Progress, Humbug!

Mrs. HM does not like new things. She gets used to something, and is comfortable with it lasting for eternity. Why did videotapes give way to DVDs, and then DVDs change to the Blu-Ray version, and then movies disappear into thin air to be conjured up on demand? Like 5.25 floppy disks giving way to 3.5 floppy disks, and then CDs, and then flash drives, and now some mysterious cloud! Some might call Mrs. HM a stick-in-the-mud, but she is more like a Giant Sequoia mired in a peat bog.

Last week, I read that the stoplight near The Devil's Playground is going to be converted to a ROUNDABOUT!!! Please say it isn't so! We already have two roundabouts. They are not in a busy area. THIS intersection has lots of traffic that comes off the interstate in the afternoon. And school bus traffic. It's a 2-minute light. I don't mind the wait so much. It's organized.

The local online newspaper said the roundabout will make this intersection SAFER! It's been there all my life, and I've never seen an accident. So that's a dirty dirty lie! I am really not looking forward to the shut-down of this intersection during construction. It will force way more traffic onto my other road to Sis-Town. The Universe gets me coming and going.

ALSO, when I was in Country Mart on Friday, I saw a sign on their deli counter that said BIG CHANGES COMING JUNE 2. I asked the workers what it meant, and they said they didn't know. Only that the deli would be closing on June 2, for remodeling. They didn't know what was going to be put in, only that the entire kitchen and bakery were being torn out. They didn't even know if they would still have a job!

The world is moving on, and leaving Mrs. HM behind!

Slow Blog Day

Nothing happening here in Hillmomba. We didn't grill or do anything special for the Memorial Day holiday. Poor Pony. I'm sure he would have come out for steaks, but we just didn't think about it. You know, what with every day being kind of the same when you're retired. We can have Pony come out another day off. There's still plenty of summer left. In fact, it hasn't even officially started yet, though the temperature is supposed to be near 90 on Tuesday.

Farmer H has done nothing about getting POOLIO ready. He usually starts that around May 1, taking off the cover, testing the water, adding chemicals, and waiting for the sun to heat up the water. I guess I'll ask him if he's done POOLIOing. Last year it seems like he only got in about a dozen times.

Still no oil change for T-Hoe, though Farmer H did put in some more oil, so the alarm doesn't sound. I think T-Hoe is down to 10 percent oil life left. That can't be good. He's already old, and now his arteries will clog!

I don't know what Farmer H has planned for this week. He needs to deal with T-Hoe, and POOLIO, and work on the flip house. He'll probably just fritter his time away fiddling with stuff in his old storage locker.

As for me, I'll be doing pretty much nothing. Besides cooking and dishwashing and shopping and toilet-cleaning and bill-paying. Maybe winning a $100 on a scratcher. Which I did last night, on a $10 ticket.

Hearing Me Now!

It's HEEEEERE! Farmer H got his new phone on Saturday afternoon. He said the phone store wasn't very busy. Only a man and woman as the other customers. I guess they have no life, either, being there on the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend!

Anyhoo... Farmer H went in. He saw The Gen Z Kid who had waited on him the other four days he'd been in there trying to buy a phone. GZK saw Farmer H, but didn't acknowledge him. Another employee, a Tail-End Millennial the age of Genius, waited on Farmer H.

"That kid who ordered my phone didn't do NOTHIN'! He sat on a counter and played with his phone. He saw me, and he knew I was there to pick up my phone, but wouldn't wait on me. Another one, about Genius's age, got my phone, and transferred my information. It took about an hour. He seemed to know what he was doing."

"Of course that other one didn't want to deal with you! He already had his commission! Why would he want to spend an hour actually assisting you with your purchase, when he could pawn that off on another worker?"

"Yeah. I'm sure that was it."

Anyhoo... Farmer H has a phone like mine, only a little newer. Same model, but I think his is 5G, and mine is 4G. Besides being cracked all to Not-Heaven. I helped him get his Casey's Rewards app, which is the only item that didn't transfer. 

I think Farmer H will need to ask The Pony to help him get the time and date in big numbers on his main screen. I don't know how. Or maybe he can ask HOSS (Farmer H's Oldest Son's Son), who is in middle school, and will be helping Farmer H move some merchandise out of his old Storage Unit Store on Monday.

Something Is Not Quite Right In The Center Of Senior

Friday was the "holiday" meal at the Senior Center, for Memorial Day on Monday, when they'll be closed. Farmer H knew ahead of time that they were serving pork steaks. He sent me a picture of his tray. Not when he sat down to eat. That would have made too much sense. He sent it around 7:00, while he was at the auction.

Maybe Farmer H's lunch crew was too busy actually serving the meals on this day, and didn't join him at the table to fawn over him. Otherwise I'm not sure he would be taking a picture of his food. He would be busy basking in their adoration, preening, lording it over the regulars who live in the hotel over the dining room.

I hope Farmer H has not angered them! Perhaps he's been absent too many days this week, working on Pony House. Because it does not look to me like his tray was prepared with the usual level of loving care!

There it is. Pork Steak, Slaw, Baked Beans, Deviled Egg, and Cake. Farmer H said that my deviled eggs are better! He didn't make much comment on the rest of the meal. I think that cake looks tasty. Like a Jello cake, where the red stuff has seeped in.

Here's the deal. Something about that tray triggers me! First of all, that dark blue is not a very appetizing color to eat food from. Secondly, I think the compartments are upside down! Every school lunch tray I ever had put the main course on the bottom right. And the upper left had the compartment where you set your drink, which was not round at all, but a square carton of milk. So this tray has issues.

Also, what's going on with that silverware compartment? Did Farmer H have a mini tray, or did he get a gigantic knife?

I need to ask Farmer H if this is the standard tray. And have him ask his benefactors of the occasional extra helpings WHY the trays are so unusual. Maybe they got a good deal on them.

Nope. He Can't. Hear Me Now, That Is.

Poor Farmer H. His quest for a phone is more ill-fated than the 3-hour tour of Gilligan and Skipper's passengers! This is Saturday. It will be Farmer H's 5th trip to the phone store over in Bill-Paying Town. When he ordered the phone on Wednesday, they said it would be in on Friday. Here is where the story diverges...

Friday morning, I got an email at 6:47 a.m.

GET READY-YOUR ORDER'S ON THE WAY!

Sounded good to me. I assumed Farmer H would also get such a message. I knew he was at his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2) until noon. Then he would probably go get his phone before heading to his rendezvous with his cronies for their Friday afternoon bull-shooting session.

When I got a text at 8:01 a.m. saying "Your T-Mobile order has shipped!" I figured it was on its way to the store. Since the email link for tracking had said it was being readied for delivery at 6:47 a.m.

I hadn't heard anything else by the time I was getting ready for town at 1:30, so I checked the tracking again. VOILA! The phone had been delivered at 1:05. An inside delivery, with the name of the person who signed for it. I was sure Farmer H would be checking, and was probably over there getting his new phone set up. I didn't try to call or text him, because that would be awkward while his info was being moved from the old phone to the new.

Well. Farmer H got home around 5:00. I asked if he had his new phone.

"No. It wasn't there. I was there at 1:00. The guy told me it could get there any time. So I sat on the parking lot for a while, but no UPS truck showed up. So I left. But now here it is, 5:02, and I get a text that my phone has been delivered."

"WHAT? It was delivered at 1:05. I checked the tracking."

"Well, maybe I was there at ten till one. But I didn't see any delivery."

"You must not have waited long. I can't believe they didn't call you to let you know it was there. They need to do SOMETHING to earn that commission!"

"Well. I didn't hear nothin' till this text just now. I guess I'll go tomorrow when I'm done selling."

"They'll be busy on a Saturday. Be prepared to wait a while. Make sure they get it set up. That's their job!"

"I'm supposed to meet one of my buddies at the lockers at 4:30."

"You better tell him to leave if you're not there within 15 minutes. Because if they're moving your contacts, you won't have a way to call him."

"Yeah. I'll tell him."

We'll see if the 5th day is the charm... 

Maybe He Can Hear Me Now

Farmer H is supposed to get his NEW PHONE today. After all he's been through trying to buy it, I hope he is finally rewarded with a bill and the actual phone. This will be his 4th trip to the phone store this week! Monday the line was too long with the workers not working. Tuesday he was told he wasn't on the account, so he couldn't buy a phone. Wednesday they would allow him to buy it, but suddenly didn't have it in stock like they had told him on Tuesday.

"He said they DID have one in the store. It was on the floor. A floor model. I didn't want that. So they ordered it to be delivered to the store. They're getting it with the screen protector already installed. So hopefully it will be better than when they do it in the store."

That's the thing. Farmer H MUST have a screen protector, and a wrap-around shock-absorber thingy, and a holster. Not just because he wants them, but because he is rough on phones. And each new one is always a different size, so he needs a new holster. It all adds up to another 1/4 the cost of the phone!

Anyhoo... let's hope that they get his information transferred over to the new phone without issue. 

"The guy told me I could do that myself at home! Nope. I'm paying them for the phone. That's their job! Why else would I order it there in the store for them to get a commission? I could just order it online. It's their JOB to transfer my information if I go in their store and buy a phone!"

Are you as apprehensive as I am about this process going smoothly?

As Much As I Hate To Admit It, Farmer H Might Be Right About Jack's Increasing Girth

As I came down the driveway Tuesday after my trip to town, I saw a giant rabbit on the left, sitting in the grass between the driveway and Copper Jack's acreage. It's an overgrown thicket on the other side of that fence. Makes for good neighbors. That bunny flaunted its cotton tail at me as he hopped away. He was a big fellow or fellowette.

As I continued toward the garage, a flurry of activity caught my attention from the right. An even huger rabbit darted across in front of T-Hoe, closely followed by long-legged Copper Jack, and my ground-hugging little Jack. I had to put on the brakes. They were oblivious to the unwritten rules of Animal vs Two-Ton Vehicle.

All three critters darted under the fence and disappeared into the underbrush. I surmised that this hunt was unsuccessful when my little Jack joined me in the garage. No sign of carnage. I'm sure that greeting me would not be Jack's top priority if he had a tasty rabbit carcass at his disposal.

Chasing is good exercise. But the catch is detrimental to Jack's waistline.

Mrs. HM Reigns Supremish

Farmer H went to get a new phone on Monday. WENT to get one. Didn't.

"I was in the store and there was four people ahead of me. It looked like they were waiting on two of them, but the other workers was just standin' around talkin' to each other. I was gettin' kind of mad, but then my phone rang, and it was one of my old buddies who was passin' through. So I left and went to talk to him."

On Tuesday, Farmer H was busy with insulation and Pony House. But he made time to go over to Bill-Paying Town to get a new phone. GO OVER to get one. Didn't.

I got a call from him at 2:45. Thinking it was him trying out his new phone.

"I went to get a phone. Them idiots said I couldn't buy one, because I'm not on the account."

[Not the first time we've had this problem. Way back when Genius was not yet driving, I drove him halfway to the city one summer to get a phone. SPRINT wouldn't let us, because I was not on the account. So then Farmer H changed it so I WAS on the account. Apparently they put just me on there. The bill comes in my name. We had to add The Pony when he broke his phone at work, and Farmer H was driving him around trying to get it fixed to make a trade-on for a large discount. Anyhoo... I thought Farmer H was on this account all along. But T-MOBILE, who took over SPRINT, says not.]

"You can't even BUY a phone without being on the account? Like, buy it outright, not with payments on the bill?"

"Yeah. Can't do anything. Even though they switched out my sim card in that same store a while back, and didn't say nothin' about me not being on the account. I was gettin' mad. The lady in front of me couldn't buy a phone because she wasn't on the account. She said her husband was out in the car, and the guy said to have him come in, that all they needed to see was his driver's license. He came in, and the guy said it was expired. So the old man said he knew, because he just renewed it, and showed him the paper copy you get before the new one comes in the mail. And then the guy told the old man he couldn't use that, because he couldn't scan it. It was crazy!"

"So you don't have a new phone..."

"Nope. It might be just as easy to drive up to the city to that store we like. But I'll still have to be on the account. The guy said all you have to do is call customer service and it will take 10 minutes. I told him it's never that easy, and that you weren't about to do that right now!"

"That's right."

"Maybe you can look online and see if you can add me. Then I'll try again. But I ain't gettin' no new phone today! The guy kept tellin' me that he was tryin' to help me. That he would like nothing better than to sell me a phone, because he gets a commission. He probably ain't makin' much, since he turns everybody away!"

So... I tried online. First I had to set up an account with T-MOBILE, even though the site said they were importing my SPRINT information. I needed a new password. Several texted and emailed codes later, I was into my account. Went in to the section that said ADD A DEVICE OR PERSON TO YOUR ACCOUNT. And of course it would only let me add a device! Nothing there to add a person. Oh, and I couldn't add a phone without calling customer service. Not that I wanted to add a phone. It's just odd that it's what I couldn't do online. I could have added a tablet or several other devices, but not a phone.

I called customer service. Automated. Finally it put me through to what it said was a person who could help me. Crickets. No. Not actual crickets. There was no sound at all. Not even Muzak. So after three minutes, I hung up. As I was punching in the number to call again, my phone rang. It was T-MOBILE.

"Hello? I'm calling because your phone recently called our customer service department. We were cut off. The call must have dropped..."

That's when I think she realized what she was saying! Their service is so crappy that my call to customer service could not stay connected, heh, heh! Anyhoo... the IRONY of this was probably lost on her. She was too busy concentrating on her English. Obviously not her first language. Possibly not her second. I'm guessing she was on a different continent. She was a very polite Asian-sounding woman who said I had a beautiful name. They don't do that when the call center is in India.

Anyhoo... she SAID she added Farmer H to the account. Then tried to sell me several items, and upgrade my service. Not interested. By the time I hung up, I had been on the line 8 minutes and 35 seconds of actual talk time. Might have been less if we were able to speak each other's language and didn't have to concentrate with long pauses.

We'll see if Farmer H can get a phone on Wednesday. He says the guy he talked to probably won't want to wait on him again...

The Pony Dips His Hoof Into Adulting

The Pony has been out of the Mansion for a year now. Made his 13th payment to us for Pony House this month. He's had his job with the post office for two years. I'm quite proud of him making his way in this world. The Pony has always been content to let others do for him. Just sit back and go with the flow. Opposite from Genius the go-getter, always chafing at the bit to get out on his own.

The Pony does his own income tax return. Deals with his own finances and utilities. He does still have his phone on our account, to reap the benefits of unlimited data, and his car on our insurance, to get the multi-policy discount with all our autos and house insurance. He pays his portion without issue, as soon as I notify him when it's due. The car is still in our name, simply because we haven't changed it. There's no payment. It was bought outright, just like Genius's first truck.

Anyhoo... we got the notice that it was time to renew the license for The Pony's car. It doesn't cost a lot. Less than $100. But it requires proof of insurance, and personal property tax receipts from the past two years. I told The Pony we got the notice, and would let him know when we paid it.

"Can I just pay it myself?"

Well of course! Far be it from me to take a number and wait in line at the local license office behind the dead mouse smelling post office! I wouldn't dare rob The Pony of that pleasure. So we got the tax receipts and loaned them to him at my Mother's Day catfish dinner. The Pony has temporarily switched routes, and has Mondays off right now. So he planned to get the license renewed on Monday. I sent him a text Sunday to see if that was still the plan, since next Monday the office will be closed for Memorial Day, and then the month will be over. Don't want a late fee. The Pony said he knew.

At 11:12 on Monday, The Pony sent me a text:

"Finished the car stuff!"

"Good adulting!"

"Yup!"

Now I just need to get our tax receipts back. 

My Needs Do Not Come First

Remember a couple years back, when Genius was home for a short holiday, and we went to the casino, and when Farmer H let me out behind the garage upon return... I dropped my cell phone? Dropped it while bending down to pet my fleabags who so loyally greeted me. It landed face down on the gravel scattered on the concrete of the carport, and shattered its face.

I was planning to get a new phone, but it was still VIRUS-y times, and not everyplace was open. And when we drove to get one after seeing online that it was in stock, it was NOT in stock. So I had to wait. 

Well. I'm still waiting. My phone is usable. But the shattered glass at the bottom of the screen makes it hard to read texts. AND when I type in my own texts, those cracks sometimes enter what letters they THINK I touched.

Anyhoo... it's not too much of a hardship. Except for reading and sending texts. Mainly what I use my phone for. And I saved money by not buying a new phone.

Guess who's getting a new phone on Monday?

NOT ME!

Farmer H is getting a new phone. His phone sometimes works, sometimes doesn't. Sometimes it goes straight to voice mail when I try to call. And he gets my texts hours later. Now he's having trouble making outgoing calls. Not a good thing when he had to call certain agencies for approval on some of his sales. So he has to borrow a phone from assorted buddies who also sell at the flea market.

Anyhoo... Farmer H will be getting a new phone. I had to look up suitable models so he will know what to ask for. With the prices. And warn him not to jump at certain DEALS that might say he gets a free or discounted phone, with the addition of a new line, or an updated account. Nope. Don't waste that carrot waving it in front of Old Mule Farmer H. We will keep plodding along with our same account. Nothing fancy for us. 

Besides, it might affect the grandfathered UNLIMITED usage that The Pony enjoys while paying us to keep his phone on our account.

Hungry, Hungry T-Hoe

The day after my Mother's Day feast at the local catfish restaurant, T-Hoe made a noise. A DING DING DING noise. He does this when somebody rides in the passenger seat without a seatbelt. Farmer H had done that momentarily when I picked him up with The Pony to drive to our fish feast. I told him NO WAY was I going to listen to that intermittent alarm all the way to Bill-Paying Town. So he put on his seatbelt.

But Wednesday, nobody was riding shotgun. I knew it couldn't be an alarm about an unbelted rider. So I pushed the button that shows the warnings. It said T-Hoe had 13 percent oil life remaining. Good to know! I told Farmer H when I got home. He kind of grunted. Not even sure he understood what I said, because he made no comment about getting T-Hoe's oil changed. 

The DING DING DING happened again on Thursday. And Friday. Always at the same place, going up the curvy gravel hill after descending Farmer H and Buddy's Badly Blacktopped Hill. When it happened on Saturday, I quickly glanced down at my rotating warnings about servicing the suspension system and servicing the tire sensors. And there it was! A NEW warning that only flashed by once, right after the DING DING DING: Oil Pressure Low. That's a bit more serious! I continued to town.

On the way home, just before the prison, I had to stop for the car ahead of me making a left turn. I was on a hill, T-Hoe's nose in the air. DING DING DING! I guess accelerating at low speed up a hill makes that oil shift or work harder or something. 

Anyhoo... I told Farmer H as soon as I got home that I was afraid to drive T-Hoe to town until he did something about the oil. That now the OIL PRESSURE WAS LOW! I'm pretty sure that can destroy an engine. Farmer H jumped right up from his recliner, and said,

"I think I have some oil over in the BARn. I'll drive the Gator over there and get some before I get in the bathtub."

"You can't put it in NOW. T-Hoe is hot. I just got back. You'll burn yourself!"

"Heh, heh. I'm not going to burn my myself putting in OIL, HM!"

Well. There's something you're not supposed to fiddle with when the engine is hot. But if Farmer H wanted to be all smug, then he could just go ahead and steam himself, as long as he gave T-Hoe a drink of oil to quench his thirst.

I'll find out Sunday if this did the trick. I know T-Hoe still needs an oil change, but at least he shouldn't be LOW.

He Must Be A Breast Man, Not A Leg Man

I didn't have to make Farmer H's supper on Friday, because he sent a text that there was a special something honoring the Senior Center volunteers at 5:00. So he would be eating there. I guess it's as good a story as any for not getting home until 6:30... He said he had the best honey bbq chicken sandwich he's ever eaten, from a food truck. To be fair, I don't think Farmer H has ever had a honey bbq chicken sandwich anywhere. Nor eaten a sandwich from a food truck. Anyhoo... I didn't have to cook.

Getting out of T-Hoe at Country Mart, the deli lady came by on her break, and asked about my lottery luck. Very good, thanks. I've had 3 winners of $100 this week! I asked her if she had any good food in the deli. She gave me that look. Like, "You know better than that!" Not that she was disparaging her own livelihood. It's just that the food there isn't what it used to be.

"You used to have good stuff. But now it's all the same. Fried chicken or fish."

"We have pulled pork."

"I've seen that a couple times. But I'm afraid it comes from those tubs you sell, and it's too spicy."

"No. This comes in a big bag. It's not spicy."

"Okay. Maybe I'll try it sometime."

I went in to look in the deli case. The young guy working had just gone into the kitchen. I browsed a minute, not wanting to ring the bell. They had kraut with hot dogs sliced in it. That's something I've never seen there. And the pulled pork. Plus fried chicken, chicken tenders, and fish. Plus the sides. I was not feeling adventurous.

I dinged the bell. Twice. And the guy came out. He's a different one than my favorite, who must not work there any more. 

"I hate to do that. I know you must be busy if you're not out here."

"No. It's okay. That's my job!"

"I'll have a two-piece dark meal, with green beans and macaroni and cheese."

He dished it up and put the price on. Taped a roll in a baggie to the container. When I got home, I saw that I had a leg and a giant breast! That is NOT dark meat! I wanted a thigh! Thighs are my favorite piece of chicken. Never mind that this breast was twice as big as a thigh. It's white meat.

I guess this deli guy doesn't know the leg bone's connected to the thigh bone...

Pony Burgers

Sometimes The Pony sends me a picture of his supper. With a minimal message.

"Made burgers!"

That was at 7:04. By 7:06, I replied, "Looks delicious!"

And at 7:09, Pony said, "They are. Or rather, WERE!"

I guess The Pony works up quite an appetite on his route. He likes his burgers rare:

And his nail polish almost the color of rare ground beef...

Pretty Sure Is Getting Closer To Almost Certain

Sweet Gummi Mary! Can I not have a single day without Farmer H trying to kill me??? On Wednesday, it was by heart attack!

Perhaps you remember that I stay up through the night, dozing sometimes on the couch, and then hit the bed around 11:00 or noon for some horizontal slumber. And that I do not cotton to entertaining in the morning hours when I am in my lay-about clothes with a messy lovely lady-mullet.

I had gone to the kitchen around 10:15, to take my medicine. I fired up HIPPIE to check the Country Mart weekly sale ad. Huh. No sale ad this week. Just "store specials." Which in their case, probably means soon-to-expire foods.

THE FRONT DOOR OPENED, AND IN CAME FARMER H AND OLD BUDDY!!!

What in the Not-Heaven? Why was Farmer H bringing Old Buddy into the Mansion? I heard Farmer H grunt, and Old Buddy say, "This way?" Then Farmer H came to the kitchen. What ensued was a whispered tongue-lashing.

"What do you think you're doing? I could have been on the toilet with the door not closed! I could have been walking around in my holey sweatpants!"

"Old Buddy had to poop."

"You couldn't warn me? A call or text to say you were coming in? How hard is that?"

"I thought you'd hear us on the porch."

"What good would THAT do? You think I can jump up and run into the bedroom? It takes me five minutes to stand up and loosen my knees!"

"Huh. Well. He had to poop."

Not a good enough excuse to excuse Farmer H's negligence in warning me that I was about to get a visitor. AND when Farmer H heard Old Buddy stirring, he went straight to the front door, not giving him a backwards glance, and went out! Leaving Old Buddy at the bathroom door, saying

"I'm just going to leave this light and fan on for a few minutes..."

THEN Old Buddy moseyed towards the front door, but made sure to pause and look into the kitchen and say, "Good morning!"

Of course I had to respond with my own "Good morning," even though I was not having one!

Have you ever heard of a more inconsiderate lout than Farmer H? He kept telling me it was not a big deal. Maybe I should parade a group of old ladies through the bedroom as he lies sprawled in his tighty-whities.

It's not that I am trying to put on airs and sell myself as better than Old Buddy. I just don't like being  ambushed when I'm not ready to present myself to the world. I'm sure he won't think less of me... after all, his woman drank 8 Miller Lite tallboys.

The Metric System, The English System, And The Farmer H System

Once again, we are having a battle of wills at the Mansion, concerning the feeding of the fleabags. I fear that Farmer H is over-feeding our new dog Scarlett. She came with a big heavy-foil pan in her kennel. For water, I assume. But Farmer H took it out, and used it for feeding her dry food. So he kind of fills it up! It's bigger than a pie-pan. Also, I just found out he gives Scarlett a CAN of food in the evening. "So she'll have a belly full of warm food for the night. Then I give her the dry food in the morning."

It all started because I told Farmer H that Jack is looking fat again. He had slimmed down since there wasn't food sitting around for dear departed Sweet Sweet Juno.

"Ah. It's baby season. I think Jack has been eating baby rabbits. Besides, I don't know what all you give him for snacks. And as far as you know, he goes over to eat with Big Jack at his house."

"I am not the reason Jack is fat! He gets a quarter-size scrap of bread as I leave, and a half slice of bread when I get back. Or whatever leftover we have. Just a small treat. That's why it sits on the counter. I don't give it out all at once. But YOU are giving him too much dog food again."

"It's cat food. Until it runs out. That my buddy gave me from the donation thing. And I only give him a cup."

"That's the problem! You give him that metal cup full! It's more than a cup. He doesn't need that much! Plus he eats whatever is left over in the other pan."

That's what I don't get. Farmer H said he feeds Scarlett over by her house, but that big pan has been sitting on the porch with food in it. Anyhoo...

"I looked it up on the internet! A dog Jack's size needs from 3/4 cup of dry food to 1 1/4 cup."

"But you use the metal cup in the garage!"

"It's marked, HM. That cup is marked in cups."

"That doesn't mean you read it! You fill it up over the top."

"Yes. It's a cup."

I went to get my clear plastic measuring cup. "THIS is 3/4 cup! That's all Jack needs!"

"He'll starve to death on that!"

"Not if I'm feeding him so many treats, and he's eating over at Copper Jack's!"

I swear. Farmer H makes it up as he goes along. It's like when he takes his medicine out of a serving spoon and calls it a tablespoon.

Once Again, I'm Pretty Sure

Yes, I am not waffling. I'm pretty sure Farmer H is trying to kill me. Not only has he virtually disabled me with this latest shoulder malady, acquired when he reached for the six bags on my arm rather than let me set them down on the side porch... but he has also lamed me!

Of course Farmer H denies any wrongdoing. But we know he was probably behind it. Kind of hard to pin this one on him without direct evidence. It's only circumstantial. That's good enough for me. Remember, I'm the judge, jury, and future executioner!

This happened around the same time as the shoulder. Maybe one day earlier. I feel like there is something in my right heel, around the 5 o'clock position. It hurts like the dickens when I step on it. No matter if I'm barefoot, wearing a CROC, or in my town shoes.

I laid on the bed and had Farmer H take a look. Of course the brightest light ever bought in a Lowe's was reflecting off two mirrors and about to set my lovely lady-mullet ablaze. But in case those lumens were not enough down at my feet, I had Farmer H use his phone flashlight. And take a picture for me.

According to Farmer H: "There ain't nothing in your foot. Not that I can see."

He showed me the picture. It looked like a tiny cut. Perhaps a quarter-inch long. Yet when he ran his hand across it, there was a stabbing pain when he hit something rough. That's not normal!

Two days later, I had Farmer H take another look. Still nothing. His picture didn't even show the little cut this time. But STILL my heel has that stabbing pain when I step on it. I think something is in there. It doesn't look infected. Not red. Not even the hole any more. Farmer H assumes I am crazy.

However... on Monday morning, I felt something in my sock sole. Granted, I have not worn these socks continuously since my injury. They are fresh socks, out of the dryer. Well. At least they were when I put them on the previous afternoon after my shower.

Anyhoo... I fiddled around and pulled that sharp thing out of my sock sole. It was a tiny filament of wirish metal. Tiny! Maybe an eighth-inch. Thinner than a staple. Maybe the thickness of a thread. I don't know where it came from. I don't know where I picked it up with this sock. BUT, I figure another thingy just like it went into my foot. Or scraped a cut into my foot.

I know I've mentioned it here before. At times, I've stepped on something (not a dropped pill!) on the bathroom floor. Something sharp. And accused Farmer H of trekking in metal shavings from some project. I still think he's the reason for my heel injury.

Pretty sure...

A Pretty Good Mother's Day

Farmer H gave me a card before he left for his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2). It had drawings of puppies, and when opened, a little 3-D box popped up, and it played music consisting of dog barks! Pretty cute!

The Pony sent me a text wishing me a Happy Mother's Day. He will be bringing a card and some scratchers (!) for me when we go eat at a local catfish restaurant on Tuesday. He let me pick the day. We talked about it last week. I didn't want to go this weekend because of crowds. They're closed Monday. So Tuesday, The Pony's day off, is a good time. Of course Farmer H will be joining us.

Genius called and chatted for about 30 minutes. He was sitting on his balcony, musing about being two weeks late to plant this year's pepper crop. Gotta get the plants in the soil if he expects a harvest!

The Veteran also called and talked about 20 minutes. He's building sets for his daughters' play at the local junior college. They're doing The Wizard of OZ. He asked if Farmer H was taking me to the casino. No. We haven't discussed that, but I'm sure he will take me any day I want to go. As long as it's not the three days he spends at his SUS2, nor the two days he goes to the auction. I told The Veteran about our planned catfish dinner on Tuesday. And that I was serving leftover spaghetti for supper, and didn't have to cook!

When I got home from town, Farmer H said The Veteran had called him, and asked if I would like it if he went to the catfish restaurant and brought me takeout for supper! Of course Farmer H knew enough to say that I would probably not be a fan of that, because I don't like surprises. Which is the truth. But wasn't that a nice gesture??? Though I can't really thank him, because I don't think I'm supposed to know about it.

My new dog Scarlett was let off her lead, and stayed here at home. I think she realizes she belongs here now. She's a sweetie. Good-natured, but a bit frisky. I'm sure she'll settle down as she matures, and gets used to freedom.

Oh, and to top off such a glorious day, I won $100 on a $3 crossword scratcher! 

I Think The Crazy-Driver Is Trying To Reverse-Psychology Me

Seems like Farmer H is trying to drive me crazy with kindness! After he nearly severed my arm and beat me senseless with it (okay, perhaps I exaggerate a skosh, but I am still having severe pain in my right arm from the garage grocery-carry)... Farmer H started putting away the groceries.

He tore the 8 bananas from the bunch, and piled them all willy-nilly in the fruit bowl, regardless of ripeness! You'd think that after 34 years of me arranging them in the bowl in order of ripeness, he would recognize the pattern. But no.

Another thing Farmer H doesn't recognize is a pattern of SAMENESS. I bought some sliced ham in a 1 lb package, since the last package of ham is nearly depleted from Farmer H making himself an occasional sandwich to take to his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2) for lunch. When I opened the refrigerator later, I noticed that the new ham was not by the old ham on the bottom shelf. It was on the second shelf, ATOP A BAG OF SHREDDED CHEDDAR! 

Seriously. Who does not know that shredded cheese will not stay shredded when topped with a pound of ham??? It will turn into a block of cheese from the pressure of the ham!

I'm pretty sure Farmer H is only "putting things away" in order to show me that I should tell him NOT TO PUT THINGS AWAY in the future.

Garage For Thee, But Not For Me

I suppose it's kind of my own fault that Farmer H is on a drive-me-crazy spree. I have been catering to him since his back surgery, making sure he does not over-lift. When I get home with the groceries, IF he has not done his disappearing act, I tell him to wait on the side porch. No need for him to go up and down the steps loaded with groceries. I carry the bags from T-Hoe's rear to the chair on the side porch. Then Farmer H carries them into the kitchen. If there's a heavy bag, like with cans, or onions and potatoes, I tell him to leave it, and I'll bring it in.

This has been working fairly well. But now Farmer H's tale of how much he can lift varies. It used to be no more than 10 pounds. Then after his follow-up appointment with the surgeon, Farmer H said it was 15 pounds. A few days later, when I caught him carrying something other than groceries, for his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2), he tried to tell me his limit was 20 pounds.

Anyhoo... it's still a help to me if I call ahead, and Farmer H comes out of the house when he hears the dogs raising a ruckus. I carry the bags halfway, and he takes them inside.

This week, Farmer H was out in the yard mowing. He got off the mower and walked over to the people-door of the garage while I was walking around to T-Hoe's rear. From there, Farmer H yelled something at me. I don't remember exactly what, but it took him three tries. Because, you know, I had my head in T-Hoe's rear, trying to gather up grocery bags. 

Here's the thing. Farmer H was RIGHT THERE. He was already on my level, standing at the front of the garage. So he could have easily come to the back of T-Hoe, and carried half the bags to the side porch, set them on the chair, then climbed the steps to take them in. Oh, yeah! Now I remember what he was yelling. Farmer H was asking if the door was unlocked! NO. Because I didn't know if he was still at home when I left.

Anyhoo... rather than walking back to take some bags, Farmer H went up the steps to unlock the kitchen door! Then came back to wait for me to hand him grocery bags!

Let the record show that I hurt my arm/shoulder during this activity! Rather than waiting for me to set the bags on the chair, Farmer H was standing there reaching for them. So I had to LIFT my arm with 5-6 bags draped on it. The minute he took the last bag, I could feel something wrong with my arm. The deltoid muscle, which lets you flap your elbows like a chicken. And the muscles in front of it, which I don't recall at the moment. So now for two days, I've been in terrible pain. 

Do you realize how many things you use those muscles for??? Eating, drinking, combing hair, shampooing, putting shirts on and off, putting glasses on and off, driving, hoisting yourself into T-Hoe, reaching for your purse on the passenger seat, scratching scratchers (!), covering yourself with The Pony's fleece throw, turning on the sink water, washing dishes, getting food in and out of FRIG II, reaching into the oven, scratching, throwing clothes from washer to dryer, getting ice out of FRIG II's freezer bin, moving the mouse for HIPPIE, holding fingers over the keyboard for typing. 

I have been in agony. Aspirin, acetaminophen, Hempvana, Arthritis Strength Hempvana... nothing really seems to take the pain away. It doesn't help that it's the same arm that is bruised from trying to hold Scarlett's leash on Tuesday night. It sure takes a long time to heal when you're old!

Meanwhile, Farmer H continues to drive me crazy. Like when he put away some groceries...

The Crazy-Driver Is Shifting Gears

Sweet Gummi Mary! Farmer H has ramped up his campaign to drive me crazy. I will have to break down the re-tell into several installments.

Tuesday, Farmer H was mowing the yard after a brief trip to town for lunch. He had been working on his latest themed shed over on Shackytown Boulevard, though the theme escapes me. Nor do I remember if his buddy Old Buddy was working with him. The plan was to put down a floor in that shed.

Anyhoo... Farmer H came back from town alone, and into the Mansion for a few moments to use the facilities. Then he said he was going out to mow the yard. It grows really fast this time of year. We have a lot of yard. I could hear him on the mower as he covered various areas of acreage. 

When I got out of the shower and left for town, I did not lock the kitchen door. After all, Farmer H was on the grounds. No need to lock him out.

When I backed out of the garage, I saw the mower parked under the carport, behind the Gator. Huh. I suppose Farmer H had finished up with the mowing. SilverRedO was not parked there. I assumed Farmer H had it over on Shackytown Boulevard while working on the shed. 

Going up the driveway, I did not see SilverRedO by the sheds. Well. Maybe he was at the BARn. By the time I cruised down the gravel road and looked in front of the BARn and Freight Container Garage, I realized that SilverRedO was not there. No way was I driving back to the Mansion to go in and lock the door. There have been no crazed marauders in our enclave lately. I was sure it would be fine.

On Wednesday, I had not talked to Farmer H since mid-morning, when he got our newest pet, Scarlett, set up on her lead in the side yard. I knew he was going to town for lunch, but not what he was doing afterwards. So as I left, I locked the kitchen door. Of course I saw SilverRedO on Shackytown Boulevard as I left. Too bad, so sad. Farmer H could just dig out his keys and let himself in.

When I was leaving town, I got a text that Farmer H could help me carry in groceries if I stopped and honked, because he was mowing, and his phone wasn't working well. So I caught his attention when I got home. He came over to the garage to help. And had the nerve to ask if the door was unlocked.

"NO! I left it unlocked yesterday, and then saw that you were gone as I went by the BARn field. You didn't bother to tell me that you were leaving!"

"Actually, I DID. I told you when you was in the shower."

"Did I answer you?"

"No. You was in the shower."

Exactly! I can't hear when I'm in the shower!

But there's more to Farmer H's antics, coming up...

The Financial Woes Of The Stupid

You'd think a woman who has done her own income tax calculations for decades would be able to file for retirement benefits. Wouldn't you? Seriously. How hard could that be? Just type in pertinent info concerning identification, preferred method of distribution, bank account info for direct deposit, and designated beneficiaries. But no. It has to be complicated.

Here's the deal. When I was fed up with teaching after 10 years, I took a state job dealing with unemployment claims. I loved it. Work your 8 hours, then go home without a thought of work until the next day when you clocked in. No homework, no worries. But then automation reared its ugly noggin, and my claims job became a phone service. So after 5 years to the (almost) day, my job ended. Actually, my 5 years ended on a Sunday, but I was graced with an extra day to give me a vested retirement. Heh, heh. YES, I drew unemployment until I got another job!

Anyhoo... this is not a lot of money that I have. The state contributed part, and employees contributed part towards their retirement investments. Farmer H has been harping at me for years to file and get it, usually triggered every three months when my benefits statement came in the mail. I know it won't be much. I'm tired of the harping. So I went online to investigate. Well. The joke is on Farmer H. Kind of.

If I had set up my account previously, I still would have needed to do it again. They updated their system. So I was actually just starting mine. I got the beneficiaries assigned. But when I looked for how to file, it was conspicuously hidden. Somewhere. I found a section where I could order forms, either by email or Pony Mail. I decided on both. I wanted to read it right away, but I was reluctant to file by email, in case my internet or HIPPIE had a malfunction. Of course they would only let me do one method. What in the Not-Heaven? As if it costs them to send me an email!

Anyhoo... I chose the Pony Mail method. The papers came last week, after taking 8 of the 5-10 business days allotted. Dang it! Apparently, I had requested the beneficiary packet! Like my beneficiaries need to file, once I kick off! But it DID contain info on drawing out the benefits. Oh, not a simple page. Nope. That packet contained 8 PAGES explaining rollovers and taxes and crap I understand about as well as world geography. Apparently, my money is in two kinds of accounts: a 401, and a 457. 

So... Farmer H's nagging started up again. "Why don't you just call them and file, like I told you in the first place?"

"Because I don't know what I'm doing! I will have to select things that might cost me a tax penalty. I don't get it. I'm old enough to draw out the money, but I don't know if it comes from two separate accounts, or if I have to put one into the other, and which one will get me the most money without a penalty. So I'd be stuck on the phone a long time, not knowing what to do, or which choices to make."

"Just call our financial advisor. She might be able to handle it for you."

So... I did that this morning. She said she can help me. I'd  much rather have her take a fee out of my investments to compensate for an appointment, than give up that money in taxes! She said to bring in the information packet and she'll look over it, because every employer has a little bit different rules on these things, like if I can even take it out in monthly installments. I offered her my account password to look it up ahead of time, but she said she's not allowed to do that. But with me there, she can, and we can file online, or if needed, she can call and talk to them. My appointment is for Friday.

I hope Farmer H will be satisfied when I start getting a couple dollars a month...

Let's Get This Dough On The Road

Farmer H went to a road meeting on Sunday afternoon. He had to leave his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2) early to get there. He usually stays until around 4:00, but the meeting was at 2:00. It was conveniently located across the street--I mean gravel road--from us, by our neighbors we trust. They served up some grilled burgers. Of course Farmer H partook, after having a ham sandwich he packed for lunch at the SUS2, and before grilling pork steaks for our supper.

Anyhoo... Farmer H has not revealed many details of the meeting. Not that it was secret. It was on the Facebook page of our enclave, with all invited. Farmer H said there were not many people there. The key point of the meeting was that Neighbor said he was opening up a checking account to use for road expenses, and welcomed any donations.

Farmer H gave him $150. He said no amount was specified, but that's what a load of gravel costs, and what we have given in the past. He heard one lady asking if $100 was okay, and Neighbor said any amount was appreciated. Farmer H said that by the end of the meeting, there was $730 in donations.

Of course people who didn't bother to attend the meeting will soon be complaining about any repairs that are made to the road, with money they didn't donate...

The Pet Is Missing His Keepers

Farmer H is having to fend for himself this week. The Senior Center was closed on Monday. He said it was because they are getting a new air conditioning system installed. I don't know how long that will take. Maybe just one day. But Farmer H has something else to do for a couple days, which will also require him to miss his lunch.

Oh, he'll eat lunch! He'll just have to go to a regular fast food place. Where he won't be let in a half hour before opening time. Where he won't be given extra food to bring home. And where the servers won't come out and sit at the table with him. I'm pretty sure his ego will be missing his keepers more than his stomach will.

The Self-Destructive Dog-Bread-Eater Tries To Hasten His Demise

Farmer H is at it again! I have to watch him like a toddler. Saturday evening, he got up after bed-going, saying his shoulder was hurting. He went to the cabinet over the microwave, and reached up (with his bad shoulder) for a bottle of over-the-counter pain meds. It sounded like he poured out half a bottle, but that could be because he is just naturally loud and annoying.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

"I'm taking some Tylenol for my shoulder."

"Wait! I saw that bottle you just put back. That's not it. You've got the ibuprofen." 

"It's the same thing as Tylenol."

"No. Tylenol is acetaminophen. Ibuprofen is like Advil. One is processed by the liver, and the other by the kidneys. Your doctor told you not to take ibuprofen drugs. DID YOU ALREADY SWALLOW IT? How many did you take?"

"It's in my hand. Only two. The doctor said I could take 3000 milligrams a day."

"Of acetaminophen. That's six pills."

"Huh. I'll just put these back and get the other."

Seriously. Can Farmer H not tell the difference between long white caplets, and little round brown pills? I hope he hasn't been taking the other ones without me catching him!

33 Percent Justice

Perhaps I should clarify my stance on the two previous posts... Roads are designed for automobiles WITH QUALIFIED DRIVERS!

Here are three examples, just from Saturday. I shall discuss them in reverse order.

____________________________________________________________________

The Titanic Idiot

On the way home, I was coming up on the long high bridge when a car rounded the curve coming toward me. A dude was standing up with his torso poking out of the sunroof! He looked to be late teens/early twenties, with a helmet of blond hair flowing in the 55+ mph breeze generated by the car. Wearing plastic sunglasses like my $5 Save A Lot version. He acted like he was on the bow of the Titanic, flying, with arms extended. When he saw me, he started waving exuberantly. 

What in the Not-Heaven??? Dude had to be standing with one foot on the passenger seat, and one foot on the driver's seat. What kind of driver lets that happen? The slightest jostle could interfere with operation of the vehicle!

____________________________________________________________________

The Over-Driver

I pulled up to the light beside Dairy Queen, waiting to make my left turn to head home. The car ahead of me had driven past the wide white line painted across the left turn lane, designating where to stop and wait for the light to turn green. It's a wide intersection. I could see the traffic lights for the cross traffic. Their light turned red. I waited for Over-Driver and I to get our green light. BUT WE DIDN'T GET IT! After about a minute, the cross traffic's light turned green again, while ours stayed red.

Over-Driver was practically in the middle of the intersection. Good thing it's so wide. There was room for the cars to pass by, but people on our right, trying to turn and come down our street, had to swing way wide to get around Over-Driver. Who didn't even try to back up out of the intersection! There was at least a car length, maybe two, between Over-Driver and T-Hoe. I was sitting with T-Hoe's front tires at that white line. Finally, the sensor must have sensed T-Hoe, and gave us our green left-turn arrow.

_____________________________________________________________________

The Bumper-Kisser

While I was in the drive-thru line at Dairy Queen, an unnatural blond behind me had her truck so close that I swear her front bumper was kissing T-Hoe's rear. I could hardly see any of Bleachy's vehicle in my mirrors. Granted, people get pretty close to each other at the DQ drive-thru, to let those behind them move up to order at the speaker. But there's usually at least five feet of clearance. 

Sometimes, the workers will bring out an order that gets ready faster. So I always leave room so I can pull out of line and go around. It happened just last week. The worker guy said, "Cut your wheel real hard, and I think you'll make it." I thanked him, and assured him that I COULD make. That's my purpose for leaving just enough room.

Anyhoo... I was a bit annoyed with Bleachy, because last year, a guy actually DID run into me in that DQ line. Good thing I'm not prone to neck injuries and lawsuits. As I was fuming and shooting Bleachy the stinkeye in my mirror, though she couldn't see me, due to her over-closeness... the worker gal brough out Bleachy's ice cream cone. 

HEH, HEH! Bleachy was too close to pull out of line and go around the three of us ahead of her! No room to back up, because there were cars behind her. So she had to sit there until we were ready to pull ahead.

______________________________________________________________________

SWEET, SWEET JUSTICE WAS SERVED! One out of three ain't bad.

Roads Are Designed For Automobiles. Really.

After my close encounter with the line-hugging cyclist on Thursday, I got around him and continued towards my bank. There's a section of this road that has a 3-way stop. It has traffic lights. Imagine an intersection that looks like this: lC, but with the top part of the C missing.

I was heading straight, but was stopped because the light was red. You have to wait for the C part of the intersection to get a red light, then you can go straight through when your light turns green. Cars coming toward me from the straight road also had a green light like the C part. That's actually MAIN STREET, and my part is a different road coming in to join it.

Anyhoo... ahead of me at the light was a young dude on a motorcycle. I use "motorcycle" loosely. It was not very big. Bigger than a Shriner's motorcycle. Bigger than a mini-bike. But not full motorcycle size. It was not a scooter, nor a moped. Just a really small motorcycle.

Anyhoo... Young Dude was sitting on his cycle, revving his engine, waiting his turn. The problem was, he was as far to the right side of the lane as he could get. I don't know why. Motorcycles have the same right-of-way as a car. They normally go down the middle of the lane.

Anyhoo... this little motorcycle and Young Dude were not in place to trigger the sensor under the pavement that signals the light to change. That light mainly stays green for the C and the oncoming part of my road. It's the main thoroughfare. If there's traffic waiting on my road, the sensor turns the Main St. light red, so my lane of traffic can proceed.

Such a dilemma. I was back a respectful distance, as I would allow for a car. So I was behind where the sensor is for the light. Yet Young Dude was not on the sensor. Even on a small motorcycle, I'm sure he would have triggered the light. It's not like traffic engineers don't know that motorcycles exist. 

We had been waiting an extraordinarily long time. Longer than I've ever waited at that light. At first I thought it might be malfunctioning, but then I noticed the position of Young Dude. What else could I do? I let T-Hoe creep forward until we were over the sensor. We were still behind Young Dude a bit. But so close that a car driver would have taken exception to my tailgating.

Young Dude didn't turn around to look at me. He didn't have mirrors. He didn't have a helmet. But at least T-Hoe triggered the light, and we got our green to proceed.

Roads are designed for automobiles. Or big fat motorcycles.

Roads Are Designed For Automobiles

The road where I almost met my doom by flying trampoline must be a bloodthirsty thoroughfare! There I was on Thursday, RIGHT WHERE the trampoline launched itself at me, when I spied a hazard. It was an old man on a bicycle. Not the kind of old-timey bike like that hateful dog-stealing lady rode in The Wizard of Oz, but a sleek 10-speed style bicycle. Old Man was not wearing a helmet.

Also, Old Man was not riding safely. There is actually a paved shoulder on that road, about 4-5 feet wide. It's where my deadly trampoline landed, after all, without impeding traffic. So there was plenty of room for Old Man and his bicycle. Yet he was hugging the sideline of that road. Good thing there were no wake-up bumps, or he might have jarred his false teeth loose. I could see that his tires were off the roadway, but his elbow was sticking over the line.

No way was I going to take a chance on hitting him! So I slowed T-Hoe down to Old Man speed, waiting for oncoming traffic to go by so I could swerve into their lane and pass him.

Here's the thing. Years ago, on New Year's Eve, a local state congressman was driving home from a night of celebration. Not on this specific road, but on the road that goes by the local high school. He hit a roadwalker with his passenger side mirror. You know how mirrors on a truck stick out. The man was knocked into a ditch, unconscious, and spent many weeks in the hospital. I think he eventually recovered.

Anyhoo... the congressman pulled over onto the parking lot of the high school. Threw away some beer cans from the truck. And switched places with his wife, so she was the driver. Then he went on his way, forgetting they had parked right in front of the school's surveillance camera. He did NOT turn around and go back to check on the Old Man. Obviously, they knew they hit somebody, or they wouldn't have switched drivers or gotten rid of beer cans. Not even sure they were fresh beer cans, since they had been celebrating at a local bar. I know there was a big stink, and the guy went to trial, but the results escape me at this time.

So... I was extra careful to NOT hit Old Man with T-Hoe's mirror.

Not blaming the victim, who should not have been walking on a dark road after midnight on New Year's Eve. Even though he was wrong, he did not deserve to be left in a ditch. I AM blaming future victim Old Man Cycler, because he should know better than to hug the road like that with his bicycle when there is room to ride on his private shoulder.

Farmer H's Buns

It is a full-time job trying to keep Farmer H alive! I don't know how he's made it this far. It's like on The Incredible Dr. Pol, when the vets say that horses will always find a way to hurt themselves. Farmer H will find a way to challenge his health.

Tuesday night, he got home from the auction around 9:00. He had skipped supper. Not because of his medication that non-diabetics clamor for, to decrease their appetite and lose weight. Nope. Because he had been feeling a little bit... indisposed. He elaborated as we chatted before I left for town.

"I don't know what's going on. This morning before I left home, I filled the toilet. At my doctor's appointment, I filled the toilet again. Then I went by and got my donut and headed to my storage unit, and had to go some more. I had lunch at the Senior Center and went by my locker to get some stuff, and went AGAIN. So I'm not sure if I want to eat before I go to the auction."

"I'd say maybe you should wait..."

Anyhoo... when Farmer H got home, he set about warming himself some supper. It was the hot dogs he grilled on Sunday. Since the time was late, he was only having one.

Farmer H stepped over to the kitchen sink, and reached across the counter to where I have a plate sitting with an old biscuit, a few potato chips, and a slice of bread dabbed in bacon grease. Also there's half a bag of bread, and four hot dog buns.

"Is this the buns?" He asked, while opening up the bag.

"NO! That is for dog treats! Put that down!"

"Huh. I thought them was the buns."

"The buns are where we always keep them. In the corner cabinet over by the refrigerator."

"Well, I thought that's where they were. But then I saw these."

You may recall, if you're a long-time reader, that I've caught Farmer H eating dog bread before. When I used to take it out of the cabinet, and set it on the counter in that area. I suppose Farmer H thinks that EVERYBODY is as lazy as he, and would leave bread 18 inches below the area where it is normally stored, rather than putting it back. So for that reason, I moved the future dog treats all the way across the kitchen, to the counter beside the kitchen door.

Farmer H's behavior such as this MIGHT be a reason he was feeling a bit... indisposed.

A Benefit Of Dwelling In Outer Hillmomba

Though I never have much of a schedule to keep, I sometimes grow impatient in the Gas Station Chicken Store. It mainly centers on people using their cards for trivial payments. The technology there is a bit lacking. 

Monday, my favorite cashier was working. Not her usual day, but she'd missed the weekend because she was sick. I was happy to see only two people ahead of me. The lady set her stuff on the glass-topped counter, and motioned for a man to go ahead of her. Then I'd be next. 

Dang it! That dude was buying lottery tickets! So much for getting speedy service. Of course I don't take long to buy MY tickets, heh, heh. But this guy was cashing in about 10-15 draw tickets. It took a while. Then he only bought two scratchers.

The lady stepped over next. I'll be darned if SHE didn't also have a passel o' draw tickets to scan. She was also paying for gas, had a fountain soda, and asked for a pack of cigarettes. After she re-did her malfunctioning card, she stepped aside to tear off her red tickets for the weekly gasoline draw, leaving her junk on the counter where I couldn't see the scratchers. So annoying.

Oh, and Lady kept talking to the cashier! Not fair. Her time was up! There were four new people behind me in line. But Lady asked about the "colored water." Cashier said she had not noticed before she came to work. I was too busy inwardly fuming to dwell on it. Until Tuesday, when I saw a story on the Facebook page of a city news station.

Hillmomba has a water problem, that being BROWN water coming out of the taps. One lady said after she and her husband finished their coffee, they turned on the sink faucet and saw that the water was the same color as their coffee! Another showed a picture of a bathtub full of gray water, and said she couldn't give her son a bath. A man commented that the water went from brown to gray to a variety of colors like an oil slick.

City officials said that the issue was related to a flush test on certain fire hydrants. Sediment got stirred up in the pipes, and that caused the discoloration. That they were flushing the whole water system to correct the problem. They "did not think" that such water was a health hazard...

Seriously. I'm pretty sure I would not want to drink water with sediment in it. Citizens complained that they had no notice of the hydrant test, nor the subsequent flushing of the lines. They suggested a notice on the future water bills of the schedule for future tests. Seems fair enough.

Farmer H says that most cities will issue a boil water order when there's sediment. Makes me really happy that we don't have city water. Just our cold, clear, well water. 

Check The Calendar, Universe!

It's the 1st of May, and The Universe continues to conspire against Mrs. HM. The winds that March supposedly came in with should have blown on their merry way by now. But no. March refused to go out like a lamb. Lioned its way right into April, and is still going strong in MAY!

Today we had 30 mph winds, with gusts over 40. Oh, it wasn't a chill wind. Temps in low 60s. But it was just an annoying wind that was most unwelcome.

Every time I stepped foot outside the Mansion or T-Hoe, that wind tried to rip the lovely lady-mullet right off my head. Tendrils whipped my face like a cat-o-nine-tails. Stinging like a dry jellyfish. Hair stuck to my teeth like shredded coconut on the outside of those delicious Snowball snack cakes. 

No matter which direction I headed, that wind was at my back. Eddying like a whirling dervish, covering my face with hair, trying to flip my shirt up over my head. Good thing Mrs. HM does not go to town in a dress!

The trees behind the Mansion sway violently. I don't fear them, because they can't reach the house. But on my travels with T-Hoe, I am apprehensive that a giant limb might come crashing down on us, or into our path. The metal roof of the Mansion sighs with annoyance. I'm pretty sure the trash dumpster is identifying as a heavy metal industrial version, in hopes of staying upright in our yard/field, and not prone in the middle of the gravel road.

Yesterday, in the field behind the Gas Station Chicken Store, in the area between the auto parts store and the can opener factory... I saw an upside down TRAMPOLINE. Yes. I had PTSD from a couple weeks ago, when one came flipping at me off the back of a truck. This one was twice its size. 

I got out of there as quickly as possible, hoping that trampoline wasn't coming after me!

I will take rain any day over wind.

Farmer H's Behavior Is What Most People Would Call Non(common)sensical

When Farmer H discovered that my oven wasn't heating normally due to a broken lower baking element, I ordered a new one. The UPS driver tossed it onto the gravel where Farmer H parks SilverRedO. 

I'm sure that driver tossed it, because nobody gets out of a delivery van to lay a package on the gravel beside a garage. Most of the drivers will bring it to the porch. Some knock on the door and then leave. Some set it on the end of the porch. Some lean it against the garage wall, between the two doors. And some leave it on the porch of a non-neighbor a half mile away on another road, or at a completely unknown house out on the blacktop county road. Still, my presumptions stands: no delivery driver gets out to lay a package on the gravel beside a garage.

Anyhoo... Farmer H got home that day as I was walking to the garage to leave. He was carrying my element under his arm, in a flat cardboard box. I had no idea he was going to install that part while I was in town, but he did. It was nice to have a fully-working oven again to make supper. But I DID have a gripe with Farmer H. 

Come on now. You can't say you are surprised...

When I turned the oven on, it smelled all burn-y. I commented on that to Farmer H.

"I turned it on for about five minutes to cook the new off of that element."

"Well. It still smells like something's burning."

"I guess maybe I should have left it on a little longer."

When I opened the oven to put in our taquitos, I saw the reason for the burn-y-ness.

Remember the state of my oven when I took the picture of the broken element?

It still looked the same, with the exception of a bottom element that was intact now. Farmer H had not brushed out those crumbs!

Don't get me wrong. I don't expect Farmer H to go in and clean my oven. However... if he's going to be shoulder-deep in it, using a screwdriver to remove the bottom element, I don't think it would be a hardship for him to brush out those crumbs onto a paper plate. He could use his hand. The element would have been out of the way. Not saying he needed to get the broom and dustpan. Just scoot those crumbs out while he was in there anyway! But no. He left them, and put the new element in over those crumbs, which responded by charring themselves under the extreme heat of the new working element.

I guess this lack of attention to detail is why Farmer H will step over items dropped on the floor, rather than picking them up. Perhaps it's something to do with his vision...