Money that consisted of a $1 bill, and a $20 bill. If I'm donating money, I don't want to be a penny-pinching miser! So the $1 bill was out. I normally wouldn't donate $20. But for D.A.R.E., and this super-charity-salesman, I would.

 

"Can I get a receipt if I donate cash?"

 

"Oh, sure. I have a receipt book."

 

"Gotta have my tax records, heh, heh."

 

"Yes. I can write you a receipt."

 

"Okay. Here's my donation."

 

"Oh! Great! Thank you!"

 

He wrote out my receipt.

 

"My mother and auntie are teachers, too."

 

"Oh, what do they teach?"

 

"My mother teaches high school algebra, and my auntie does something in special education."

 

"My own aunt was the head of the special education department. I taught high school biology and physical science."

 

"Oh! Science was my favorite!"

 

"It's getting harder and harder to be a teacher these days. Especially with the lockdowns and teaching from home."

 

"I know! My mom said that was the worst!"

 

"It would be really hard for algebra."

 

"She said the kids would be sleeping at home during class."

 

"Yeah. Imagine trying to dissect something for science class!"

 

"A whole bunch of kids have been cheated out of the most interesting part of school ever! I loved that stuff!"

 

"Yes. It was always my favorite, too."

 

"Thank you for your donation."

 

"You're welcome. If I wasn't a retired teacher, I would not have given that donation!"

 

When I went back to Country Mart on Friday, on my unknowing way to be short-fished, that young man, and two young ladies were at the donation table. He nodded and greeted me. So they knew not to start soliciting. 

 

It was a better use of the space than when the window salesmen have that table.

Mrs. HM : Short-Fished & Rubbed The Wrong Way

Friday afternoon, I stopped by Country Mart to pick up a fish dinner for Farmer H. I was going to get it for him a couple weeks ago, but he had fish at the Senior Center that day for lunch. He's taken to dropping in there for a $3 meal when he's in town working on Pony House. THIS TIME, he said he saw the menu, and the Senior Center was having fried chicken on Friday. Which is what I'd intended to get for him at the deli. So he switched his supper to fish, with sides of green beans and mashed potatoes with brown gravy.

My two favorite deli workers were nowhere in sight. The lady who makes the pinwheels correctly, and the dude who is so friendly and worried about me upon hearing of my Unfortunate HospitVALzation. Both of them always look out for me, giving me an extra piece if the leftovers in the bin are small, and advising me that asking for the gravy to be SEPARATE will give me more mashed potatoes!

Anyhoo... they must have been off, because the gal who came to wait on me was the Young Trainee I saw last week. Also, that dark-haired manager woman was lurking in the background. I do not like her! You know how some people just rub you the wrong way? That's HER! The first time I ever saw her was when I was standing at the cold counter, looking at the prepared salads, and she was standing at the opening in the counter that acts as a door, gossiping with another worker. She had the nerve to stop talking, stare at me, and say, "Yes?" Sweet Gummi Mary! I was a CUSTOMER, by cracky, looking over the merchandise! I wanted nothing from her! It's not my fault she was airing her dirty laundry right there in a place of business!

 

Anyhoo... I felt bad for Farmer H. The fish looked terrible! Normally, they are about 6-8 inches long. These were maybe 4 inches. Thin and twisted. Only five in the whole bin. But Farmer H had wished for fish, and fish he would get.

 

"I'd like a fish dinner. Three pieces. I know they come as a two-piece, and I'll have to pay extra for the third. Also, I'd like green beans, and mashed potatoes with brown gravy as the sides."

 

Young Trainee got the styrofoam container. She tonged out two pieces of fish. Then asked again about the sides.

 

"Oh. I wanted three pieces of fish."

 

"I know."

 

"But you only put in two."

 

"I have to do the other one separate."

 

"Huh. Everyone else just puts it in the same container."

 

"It's sold by the pound. So I'll have to weigh it."

 

That was news to me. They usually charged by the piece. But I saw Dark-Haired Manager Woman moseying up front. So I let it go. I didn't need her two cents.

 

"Doesn't it come with hush puppies?"

 

"Oh, yeah. They're over here in the separate bin."

 

Young Trainee put in 3 hush puppies. Their diameter is less than a quarter. Usually, they give 2 hush puppies per fish. She put in the green beans and mashed potatoes, then put another piece of fish in a paper sack, and went to weigh it. The price was $1.50. I could not even tell anything was in that bag when I lifted it! Apparently, the dinner is $9.99. They list it as '1 pound at $9.99 a pound.' But the single piece of fish was 0.10 pound at $14.99 a pound!

 

 

I did not know all this until I was back in T-Hoe, perusing the receipt. That made me spittin' mad! It would be different if it was the GOOD fish! 

Anyhoo... I kind of got back at them without knowing it. I asked if they had enough chicken in the bin for an 8-piece. I could see what looked like around 8 pieces, but I didn't see the proper combo of cuts. It should come with 2 breasts, 2 thighs, 2 legs, and 2 wings. You might recall that the last time I was there, they promised me an 8-piece if I waited 20 minutes for it to cook, and when I came back in, they had given it to somebody else. That gosh-darn Black-Haired Manager Woman had a hand in that!

Anyhoo... I could tell by the look on Young Trainee that she did NOT want to give me that chicken. But she said, as unenthusiastically as you can imagine: "It looks like we have JUST enough." She tonged it into a box for me. Heh, heh! When I got it home, I saw that I had 5 large breasts, 1 leg, and 2 wings. She'd made sure to give me the very worst wings, all emaciated, and mostly batter. But I had 5 GIANT BREASTS! I'm sure they were saving those for someone. Perhaps themselves! The only chicken left in that bin was 2 other wings.

Young Trainee made a show of telling Dark-Haired Manager Woman: "I'm going to have to fry more chicken."

What in the NOT HEAVEN? It was 4:30 on a Friday night! I guarantee you that I was not the last person coming into that store to pick up chicken! Perhaps they might try to cut off cooking around 6:00 or 6:30. But certainly not at 4:30!

 

Oh, and she didn't even give me the roll that's supposed to come with a dinner!

If the GOOD deli workers had been on duty, they would have given me all the fish, because they were so small. More hush puppies. Plus, they would likely have tossed in those 2 other chicken wings, because they didn't have the right combo of pieces to give me. They would have been mortified to forget the roll!

Customer service is hit-and-miss at this place!

A Man And His Poolio

Farmer H finally got Poolio looking swimmable. He kept complaining to the pool store about their recommendations when he took in water samples. One time they'd tell him it was too alkaline, and the next time that it was too acidic. Even if he didn't do anything to the water in between visits! They kept recommending one product or the other. 

Finally, Farmer H hooked up that thingy that crawls across the surface of Poolio, with an umbilical-like appendage that is attached to a thingy that it drags across the bottom of the pool. The thingy on top is mostly triangle-shaped. Like a UFO on the surface of a swimming pool. I think the dragged part eats up the algae on the bottom, or at least knocks it loose to go through the filter. Anyhoo... the water was nice and clear over the past couple days. Farmer H actually took a dip!

So far this year, Farmer H has spent $296.15 on chemicals, trying to get Poolio in shape for the summer season. And he has taken two dips. So that's $148.08 per swim right now! Hopefully, he will take other swims this pool season! 

In typical Farmer H fashion, he declined a new air mattress to float on in Poolio. I offered. They have them at Country Mart. Or at the Dollar Store beside Save A Lot. Just a cheap float that you blow up with your mouth, to wrestle yourself on top of to bob on the surface of the water. But no. Farmer H said he already had an air mattress. No need to get another one.

The next day I came home and was told by Farmer H that his air mattress is getting old. A suggestion, I suppose, that he'd like a new one. It's not like they're expensive. I could get him one for $5. Of course he didn't need one when it was MY idea, and I was on the way to the store where I could get one.

The preferred air mattress used by Farmer H is kind of an oval blow-up ring, with a net portion in the middle. So he floats partially under water, keeping cool. I'm pretty sure that one came from the Devil's Playground. Where I no longer set foot. So we can ask The Pony to pick one up. Or I can look online.

I gotta admit, it's much more fun to look out the kitchen window and see Farmer H trying to get on top of one of those cheap grocery store air mattresses, that are too narrow for him to lie on comfortably. It's like watching a man wrestle an alligator, when the alligator is winning.

T-Hoe, I Hardly Blew Ye

Tuesday, Farmer H took me on a last-minute trip to our new favorite casino. He had some business to do with his pawn shop lady. Farmer H said we could pick up T-Hoe when we got back. Good thing we weren't just sitting at home waiting on that phone call! At 4:30, about halfway back, Farmer H's phone in A-Cad's radio rang. It was the guy who said he'd call when T-Hoe was ready.

 

"Okay. We'll be there around 5:15. You can just put the key inside and lock it up. We have the other set of keys."

 

Since Farmer H had already paid, there was no need to go inside. We got there about 5:30. Saw T-Hoe parked facing out, all ready for my ample rumpus. Farmer H had some items to drop off at his Storage Unit Store. He made sure I got in and T-Hoe started, then went the other direction. I took T-Hoe to the Gas Station Chicken Store for scratchers.

It was 97 degrees in Hillmomba. Had been 100 down in casino city. On my way home, T-Hoe's air conditioner was blowing nice and cool. Cooler, even, than before he got worked on! Hmm. I wondered if maybe they had put in some freon when they fixed those hoses and added antifreeze. I made a mental note to ask Farmer H. He had the itemized bill.

 

I enjoyed the cool air immensely. Actually, that's how I do pretty much everything. Immensely!

 

When I drove T-Hoe into the garage, I reached to turn the fan back down. It had been blowing on HIGH, and I usually keep it on low, so as not to disturb my lovely lady-mullet. In turning down the fan, I noticed that the thermostat was set on 60! Not on the 72 that I keep it on.

 

Pretty sure there was no new freon... I discarded my mental note for Farmer H.

Proof Of The Under-My-Roof Controlling Contrarian

On Saturday, The Pony sent me a text that he was off work, and getting Domino's Pizza. He emphasized that they were having a half-price sale until Sunday. So I asked Farmer H if he wanted pizza on Sunday night, and he said he did.

 

"Remember that garlic dipping sauce of MINE that you took last time? Do you want me to get you some of that when I put in the order?"

 

"Yeah. That would be good."

 

"Okay. I'm getting us each two of the garlic sauce, and two of the marinara sauce. So we'll have it for two days, for the leftovers."

 

When we picked up the pizza, those weirdo workers didn't even put the sauces in a bag! They laid them on top of the pizza box! Of course Farmer H didn't ask for a bag. He balanced them to the car, and then had to set them on the floor beside the pizza box. At least I made him put them on the floor! He was trying to put that box on A-Cad's leather seat!

 

"NO! Put that on the floor mat. And you'll have to set the sauce off the box, or they'll go flying when you turn the curves."

 

Farmer H was able to do that correctly. Gold star for him! He even stacked those eight sauce cups back on the pizza box to carry them into the Mansion.

 

"Remember, you get a garlic sauce and a marinara sauce tonight, and then you also get one of each tomorrow."

 

Again, Farmer H was able to follow directions. 

 

Monday evening, I warmed the pizza in the oven. I set a marinara and a garlic sauce on top of the burner that has a little vent hole that heat comes through from the oven. I was going to have mine later, so I did not bother to put my sauces over there just yet.

 

"Okay! Your pizza is warm. You can come get it. There's your sauces. I know the garlic sauce is warm. It's a smaller container. But I think the marinara is pretty warm, too."

 

"I don't want the garlic sauce. You can have it."

 

"WAIT! That's the one you stole from me last time! And then you said you wanted me to get you some this time. You even ate one last night."

 

"Yeah. I don't really want the garlic sauce."

 

That's the way the cookie crumbles. That's the way to protect your garlic sauce: order enough for the thief, who will decide it's not worth stealing. 

T-Hoe Is A Hostage

T-Hoe was supposed to be fixed on Monday, and sleeping in the garage right now. He is NOT! T-Hoe is in town, in a strange garage, yearning for me, I'm sure, as I am for him.

We took T-Hoe to town on Sunday evening. Farmer H was happy that Mick the Mechanic is away from his shop for two weeks. He found out from a worker there, who stopped by his Storage Unit Store. This will prevent awkwardness between them, ever since the SilverRedO misdiagnosis, which resulted in Farmer H taking SilverRedO elsewhere, for cheaper and correct repairs. 

Anyhoo... Farmer H went by there Monday morning, and checked back on Monday afternoon. T-Hoe was scheduled for a heater hose replacement, any other rotten hose transplants, an oil change, and an inspection needed to renew his license. Farmer H returned home around 2:30.

"The guy is going to call me. They have one hose left to do, and they're waiting for it to come on the parts truck. I'm going to work on the pool until I hear. Unless you want to go now, and do your stuff, and it will probably be done."

"No. I don't want to have to kill time if it's not ready."

I fiddled around a while. Finally took a shower at 3:45. At 4:15, I went out to holler at Farmer H. Who still has not dipped a dainty tootsie in Poolio all summer.

"We can go now, if you want. Did you hear from the guy?"

"No. But my phone doesn't work good down here."

"Okay. We can go. Just in case they don't get the part. At least I'll stop in the store, and get my tickets."

Off we went. Three stops. Farmer H thought he saw T-Hoe parked out front as we went by. So thought we'd get him on the way back home. We pulled into the gravel lot, and I saw a black TRUCK that Farmer H must have mistaken for T-Hoe, who was nowhere to be seen. Farmer H went inside the office. He returned shortly.

"We'll get it tomorrow. It's not done. The part wasn't on the parts truck."

"I don't mind, because I already got today's town stuff done. But I bet they forgot to order the part."

"No, HM. You don't know anything. Sometimes, the part just isn't on the truck."

"Especially if they forgot to order it!"

Heh, heh. I was feeling a bit ornery. But at least I knew how things always seem to go, and didn't sit home until 6:00 (closing time) only to realize the guy never called to say T-Hoe was ready.

One Way, Or Another, You're Gonna Get Me, You're Gonna Give Me The Drip

Sunday evening we dropped off T-Hoe at Mick the Mechanic's shop. Then Farmer H drove me to pick up scratchers, then mailed a couple bills, got gas in A-Cad, and picked up pizza from Domino's. While I was getting out of A-Cad before he pulled into the garage, Farmer H got out to pee. Because, you know, the outdoors is just one big toilet.

 

I was puzzled a few minutes later when I went to change clothes in the master bathroom, and saw liquid on the toilet seat! In THREE places! I wiped it off and came back out to the living room to interrogate Farmer H.

"WHY is there pee on the toilet seat??? I thought you just peed outside before you parked the car."

"I DID! I don't know why there's pee on the toilet seat. Oh. Wait. I guess it's because I washed my hands, and went to dry them on my towel."

Huh. Farmer H's towel DOES hang on the shower door handle, beside the toilet. And the drops of liquid were more gray than yellow. So he was either telling the truth, or is a very unhealthy liar!

The Doubting Farmer

Farmer H can't just take my word for anything. No. He always knows better. Like when T-Hoe blew a heater hose on Friday. I described exactly what happened. Farmer H himself looked under the hood at T-Hoe's innards. He said I could drive T-Hoe to Mick the Mechanic's shop on Sunday to await repairs.

"With all that stuff leaking out? I left a whole trail from the BARn field over to the garage. It was fresh. I saw it all along the concrete. And the temperature gauge, which had been straight up and down, went to the 3:00 position. So it was heating up. Just from driving to the house."

"HM. It only leaked out because it was HOT. It was the steam coming out, then condensing. It won't get that hot on the way to town. It's only five miles. Less than 10 minutes to Mick's."

"What if I don't make it? What if I break down on the way?"

"I will be driving the Acadia to pick you up. But you won't have a problem."

THEN Farmer H went out and poured two gallons of water in somewhere. When he came back in he had another proposal.

"I need to go to the parts store for some hose and clamps. I looked at the end of your hose, and it was rotted off. So I'm going to cut off the other end, and get a T connector, and hook them together so you can drive it to town. All the antifreeze ran out. There's no fluid in it. I'll add some water to get you to town. It will be fine. You just won't have any heat." [That's the gist of it. I don't really pay attention when he spouts technical stuff.]

THEN, on our way to town Saturday afternoon for the hose and clamps, Farmer H again backtracked on his statement that nothing I could have done would blow that hose.

"I guess you might have knocked it loose when you hit that hole." [In the bad blacktop of his badly-blacktopped hill.] It could have jarred the hose and broke it. You can see in this piece right here [waved it under my nose] that the rubber is dry-rotted. No way could you have made it home if it broke in town."

So let's review. My theory of the hose-busting happening as I came up that hill and hit a new hole was correct. And my report that all the fluid leaked out was correct.

HM is always wrong, until Farmer H decides that she's right.

And Another!

I was thrilled when T-Hoe's radio spontaneously started working again on the way home from town Friday! My SiriusXM would actually go to the next station I had programmed, and PLAY! It didn't work on the way TO town, but it did on the way home!

Of course Even Steven was not about to let me enjoy T-Hoe's radio...

I saw Farmer H mowing in the BARn field as I went by. So I resigned myself to carrying in all the groceries by myself. I eased T-Hoe into the garage, and turned off the key.

SMOKE BILLOWED FROM T-HOE'S RIGHT SIDE!

I could see it through the windshield. For a moment, I tried to convince myself that it was just condensation from the humidity. But no. It was only on that one side, pouring out from under the hood. Then I smelled a burny odor. Sweet Gummi Mary! Should I leave T-Hoe parked in the garage, possibly to burst into flames that could spread to the roof, and eat their way into the Mansion?

Nope. 

I started T-Hoe, and drove to the BARn field. Parked under a thorn tree, and motioned for Farmer H to come over. Of course he parked his mower up against the driver's door. Then said he didn't see the smoke on the other side. I finally convinced him, and he said to pop the hood open. Which I couldn't do, since the hood release was not where one might expect it to be, but down by the floor!

"It's not where you think! Should I use my foot?"

"No, HM. You release it with your hand."

"Why should I have to stand on my head to reach the hood release? I don't understand what that picture is on the lever. YOU look at it. I might pull the wrong thing."

Farmer H was in a predicament. He had turned off his mower, which was parked up against T-Hoe's door. He could see the smoke coming out the other side, and smell it, but couldn't get the door open due to the mower parked there. Instead of getting back on the mower to start it and park if farther away from smoking T-Hoe, Farmer H released something on the mower, and pulled it backwards!

Then he opened the door and pulled on that lever near the floor, popping open T-Hoe's hood. Smoke billowed skyward. Farmer H walked around to look.

"I can't see what it is. Because of all the smoke. But that smell is antifreeze. I think you've popped a heater hose."

Not that it was anything I could have done intentionally. T-Hoe is, after all, from 2008. Hoses don't last forever. Even Farmer H himself admitted that nothing I could have done would cause this hose failure.

"Just drive it back over to the garage. I can't look at it while it's hot."

"Won't it burn down the garage?"

"No! It's just a hose. The antifreeze got on the manifold, which is hot."

I drove back and parked. Carried in my own groceries. Of course Farmer H showed up as I was putting the last two items away. He said he'd take a look at T-Hoe later. But didn't. He DID watch a video on his phone, and thinks he can fix the hose if he can find one and a connector thingy. Said they used to only need a clamp, but these NEWER cars have a connector. Heh, heh. A 2008 is a NEWER car to Farmer H.

 

"Look here, at this video. There's the hose. If I can get to it, I can fix it."

 

"I don't know why you're showing me that! It's like trying to teach our old dog Grizzly how to fly a 747! You really overestimate my understanding of machinery."

 

"Yeah. I guess you're right. You didn't know how to open the hood."

 

"I also didn't know how to CLOSE the hood! That you left open a couple weeks ago. Again overestimating my abilities!"

Anyhoo... I am without transportation until this issue is resolved. Farmer H told me to drive A-Cad. But getting out of A-Cad on the driver's side will rub my leg-hole against the side of the car. So unless Farmer H chauffeurs me in A-Cad, I will have to sit at home until repairs are complete.

It's always something. Not a good week for Mrs. HM.

Add One More To The List

Another bad before Even Steven starts reversing my luck!

 

Wednesday night, left to my own devices, I applied the 2x4 bandaid to my rapidly-closing leg-hole. In fact, it's been closed for three days. No leakage on the bandaid when I awake. So I was thinking maybe when I finish the current pack of bandaids, I could try leaving it open for a night.

Au contraire...

When I put on the bandaid, it didn't feel centered. But you can't really take a bandaid off and reposition it. Even so, I gave it a try. It felt more centered. The second time.

When I removed that bandaid on Thursday morning, I realized the damage I had done. A piece of the scab was sticking out. The bandaid had a small dark spot, and a bunch of yellow liquidy stain on the edge. Looks like I had stuck that fresh bandaid to part of my scab, ripped it off during repositioning, and it had drained and started to reform the scab overnight. 

I left it off through the day. I could feel some crystal-like stuff on that edge of my leg-hole. I'm pretty sure it's new scab forming. I will be extra-careful when putting on that bandaid Thursday night.

So close, but yet so far...

At least Farmer H says he's feeling better. Although he still has a head full of snot. And got out of breath walking to the BARn and back to get a heavy drill. Normally, he would drive the Gator. But The Pony was here, and his car had the Gator blocked in. Farmer H didn't ask him to move it, because he was here specifically to help install a new microwave. 

You know how it is when you have a cold. You feel kind of breathless at the least exertion. I figure Farmer H has until next Tuesday before he could possibly expect to be over his sickness. He got it on Sunday. 7-10 days is the normal routine for a cold. He surely must be past his contagiousness in a day or two. So maybe I can get more sleep.

A New Wardrobe For Mrs. HM

I might as well invest in a new wardrobe. A wardrobe of yellow shirts encircled by a black zigzag stripe. A whole passel of Charlie Brown shirts. Because any day now, an amateur psychologist with a stand offering advice for a nickel is going to pull a football away just as I'm about to kick it. And if I go trick-or-treating, I'm sure to get a rock.

Even Steven has put me in my place this week. Long gone are the days of buying $100 win-all scratchers. I've been getting to sleep around 5:30 a.m., trying to avoid Farmer H's sickness sprayed by his breather. And T-Hoe's radio is broken again, even before I had time to tell you it had spontaneously regenerated during the time Farmer H had been using T-Hoe's battery to jump the generator. In addition, I received a JURY DUTY LETTER! And a few hours ago, the microwave broke.

Good Grief!

I knew my luck would change. I just didn't know it would be with such a vengeance.

A Clandestine Pepperation

The Liquor Store is like Forrest Gump's box of chocolates. You never know what you're going to get. I understand that this place also sells cigarettes and vape products. As I've mentioned before, it often has a lot of cars on the parking lot, yet when I go inside, I'm the only customer, and there are two workers. Let's not even start about the drive-thru window...

 

Sunday, I was shocked to enter the store with only a few cars outside, and find three people in line. The guy at the counter was buying cigarettes. The two young dudes behind him seemed to be together. Not in a romantic kind of way. Just like they were traveling together, and had stopped in for something. THAT is what made me suspicious.

 

Dude 1 paid for a can of something, and then motioned to his friend behind him. "And what he wants."

Dude 2 stepped up, while Dude 1 stepped back, fiddling with his phone.

"We want your... um... special."

Well. That was kind of interesting. Perhaps this place also sells THE POT (as my mom would have called it). Even though it's not legal without a medical card, and there are no signs saying it is licensed for such sales.

Huh. Maybe he wanted some kind of vape. Perhaps with TLC or whatever that chemical is that causes the highness. Maybe this place did supersecret sales like that. Thus the hush-hush and not coming out asking for exactly what he wanted.

Sweet Gummi Mary! They were being so secretive, taking up my valuable time, making me late for absolutely nothing.

Clerk: "Do we need to mix it in the back?"

Dude 2: "Yeah. The HEAVY kind! With extra caffeine."

Again, I figured it was some kind of special vape. But did vapes have caffeine? Nicotine, maybe.

Clerk: "What kind do you want?"

Dude 2: "Dr. Pepper."

Seriously? All that for a SODA? I think I heard about people getting the extra-caffeine soda here a couple years ago. I don't know how they do it. Add it, maybe. They clearly have two soda fountains along the wall. But I guess they have to mix the extra caffeine behind the counter.

Something is just not right about that place...

Night 1 And Day 2 With The Sicko

Farmer H went to bed before 7:00 on Sunday night, leaving me to blindly apply my own 2x4 bandaid to my leg hole. Which is getting better, by the way, and is mostly scabbed over and itchy, except the small part that sticks to the nightly bandaid as I writhe in the marital bed, most definitely not from passion.

I had plans to pass the night sleeping in the The Pony's abandoned bed. However... The Pony still needs to finish cleaning and cleaning out that bedroom! There were two storage containers stacked next to the bed, and several items (including a crutch!) laying on his mattress. I did not have the energy at 3:00 a.m. to try and tackle that mess.

 

At 5:30 a.m., I gave up and went to bed. Where I found most of the sheet under Farmer H. I flipped my pillow so as not to rest my head on his breather spray from the past 10.5 hours. I put my back to him, and covered the side of my head with the blanket. He had a hateful fit when I asked him not to breathe on me, bellowing that he was SICK! Exactly. And I prefer not to be.

 

I was hoping that Farmer H would get up at 6:00 as usual. But no. He had to languish three more hours. So 13.5 hours of sleep for HIM, and 5 for me, which were interrupted by two spates of texting from The Pony, and a phone call wanting to "share" insurance benefits information with Farmer H.

 

Farmer H of course woke me to leave, saying he was going to pick up materials at Lowe's to work Tuesday on Back-Creek Neighbor Bev's new house. When he had not returned by 1:00, I sent a text asking his whereabouts. To which he replied, "Coming up the driveway," which I got as he fumbled with his key in the kitchen door.

 

He said he had been waiting at his Storage Unit Store to buy some fishing lures from one of his regular providers. Of course he was too sick to feed himself. So I warmed up some Chunky Chicken Soup with Country Vegetables, and chilled a bottle of MY Gatorade for him. And served then to him in his recliner.

 

Then I went to town to buy him sugar free cough drops, and lemons so I could make him a hot toddy. Which must have had some healing properties, because Farmer H warmed his own leftover pork steak and baked beans for supper! 

Farmer H went to bed around 8:15. He doesn't seem to be deathly ill. No fever. Just his head full of snot. Not even a cough. Yet. 

 

He says he will go work on Bev's house Tuesday morning. Maybe I will be able to get some sleep then.

Trying To Kill Me Again

Farmer H is sick. I was actually kind of worried about him on Sunday morning. He was moving slower than Uncle Joe at the Shady Rest Hotel. He's not been feeling good for a couple weeks. The doctor he thinks might solve the issue can't see him until the 29th. So he's hobbling around on his next-to-last legs. In fact, he's been saying his legs ache. Then mentioning that he's been up and down a ladder working at Back-Creek Neighbor Bev's new place all last week. So I thought that might explain it.

 

For a couple days, I've been asking Farmer H if he has a cold. No. Of course not. According to HIM. He just sneezes a bunch of times after eating. And he coughs every morning when he gets up. 

 

Sunday morning, his cough in the shower sounded different. But he denied it. Off he went to his Storage Unit Store, with plans to go from there to Lowe's to get materials needed on Monday to work on Bev's house. So he thought he'd be home around 5:00 or 6:00 to grill our leftover pork steaks from when I was denied having a whole one on Mother's Day.

 

At 1:30, the kitchen door rattled for five minutes, like it does when Farmer H is trying to find the right key.

 

"I don't know why you don't just hang the house key around your neck!"

 

"Well. I couldn't find it."

 

"So you're not going to Lowe's?"

 

"No. I'll do it on Monday. I'm just beat. I didn't feel like going now. I'm going to sit down and watch the race."

 

I heard the sound go off on the TV.

 

"So you're not watching the race?"

 

"I'm resting. Resting my eyes."

 

"So... sleeping."

 

"Yeah."

 

After an hour, Farmer H said, "I think I'll go down and sit in your Old People Chair. Use the vibrator."

 

"I don't care." (Because, you know, it is OUR chair!)

 

When I left for town, Farmer H was vibrating away, covered by my fleece throw I won at my sister the ex-mayor's wife's Christmas Eve party. When I returned, he was at the BARn looking for stuff he needs at Bev's. When he returned to the Mansion, he was WAY more nasally than when I left.

 

"I'm pretty sure you're sick. You've caught something."

 

"Yeah. I think maybe I have. I took two Alka Seltzer Plusses."

 

"Are you supposed to take that many?"

 

"Yeah..."

 

Farmer H grilled, and ate his supper, and went to bed by 7:00. With plans NOT to work on Bev's house Monday. Meaning he will be here in the bed blowing his breather air on me longer than usual. I might see if I can find room to get in The Pony's old room, and use his old bed.

 

I don't wish Farmer H to be ill, but I also don't wish him to kill me. It's enough that he left me to try and put on my own bandage over my leg hole...

"I Can't Believe He Did That!" Said Nobody. Ever.

You might as well buy stock in dog houses! Farmer H is going to need lodging.

Friday night, we decided to have Domino's Pizza for the first time since The Pony moved out. Which meant I was no longer relying on The Pony to order on his phone app, but had to go back to doing it myself online. It's not that hard, it just takes a long time because the page loads so slow.

We wanted thin-crust pizza, and cheesey breadsticks. Same thing we have when The Pony orders. Just like The Pony, I ordered those little packets of sauce. They cost extra, you know! Farmer H never used to use the sauces. Until he took them without being offered, throwing off the order. Yes. He has been chastised more than once for taking somebody else's stuff...

In the past, Farmer H has nabbed the marinara sauce for his breadsticks. So I knew to order extra. We planned on eating this meal Friday and Saturday. I got 4 of the marinara sauce, and 2 of the garlic dipping sauce, which The Pony and I like, but Farmer H had never bothered to steal.

Farmer H picked up the food before he came home from meeting a guy at his Storage Unit Store. I had already ordered and paid for it. When he carried it in and set it on the cutting block, I said,

"You get two of the marinara sauce. One for tonight, and one for tomorrow."

He said okay, and went off to take his medicine before plating his food and taking it to the living room. I was finishing a scratcher. Then I put my pizza in the oven to make it extra-crispy. As I was gathering my breadsticks and sauce, I noticed WITH HORROR that there were 4 marinara sauces, and 1 garlic dipping sauce on the cutting block.

"Did you take a garlic sauce?"

"Yeah."

"That was not for you! I TOLD you that you had two marinara sauces. That's what you always use. Now you took a garlic sauce."

"It don't matter."

"Yes it DOES! Now I don't have my garlic sauce for both nights!"

"Oh. I thought it was for me."

"No. That's why I said you had TWO MARINARA SAUCES."

"Huh."

"I'm taking your other marinara sauce! AND I'm hiding the garlic sauce so I can have it tomorrow."

"It's OUR sauce, HM."

"No. I would have ordered it for you if I thought you were going to eat it!"

I'll let you in on a little secret. There was a garlic dipping sauce left from two months ago when The Pony was still here. The date on it said August 2022. So I took that for myself, and hid the recent one for myself the next night. So with the leftover, I didn't really miss out on anything, PLUS I garnered an extra marinara sauce for myself. It's not like they're large. Just little plastic cups the size of dairy creamer.

Still. This little act by Farmer H was borderline unforgivable...

You Probably Won't Believe This

Sweet Gummi Mary! Remember how I had WIN ALL symbols on two scratchers bought Sunday and Monday, for $100 winners? Well. On Wednesday, I bought two of the new $5 tickets at the Gas Station Chicken Store. They have two rolls going of the new tickets. So they weren't consecutive.

Pony House had a water leak, which I have not yet revealed on either blog. So we are paying half of The Pony's water bill before it was fixed. The Pony said rather than cash, he wanted his portion in lottery tickets. So one of those new tickets was earmarked for him. I gave him the one that had his birthday as the ticket number. Mine was a loser. The Pony's was not.

I took it by when I picked up his house payment on Thursday. He scratched it in T-Hoe, after commenting how he didn't really like the graphics on the new ticket, as they looked cartoonish.

 

"Oh, Mom. I just got a WIN ALL!"

"Shut up! No you didn't!"

"Uh huh. I DID."

 

 

That's the symbol for the WIN ALL. The Pony had already scratched the amounts, and then sent the ticket home with me, to reserve for the next casino trip. He won't spend his own money to gamble, but he'll use his winnings from scratchers.

Yeah. It coulda been MINE! This means that over four days, I bought THREE scratchers with WIN ALL symbols, worth $100 each.

When you're on a streak, you're on a streak!