There Is The Edge Of Insanity, And Then There Is The Abyss Below FRIG II's Top Freezer Shelf

With Country Mart's imminent temporary closure, I have taken the opportunity to stock up on a few things. One being giant bags of frozen french fries. Sometimes you just want an easy side dish for supper. It's cheaper to buy the 5 lb bags of fries. We get two kinds, because Farmer H likes the crinkle-cut version, and I prefer the skinny shoestring style. There were already two bags in the freezer, slightly less than half full. I figured that they'd be used before the store reopens in 11 weeks, so I got more. In fact, the checkout gal thanked me. "I didn't know how I was going to fit them in with everything else. They are an oddball size." I guess she means in packing to transfer the goods to other stores.

Anyhoo... Farmer H was there to help carry in the groceries. I gave him that bag with the fries, because it's heavy. He seems able to carry stuff now. So it wasn't a hardship for him. He even started putting things away as I was giving the dogs their treat. Oh, don't think he's turned over a complete new leaf. More like one of those tiny individual leaflets off a Weeping Willow stalk. Still, I appreciate the help. Mostly...

As I opened FRIG II's freezer to get ice for Farmer H's Wild Turkey and Diet Caffeine-Free Cola, I saw that the inside was dark! I was about to mention it to him when

CLUNK!

A bag of frozen battered fish took a dive from the top shelf to the kitchen floor. That's not good for frozen battered fish. It gives new definition to "battered." Probably broke those individual fish planks into little nuggets. Oh, and if you haven't noticed, the fish planks are now barely the size of fish sticks! They used to be robust long triangle shapes, but now have shrunk, while the price has gone up.

Anyhoo... I started expressing my displeasure to Farmer H, over perching that bag of fish on the edge of the shelf like it was a baby bird ready to leave the nest. Asking why he shoved the fries in all willy-nilly, rather than pulling the two already-open bags to the front, since they'll be used first. And asking if he hit the light bulb, since the freezer was now completely dark. Of course all I got was denial from Farmer H. But you knew that already.

In shifting the two 5 lb bags of fries out onto the cutting block, to get to the open bags, and reconfigure that shelf, I saw that nothing was wrong with the freezer light. Farmer H had merely shoved those open bags of fries up against the light. It was on, but couldn't shine through the bags pressed against it!

Problem solved once again by Mrs. HM. Though she probably can't put fish portions back together again.

From Happy O's To Scary NOs!

Hey! Did I tell you that Country Mart will be closing for 11 weeks? I'm pretty sure I did. The shelves are starting to look like Old Mother Hubbard's cupboard. Every time I go in, there are fewer wares to overcharge me for. Like my cereal.

It's generic Honey Nut Cheerios. The store brand is called Happy O's. That's THEIR apostrophe. Not mine. The last three times I was in the store, there were no Happy O's. I kept waiting, thinking maybe some would come in on the next truck. But the gal I talked to a couple weeks ago told me that day had been their last truck. And that they'll be packing up the stuff left on Aug. 4 to send to other branches of their store.

Well. I had to buy a box of actual Honey Nut Cheerios. It costs almost TWICE what the Happy O's cost. But I need my cereal every morning (12:00 noon or later) to have with my daily banana.

Anyhoo... I keep the cereal box on the kitchen table. I was down to the last handful of Happy O's. Both boxes were visible over the top of HIPPIE's screen.

Sweet Gummi Mary! It's bad enough that I pay double for the licensing and advertising fees for a brand-name cereal! Can't they at least make it NOT SO FLIPPIN' CREEPY???

That is quite off-putting! A SLUG LADY on the cereal box. That's exactly what she looks like! A slimy slug. Staring at me over the top of HIPPIE's screen. It's enough to make me lose my appetite. Can't have that! I had to turn the box around. Where I now see the Nutrition Facts.

BRING BACK MY HAPPY O'S!

Farmer H Is No Roger Ebert

Farmer H was up at 5:30 Friday morning. He joined me while I was "watching" a movie that came on at 4:15. That should be a clue. No good movie comes on at 4:15 a.m. There was nothing else to watch, save for two channels showing different episodes of The Goldbergs. I like that show, but since nothing else is on at that time, I've seen every episode multiple times already.

Anyhoo... the movie was Meek's Cutoff. I was not impressed. It would have put me to sleep, had I not already dozed off during the last half hour of the survival show Alone. Twice.

"What's this?"

"A movie about three families leaving the Oregon Trail to follow a guide who said he knew a shortcut. It's not very good. I've been watching for an hour and 15 minutes, and all they've done is walk along and mumble and use up their food and water."

Farmer H watched for 10 minutes.

"You got that right. This is as useless as that show of yours. What do you call it? Bumblebees?"

"Yellowjackets? How dare you! Yellowjackets is full of interesting scenes!"

"It's just like this. There ain't no theme to it."

"What in the NOT-HEAVEN??? It has all kinds of action! AND a theme!"

"But it don't make no sense. It jumps around."

"It shows the characters in high school when their plane crashes, and then the survivors as adults, trying to cope with what they did!"

"Don't make no sense."

It's not my fault Farmer H can't follow a plot. How dare he compare a meandering dusty western with undecipherable dialogue to a dynamic series that has teenage girls:

-breaking a soccer player's leg to keep her out of the playoffs

-in a plane crash in the Canadian Rockies stranding them for 19 months

-trying to fly a bush plane they find in the woods

-succumbing to cannibalism

-hunting humans to commit cannibalism

... and their adult counterparts 25 years later:

-being blackmailed with mysterious postcards

-murdering and cutting up a lover assumed to be the blackmailer

-killing a private investigator hostage upon release, with fentanyl-injected cigarettes

-being elected the state's first black woman congressperson (helped by a sacrificial altar)

-climbing trees at night and eating dirt

-lesbian couple's son hitting a kid for calling one of his moms a "cannonball" [cannibal]

Just sayin'... There's a little more action in MY show!

Anyhoo... Farmer H left for his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2) before the movie was over. I promised to tell him how it ended. WELP! I didn't really need to. Because NOTHING HAPPENED! Those wagoneers followed an Indian they captured, thinking he would lead them to water. The last scene was them finding ONE TREE, and just standing around it. The Indian kept on walking. The wagoneers mumbled about what to do. The incompetent guide said he'd follow THEIR orders now. Black screen. Fini.

I wasted 1:45 on that so-called movie, to see it end with no conclusion. Compared to that nothingburger, my series is prime rib and lobster!

Mrs. HM, The Reluctant Psychic

Farmer H was home on Wednesday when I left for town. As I was on my way out the door, he said he was going to take a bath (in the big triangle tub in the master bathroom).

"Oh. Thanks for telling me now. I could have moved my stuff."

That's the thing. Farmer H is usually not home. I leave my Mansion clothes draped over the edge of the tub, to put on when I return. When he takes a bath, he has to remove everything from the side of the tub. Not sure why. Does he splash a lot? There's plenty of other frontage for him to climb over.

Anyhoo... when I got home, I made Farmer H his Wild Turkey drink, and gave him a snack. I went to change clothes as usual. The routine includes taking a pee after my town trip. Once I was ensconced on the throne, I noticed that the roll of toilet paper was missing. We have a holder on the wall across from the toilet. It's inconvenient for me. It's not a hardship to lean over and grab it, but I have to wrestle with tearing off the three squares I desire. And when I get out of the shower, my arm drips water on a couple squares on the top of the roll. So I prefer to take my TP from the roll I leave sitting on the edge of the tub, at my left elbow while I'm upon the throne.

Huh. WHERE did Farmer H leave it? I couldn't see it anywhere. I saw that my clothes were back on the edge of the tub. But I didn't see my Ace Bandage wrap that I put on my knee when I get home. It makes it feel better. I leave it on until I have a shower and go to town. But now it was not on the side of the tub by the faucet handles where I had left it.

By contorting my neck, I saw the Ace Bandage over my left shoulder, on the back of the toilet. By reaching my left arm waaayyyy back, I felt the roll of toilet paper, which was located on the back of the toilet between my shoulder blades. After re-dressing myself, I informed Farmer H that I did not appreciate the moving of my stuff.

"You could at least put things back where they were!"

"Your clothes were there!"

"Yeah. But I couldn't find the toilet paper. And my wrap was not where I left it."

"You should have looked when you went in there, and seen the toilet paper was not on the edge of the tub. Then you could have seen where it was."

"I was in a hurry! I was not looking for the toilet paper, which I assumed was where it was supposed to be. Are you saying YOU look for it every time you go in the bathroom?"

"Yes."  

Sweet Gummi Mary! Farmer H is so full of lies! And now he was blaming the victim! I guess I'm supposed to have eyes in the back of my head to find where he has put my stuff. Or be psychic.

I wonder what Farmer H would do if I hid the toilet paper... He is too lazy to replace the cardboard roll with three squares still clinging, that is on the holder across from the toilet.

Inner Secrets Of The Milk Chocolate Marshmallow

Okay. Mrs. HM took one for the team. Bit into one of those milk chocolate marshmallows that Farmer H bought three bags of at the auction. They weren't even hardly expired! Best by 06/14/23! 

Here's what one looked like out of the bag. I didn't open it! The bag had been breached before I took one.

The texture was just like it looks! Kind of stiff and stale. You can see a vein of milk chocolate something running through it.

First I took a tentative bite, just to see inside. It wasn't enough.

I had to take another bite to get to the bottom of this mystery, and the middle of that marshmallow.

Yum, yum, get you some. NOT! I can't explain the texture. It was kind of like dried-out canned frosting. Only crumbly, not creamy. Not a bad taste, but not a good taste. The filling took up about 1/3 of the marshmallow. 

Yes. I ate it all. I was going to throw away the rest after one bite, but it was sticky, and when I touched it, the sticky got on my hands, and I didn't want to be grabbing the doorknob, since those little ants had been trying to find a new home during the week of downpours. Finally got rid of them, not taking a chance!

Anyhoo... there were five left in the bag when I took one out. A bag holds 12! I don't know when Farmer H has been eating them! I took the picture of the bag on Sunday night, after he was in bed. I'm pretty sure that bag was still full on Tuesday while I was sitting with HIPPIE at the kitchen table. As I type this, it's Wednesday night. Which means Farmer H has eaten seven of those stuffed marshmallows in about 24 hours. I'm shocked that he's not in a coma! I have been feeling queasy since I ate that one. Too sweet! I might as well dip myself in corn syrup and impale myself on sugar cane.

I suppose if you ever get a bargain on these stuffed marshmallows at the auction, you might want to buy some. You can always give them away as bingo prizes to senior citizens.

Is This Some Kind Of New Crime Wave?

With nothing much to talk about, I paged through some photos The Pony has sent me. You've seen all his culinary efforts, and his injuries, and his animal-attraction companions on his delivery route. But here's one I think you missed. It's from early this year, or perhaps late last year, when The Pony was cooling his hooves in the waiting room for a routine medical appointment.

That's a cute little fellow. Not at all likely to rub somebody the wrong way. I imagine he's sound-activated, and does a little dance. 

What concerns me more is the sign behind him. How is a cell phone dangerous to a phlebotomist? It can't cause a force-field that prevents a needle from breaking the skin. It can't deactivate the needle. A needle doesn't send out an electrical impulse that might be disrupted.

What in the NOT-HEAVEN, people? Are roving gangs of blood-specimen-givers pummeling the phlebotomist with their cell phones? How is this a safety issue? Surely nobody is trying to take a picture of the puncture! Who wants to see THAT? I suppose somebody could drop a cell phone onto the hands of the phlebotomist. That might smart, but it's not a maiming force. 

I can only presume that perhaps a butter-fingered cell phone user might possibly drop it on the needle and cause an inadvertent puncture. Though it would seem that such a scenario would only jab the needle a little deeper into the blood-giver, and not make that needle reverse direction and stab the blood-drawer. 

It's kind of far-fetched. I've never seen a sign asking people not to flail and faint. Which seems more likely to happen, resulting in a needle-stick for the phlebotomist.

I'm Gonna Need Some Drugs To Deal With The Stress Of Getting Prescriptions

Nothing ever goes without a hitch for Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. The most routine or mundane task turns into a molehill-mountain. Requires planning rivaling that of launching the D-Day invasion of Normandy. This is precisely why I don't get 90-day prescriptions for my meds, nor have them delivered by mail. Well. THAT, and the fact that robbers would most likely steal them out of EmBee before I could get to them, or the mailman might just set them on top of Mailbox Row like he/she did The Pony's shoes.

Anyhoo... it's time once again to refill my prescriptions, which have no refills left. I went online to book an appointment with my doctor nurse practitioner, and saw that the first available appointment is for AUGUST 30! That's not soon enough. I had a week left on my prescriptions. Actually, that's on the pill for my missing thyroid. The blood pressure meds have about two weeks left. I don't know how they manage to get them so irregular.

Anyhoo... on Friday morning, I called in my prescription refills. I figured the pharmacy would call for them, and then tell me the NP said I need an appointment. At which time I would call his office, and they'd find an appointment to work me in. When I did my refills on the pharmacy's automated number, the recording said that my prescriptions had no refills, and to allow an extra business day for them to contact the doctor. That's standard. I was expecting it.

What I was NOT expecting was an email from the hospital/clinic system telling me that my refills had been approved, and to contact my pharmacy. This email came at 5:10 on Friday evening. Good to know. The pharmacy would have nothing keeping them from filling my prescriptions. They are open on Saturdays from 9:00 to 1:00. I know Saturday is not a business day, technically, but since my refills had been approved on Friday evening about an hour before the pharmacy closed, I thought they might be ready on Saturday. Not that I had any intention of going to town before 1:00. So I didn't attempt to get the meds. Although I noticed that I did NOT get a text saying they were ready.

On Monday morning at 10:30, I still had not received a text that my prescriptions were ready. I called the pharmacy. Since it had been an extra business day, assuming that nobody works at filling prescriptions on a Saturday...

"This is Mrs. HM calling to see if three prescriptions are ready."

"What is your birthdate?"

[As if I would tell YOU GUYS that!]

"It looks like we are working on three prescriptions."

"Oh. Okay. Because I got an email from my doctor's office on Friday evening saying they had been approved."

Silence. Then, "Thank you for calling."

Huh. That made me suspicious. I have called before and been told they were working on it, and upon further interrogation they revealed that they had NOT heard back from the doctor, and did I want them to try again? Um YEAH! So now it's 1:25 p.m. on Monday, and I still have not gotten a text about my meds being ready. 

I guess I will just go by when I'm in town. They better not say they are WORKING ON THEM. I am just perturbed enough to sit at their drive-thru window blocking all other customers until those meds are handed out the window to me. I'll update below to tell you what happens. I still have a few of those thyroid pills left. Good thing I'm not like Farmer H, taking the last one and then calling in the refill!

__________________________________________________________________

WooHoo! From Mrs. HM's fingertips to The Universe's collective eye! Scarcely had I logged off LAPPIE when I got a text from my pharmacy! At 2:04 p.m. "3 of 3 Rx's ready for HM" Imagine my glee when I drove up to the window, and the little gal immediately grabbed my bag from the rack. And then when I got back to the Mansion, and saw that I had 3 MONTHS of refills!

I guess being a squeaky wheel pays off. As inactive Chief of the Grammar Police, I will forgive them for using an apostrophe after Rx.

Not Deconstructed, But Inside-Out

Do you ever get annoyed with those cooking shows that serve up some dish they call "deconstructed?" To me, that's just being lazy and not putting the ingredients together right! Or at all. I don't see anything fancy about it to be proud of. Then again, you are probably not as critical of everything as Mrs. HM!

Here are the marshmallows that Farmer H bought at the auction, with MILK CHOCOLATE INSIDE! That doesn't seem like the normal scheme of things. It's backwards! Marshmallow should be on the INSIDE. Not stuffed with chocolate!

I have no desire to try one. I think Farmer H took the open bag to his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2). I don't want to open another bag. Maybe he will bite into one so I can get a picture of its guts! From the picture on the bag, I still can't tell if the chocolate is supposed to be liquidy or pudding-like or firm. 

I already want to complain about the marshmallows in the bag not having a mouth and eyes and eyebrows! And look at that little cannibal! He's roasting his own kind!

When One Door Closes, Mrs. HM Has To Open A Couple More

Farmer H startled me from the pain doctor's office last week, when he sent me a text that Country Mart was CLOSING on August 4! I quizzed him on whether it is permanent. He said he didn't know, but that he saw it on Facebook, and that it also said big changes were coming for fall. Which seemed to mean a reopening.

Anyhoo... I couldn't find the info anywhere. When I was in Country Mart yesterday, one of the workers struck up a conversation. I asked her about it, and she said they would be closed for 11 WEEKS! That means it will be November! Just before Thanksgiving when I can shop again at Country Mart! Also, she said they will NOT reopen the deli. That it was losing money, and they rented most of the equipment anyway. So that's disappointing.

She said that some of the workers will stay on to help during the remodel. They have told them they'll work Monday-Friday. She is a weekend worker, so that won't apply. She said the manager is trying her best to see that everybody gets some hours during that time, although they will be reduced. And that they don't qualify for unemployment, because the store is offering them hours at other locations. There is one in Sis-Town, by The Pony's post office, where he shops. And there is one over in Bill-Paying Town. 

I told her I don't know what I'll do, but that I'm glad the workers will have a job to come back to. She said, "There's always Save A Lot." To which I replied, "But the parking is crazy!" She agreed.

I am sure I won't resort to the Devil's Playground. Ever since the VIRUS, and their weird cattle chutes and one-way aisles and restricted hours, and their addition of self-checkouts and loss of regular checkouts, they leave a bad taste in my mouth. I don't mind bagging my own groceries at Save A Lot, but I draw the line at ringing them up. If they want my business, they can darn well sell me the merchandise! If I need something I can't find elsewhere, I will send Farmer H. 

Innate Knowledge For Farmer H

I swear, Farmer H was born with all the tools he would eventually need to annoy me. We were obviously meant to be together. I came equipped with the ability to thwart his shenanigans.

For the past week, I have been seeing ANTS. We rarely have an ant problem at the Mansion. My mom used to get them every summer. Big lumbering black ants that came up the back wall of her brick house, and in through the kitchen window, despite screens and double panes and storm windows. She'd get that thick liquid stuff you put a drop of on a square of cardboard. Then put it on the counter in their trail. Not a pretty sight, but it did the job, and got rid of them within two days.

Our ants are tiny black frail creatures, which I first mistook for fruit flies. Only they didn't fly. Just crawled on the counter. Not many. The most I saw in one day was three. But they DON'T BELONG inside the Mansion! I just smooshed them with my finger or thumb. I don't keep that ant liquid, because in all the years we've lived here, I've only seen ants three or four times.

I got the can of RAID out of the laundry room. It has mostly been used for wasps, and not even them for a few years. RAID doesn't go bad, does it? I  sprayed along the threshold of the kitchen door. Halfway up the sides. Normally, I would open up the door and also spray the outside. But with Scarlett being so unpredictable, I didn't want to expose her to it.

The next day, I only saw two ants. SMOOSH!

Now it has been two days, and I haven't seen any. Maybe all the rain triggered them to come in. We haven't done anything differently. I had the dog treats of stale bread or grease bread on a plate by the sink. It has not acted like ant bait in the past. The only difference was two tomatoes Farmer H had brought home from the SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2), given to him by a regular customer. I thought maybe they had been carrying ants on their surface. They still had that dusty garden feel. I didn't wash them until ready to use.

Anyhoo... I think our ant "problem" is over now. Not for any help by Farmer H! He came home from the auction Friday night with three bags of marshmallows. BIG marshmallows, filled with milk chocolate!

"Here. Try one. They're pretty good. At least the ones we sampled at the auction were."

"No. I don't really like marshmallows, unless I'm going to roast them over a fire. I can't roast these over the stove burner, because the milk chocolate would leak out. So thanks, but I really don't want any."

"Okay. I always share my treats. I'll have a couple right now. I might take this bag with me down to the store tomorrow."

With that, Farmer H opened up his bag of sticky sweet marshmallows, and put two on a plate. He was looking around for something to do with the rest of the bag.

"Here's a big rubber band that was on the mail. You can fold over the end of your bag, and wrap that around it to hold it closed."

Farmer H did. Then he took that open bag of sticky sweet marshmallows, and set it on the chair by the kitchen door where he keeps his cap that he grabs on the way out.

"NO! Why would you put those marshmallows THERE, after I've told you we had ANTS???"

Farmer H moved the bag to the cutting block. Hopefully any remaining ants are sound sleepers, and won't even know there's a treat inside, before Farmer H takes those marshmallows to his storage unit.

Hillmomba Is The New Bedrock

Mrs. HM was thrown back into the Stone Age on Thursday morning. Like living in Bedrock, but without the long-beaked bird that played Fred Flintstone's phonograph records. Nothing to do but sit and wait, with a downpour taking out the Mansion's TV and internet. 

It came at the worst time! Just after Farmer H left around 6:15. I was watching Leave It to Beaver. An episode I've never seen! Beaver and Larry Mondello stayed after school on a Friday, to clean the blackboard for their teacher, Miss Landers. They stayed so late that all the staff had gone home except the janitor. Larry told Beaver that Mrs. Rayburn, the principal, had a spanking machine in the closet in her office, but that she only used it on big boys like the 8th graders. Not 2nd graders like Beaver and Larry.

As they were leaving, Beaver went back to get his hat. Larry said he was late enough, so went on ahead. Beaver snuck into Mrs. Rayburn's office to see the spanking machine. But the closet only held hangers and a couple of stray jackets. Meanwhile, the janitor noticed the door open, and went in to investigate. Beaver hid under Mrs. Rayburn's desk. The janitor closed the closet, and locked the office door with a key. Beaver was trapped! On a Friday night. He tried the rotary dial telephone, but could not make a call out. So he pulled the fire alarm. Heh, heh! Beaver arrived home on the fire engine! THEN MY TV WENT OFF!

Dang it! The episode description had said that Beaver got his head stuck in a fence. So I was wondering when THAT misfortune was going to befall him. I might never know!

Here's the thing: our TV and internet operate off two separate DISH satellites. It is hard for me to believe that nobody can develop a signal or a satellite receiver that can send/retrieve through rain and clouds. C'mon, man! You're telling me that in the 1960s, we could send men to the moon (and back!), and the President could talk to them on a landline (what is the area code for the moon?), but half a century later, we can't have TV and internet during a rainstorm?

Maybe a spanking machine could goad somebody into perfecting this cutting-edge technology.

I Have Suspicions That My Boycott Went Unnoticed

I used to frequently pick up a Dairy Queen treat on my way home from town. It often turned out to be my supper when I didn't like what I was feeding Farmer H. But sometimes it passed for a late lunch, which I usually skip. It was not a sweet treat, but the pretzel sticks and a cheeseburger from the 2-for-$5 menu.

Back in mid-June, there must have been a new hire, or a disgruntled veteran, or new machinery. Three times in a row, my pretzel sticks were BURNT! So burnt that you could smell the burniness on them once the bag was in the car. Indeed, once I got them home and took a look, they were a very dark brown. In protest, I withheld my business from Dairy Queen. In fact, I didn't go back until July 17, and yesterday. I figured that would give time for a new hire to be trained or fired, or a veteran to become re-gruntled, or new machinery to be broken in or its idiosyncrasies learned.

The pretzels sticks are not quite as burnt. Only one side now, instead of the whole outer coating. There is a problem, however, with the bagging. Sometimes they stuff both items into a small bag, with the cheeseburger on the bottom, and the pretzel sticks on top. That makes for a top-heavy bag that wants to turn itself over at any stop or curve. But it doesn't mess up the food inside if I brace it against the seat with my purse, Percy.

The other way of bagging is better, if attention is paid to how the items are placed in the larger bag. The cheeseburger should be FLAT, not on its side! That makes the cheese run off on the ride home. There is room in the larger bag for the items to be side by side. The worst bagging is when the pretzel sticks are placed on the bottom of the bag, with the cheeseburger on top of them! That knocks off the salt, and bends the pretzels, and makes them soggy from their own steam.

Anyhoo... when I got home with Wednesday's supper in the larger bag, I found my cheeseburger on its side for no reason other than to irritate me. The pretzel sticks were poking out of their cardboard dish all willy-nilly, and their queso sauce container was on its side. They're not succeeding at wooing me back!

Also, they included SIX NAPKINS! Who does that? Obviously, this food is not being shared among six people. It's wasteful. And look at the way they put in the napkins!

What in the NOT-HEAVEN! It looks like they've already been used! Though closer inspection revealed that they had not, but were merely wadded-up and shoved in, forming a pattern like a rose injected with LSD, or a bird's nest for some freaky loony-bird. Two napkins would suffice, folded in half like they come out of the dispenser or the package.

I may punish DQ a few more days for their insouciance, playing fast and loose with my affections and my purchase. I dare not complain face-to-face at the drive-thru window, since they know my order and my voice. Unknown atrocities could be bestowed upon my food. Much worse than uncheesed burgers, burnt and bent pretzel sticks, and crumpled napkins...

There's Really No Logical Explanation

Monday night, I stocked FRIG II with soda for the next day. Farmer H's Diet Mountain Dews were already on the top shelf, but I had used the last cold Best Choice Diet Cola (Caffeine Free) in his Wild Turkey.

I took two cans of his Best Choice Diet Cola (Caffeine Free), and one can of my Best Choice Diet Cola, and set them on the cutting block. When I passed by FRIG II on my way to the living room around midnight, I put them inside. The two cans of Best Choice Diet Cola (Caffeine Free) on the top shelf next to the Diet Mountain Dew bottles, and the one can of Best Choice Diet Cola on the second shelf, the cheese shelf, where I keep my soda.

Tuesday evening, as I was getting Farmer H's supper ready, he said he'd have a drink. I poured the Wild Turkey, and cracked open FRIG II and took out one of his Best Choice Diet Cola (Caffeine Free) cans to mix in before adding 15 cubes of ice to his red Solo Cup.  

As I was pouring the soda, something seemed different. I looked at the can. IT WAS BEST CHOICE DIET COLA! I had already poured half of it into the Wild Turkey. In a panic, I opened FRIG II. Yep! The can of soda on my shelf was Best Choice Diet Cola (Caffeine Free).

HOW DID I DO THAT?????

I made sure when I stocked FRIG II that I put the right sodas on the right shelves! I am not an idiot! I am not blind! I paid careful attention to that detail! Yet I still got it wrong!

That meant that I had only a hot soda for my scratching session. I grabbed one from the case, MAKING SURE it was the right kind, and put it in the ice bin in FRIG II's freezer. There was time to cool it, since I was still getting Farmer H's supper ready.

Either somebody has put a hex on me, or other-worldly happenings go on at night inside FRIG II! After all the special care I took, I STILL got those sodas mixed up! 

I don't think even Mr. Magoo glasses would help.

The Lair Of Living Dangerously, Part 2: Dates Are Just A Suggestion

Farmer H rarely requests anything when I ask what he wants from the store. So all the pressure is on ME to decide what meals we're having, and what to buy. Sure, it's not a task on par with keeping a nuclear reactor from overheating, but still, it's a tedious task that never ends.

Anyhoo... last week Farmer H spoke up.

"Them hamburgers you got for the 4th of July? Them was good. You can get some more of those if they have any, and I'll grill them on Sunday."

This was last Friday, July 14. I wheeled my car/walker along the meat aisle of Country Mart. Aha! There were some pre-made burgers. I don't mind patting them out myself, but the last two packs of hamburger I got at Country Mart were like hamburger from the Devil's Playground! It reacted like water had been added to make you pay more for not-meat. When cooked in the skillet, the grease it emitted had bubbles like water. I know my grease! I always soak it up with stale bread for the dog treats. The pre-made burgers were normal greasy, not water-greasy.

Anyhoo... looking at these burgers, I saw that they were CHEDDAR BURGERS. I don't like anything added into my hamburgers. I looked them over, but decided I'd only get a couple, and Farmer H could have them for himself. 

WAIT A MINUTE! On the shelf above them were some 2-packs of regular burgers. Just like the ones we had for July 4. I picked up a package to check the date. WHAT IN THE NOT-HEAVEN???

USE OR FREEZE BY JULY 2

Hold on! This was July 14! How could Country Mart be selling these burgers now? I felt them. They were quite firm and a bit frosty on the top of the package. I assumed they had been frozen on July 2. Farmer H really wanted them. So I put them in my cart.

At the checkout, I told the gray-haired checker,

"That date on the burgers is JULY 2! I guess you guys froze them that day..."

"Oh, yes! Yes. We freeze them."

Huh. Doesn't seem quite right. Since they had set them out again in the refrigerator case, where they would be thawing, and thus NOT frozen or used by July 2. Still, if idiots like me will buy them, I guess they're smarter than the customers.

When I got home, I told Farmer H about the date, and put them in the freezer immediately. They were still hard in the center, though softening up around the edges. It was, after all, 96 degrees, and my little soft-side cooler is not a miracle worker. Saturday night, I moved a pack from the freezer into FRIG II to thaw out overnight.

Farmer H grilled the burgers with BBQ sauce on Sunday evening. We had them with onion, pickle, and a fresh tomato somebody gave Farmer H.

THEY WERE DELICIOUS!

The Lair Of Living Dangerously, Part 1: Waste Not, Want Not

On Wednesday, I served up one of Farmer H's favorite suppers. Well. It was his favorite supper several months ago. Perhaps six. In the freezer, I had two Chinese Tupperware containers of the chicken, noodles, mushrooms, peas, and Alfredo sauce concoction that I make during cold weather months. We try not to waste food here at the Mansion.

At the time, I had more than enough for three nights of meals for us. So I said I'd try putting the rest in the freezer, not knowing how it would reheat. Sometimes things get mushy, or watery, and are not quite palatable upon re-serving.

"I'll try it and see. If it's not good, I'll just make taquitos. They only take 11 minutes. While I'm at it, I'll bake some of those frozen biscuits in a bag that you got a bunch of from Ponytail Guy when he was giving away the free food."

"Okay. I just looked it up, and Google says you can freeze noodles."

When I got out the bag of biscuits, the date said BEST BY FEB 05, 2021. Huh. How bad can biscuits turn? These have never baked up big and fluffy. They always remained about the size of a tangerine. So I popped them in the oven.

Let the record show that the chicken and noodle dish turned out GREAT! As tasty as when I first made that batch. And the biscuits were just like when I baked them in 2021.

Also... Farmer H and I are still alive and kickin', after eating that meal for two nights.

The Senior Center Serves Up A Desiccated Nothingburger Instead Of A Platter Of Fat Juicy Gossip

I know you've been eagerly awaiting the GOSSIP that Farmer H was teased with from one of his Senior Center cronies. He was trying to guess what it might be about.

"Well, I overheard her getting questioned by the other lady that serves the food. Something about 3 extra dinners that didn't get picked up. The gal that texted me takes home what's left. She said the people called them in, but didn't show up to get them. The other lady said nobody called them in. They have no way of knowing, though."

"Huh. I'm surprised about that, as loosey-goosey as they are, giving YOU extra food and leftovers all willy-nilly."

"I don't know if that's it, but if I had to guess, that would be it. I don't know of nothin' else going on that they'd want to keep the other lady from hearing about."

So... Farmer H really had no idea, other than a woman texted him, saying that she and her husband had something to tell him, that couldn't be heard by the other serving lady.

I forgot to ask on Friday night, and also on Saturday morning. But on the way to town, I met SilverRedO down by the mailboxes, on our gravel road beside the creek. In that annoying manner of Hillmomba denizens, we stopped our vehicles side-by-side, blocking the road, to have a chat.

"Hey, what was that gossip you were supposed to hear at the Senior Center yesterday?"

"Oh. Just that one lady there has been talking to that goofy new guy who started eating lunch there, and THEY ARE GOING ON A DATE."

"That's IT? Nothing about missing food?"

"Nope. That's all. Just that one of the gals is going on a date with the goofy guy."

"Why is THAT a secret?"

"I don't know. But that's all she had to tell me."

Huh. I guess when you get old, the concept of GOSSIP kind of changes...

This Is Why Mrs. HM Brings Home The Wrong Beverages

It's not only MY fault! I swear! Twice (or maybe thrice) I have assumed I was bringing home Best Choice Diet Cola, only to find that I had not! It's the packaging! Really! Take a gander at the evidence:

All varieties come in the same packaging! I am not a forensic scientist, adept at searching out clues! I see my soda on a shelf, grab one or two for my cart, and presume I have the right kind. How hard is that? Apparently, too hard for Mrs. HM!

Oh, don't think that I'm looking at the sides of the boxes like this stack I made by the kitchen door. In the store, I'm presented with the ENDS of the boxes.

I might be LOOKING at the right kind, but when I reach to grab a box and punch that slot to make a handle, it might be a different variety slipped in there by a stocker who does not concentrate on this task like he was taking the SATs, or one moved by another customer who had grabbed the wrong flavor themselves, and put it back in the wrong place.

Seriously, BEST CHOICE! Could you not make a better choice on your packaging? Are you saving all that much by only using one color scheme? Even Shasta uses different colors for their boxes. Green for lemon-lime, orange for orange, purple for grape, brown for root beer or their Dr. Pepper variety, red for cola. 

Granted, the DIET blue stands out. But the little bar proclaiming CAFFEINE FREE is not all that noticeable if you're not looking for it.

Anyhoo... THAT'S why Mrs. HM keeps bringing home the wrong soda.

Farmer H's Turn To Be Robbed

Hillmomba's newest crime victim is Farmer H. He was ROBBED of his lunch at the Senior Center on Thursday! Oh, it's not like one of the denizens of that Old Folks Hotel assaulted and battered Farmer H about the head and shoulders with a cane, or shoved him backwards over the rolled-up rug. According to Farmer H, they don't despise his special treatment enough to resort to those measures. No, it was the power outage that robbed Farmer H.

"Did you eat your lunch today? I swear I saw SilverRedO drive through the front yard around 11:05. With the dogs barking and chasing."

"No. I didn't get my lunch. I had a McDonald's Big Breakfast around 10:30. I went to the Senior Center, but they was closed. Because of the electricity."

"What? Is it off again? What about The Pony's house?"

"It was on there."

"Did you go in?"

"No. I drove down his street, and seen that houses had lights on."

"In the DAYLIGHT? How could you tell that?"

"Some of 'em had their porch lights on."

"Oh, yeah. They probably had them on last night, and didn't turn them off when the power came back on at 2:00 a.m. Probably forgot to turn them off in the morning."

"Yeah. I don't know if the Senior Center was actually without power. Maybe it was because they didn't know when the power came back, and thought the food might be bad."

Farmer H was not only robbed of his lunch, but also of some tasty gossip! He got a text the previous evening from one of his cohorts there, saying that she had SOMETHING TO TELL HIM! Something that couldn't be said in front of one of the other workers.

I'm dying to find out what this scoop is about!

The Pony Is In The Dark

Wednesday night, I got a text from The Pony at 9:54, as a thunderstorm was rolling through Hillmomba. Farmer H had told me that we were under a severe thunderstorm watch. I don't know where my little metal flashlight is. I knew where I kept two of them in my dark basement lair. But up here, I've lost track. Farmer H got me a battery-operated lantern that sprays disco lights on the ceiling. It also has a regular setting for just light. He plugged it in to charge by the kitchen door in case our power went off. Thankfully, so far, it has just been flickering.

Anyhoo... POOR PONY!

"Power out and has been for like half an hour as I was about to cook."

"OH NO! At least your big tree won't fall on you!"

"Storm videos coming! In sequence. You can see the power die!"

Yes, from his front porch, I could see the wind and rain blowing horizontally. Then everything went dark, including the lights at the senior apartments across the street.

"I guess you can eat bread and butter sandwiches like you used to take in your school lunch."

"It's Chinese leftovers that start to go off tomorrow! If I don't do the mixing tonight I'll have to toss half of it! Internet is obviously out with the power. That one gave a midnight estimate."

"Want me to give you a wakeup call?"

"Nah. My alarm is my phone, and it's charged already."

"Don't hate me... but I bought you two water jugs like the Igloo ones I gave you last year that cracked."

"Mommmmmm"

"You can put ice in them for adding to your water, or to rub on the back of your neck."

"I already have so many for that!"

"Do you want Dad to build you a themed shed for your JUGS? You can start South Shackytown Boulevard."

"Noooooo."

At 1:22, The Pony was still powerless.

"Still out!"

"Will you have hot water for a shower? Are you hot without your AC?"

"Nope to the hot water I'm guessing, since it'll be 8+ hours after the power went out. Not hot *yet* but I will be if they don't fix it. Pretty sure it's not any tripped breakers or fuses here."

"If it's not fixed by tomorrow, you can come out here and take a shower and sleep. You need to cool off after work. You can look out and see if the whole neighborhood is dark. Like the street lights. Dad can come by and check your house tomorrow if you want."

"Yeah. That's why I think it's all down, since the lot lights still aren't back. Maybe once I'm up he can check. Four hours is the limit for "food in the fridge" without power, right? Guess no hope for the leftovers now."

"Not sure about the four hours, but I wouldn't trust the leftovers. Better safe than INDISPOSED!"

[At 1:56] "IT'S BACK! And it's still within the four hours, I think."

"They're probably okay to eat. They were in the fridge, and it takes a while to warm up."

"I'm going to rest and try to sleep. I might cook then in the morning, or when my head hurts less."

POOR PONY! Adulting is hard, fraught with worry, and sometimes uncomfortable.

Appointments 'R' Me

Earlier this year, Farmer H missed a couple of appointments. He went to one of them early, and had to go back the next day when it was actually scheduled. Then he forgot all about the eye doctor until they called after-the-fact and said they were charging him for the appointment he missed. He made a new one, but they called and canceled that because the eye doctor was sick, and scheduled him for a couple months later.

That couple months is here. I heard a message from Farmer H's eye doctor's office on the house phone. The machine picked up. I sent him a text:

"Do you have something at the eye doctor coming up?"

"No. Why?"

"I think his office just left a message. We'll listen to it when you get home."

Then we had the task of trying to decipher the message in the static. Sounded like Farmer H's appointment is next week, at 2:50 p.m

"Didn't you write that down? Didn't you have it in your phone?"

"No. I have a new phone now."

"Well, put it in there so you don't forget!"

"I will. Just as soon as I can figure out how to get into the calendar."

"You've had that phone a month already! Just send me a text with the day and time. Then you'll have it on your phone. Simple."

"Okay."

He did. Now he can look it up. It's not like we send many lengthy texts to each other.

Mrs. HM And The Curse Of The Shasta Diet Cola

Sweet Gummi Mary! How much more can one woman take???

You may recall that I had acquired a taste for Shasta Diet Cola, in cans, purchased at the Hillmomba Save A Lot. There's something so delicious about it. A crispness with no aftertaste. Not sure what special ingredient they put in it. I'm thinking ginger, but it could be crack...

Anyhoo... for a couple months now, I've not been able to find it. No matter when I go to Save A Lot. So it's not just because of a holiday weekend, or going on the day before the supply truck comes in. The shelf is empty at the Shasta Diet Cola area. There is REGULAR Shasta Cola. And Diet Dr. Thunder, which is a store version of Dr. Pepper. But there is no Shasta Diet Cola.

I took my beverage business to Country Mart. They don't carry Shasta. But they have their own store brand, Best Choice. It's not a choice I would make for myself, except when my favorite can't be found. Anyhoo... a couple times, I bought the Best Choice Diet Cola. But then I had a slip-up, and bought the CAFFEINE FREE version, which looks extremely similar, the only difference being a blue check mark thingy very small on the label, and of course the words caffeine free.

Farmer H drank my caffeine free mistake. He also used it in his Wild Turkey drink. Then we ran out of the cola. So I went to Country Mart to see if they had re-stocked, it having been gone over the July 4th holiday. Welp! I was happy to see THREE 12-packs on the shelf.

I peered closely at the boxes. Yes. It was the caffeine free version. But since it was for Farmer H, and he would most likely be using it in his drink, it didn't really matter. A couple of construction workers, still wearing their orange vests, were milling around on that aisle. So I tried to grab my soda and get my cart out of their way. I'm sure they needed beverages more than Farmer H needs a Wild Turkey mixer.

Anyhoo... I couldn't get one of those boxes situated right to punch out the cardboard slot that makes a hole for gripping. So I got the one next to it, which could flip on its side. Well. You're never going to believe this (meaning I'm certain you will), but when I went to pick it up out of T-Hoe's rear in the garage, I saw that I had bought

Best Choice VANILLA COLA!

That won't do! It's not even DIET! Woe is Mrs. Hillbilly Mom! A pack of 12 sodas that nobody here will drink. I thought of asking The Pony. He doesn't drink much soda, but he's been known to enjoy vanilla. But then Farmer H selflessly said HE would take it. Either to give to Old Buddy when they take a break working on the Flip House, or to give to his cronies down at his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2).

I don't know WHY the Best Choice people have to make their soda labels look so similar... I was looking at the ends of two boxes labeled Best Choice Diet Cola (with the tiny caffeine free notation), and wrestling with the only box beside them to find that slot. I had no need to read the label on my soda once it was in the cart.

Fool me once, shame on you! Fool me twice... and you're probably going to keep on fooling me, no matter now much attention I think I'm paying to detail.

Now I Remember Why We Don't Pick Up Food At Hardee's

It has been years since we picked up an occasional meal at Hardee's. Probably the last time was when The Pony was living at the Mansion after college. Maybe an odd taco salad here and there, but we pretty much don't eat at Hardee's any more. Farmer H used to know a guy who ran it, and would complain to him when we got bad service or substandard food. But it has been many years since that guy left his job.

Anyhoo... on Saturday night, I did not want to cook supper. I was late leaving for town, and I asked Farmer H if he wanted me to pick something up. Since the Country Mart deli has forsaken me, there are not many options. I don't pick up pizza from Casey's. Farmer H doesn't like it from Domino's. We both eat at Dairy Queen every now and then, but more of a snack or lunch, not dinner. So Hardee's was the only choice left.

"I could get us a 10-piece chicken tenders. Or maybe you want a taco salad?"

"The chicken will be fine."

"Do you want anything with it? I might get some fries. It's been a long time since I had fast food fries. I used to get Burger King every Thursday, but since my Unfortunate Hospitvalzation, I haven't had it. Don't know why. Just got out of the habit, like drinking my Diet Coke."

"Nah. I don't want any fries."

So off I went to town. I went to the drive-thru, and ordered the 10-piece chicken tenders, and a large fries. I was shocked to hear the total of $18.68! That's highway robbery! It's FAST FOOD! Not a gourmet meal at a five-star Michelin restaurant!

The chicken itself was fine. It's not like they are large pieces. The biggest was four inches long. Most were smaller. To give you an idea, I had plenty of sauce with my three packets of honey mustard. It's the little square packets where you peel off the top. Mrs. HM is a saucy gal, and uses maximum quantities of condiments. So for that to be enough should give you an idea of the chicken portions. Not saying they skimped. It was just right for two people, the two people being Farmer H and HM. The price is the issue.

Oh, and let's talk about my fries! Which smelled burnt the whole ride home. They didn't look too bad. But their version of LARGE is different from McDonald's version. In fact, the cardboard holder wasn't even all the way unfolded! It was kind of flat, with some fries squeezed in. About half as many as in a McDonald's large. And they cost $3.00!

As I told Farmer H, had I known that would be the price, I would have just made myself some at home. From the 5-lb bag of frozen fries I complained about costing $9.00 at Country Mart. Heh, heh! I looked up Hardee's portions, and supposedly their large fries are 6 ounces. I'm pretty sure I didn't have that much in my flattened cardboard holder. But comparatively priced, that 5-lb bag of frozen fries would have been $40.00!

Anyhoo... we ate our Hardee's chicken. It was good. But we won't be getting it again. Those 10 pieces cost 13.99. We could have had a Casey's pizza for that! 

I think I know why the Hardee's parking lot is usually empty, while Dairy Queen has a long line.

Rules For The Gander Are Modified For The Goose

Rules for thee, not for me! That seems to be Farmer H's attitude around the Mansion. 

I learned of another modification yesterday, concerning our weekly allowance cash.

"Well, I guess I'll start my tickets to see if I'm winning a $100,000 grand prize today. You know that if I win it, it's MINE, right? Because that's my hobby, like your Storage Unit Store is YOUR hobby. You don't share any of that money with me. So it's only fair."

"Yes I do! I bought myself $600 worth of tires for my truck!"

"Well, that's on you. I didn't ask you to."

"Still, it was MY money I spent on truck tires."

"Okay. Here's the deal. If I win $100,000, I promise to give you $600. Wait! Not YOU! The house. I'll give $600 to spend on something for the Mansion. No. Let's make it exactly fair. If I win $100,000, I'll use it on T-Hoe, to fix some of the things wrong. Or maybe I'll just buy T-Hoe some $600 tires. Then we're even."

The look on Farmer H's face was worth $600! He did not like that idea at all. I think I heard him snort with disgust. But really. Why should I give HIM $600 of my hobby money's hypothetical winnings, just to spend on something for himself??? 

A Heartbreaking Case Of Backstabbing Coincidence

Earlier this week, I was at the checkout in Country Mart, buying pork steaks for Farmer H to grill on Tuesday. The former deli gal, who now works as a cashier during the remodel, always talks to me about scratchers. 

"Did you hear? That guy just won $1000 dollars!"

"WHAT? No! I saw him walking around front, talking to the service desk lady. But I didn't know what was going on. He seemed really happy. Not complaining!"

"Yeah. He just won $1000 on that new green $5 ticket."

"NO! I was going to buy one of those on my way out! Since you don't have my $5 crosswords in the machines any more, I've been buying that new one. It's my favorite color, and I like a multiplier ticket."

"Well. He just got it. Out of the left machine."

"Oh. I was planning to buy mine out of the right machine. So I guess that's still safe. Even though I doubt I win $1000, it won't be an automatic loser."

I was really jealous at first. I buy out of those machines every day! I usually buy Genius's tickets there every week. But I felt better (a little) knowing that I had not planned on buying that new green ticket out of the left machine that day. Oh, well. That guy was meant to win, and not me.

Here's the thing. I always know what ticket I'm buying where, before I start to town. There are some days when I know the denomination of the ticket, and decide I'll pick when I look at them. Sometimes a certain ticket looks BRIGHTER to me, and I take that one.

Anyhoo... aside from almost being slammed into next week by a crazy Honda Backer-Upper at the Gas Station Chicken Store on Wednesday, I had a little GOOD luck that day. A ticket I had bought inside before the ramming was a big winner:

Have I mentioned how I love a multiplier ticket? This $10 one had a 20X symbol and a $5 prize, for a $100 winner. So early in the roll! Ticket # 8. I can't buy that now until they finish it with ticket 59, because I don't think there will be a bigger prize than that $100.

Oh, and the $10 ticket I bought at Casey's before heading over to the Gas Station Chicken Store was also a big winner:

This one had the WIN ALL symbol, and all 20 of the prizes were $5, for a $100 winner. So another ticket I won't buy for a week or two at that store.

Sometimes, I have a knack for picking those winners before I even leave home. Not sure why my knack left me hangin' on that $1000 winner that was right under my nose!

Sometimes, Mrs. HM Is Almost Too Stupid To Live

Thursday, I got a late start (even for me) on my town trip. It was around 4:00, and the afternoon sun was bright. After my second stop for tickets, I reached for my sunglasses, the $3 plastic pair from Save A Lot. They ride on the lower console area where I stash my scratchers if I'm not ready yet to write my two-letter code on the back when I purchase them.

Dang it! There was a white spot on the right lens. I took them off and rubbed at it briefly while I was driving. Still there. I couldn't use both hands to wipe them with my shirttail. Just hold them while the heel of my right hand steered T-Hoe, and dab at them with my finger and thumb from the other hand. But that spot wasn't coming off. I licked my thumb and finger to try again.

NOOOOOO!!!

I had touched the counter of the Gas Station Chicken Store, and the counter of the School-Turn Casey's with my hands! Sweet Gummi Mary! I might as well have licked my tongue all along those counters!

I hope I will survive. Just now, at 11:54 p.m., I coughed up some foamy stringy phlegm that either drained down from my sinuses, or clawed itself up from my lungs. I know it's too soon for my possibly terminal infection to show symptoms... right?

Plumbing The Depths

Because we have not yet begun to plumb the depths of Farmer H's annoying habits...

He couldn't think of more ways to irritate me if he stayed up past 8:00 p.m., or strapped on a thinking cap along with his breather! Don't get me wrong. I'm not ready to murderize him. I just get tired of his antics, and need to vent. Or as Farmer H might say for the 1000th time: "You'd complain if you was hung with a new rope!"

After all the times I had to carry in groceries by myself, because Farmer H did his disappearing act, he has now found a way to be home, and come out to shoulder part of the load.

Like an overexcited teenager on prom night! Farmer H rushes to T-Hoe to grab his portion of groceries with wild abandon. No time for me to assign bags for carrying, he snatches them all willy-nilly, regardless of what must be kept from the dogs, or might be too heavy for me. Sweet Gummi Mary! I don't even have time to walk around to T-Hoe's rear before he is off! 

Once inside, he starts to put them away, WITHOUT CONSULTING ME! Never in the places where they have been kept for nigh on 25 years. But where HE thinks they should go. Bananas torn apart and arranged around the fruit bowl regardless of ripeness. Cheeses put on top of other cheeses that are near expiration. Foil boxes left atop the kitchen counter, rather than left on the cutting block for me to stow away in the pantry. A couple days ago, he put my hard-to-find Romaine lettuce in the bottom crisper that is designated for MEAT!

Monday evening, I arrived home to find the water running in the kitchen sink. Farmer H was ensconced in his recliner. I don't mean just a drip. Running water. A stream the thickness of a pencil lead in one of those big fat kindergarten pencils!

"Why is this water running?"

"Oh. I guess I didn't turn it off all the way."

What good is partially turning off running water? That would be like carrying hot soda in from the garage, and then setting it on the floor of the kitchen. Oh, wait...

Yesterday, it was all I could do to remain silent as Farmer H dipped sliced potatoes and onions onto his supper plate. He held his plate in the left hand, and chased that pan of potatoes around the stovetop with a fork grasped in his right hand. Okay. I did not actually remain silent.

"I left the oven mitts there, so you could hold onto the pan. And there's a spoon."

"I can get them fine with my fork."

Can you imagine a less efficient way to serve yourself sliced potatoes and onions? He was not stabbing the potatoes, but trying to balance them on top of his fork. They were slippery, having been baked with butter and onions in a foil packet inside a pie tin, to accompany our BBQ pork steaks. The pie tin spun around on the burner. All Farmer H needed to do was set his plate on the counter beside the stove, hold the edge of the pie tin with a mitted hand, and dip out potatoes to his plate using a serving spoon.

As I type this, he is no doubt dreaming up new ways to drive me crazy.

Scarlett's Progress

Our new used dog Scarlett continues to be a cypher. She has realized that she's a dog. That's the first step. Jack takes her with him on his rounds. Farmer H saw them way down at the bottom of his and Buddy's Badly Blacktopped Hill one afternoon as he came home. 

Monday, Scarlett was practically FROLICKING as I came down the driveway, joining in with the pair of Jacks, giving a couple barks. She is usually not very vocal. Copper Jack had a grin on his face, I swear! Like he's happy to have a new frenemy. Scarlett has also been charging across the carport to give chase to the squirrels they never catch. She has yet to jump into the fake fish pond with Jack to cool off.

I regret that I had to spank Scarlett a few days ago. Pretty sure it was Saturday, when we had that rain while I was in town. Farmer H had come out to the garage to help me carry in groceries. Scarlett came to T-Hoe's door as I was climing out. SHE JUMPED ON ME! A furry wet fleabag, not simply putting her paws on my waist(ish area), seeking a petting. But launching herself at me from a crouch, all four feet off the ground, nearly throwing me off balance.

I was shocked. The normal NO did not work! I shoved Scarlett down, and she did it again! At which point I whacked her on the shoulder mid-air, knocking her back to the ground. She hunkered down a minute, shocked herself, at her fall from favor, then trotted to the back of T-Hoe. Where constant NOs kept her grounded. I am not proud. I do not make a habit of striking my animals. But I am NOT a vertical trampoline, and Scarlett needed correcting. A time-out and lecture were not appropriate for that teaching moment.

Anyhoo... Scarlett holds no grudges like long-ago beagle Tank, who was forever getting his nose out of joint when scolded, and would give me the stinkeye for hours.

Scarlett had a heyday on Tuesday morning, when Farmer H went over to Shackytown Boulevard to load or unload stuff in a shed. When he got in SilverRedO to start to town, Scarlett ran after him! She never does that! Farmer H saw her in his mirror. He turned around at the bottom of the BBH (Badly Blacktopped Hill), and came back up the gravel road. Scarlett was halfway between the Mansion and the hill, trotting down the middle of the road. She followed him back to the Mansion, where the pair of Jacks distracted her with a lot of barking. She did not follow again as Farmer H left.

She has just been discombobulated since the weekend. In fact, on Tueday morning before Farmer H went out, we heard a giant THUMP outside.

"Them dogs has knocked something over."

Farmer H went to inspect. He came back with the news that Scarlett had knocked over the big log that is carved with our last name. It was a gift from HOS (Farmer H's Oldest Son) several years ago. It sits on the end of the porch, facing the carport. I guess Scarlett had jumped up onto the porch, and hit it, tipping it over. That is the leapingest dog I've ever seen! She skips the steps half the time. When I go out for town, I hear a big thump, and that is her leaping flat-footed from sidewalk onto side porch.

I hope it's just the fireworky atmosphere making Scarlett jumpy. It rained pretty hard on Tuesday around noon. Farmer H went out to sit on the front porch, and said Scarlett was pacing again. Then when he grilled some pork steaks in the evening, she paced some more. I think she has anxiety, but she was making a lot of progress fitting in with the Jacks.

She is very loving when calm, and will put her paws on T-Hoe's back bumper as I am gathering stuff to carry, and lean on me for a hug. She has learned not to put her paws on me (save that momentary lapse with the launching), but will bide her time until I can give her attention.

It's Always Something Else

As if my Sunday was not going bad enough, what with my HIPPIE acting up and not wanting to load certain websites, and then not wanting to connect to the innernets at all... I found another kettle of rotten fish at the Gas Station Chicken Store. 

I waltzed in (the best waltz I could manage on two gimpy knees), pleased as punch, grasping a $100 winner in my hand. It was a ten-dollar ticket that I had gotten the previous day at Orb K. My favorite clerk was working. I had her all to myself, having passed a gas man on his way out the door.

"I hate to tell you this, but our scanner is down! It went down last night, and we haven't been able to use it all day. I can SELL you tickets, but I can't take any winners."

"NOOOO! This is a $100 winner! I never go out without a pocket full of money, but today I DID! I only have a twenty. I was planning to spend more than that."

"Sorry, babe. You know I'd LOVE to sell you some tickets. But I can't scan. Or sell draw tickets."

Welp! There went The Pony's daily Cash4Life. I took out my twenty, and bought two crosswords, and two of the new green multiplier tickets. No way was I going to scan that big winner at the Country Mart machines. Good thing I had a couple of other winners that were smaller. I got The Pony's ticket there, and my $3 tickets.

The only bright part of the day was that one of the crosswords won $15, and one of the green multipliers won $15. So I came out ten dollars ahead there, anyway.

On Monday, the other clerk was back, and the lottery terminal was working again.

What are the odds that my laptop had internet issues, and that the Gas Station Chicken Store also had connection issues, starting Saturday night? Like I said before, a storm moved through, but we never lost power.

It's Always Something

I've been having issues with my internet connection since Saturday night at 9:15. Don't know if it was from an update my HIPPIE did while I was gone to town, or something from a storm that passed through around 4:00. Even though we didn't lose power, and I was happily HIPPIEing from 5:30 to 9:15.

Whatever's going on, HIPPIE sometimes says I have router issues. Farmer H reset the router for me. It has always fixed the issue in the past. But now that stupid Microsoft Edge won't connect me to common sites like a local news station. It keeps timing out and saying I don't have an internet connection, but I DO.

Not sure why Even Steven has to make my life miserable this weekend. It's a pain not being able to connect, when there is no issue with our internet connection. I guess I can try to delete the history, but that will be a pain if it doesn't fix what's wrong.

This situation is adding extra crankiness to Mrs. HM's sunny demeanor!

The Stench Of Entitledness Hangs Over Hillmomba Once Again

The sky was angry as I pulled onto the parking lot of the Gas Station Chicken Store on Saturday. Purple clouds. A flash of lightning. I wanted to get in and out before the rain started. But wait! What's this? A CAR parked in my preferred handicap space beside the building???

Not only a car, with no handicap plates (can't fault them for that, since I use this space myself with T-Hoe bereft of such official designation), but a car with the trunk open, a cooler lid ajar, and two perhaps college-age gals leaning against the side, a bag of ice at their feet, chatting with somebody parked beside them, blocking the driving lane. 

Let the record show that my patience was much shorter than that sentence above!

Oh, how I wished for that other entitled rumpushole who had told me quite condescendingly that I should not have parked in that very space, because in his mind it was like the on-deck circle for people waiting to use the FREE AIR hose! Because not only were The Ice Gals taking up the handicap space, but also half of the air hose space!

It's one thing to park there and run in for something, then go on your merry way. It's quite another to use it as a party place while gimps like me must hobble from the moat under imminent threat of lightning strikes!

I wish I had taken a picture. I love to show rumpusholes in their natural habitat.