Farmer H Is Not Alone In The High-Sugar Boat

Farmer H had his appointment Tuesday morning with the nurse practitioner. She must have consulted with the actual doctor, because she prescribed him an alternative to his diabetes jab medicine. Also a jab. She further informed Farmer H that she has 8 OTHER PATIENTS right now with the same issue. Guess what...

 

THE PHARMACY IS ALSO OUT OF THAT ONE!

 

Farmer H stopped by to pick it up, and was told that they SHOULD have it by Wednesday afternoon. We'll see. Anyhoo... while talking to the pharmacist, he learned that this alternative is in short supply because DOCTORS ARE PRESCRIBING IT FOR WEIGHT LOSS!

 

Don't THAT just beat all? Hang on! I just had a conspiracy flash. Remember how two specific medicines were banned during the height of THE VIRUS? Still are, as far as I know. Medicines that have been in use over 50 years, completely tested, used to treat malaria, and arthritis, and pinworms in children. Yet doctors are banned from prescribing them for THE VIRUS, under threat of losing their license. Because those two drugs are not approved for OFF LABEL use. Not because they're dangerous. The Veteran said his whole military group (whatever you call that) was given one of them while deployed in Iraq.

 

Anyhoo... that just makes me wonder why doctors are allowed to prescribe this diabetes jab for weight loss! Seems to me that is an off-label use. But who am I to question such things? I'm just an ample-rumpused old conspiracy theorist flipping my lovely lady-mullet in disgust.

Something Is Fishy In The Hamlet Of Hillmomba

Sweet Gummi Mary! If it's not one thing, it's your (significant) other! 

Farmer H went to pick up his medicine refills on Friday, and they were OUT of his diabetes jab that he pokes into his own thigh once a week, at an extravagant cost thanks to him languishing in the donut hole. No. I don't mean Farmer H's penchant for clandestine Casey's donuts every morning. I mean the time from the first of the year until he can meet the sky-high deductible of his medicare Part Something-Or-Other.

He's been on this medicine for years. We pay the fee and spew vitriol for a few days. At tax time we get a little break on state taxes due to our out-of-pocket medical costs. 

Anyhoo... the pharmacy tech told Farmer H they were OUT of his diabetes medicine. She said she didn't know if there was ANY of it in the county, and that the earliest they expected any was NEXT FRIDAY. To which another pharmacy tech chuckled, and said, "Good luck with that."

Farmer H called his nurse practitioner to see if she could prescribe something else, and she said no. That she had to wait until the actual DOCTOR was in the office, which is ONCE A WEEK, on Tuesdays. 

Farmer H seems to think this is no big deal. I think it's a very big deal. In fact, I gave him a piece of my mind. I have enough to share! I decreed that at the very least, Farmer H needed to STOP sneaking donuts every morning, and STOP having ice cream and/or a snack pie for an after-supper snack. That he should eat more protein for a snack, if he had anything at all.

So far, Farmer H says he's going without his sugar fix. I probably should have also specified CANDY BARS, in case Farmer H tries to say he didn't know there was sugar in candy bars! I do know that I have not seen him eat ice cream or pie or cookies in the evening. Though I think I caught him chomping a Halls Mentholyptus Honey Lemon Cough Drop last night. Still, that's an improvement.

Now is the time you should strap on your tinfoil hat. Yes, I understand that most of you don't have one. I can loan you one, free of charge, but you'll have to find your own momma's basement. 

HOW IS THERE A SHORTAGE OF DIABETES MEDICINE?

People have been taking it for years. If we've had such a die-off of the co-morbid diabetics due to the VIRUS, there should be a surplus of this diabetes medicine, shouldn't there? 

Something is fishy. There is a plethora of VIRUS shots these days. Even with people taking two, three, four, five shots! All the boostering, the mandates in some countries, you'd think the factories must be working three shifts, 24/7/365 over the past two years. Like 10,000 monkeys typing on 10,000 typewriters, creating Shakespearean literature.

 

Remember when those shots first rolled out? Had to be frozen a bazillion degrees below zero? Only the military could transport it and give shots, because only they had the special freezers? So scarce those shots were that everybody was clamoring for them! Like the hot new toy a few weeks before Christmas. Yet now, the very same shots are given at any pharmacy or grocery store! I'm surprised the highway-off-ramp beggars aren't offering to give jabs while you wait at the light!

Yet we are out of diabetes medicine? It's almost like there's a conspiracy afoot...

Toiling Away Again In Mother-Teresa-Ville

Still helping out Farmer H with the wire in his rumpus. Heh, heh. I just thought of an incident WAY back when we were first married, and Farmer H talked a lot in his sleep. He didn't SEEM like he was sleeping. He seemed perfectly lucid, until he'd get to a certain point. I'd question him, thinking we were having a conversation, and then...

"What are you doing?"

"Just pulling this wire out of the middle of my head."

Alrighty then! So now it seems a bit ironic that Farmer H has an actual wire sticking out of him! Thought not in his head, but his tail.

Anyhoo... Farmer H was so busy this weekend that I've dodged bathtime for a couple nights. Friday evening, he was busy grilling sausages. And Saturday, he only had a short window of time between Storage Unit Store-ing and time to leave for the auction. But SUNDAY, bathtime caught up with me.

As soon as I got back from town, I knew I was in for some heavy chores.

"Okay. I guess you're ready for me to shampoo your hair."

"Yeah." In fact, Farmer H was already in his underwear in the recliner.

"Well, let me change clothes. Then I'll do that. I guess I'll have about 10 minutes to start your supper while you run your bath. Then I'll come in to wash your back and squirt water up your butt."

"Yeah. That works."

"THEN I'll go back and do your supper. I'm not ready yet. But I'll get yours over with. There are a lot of steps. So it might take 45 minutes. Oh, and bring in your towels and washcloth so I can do a load of laundry."

You'd think a simple supper of already-cooked ham would be simpler. But I needed to slice off a big slab and heat it in a skillet for Farmer H's ham steak. Then cut up some baby carrots lengthwise so they'd microwave faster. Break off some cauliflower florets to add to the bowl and microwave after the carrots were getting done. Cut off some hunks of Velveeta cheese(-like product) to melt on top. Pop open a can of biscuits to bake. Lucky for me, Farmer H didn't want the corn-on-the-cob and leftover baked beans. He'll have them on Monday, again with a ham steak. 

Oh, the new bandage put on Farmer H's upper rumpus is doing its job! Some blood has collected at the bottom of the gauze patch, but it is BROWN now! So he's not seeping, not soaking into his tighty-almost-whities. It might need a bit of tape to hold it down in a couple days. He goes back to the doctor on Friday for further treatment, or the end of treatment. Depending on how this experiment has panned out.

I'll be feeding him beans and leftover ham, with corn muffins, on Tuesday and Wednesday. Surely they'll have a chance to work themselves out of his system by Friday! I don't want him to blow the doctor across the room while he's on the table...

Do You Know The Pretzel Man?

I think you do. I think you know the Pretzel Man intimately, though not carnally. You know what makes him tick, and can predict his behavior. So this tale should not come as a surprise.

We have a new favorite snack this year. Honey Mustard Pretzels.

 

No, I did not buy them because they are "DOT'S" pretzels! I like honey mustard pretzels, and wanted to give them a try. Farmer H and even The Pony agree that these pretzels are delicious. I have a ramekin of them while scratching my lottery tickets in the afternoon. Farmer H grabs a handful as he returns to the Mansion, to tide him over until supper. I always have a couple extra bags on hand.

Saturday, Farmer H wanted some pretzels when he came home from his Storage Unit Store. He stopped at the table and picked up the bag.

"Huh. That bag is empty."

"No. There are pretzels in the bottom."

Farmer H put down the new bag he had picked up, and opened the used bag and peered inside.

"There's only two pretzels."

"No. There are some broken pieces like I had yesterday in my ramekin. Same amount as I ate yesterday."

"Okay. I'll leave them for you."

With that, Farmer H spirited away the new bag over to the cutting blog, and tore it open in a manner that made it look like The Pony had ripped it all willy-nilly.

Here's the thing. I don't begrudge Farmer H some pretzels. I buy them for all of us to share. But I think a person should finish off the already-open bag first. If that wasn't enough for Farmer H, he could have added some from the new bag. 

WHY SHOULD I GET THE BROKEN PRETZELS???

 

 

Here's what I finished from the bottom of the bag, in my faux ramekin that lived its former life as a container of marinara sauce. Yes, I helped myself to a few of the "new" pretzels once I finished these particles. It's just the idea that I am not worthy of whole pretzels, and am the designated clean-up gal.

 

Next thing you know, Farmer H will be eating muffins and leaving me the stumps... and maybe some chicken skins and lobster shells, too.

A Long Pained Trip

Friday evening should have been a quick dash to town. Just a stop in Country Mart for some corn on the cob to have Sunday evening, and carrots and cauliflower to smother in cheese. Plus a couple scratcher stops, of course. Nothing special. 

Farmer H gets home around 5:00 on Fridays. I was baking some beans for the sausages he was going to grill. So I didn't leave the Mansion until 4:00. Just a quick trip, right? 

AU CONTRAIRE!

I stopped at the end of the driveway to put a bag of trash in the dumpster. Farmer H isn't supposed to lift more than 10 pounds until after his wiring is complete. Not a hard task for me, but a giant horsefly got in T-Hoe when I opened the door. I still have PTSD from that time a BUMBLE BEE bounced into my Chevy Chevette, and I rolled it and had an ambulance ride. So I had to drive with the back windows down until the horsefly found his way out.

At Country Mart, the checker was having trouble with the bags. Same thing happened on my last visit. I guess they're cutting corners with their plastic bag supplier. Every other bag is defective! Mainly by having only one loop, with the other not closed in. Just two flaps of plastic. Unlike my previous bagger, this one USED THE DEFECTIVE BAGS! It's not like she didn't notice. She complained about them. So I had an uncarriable bag with a dozen eggs, a heavy uncarriable bag with carrots and cauliflower, and another uncarriable bag with a giant SLAW and sour cream and biscuits.

That's another thing! They were out of SLAW! In the regular size. So I had to get a giant tub, like the size of today's former half-gallon of ice cream that is now 1.5 quarts. It's good until Sept 10, though. So I'm sure we will eat that slaw.

Off to the Gas Station Chicken Store, which was mighty busy for a Friday evening at the end of the month right after school started. My favorite parking space there, the handicap beside the building, was open, with a truck and trailer parked ahead of it at the FREE AIR hose. I was just nosing T-Hoe toward that parking space when an old maniac in a white sedan cruiser barreled onto the lot from the back alley, squeezed past the air hose trailer, and slammed on his brakes in MY RIGHTFUL PARKING SPACE! And he didn't even have handicap plates, heh, heh. Just sayin'... I shook my fist at him, and drove on out the back way, deciding to take my winner to Orb K instead. 

Orb K had all the parking spots full! Even three cars parked over on the edge of the lot, by the long tanker truck hosing gas into the pavement. I turned around to leave that madlot, but cars were backed up almost to the murder motel waiting to get out onto the road. SIRENS! A police car shot out of there. I made a right turn and meandered back to the Gas Station Chicken Store by way of the bowling alley and roundabout. There was the police car! TWO of them. With a gray truck they had pulled over.

I did my business after waiting in line too long and changing my mind. My money didn't come out even! That's what I get for changing my plan! I had to break a twenty to pay $4 over my winnings. At least a $3 ticket I got there turned out to be a $20 winner.

It was 5:50 by the time I made it home and carried in my uncarriable bags. Farmer H can't help, due to his lifting restriction. He was all ready to rush out and fire up the grill, but I prefer to scratch my tickets first. I tried to call him three times, but got only voicemail. Not my problem. Everyone else who calls him makes his phone ring. He says he never even saw that I tried to call.

I guess my signal was trapped in that bad-trip vortex.

My Best Old Ex-Teaching Buddy Mabel's Mother Was Right

Many years ago, when I was NOT RETIRED, and slogging through the public education trenches with my best old ex-teaching buddy Mabel... I must have done something good. Perhaps having missed it during my youth or childhood, the do-gooding oozed out of me near the end of my teaching career. I don't even remember what the particular act of selflessness might have been, but Mabel appreciated it, and told her mother. Who said: "Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is just like Mother Teresa."

I'm sure I pooh-poohed that proclamation, being a modest sort, not used to being lauded, never seeking the spotlight, content to operate from the shadows. But now, I want you all to know:

Mabel's mother was right!

Since Farmer H had his medical procedure last Thursday, I've been helping him out. You know, shampooing the leftovers of his hair in the kitchen sink. Washing his back in the big triangle tub in the master bathroom. Squirting rinse water from an empty shampoo bottle into his rumpus. [The Pony would turn over in his LLV (Long Life Vehicle) if he knew that his former 2-hour-per-night spa had been so sullied.]

Wednesday, I achieved the pinnacle of selflessness when not only did I shampoo and bathe Farmer H, but I WASHED HIS NAPPIES! His tighty-not-so-whities! Farmer H's briefs that I have not touched since our first year of marriage! When he refused to toss them in the hamper, and expected me to pick them up off the bedroom floor. Perhaps he's finally learning his lesson...

I told Farmer H that if he would put his underwear in the washer, I would soak them several times, and try to get the blood patch off the left rumpus area, where his bandage over the inserted wire had leaked. Too bad Farmer H had been carelessly tossing them into the lid of his own clothes hamper each evening, rather than trying to soak them while the stains were fresh.

Anyhoo... Farmer H got home around 4:30 on Wednesday evening. I was getting ready to leave for town. I told him there was no rush to gather his rumpus laundry, since I stay up late, and could wash them then.

 

"Just put them in the washer. I'll add some Tide With Bleach, let them agitate a minute, then soak for about an hour. They have to be in COLD water, though. Warm will set the stain. I'll probably run them through several wash cycles, and see how much of the stain I can get out."

When I came home, all the tighty-no-so-whities were in the washer! AND they were soaking! Okay, you're not going to believe this, but Farmer H, even though using the COLD/COOL setting rather than the COLD/COLD, had only turned on the faucet for cold water. So NONE of the hot water came through to change the cold setting to cool. Well done, Farmer H.

I tended those nappies from 6:00 p.m. until 7:00 a.m. Of course all the stains didn't come out. But most of the spot on his tucked-in shirt did. It's a gray polo shirt that he really likes, having worn it to a big meeting down in Casino Town that required SLACKS, NO JEANS, NO CAP. Unless you know a stain was there, and stare at the shirttail hanging over Farmer H's left rumpus if left untucked... you'd never know it had been soaked with Farmer H's life fluid as he sat for four hours in the meeting, and four hours in A-Cad.

Ouch. I think I hurt my arm patting myself on the back.

The Invalid Relapses

Farmer H has been forging through his usual routine, despite his medical procedure last Thursday that saw a wire inserted into his innards through the area above his left rumpus-cheek. It had a big square gauze bandage over it, sealed by clear tapey-glue stuff. 

 

Farmer H had strict instructions, relayed by a more conscious Pony, not to take that bandage off. That if it started to peel loose, to tape it down. It was supposed to last two weeks, until Farmer H's return visit.

 

Since the day of the procedure, that area has been seeping. I suppose. I expected a little blood to collect that day. Then for it to seal itself off, with the blood turning brown. Au contraire. Every day there has been red blood. Due to gravity, it collects at the bottom of the clear see-through bandage area. I liken it to a tray of meat with one of those soaker-upper thingies on the bottom. It gets saturated, then a little leaks out.

 

Apparently that bandage area is not hermetically sealed. Though to be fair, the bottom right corner started to peel loose just a smidge. So Farmer H has been soaking up some of that leaky blood on the area of his tighty-once-whities that lies over it. I know, because I am tasked with spongebathing Farmer H in the evening. Don't even think it's porno-worthy like George Costanza overhearing his mom's hospital roommate getting a spongebath!

 

Anyhoo... Farmer H called his doctor on Monday, and played phone tag until he was told to come in Wednesday afternoon so they could take a look at it. At first, the phone nurse had said: "Just put on a new bandage!" But Farmer H reminded her that he was under strict orders NOT to remove that bandage. So the phone nurse said she'd ask his doctor, who made the appointment.

 

Anyhoo... the doctor took a look, and said that he didn't know why Farmer H was leaking, since the wound looked good. But that maybe it was because he had "poked a lot of holes there" before getting the wire where he wanted it. He could not find an actual leaking hole, so put on a new bandage. This one is rectangular, and puffier. Still the same size clear patch applied over it.

 

We'll see if this one will last until next Friday.

 

Anyhoo... Farmer H came home with a receipt for a copay of $35 for his office visit!

 

Don't that just beat all? He has a procedure, something goes awry, he's told to come in, and then CHARGED AGAIN!

 

I think this cost should have been part of the package deal for the procedure.

What say you?

The Lividity Increases Exponentially

Life's a b!tch. Then you go to the hospital. THEN you have to deal with shoddy billing practices!!!

 

Sweet Gummi Mary! I'm trying to deal with disputed charges with both hands, both legs, one ear, and half of the major hospital system representative's brain tied behind my back! I think the other half of his brain must have been up his own rumpus.

As I excruciatingly detailed a few days ago, I was billed on August 8 for medical treatment on Jan 31, and Feb 1, 2, 3. I'm pretty sure one item was double-billed, having paid it in March. But I was willing to pay it again. Just in case. Because the major hospital system wouldn't give me an itemized bill.

Anyhoo... without rehashing the whole experience, on the day I called, the rep said he'd take my information if I wanted to make partial payment by phone. So I gave it to him. Thinking the part of the bill I was not disputing had been paid. After getting no usable info after an hour on the phone with my insurance rep, I decided to just pay the remainder and get it over with.

Monday, I called back to the major hospital system, to talk to a rep about my account, and then pay the remainder of the statement by phone. Of course I could not get a real live person! Not even though I was willing to wait on hold for an hour. That was not an option. 

 

The automated system kept sending me to voicemail. Telling me to leave my information, and a representative would return my call within 24 hours. SURE. Mrs. Hillbilly Mom was not born yesterday. She has put her trust in the 24-hour promise WAY TOO MANY times! Even IF this magical unicorn telecommunication came through, it was bound to be while I was driving, or in Country Mart which is a black hole of Sprint. No way was I feeling like phone tag for the rest of the week.

So... I called back to the number to make a payment by phone. Imagine my surprise when the recording said that I owed the full amount of the statement! Well. Perhaps it was keyed to the statement number, and was just repeating the total. I punched in all my account information, and it said PAYMENT ACCEPTED. Read back my amount, and gave me a confirmation number. Done deal. Right? RIGHT?

YOU KNOW DANG WELL IT WASN'T!

Tuesday night, I called my bank's automated line, just to balance my checkbook register. The $234.63 I had just paid the previous day was pending. Not unusual. I knew it was in the system, ready to go. I listened to my other charges, ticking them off one by one. For once, there were no surprised that had gone undocumented by Farmer H. Back and back I went, until I got to my previous balance point. Everything ticked off, except that $87.01 that I had paid the major hospital rep over the phone on August 8.

Ain't THAT a fine how-do-you-do?

So... I called back to my bank's automated line, to get the option to inquire about a specific amount. Of course they've updated that system lately, and it wouldn't give me that choice. But it DID put me through to talk to a real live person at 10:00 p.m., with only a 5-minute wait. The gal I got was quite polite. She looked at my account. Said she didn't see any transaction for $87.01. Not from Aug 1-23. 

I asked if, should I pay it again on an automated system, there was a program that would kick out the identical amount if it was charged to my account twice.

"No. But if that happens, you can call us, and we can help dispute those charges for you."

Well. What could possibly go wrong?

Anyhoo... I called the major hospital's number to pay by phone. The automated system told me that I owed $87.01 on that statement! So I paid it with my debit card. THEN that system had the nerve to ask if I wanted to make a payment on another statement while I was on the phone.

NOT-HEAVEN NO!

How Lazy Can People Be?

That's a rhetorical question. I shudder to think of examples of laziness that may come to light, of which I am currently blissfully unaware. 

While picking up necessities like bananas on Monday, prior to the county lettered highway going one-lane for bridge repairs on Tuesday and Wednesday... I spied this item on the shelf of Country Mart:

 

I'd never heard of FRY SAUCE until The Pony went off to college, and raved about it. I think he got it at a chicken fast-food chain. When he described it, I did not think it was appealing. But then I decided to try dipping my fries first in some mayo, and then in the ketchup. It's delicious! But what I want to know is...

HOW LAZY DO YOU HAVE TO BE, TO PAY FOR MAYO MIXED WITH KETCHUP?

Seriously. Just do it yourself. Or dip one after the other, like Mrs. HM! Of course I sent that picture to The Pony.

"Do you make your own?"

"Usually. Didn't I show you the one I bought last time I went to Country Mart? It expired like, 20 days later."

"I forgot what that was. I didn't look at the dates on these. I just came out of the store. Want me to get you one next time I go?"

"Nah."

At least The Pony is capable of making his own fry sauce now. And surely he must have been busy working long days when he bought some. Surely...

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's Salon Is Open Again

Yes. The title is SALON. Not SALOON. Just sayin'... though I might be wishing the opposite.

 

Sunday evening, I helped the very active invalid Farmer H with his personal hygiene. Of course he had to be difficult about it. That's his nature. 

 

"I can wash your hair in the kitchen sink. Like when I had to help The Pony with his broken ankle. No way can you get in the shower with that wire stuck in you and battery strapped on."

 

"I can get in the shower, as long as I don't turn around and let the water get on my back."

 

"How would you wash your hair? And the water will splash."

 

"I'd just duck my head over and wash it."

 

"And when you stood up, the water would drip down your back. So you can't."

 

"I'm going to run a bath in the big tub. I can sit on the side to wash myself, and get on my knees in the water. I can wash my hair in the tub."

 

"And the minute you lift your head, the water will drip down your back! Don't be so ridiculous. I'll wash it at the kitchen sink. It will take five minutes. Just sit on the stool and tilt your head back. I have the sprayer."

 

"I can't do THAT, HM! I can't lean my head back!"

 

"How in the world do you think you're going to wash your hair?"

 

"I can bend over the sink and you can spray it."

 

SWEET GUMMI MARY! Let's just make it harder. You try to help the helpless, and that's the thanks you get.

 

So... Farmer H stood at the kitchen sink with his elbows on the edge, and bent his fat head down into the sink. I stood on the opposite side of the counter, with the sprayer and a bottle of shampoo. Took less than five minutes. I made Farmer H drape a towel over his shoulders, despite his objections. Got the hair clean and rinsed, and dried with the towel. No water ran down his back to electrocute him with the wire and battery.

Then I followed him to the big triangle tub in the master bathroom. He ran about two inches of water in the bottom. Got on his hands and knees. I put a towel across his rumpus, covering the wire and battery pack velcro belt. Washed and rinsed his back with a washcloth. He washed his other parts, though I helped by squirting rinse water on certain inner rumpus areas with an old shampoo bottle. 

Now Farmer H is squeaky clean, having washed his face and shaved before I got home from town. Only 11 more days of this until he goes back to the doctor. 

And THEN WHAT? I don't know the next procedure at the follow-up.

Farmer H Thinks He Is Wired On Crack

Never let it be said that Mrs. HM is reluctant to over-share! Apologies in advance to those of you who will need brain bleach after reading... 

Farmer H had a medical procedure on Thursday morning. Without going into too much detail, lets just say that he had a wire inserted into his body, with an electrical stimulation thingy. So right now, he has a big patch on his lower back, over his left rumpus cheek, with a wire coming out the top of the bandage, hooked to an electrical thingy on a velcro belt. He has a cell-phone-like thingy that works on bluetooth, according to The Pony, to set the level of stimulation.

Anyhoo... with that being on his back, Farmer H had no idea what it looked like. He is forbidden to get that area wet for two weeks. So if he wants an actual shower, he has to be wrapped in plastic cling-wrap to make it waterproof. He's been trying to figure out the conformation of this area. He was instructed NOT TO REMOVE THE BANDAGE. And that if it started coming loose, to tape the edges. 

Anyhoo... I took a picture to show him. The bottom right corner of his 4" x 4" bandage is quite close to the top of his rumpus-crack. Two days after the surgery, his skin has become less swelled, so the clear patch of glue over the entire bandage is a bit wrinkly. A small sliver along the edge of the right bottom side has a little crinkle like it came loose. Less than a millimeter width. It's not peeling off.

Anyhoo... Farmer H saw this, and keeps saying he has a wire going into his rumpus-crack! NO. He does NOT. It's the whitish edge of that glue patch. The wire is black, obviously a WIRE, and comes out the TOP of the bandage, where it hooks to the gizmo on that velcro belt. Yet Farmer H has voiced his concern several times about that wire going into his rumpus-crack. About how he can avoid hitting it when wiping his rumpus.

Stop that hardy-har-har-ing! Yes! We all KNOW that even if it WAS a wire, it would be in no danger from Farmer H's rumpus-wiping!

Anyhoo... Farmer H is getting around just fine. He refused any pain medicine upon discharge, even though the doctor offered, because most of them make him nauseous. In fact, he has not even taken an over-the-counter acetaminophen. He drove the Gator the very afternoon of the surgery. And resumed driving A-Cad the next day to go to his Storage Unit Store. He'd be in SilverRedO, except SilverRedO had the trailer hitched behind him for hauling a lawnmower to Pony House.

Yes, Farmer H is doing fine. Other that thinking there's a wire in his rumpus-crack.

Oh, The LIVIDITY!

No. We are not discussing the blood settling to the lowest portion of a corpse. We are discussing the all-consuming ire of Mrs. Hillbilly Mom, making her blood pressure shoot up like red-colored alcohol in a thermometer on the floor of Death Valley at high noon.

The time has come, Ms HM said, 

To talk of many things.

Of care and bills in hospitals, 

And insurance it brings.

And why HM is boiling hot, 

About some foul ka-chings.

 

On August 5, Farmer H brought in the mail. It included a bill from a major hospital system. Quite strange, since my most recent stint in a hospital ended February 3. In fact, those dates I was being billed for services WERE in February. And one in January. 

I have no problem paying bills I actually owe. But something was fishy with this bill. It was divided into three sections. 

Section 1 was a bill for a physician at the ER in Hillmomba. I agree that I was treated by a physician at that ER. I thought I had already paid it. In fact, I had a statement from my insurance showing it had been billed in March, and the amount I was responsible for. The adjusted amount, insurance-paid amount, and due amount were identical to that Explanation of Benefits I had received. So it had been already been processed in March. 

 

I imagine it was part of a giant payment I made in May when the major hospital system sent me an UN-ITEMIZED bill, which I paid. That was after calling two people at the hospital billing office, who would only answer questions about specific charges I questioned. Which you don't KNOW what to ask about, not having an itemized bill!!!

Section 2 was divided into three charges on three consecutive days, for a physician at the Bill-Paying Town hospital. I agree that I was treated by this physician, on those dates. But this did NOT show any insurance payment. It only showed an adjusted amount. Surely if it had gone through insurance, there would have been an insurance amount paid, or showing $0.00. So maybe that "adjustment" might have been the percent the major hospital system takes off for uninsured patients. Again, I don't know if this was part of my other already-paid bill from the major hospital system. Since I didn't get an itemized bill!!!

 

Section 3 was for a regular office visit with my nurse practitioner, the follow-up a week after I was released from the hospital. It showed the amount charged, the adjustment, and the amount insurance paid. I know I didn't pay my co-pay at the office, because they said they were not set up to take payments, due to the VIRUS. But they'd bill me. Again, I don't know if this was part of my other already-paid bill from the major hospital system. Since I didn't get an itemized bill!!! 

Sound complicated? We've only just begun.

Of course this bill arrived on a Friday, late as our mail is, and I couldn't call until Monday. So I spent the weekend stewing in my own juices.

Monday I called the major hospital system. Waited 15 minutes listening to their propaganda and Muzak. Got a nice young man named Andrew who was not really much help. He listened. He seemed to understand my questions. But could not explain why Section 1 and Section 3 showed that my insurance had paid their portion, yet Section 2 showed nothing about insurance.

"Did you actually BILL my insurance for those physician charges? What has been adjusted? It makes no mention of insurance."

"I'm sure your insurance was billed."

"How do I know? Maybe it WASN'T billed. Or maybe it was rejected, because I NO LONGER HAVE THAT INSURANCE. My coverage ended July 1, when my employers switched carriers."

"I'm sure they were all billed at the same time."

"Well, I'm NOT so sure. Because all the OTHER charges from this hospitalization were billed by the end of March. So maybe you didn't bill in a timely manner, and my insurance won't pay."

"I suggest that you call your insurance, and ask why they didn't pay."

Oh, he was slick! Don't get me wrong. He was perfectly polite, and not unpleasant to talk to. But I'm pretty sure he was following protocol to not admit anything that I didn't have PROOF of. HOWEVER, he offered, for my convenience, you see, to take partial payment RIGHT THEN over the phone!

As I've said, I have no problem with paying a bill I actually owe. So I agreed to pay Section 1 and Section 3 amounts with my debit card. I had no desire to mail in a check for the partial amount, and then have to call back and explain when they said I didn't pay it all and sent another bill. Andrew said he would put a note in my file showing that I was disputing the charges with my insurance company.

I called my insurance company, and their automated system told me my coverage had ended June 30. But it DID give me an option to talk to a person. Just as I got to the meat of the matter, my cell phone disconnected me. Have I mentioned that my cell phone doesn't work very well inside the Mansion? And my landline has a buzzy sound that Farmer H says he can check by plugging a thingy into the line, but hasn't done so over the past 2-3 years?

I was fed up with phoning for the day. So I waited until I cooled down. Trying to decide if I should park at the end of the driveway and call from T-Hoe on my cell phone. Or take a chance on Buzzy-the-Landline. Then other stuff came up. So I didn't call until yesterday.

Buzzy was the choice. I called from the kitchen table. After a minimal wait, I got a real live person, Angela. She was SO nice. Good thing. Because we chatted from 2:45 until 3:41. And she STILL couldn't solve my problem. Couldn't see the charges I was calling about. Only a few NEAR the amount, on the same days. So either the major hospital system didn't bill the insurance, or they were attempting to double-bill. Did I mention they've done that to me three times before? All of which I got straightened out and did NOT pay twice. Thanks to them being single charges, with an itemized bill and reference number.

Angela did everything but backflips in her effort to decipher the mess. But if it's not showing a billing, then she can't pull one out of thin air. 

OHHHHHHHH! Did I mention that I had an Explanation of Benefits from the insurance, dated from the end of March, showing that I HAD MET MY DEDUCTIBLE FOR THE YEAR? So why was I being charged ANYTHING now?

I mentioned it to Angela. She giggled, a mature African American past-middle-age giggle, and said, "Oh, you WOULD do that to me!" Yes. Yes I would. I even warned her beforehand: "Now to further complicate matters..."

Angela delved into that matter. She assured me every five minutes or so that she was still looking, that she hadn't hung up. For which I thanked her, explaining that I thought my phone might have cut me off.

The gist of the deductible matter was that these late charges were for a time BEFORE I had met my deductible in March. Which to me still means that I overpaid in March, since these late charges would have put me at the deductible before then!

Anyhoo... after taking so much time trying to help me, Angela could not. I thanked her for her patience, and she assured me that it was no problem, because without people like me, she wouldn't have a job. I so enjoy doing my part to keep other people working. I'm selfless like that.

Angela's only suggestion was that I try to get a detailed bill from the major hospital system. Sheesh! She and Andrew were like Mom and Dad giving the runaround, saying to ask the other.

I figure I'm just going to pay the rest of that bill. Which amounts to $234. AND 63 CENTS! It's not enough to break me. I still don't think I owe it. But I don't relish taking more hours out of my life to sit on the end of a buzzy or cut-offy phone, trying to explain myself all over again.

Life's a b!tch. Then you go to the hospital...

I Hope They Enjoyed Selling My Information

The Pony drove Farmer H to his medical procedure Thursday morning. Specifically, Farmer H drove them THERE, and The Pony drove them home after Farmer H regained consciousness. The Pony had instructions to listen to the doctor's instructions (Farmer H is a generalizer), and to keep me updated.

 

The last time The Pony took Farmer H to this medical facility, he waited in the car. I think that was his choice. They would have let him sit inside, but he said the chairs were uncomfortable. They came out to update him. This was the clinic back then, not the regular hospital as this time.

At 7:04, I got a text from the hospital, saying I was signed up to receive procedure update messages. I wondered if The Pony was also getting them.

 

7:06 "I got a message that I will get updates."

 

7:06 "Okay?"

 

7:07 "I guess Dad gave my number."

 

7:10 "Yeah. They're putting mine in now. Dad gave them yours yesterday."

7:35 "Who knows if they actually put me in, but they got my number at least. Sitting with him. People are coming in with instructions."

7:55 "They just wheeled him back. I'm in the waiting room now. It actually is really nice."

8:39 "Did you get a text that the procedure has begun?"

8:39 "No, so they probably forgot to actually change it. I saw it update on the board, though."

Heh, heh! Apparently that place has a board like an airport, with departures and arrivals!

Anyhoo... I continued to get updates. I sent them to The Pony, even though he could see them on the board. But then a funny thing happened. 

I STARTED GETTING SCAM PHONE CALLS!

I never give out my cell phone number. Only to medical facilities. And all at once I was getting scam calls from assorted numbers. Every hour or so! I had FIVE of them. Each from a different area code and number, each one labeled SCAM CALLER by my phone.

Not exactly a coincidence, methinks...

It Was A Tiny-Hand, Pointy-Nose, Prying Squirrel Trash-Can Huffer

The Pony sent me a picture last week, for something he'd forgotten to mention while we were sitting in T-Hoe in his driveway by the back porch.

 

"I didn't get a picture with it there, but I've got a blog thing for you."

 

 

"Squirrel keeps prying that black cap off, to huff my garbage can."

 

I hope that means the attic is no longer available for squirrel recreation. I can't imagine what might be in The Pony's trash can that would attract a squirrel. I don't think they eat steak. You sure won't find vegetable scraps in The Pony's garbage. 

 

Maybe that squirrel thinks there's DOG FOOD inside. That's how Farmer H stores our dry dog food. He had some in white plastic buckets, given to him by Back-Creek Neighbor Bev, that he set on the side porch. Within hours, those squirrels had chewed off the edges of the lid rims. I think Farmer H put them in the garage, or emptied them into our dog food trash can.

Farmer H Pulls A Veal Prince Orloff

Were you a fan of the Mary Tyler Moore show? I never missed it. One of my favorite episodes was The Dinner Party. Ol' Mare never could throw a decent dinner party! This one has her boss Lou biting off a bit more than Mary wanted him to chew. There's even Henry Winkler in it, before he was The Fonz! Anyhoo... Farmer H pulled a Veal Prince Orloff with supper on Tuesday night... [Here's a link for the whole 24-minute episode. The Lou Grant/Veal Prince Orloff part is at 18:40 to 20:25.]

A couple days ago, I bought some of the hamburgers on sale at Country Mart. We really liked them last time. These were not the big fat burgers from before, that came six in a pack. They were smaller. Ten in a pack. Farmer H grilled four of them for us to have for supper Monday night. My plan was to use the others for taco meat. It's been forever since we had tacos. Or what are really burritos, because we use the big tortillas to roll up the fixin's.

I got everything ready. The flavoring was in the hamburger. I had warmed some refried beans in another skillet. Had three small bowls of lettuce, onions, and shredded cheddar set out. And the jar of salsa. I called Farmer H to make his plate.

"You can have whatever you want of the onions, lettuce, and cheese. I can put out more if I need it. There should be enough meat for us to have them tomorrow, too."

Farmer H plodded to the kitchen. He snatched up one of the good paper plates. Not that I care. He likes the sturdy ones, since he eats in his recliner. I use the plainer plates, since I sit at the table. Sweet Gummi Mary! Farmer H picked up the spoon and reached for the meat skillet.

"What are you doing? Have you lost your mind? Don't you need a TORTILLA first?"

"Oh, yeah. I forgot."

I had even laid out two of the tortillas for Farmer H, by the onions, lettuce, and cheese on the cutting block. He got his tortilla and spooned the meat while I was looking for containers to store the leftovers. Then he got his other tortilla. He was stumping out of the kitchen when I turned around.

"I thought we were going to have this again tomorrow! You took HALF! Half the meat! I guess I'll take a little less than I planned. So you can still have it tomorrow..."

"I can have something else tomorrow."

"Yes. You CAN. But that means I have to MAKE something else! I was planning on two meals from this. I'll leave enough for you, and I can have something else. Something that doesn't take cooking."

"I don't care what I eat."

"And you left most of the cheese and stuff I said you could have what you wanted of!"

"HM. I don't eat as much as you think I do."

WHAT IN THE NOT-HEAVEN? He ate MORE than I thought he would! 

Farmer H didn't even volunteer to put back any taco meat.

It Takes A Village To Raise Farmer H

Farmer H is having a medical procedure on Thursday morning. It necessitates knocking him out. Not like in the very olden days, when barbers were surgeons, and hired a boxer the literally knock out the patient. No, this knock-out is just general anesthesia. Farmer H has had it before. He takes a long time to  wake up. 

The Pony will be driving him the 30 miles to the facility. Farmer H has to be there by 6:30 a.m. So The Pony won't be getting much rest on his day off, which he specifically requested for this date. The Pony is a good egg.

Farmer H got a packet of instructions last week. They had told him verbally, but I'm pretty sure Farmer H is not the only patient that needs written reminders for a wife to look over. It probably keeps that facility's legal expenses in check.

I reminded Farmer H of the instructions, and made him look over the five pages while I watched. It told him which medications to stop for a week before the procedure. One that they highlighted and circled was ASPIRIN, but there was also a full-page list with three columns of drugs. They included Aleve and ibuprofen. I know Farmer H takes these for his hip, and muscle soreness. 

"Well, they didn't mention those to me, but I see them on this list. They didn't mark them. But I'll stop taking them for a week."

As far as I know, Farmer H was complying with the instructions. But when he left the Mansion on Monday morning, I detected the distinct odor of BenGay in his wake. He had already escaped to SilverRedO, and was out of the driveway on his way to Back-Creek Neighbor Bev's house before it dawned on me. So he'd be incommunicado until late afternoon. There's no cell service at Bev's, it being the middle-er of nowhere than the Mansion.

I noticed a roll-on tube of Icy Hot on the bathroom sink. I guess the BenGay ran out. I was pretty sure both of them contain ASPIRIN. Which is salicylic acid. A quick check showed that Icy Hot contains methyl salicylate. Which acts like ASPIRIN in thinning the blood.

When Farmer H got home, he was out back fiddling about with Poolio. I hollered down to tell him NOT to use Icy Hot before his procedure. And remind him that if he told them he used it, they would cancel his procedure and reschedule, per the packet of instructions.

Farmer H says he's keeping mum about the Icy Hot. I'm pretty sure the effects will be minimal, since his body will have had 72 hours to metabolize that one application of it. It's not like they're going to slice him from stem to stern and use a rib-spreader to pry him open. It should be a fairly small incision.

I think the slow-waking-up will be more of an issue.

My Country Mart Boyfriend's Back

The Pony came out Sunday afternoon to help Farmer H with Poolio. We both thought he was closing Poolio for the season. A bit early this year, because Farmer H has a medical procedure coming up that precludes him from frolicking in Poolio.

However... Farmer H only used the pool vacuum thingy on some patches of moss/algae on Poolio's bottom. He needs someone standing on the outside to turn something on and off while he does it. My hip further dampened any smidgen of desire I had to help. So he waited for The Pony to have an early end of shift. Then confessed he had not yet gotten the chemicals to close Poolio for the winter.

Chatting with The Pony delayed my trip to town. Which necessitated me picking up supper for us, rather than cooking something. Poor Pony got the bum's rush! Farmer H got up and said he was going to Lowe's for Back-Creek Neighbor Bev's house. I said I had to get to Country Mart. Farmer H told The Pony to turn out the lights and lock up as he left! That's kind of rude. All I requested was that he bag the trash and carry it out to T-Hoe so I could drop it in the dumpster at the end of the driveway.

 

I was almost too late! The deli counter at Country Mart was nearing Old Mother Hubbard's cupboard status. Only a few pans with food still in the hot case. 

MY DELI BOYFRIEND WAS THERE! 

I haven't seen him for a while. It seems he was off growing a Jesus beard and mustache. He still remembered me, though. And greeted me with:

"I can give you a dinner for $2.49 since it's so late."

LATE? The night was but a pup! It was scarcely 6:00. I'd only had breakfast so far.

"Okay. How about a 2-piece chicken, with mashed potatoes and mac n cheese?"

"All right. What pieces?"

"A breast and a leg. And how about that pulled pork? How do you serve that? On a bun?"

"I'm all out of buns, but I can give you that as a side."

"Okay. For the second one, I'd like two thighs, mac n cheese, and the pulled pork."

"I only have one thigh. But I can give you these two little chicken strips with it."

"Okay. Sounds good."

"I'll wrap both dinners together, and just put on the regular price for one."

"That's fine. You always take such good care of me."

 

"You're a good customer!"

 

"You're always so nice. You and that lady. I don't know her name. She makes the pinwheels."

 

"Oh. Yeah. She's nice."

 

My deli Jesus boyfriend had to dummy-up quickly, because up behind me walked the deli manager I despise. Like a shark constantly circling, ready for blood.

 

Anyhoo... Farmer H and I had a cheap and filling supper.

Still Not Ready To Go Ireless

Mrs. HM is still not ready to reveal her incident from last Friday and release her ire. I prefer to hold onto my ire. Let it simmer and fester. The situation is still not resolved. But trust me. When I'm ready, you will get an ire-full.

In the meantime, let's have a snack. It will have to be a virtual snack, because Farmer H ate the last of the real thing on his trip to visit Genius in Pittsburgh.

 

That's the candy corn / peanut mix I made with the candy corn Farmer H bought at the auction. It wasn't the best for using in this mix, because of those pumpkins. Usually it's just the candy corn, and dry-roasted peanuts. You know what it's called? I think you do. I think I've mentioned it before.

PAYDAY MIX!

That's because it tastes like a Payday candy bar. EXACTLY like it. All you do is pour candy corn and dry-roasted peanuts together, and shake them up. VOILA! You have a deconstructed Payday candy bar.

This batch wasn't so photogenic. I used the generic Save A Lot dry-roasted peanuts, not the brand-name Planters. Didn't change the taste. Just the prettiness. I doubt Farmer H noticed as he hoovered down fistfuls while driving.

Mrs. HM, The Aging-Hip-ster, Is Too Late To The Rescue

Never a dull moment at the Gas Station Chicken Store. Friday, I came across the alley behind Farmer H's pharmacy CeilingReds, and saw a mini van abandoned by the FREE AIR hose. I say abandoned, because nobody was in it. I was pretty sure the passengers were not inside the GSCS picking up a few items, because the two tires on the left side of the van were gone! The back half was held up by a jack, and the front half had the wheel thingy propped up on the rim! Thus you see my deductive powers in action. Let's not forget I was VALEDICTORIAN, by cracky!

But wait! That's not the story!

A black SUV with no handicap plate nor placard was parked in the handicap space. Can you believe it??? So I had to park over by the moat. Of all times for this to happen... the day that my hip was aching and out of place like a little yippy dog falling of the couch and dislocating a leg to keep Dr. Pol in business. It was a long slow walk across the pavement to get inside.

Lucky for me, there was only one customer ahead of me. An old man with a cane. I hope his hip wasn't out of place. He was a bald, clean old man, wearing pale blue shorts, white tennis shoes, and a collared shirt. Looking like the kind who might have spent the morning on the golf course, except for that cane. He was finishing up his transaction, pulling out his card.

"Oh. I'm sorry. We can't take EBT."

"You can't? That's a shame. I need the ice to take my medicine."

"You can go ahead and take the ice. Sorry."

Off Old Man went, caning out the door, carrying his 32 oz styrofoam cup of ice, to climb into the passenger side of a Ford F-250. Good thing the GSCS owners weren't there. That's my favorite clerk, and I wouldn't want her to get in trouble. Signs on the soda fountain say you will be charged for ice, and also charged if you pull a cup and then don't use it.

As I stepped up to the counter, Clerkie was filling out a red slip to show why she was voiding the sale. She moved the items off the clear glass top of the scratcher case.

"Oh. Is THAT what he was getting? If I'd known what it was, I probably would have bought it for him."

It was a can of Rock Star energy drink, a ham sandwich in a triangular container from the cooler, and a long package of cheese and meat sticks, also from the cooler. Probably would have cost $10 or less. But I was late to the checkout party, and didn't see what Old Man had in front of him.

"I felt bad, but we don't take EBT. I don't know why."

I could guess why, having long-ago worked at a Casey's that lost their food-stamp privileges for accepting them as payment for medicine. Yes. THAT long ago, before food stamps became EBT.

Anyhoo... I was unable to broadcast my altruism this time. Darn that hip! A few minutes earlier, and I could have good-deeded. I consider energy drink, ice, and processed meats for an Old Man as worthy of my charity as cheap whiskey for an 11:00 a.m. alcoholic, and an afternoon vape for a basketball-dribbling gal.

Six Of One, Half A Dozen Of The Bother

So many little irritations this week getting under Mrs. HM's thin skin. 

The utility company that had laid out giant metal poles a month ago to replace the wooden ones along the road I take from the Gas Station Chicken Store down behind the local high school, past the cemetery, past the Devil's Playground, and to the bank... started working on them Thursday. Such a random day and date to start this process. It's going to be a mess when school starts next week!

___________________________________________________________________

The county or state highway department took it upon themselves to scrape all the old pavement off the long high bridge I must use to get to town. Of course I made plans last week to start taking a slightly longer route to approach it, because when they direct traffic, they forget all about our county blacktop road that comes out about 10 feet from the top end of that bridge. 

 

Silly Mrs. HM! It's been two weeks now, and nobody is re-surfacing that bridge. A couple days ago they put up bright orange BUMP signs at each end, so you don't knock your teeth out going over the metal joints at each end traveling a normal speed. And sometime on Thursday, they patched the deepest holes in the bridge with blacktop. Good thing! One of them was so deep that it was only a layer of wire mesh between your tire and the deep blue yonder down to the river!

___________________________________________________________________

A denizen of our enclave grew fed up (same as me) with drivers tailgating him out here on our blacktop and gravel roads. He dared put a comment about it on the enclave's Facebook page, relating how he was teaching someone to drive, and a speed demon blew past him in a non-passing zone. The speed demon had the nerve to reply that it's 2022, and SOME people really need to put on their big-boy panties and get over it. 

____________________________________________________________________

I haven't been able to deal with the issue that came in the mail last Friday, incensing me more each day, because when I try, my cell phone cuts me off when I get to the crucial part. Dang the middle of nowhere, and double-dang metal roofs!

____________________________________________________________________

Something happened to my hip yesterday. Oh, don't think I did anything more strenuous than stand up from a kitchen chair. But it feels like my left hip is out of place. Like I need The Incredible Dr. Pol to put one of those circular wire splint thingies on my leg to hold it in place.

_____________________________________________________________________

At the beginning of the week, I left late for town, and saw a dark cloud hanging over Casey's. By the time I got to Country Mart, I had to sit 15 minutes waiting for it to slack off. Surely you didn't think I'd go without my $3 scratchers from their machine! I got my big umbrella out when the downpour slacked by half. It's not a golf umbrella, but bigger than a normal umbrella. 

 

SWEET GUMMI MARY! I thought the wind had slackened, but I was almost Mary-Poppins-ed across that parking lot! And once inside, when I folded up my giant umbrella and tapped its end on the rug so as not to drip on the tile... it popped open! I folded it again, but it wouldn't stay! I'm sure I was entertaining, dripping wet from the waist down where the rain blew on me, my pants legs having soaked up puddles better than Bounty the Quicker Picker-Upper, wrestling that gargantuan umbrella while trying to scan a winning scratcher and fish the newly-boughten one out of the tray.

______________________________________________________________________

 

Of course, a few bothers such as these are still less stressful than a single day of teaching...

Even Steven Doesn't Know When To Quit

That Even Steven is such a prankster! Just when you think he's got your finances evened out, HE KEEPS ON GOING LIKE THE ENERGIZER BUNNY!

I have trouble deciding if I'm being rewarded, or being punished by Even Steven. If only he'd send a note to explain.

Let the record show that I consider my Even Steven money to be MY money. Not to be applied all willy-nilly to household expenses, unless we really need to dip into it, and unless Farmer H also contributes from his personal stash of Storage Unit money. I don't see why my hobby income should foot a bill while he gets to hoard his own profits. But it's uncanny how I win an amount, and then suddenly an outlay of nearly the same expense is required.

Anyhoo... it's just like Even Steven can't help himself. I really need to keep a tally. The farthest back I remember right now is my casino win a few weeks ago, plus a couple hundred on scratchers that evening. But then Farmer H took a 4-day, 3-night trip to visit Genius in Pittsburgh, incurring gas/food/lodging expenses. Then I had my $500 winning lottery ticket. But we decided to pay the 3 years of delinquent property taxes for someone. And within the past few days, both Farmer H and I received bills for long-ago medical procedures. 

I'm looking forward to another hefty win on scratchers. It's part of the cycle of Even Steven.

Eventually, I'll reveal my IRE at one of these expenses. Not quite ready yet.

One Box Left Behind

I should have known. It was too good to be true. Sometimes, I can be as blind to blatant signs as The Pony.

The Pony loves Little Debbie Cosmic Brownies. He buys them for himself when he has time to go to the store, but they don't last long. When I pass by the Little Debbie display, I pick up a box for The Pony. 

Country Mart has a little table set up as you enter the store, with the giant boxes of Little Debbies. I can't believe how much the price has gone up. I guess Little Debbie might be strapped for cash. Country Mart has a sign there advertising two of the giant boxes for $8. I don't think this is a bargain. I think they charge $4 each anyway. I guess I need to be more observant.

Anyhoo... for the past few months, the Cosmic Brownies have been hard to find. The table up front used to have them, but now has Oatmeal Pies and sometimes Fudge Rounds, and Nutty Bars, and other kinds The Pony is not as crazy about. Even on the regular snack cake and donut aisle, I couldn't find the Cosmic Brownies. I don't know if it's because they were so popular and got bought right out from under my nose, or if there's a shortage. Sometimes I can find them in Save A Lot.

Anyhoo... last week, there was a single box of Cosmic Brownies on the Country Mart table. Of course I snatched it up for The Pony, and gave it to him when I stopped by. The next morning, The Pony sent me a text:

"Your brownie box was *taped*"

 

"Only on the one side, but still!"

"It was the only one! It DID feel smashed when I picked it up. They've been hard to find."

I doubt that The Pony was dissuaded from eating those brownies. They are individually wrapped inside the box. I doubt that a maniac took the time to bring a syringe of poison into Country Mart to inject each brownie.

It's been a week, and The Pony is still kickin'.

Worried About A Jack Attack

I have a new favorite show. It's on the National Geographic channel. The Incredible Dr. Pol. I can't get enough of it! It's on in the mornings, and even during MY mornings, which are around 11:00 to 1:00. And I can also find it at night sometimes. There have been 10 seasons, I think. So plenty of reruns that are new to me.

Dr. Pol is a veterinarian in Michigan. He has several other vets in his practice, depending on which season of the show you're watching. His office will treat animals that other vets reject. Like a little hedgehog, and a chicken, and a lemur. I guess the others concentrate on more mainstream pets like cats and dogs. Dr. Pol also makes house calls to farms and treats livestock. It's a rare episode when Doc Pol doesn't have his arm up a cow's butt.

Anyhoo... after a week of watching, I'm pretty sure I can diagnose animal ailments now! Which made me worry about my little dog Jack.

Jack is usually a little whirlwind of energy, all spunky and up to mischief. Even now that he's grown a bit portly in the belly. 

On Sunday, Jack did not come to greet me as I left for town. Juno was there, but not Jack. So Juno got both treats. They only get a small piece when I leave. Like 1/8 of a hot dog bun. Just a bite. When I get back, they might each get half a bun to themselves. Or whatever leftover is laying around.

Anyhoo... it was unusual, but I didn't dwell on it. I figured Jack was off mischief-ing with Copper Jack somewhere. They chase rabbits, and drag home styrofoam food containers and plastic soda bottles. Juno usually stays close to her house, because they've been known to steal from her hoard of old dry bones.

When I got home, still no Jack. So when Farmer H came in and asked if Jack came to get his treat, I told him no.

"I'm getting worried now. I haven't seen him. Haven't even heard him bark, since late Saturday night. He was out by the road, with that bark like when an intruder is coming up the driveway."

"He's out there. He's laying at the back of the Gator. He didn't even get up when I parked the truck. He acts like he don't feel good."

"I hope he didn't get into a fight with something."

 

"There ain't no marks on him. He just acts like he feels bad."

 

Of course that made me worry more about Jack. It's not like him to miss a snack. Then I felt guilty. An episode of Dr. Pol had a woman who brought in her dog not feeling well. It was a big dog. Maybe a lab. Dr. Pol said she had something like acidosis. I don't know if that was it. Heh, heh! Maybe I'm NOT ready to diagnose animals yet. Maybe I need another week of Dr. Pol reruns!

Anyhoo... something was wrong with the chemistry of this dog's stomach. Dr. Pol asked what the woman was feeding her. Couldn't figure out what would cause that. Then on the way out the door, the woman said, "Oh. She loves toast. I give her toast every morning." And Dr. Pol says, "Well, there you go. Don't give her toast. Too much carbohydrates." So the woman agreed to stop the toast.

At the end of the episode, they showed the dog at home, frolicking like a pup. And the lady was saying, "I found out that not only was I giving her two pieces of toast every morning, but that my husband was also giving her two pieces of toast, and the neighbor was giving her two pieces of toast." Sweet Gummi Mary! That poor dog was getting toasted near to death!

Anyhoo... I started thinking how I had just been giving Jack and Juno some rolls that expired. Rolls baked by the Country Mart deli. A little more moist than store-bought buns. What if I had given my little Jack an overdose of rolls!

When I went out for town on Monday afternoon, Jack came trotting around the porch. Not as hyper as usual. But at least trotting. Just not jumping up on me. So I figured he must be okay. I gave him a tiny piece of a roll. He was there to greet me when I came home, too.

As I was going up the steps, I got a whiff of something kind of dead. I'm pretty sure that smell came from Jack, and not my Sweet, Sweet Juno, whom I'd been petting right in my face on the side porch while Jack was missing. I guess he got into something decayed. Maybe over-indulged.

Whew! Not my fault!

Mrs. HM Got Flagged

 On the way home from town Thursday, I surprised a local resident of Outer Hillmomba.

 

I've seen her along here for several weeks. Hope she stays safe. It's not like she lives in the suburbs and terrorizes the populace. This is the freakin' COUNTRY, and deer deserve to roam free. They would be smart to stay off the roads, though!

The deer are usually a bit more skittish. You raise a phone to take a picture, and off they go! This one must be exceptionally brave. Or dumb. She posed prettily for her photo, but then drew the line at a closeup.

 

Yep! Mrs. HM got flagged! That's the term when a deer flips up the tail and takes off. Oh, well. I'll probably get another closeup opportunity eventually.

Hope you enjoy this little slice of tranquility. Mrs. HM has spent the weekend getting all fired up over something the mail brought on Friday...

Mrs. HM Got Skinned

The sales week at the Hillmomba Country Mart starts on Wednesday. I check out the new items online. Mainly to see if I can get Farmer H's Diet Mountain Dew at a price less than $4.33 per six-pack of 16 oz bottles. That's outrageous! Even Farmer H doesn't want to pay that. It's cheaper than buying one bottle at Casey's with his donuts, but that's different...

Anyhoo... his soda is still 3-for-$10, which is their next-to-cheapest offer on it. Sometimes I can grab it 3-for-$9. Also on the sale this week was SLAW and potato salad. Of course I buy slaw there. It's usually about $3.79. Yes. The prices are high, but it beats the price of gas to drive to the Devil's Playground and limp myself around for slaw that's less tasty. I also like the Red Skin Potato Salad. It's not mustard-based like my homemade kind, but more mayonnaise and garlic flavored.

Anyhoo... the online ad said the slaw and potato salad of this brand I always get were on sale for $2.50 each. When I got to the open cooler trough at the back of the store, I peered inside and saw my targets. Taped to the back of the trough were bright red signs signifying the sales, listing This Brand Slaw for $2.50, This Brand Mustard Potato Salad for $2.50, and This Brand Potato Salad for $2.50. Regular $3.79 was on all the red signs.

I got my slaw, after checking the dates. You gotta watch them here! Then I sought out my Red Skin Potato Salad. The store sticker on the top said $4.79! That had to be a mistake! I never pay that for it. It's always the same as the slaw. I figured it didn't matter anyway, because even though the slaw had a store sticker for $3.79, it was clearly on sale, as per the ad and the red signs.

You know what happened, right? I paid and took my groceries home and then got to looking at the receipt:

 

They had charged me $4.79 for the Red Skin Potato Salad! The sale started on the 3rd, and you can see that they gave me the sale price on the slaw. It was not a cashier error, because all they do is scan the items. So something was up with the register not reading the sale price. I was NOT happy! 

This is a picture of the receipt I took on Saturday, when I was back to buy more of Hick's soda. I blocked out the town and phone number and actual name of the store using Paint later.

After I checked out with that nice little Potato/Tomato Dude, I asked him about my receipt.

"On Thursday, I bought the potato salad on sale, and was charged the regular price. What can I do about that?"

"Oh. I don't know. I really don't know."

"Is there somebody here I could talk to?"

"I don't know who that would be. I'm sorry."

"I'll just try over here at the service desk."

Seriously. They need to train that little guy a bit more! The service desk lady was ringing up an employee purchase for the other cashier who was taking a break. They got it done without extra chit-chat so she could see what my problem was, heh, heh.

 

"Here's my receipt from Thursday. I thought I was buying the potato salad on sale, but I got charged the regular price. In fact, I think it's higher than the regular price usually is."

 

"Let's see. Huh. So you thought it was the $2.50?"

 

"Yes. That's what the ad said online, and the signs at the back where I got it."

 

"Was it the Red Skin Potato Salad?"

 

"Yes! It WAS the Red Skin Potato Salad."

 

"They usually don't put that on sale."

 

"Oh. Well. There wasn't a sign actually saying RED SKIN. Just a general Potato Salad, and a Mustard Potato Salad. Next time I'll know."

 

"I'm going to give you a refund."

 

"Oh, I don't want it if I'm not due a refund. I just thought it was on sale. Nothing said it was excluded."

 

"I know! They do that, and then people come back asking why they got overcharged. It's very deceptive. I don't think it's right. I'm giving you a refund." 

"Thank you! Everyone is so nice here!"

"Oh, thank you. That means a lot. Now, here is $2.42 cents back."

"I feel bad. I made a big deal about this refund, and now I'm going to go over and put it in the lottery machine!"

"Are those bills good enough? Do you need better ones?"

"They look fine. Thank you! Next time I'll ask the price on that potato salad before I have them scan it."

Well. Unless I have that Potato/Tomato Dude.