The Pony Straps On An Unsatisfying Feedbag

The Pony has been working a route over in Bill-Paying Town. Saturday evening, he treated himself to a meal at CiCi's Pizza. We used to go there when the kids were little. They have a pizza buffet, and a little game room. They also had some vending machines with a candy grabber, and little bouncy balls, and ice cream bars. 

The Pony always loved their pasta and desserts. He'd get breadsticks, too, but was not a big fan of the pizza. It was actually an enjoyable experience, and reasonably priced. You could see the kids through the window of the game room. A good time was always had by all.

"I went to CiCi's on Saturday. I was so disappointed because they were out of red sauce for the pasta and their plain pizza was so dry it was practically inedible. Most of what I ate was salad! And poor, poor cheese bread, and pasta with just their Alfredo sauce! Side note I love red onion. I can eat it, once peeled, like an apple. Maybe with occasional dabs of mayo or ketchup. Or ranch as the case may be."

The salad is the only thing on that table that looks appealing to me. Though not so much onion!

No word on whether The Pony played in the game room, or got a bouncy ball out of the machines.

Farmer H, The COB-Lobber

Here we go again...

I got Farmer H's supper ready while he was cooking the main dish. The hamburgers I patted out and ground some black pepper onto. All he wanted was pickles, sliced onion, and sliced tomato on the burgers. And two ears of corn on the cob.

Farmer H had been mowing before coming in to relax a while before grilling. I asked if he had stopped the mower in the back yard, and picked up his BBQing spatula. He had not. He'd left it on the porch rail a couple grillings ago, and the squirrels had knocked it off by the fake fish pond. It takes a long walk on uneven (and tick-infested!) ground to get around back. So I don't blame him for not fetching it sooner. Still. When you are riding on a mower, and only have to get off and pick up that spatula, there's not an actual excuse.

I gave Farmer H my metal spatula to use. He insisted that he could just use his tongs like before. Although that resulted in a broken burger. Which I made him eat for himself, since I had warned him ahead of time that tongs would break a burger, and that I was not going to eat a broken burger! So after hesitating, Farmer H said he would take my spatula to use for burger flipping.

While Farmer H was sitting on the porch watching burgers sizzle, I laid out his sliced pickles to drain off the juice. I shucked his corn and wrapped it in Glad Cling Wrap so it was ready for microwaving when he came in. Washed the tomato. Set out his plate and the bag of buns. Set out the butter to soften. Laid out a knife.

As soon as he brought in the tray of burgers, I popped the corn in the microwave, and started slicing his onion and tomato. Farmer H had settled down to eat at the cutting block while I was making myself a salad, and then slicing my own onion and tomato.

Before I had all my food together, Farmer H was getting up from the cutting block. He walked around the kitchen counter, out the door, and lobbed his two corn cobs off the back porch. All the while ignoring the plate of corn husks, onions skins, and tomato seeds that was sitting four inches from his elbow, awaiting a porch toss.

Fourth Time's Even More Charming

A couple days ago I mentioned how I took a chance on buying more bratwursts from Save A Lot, and unlike the two previous times, they actually WERE THE FLAVOR ON THE PACKAGE! In this case, Pineapple and Brown Sugar.

I was back in Save A Lot on Monday for bananas and some other stuff I had forgotten. Of course I walked by the meat counter, just to see what was there. I couldn't believe my eyes!

APPLE CINNAMON BRATWURSTS!

The Apple flavor was what we enjoyed so many months ago. I have not been able to find them! Yes. I bought two packs. We are pretty sausaged out right now, it being our third day eating them. I told Farmer H I could put them in the freezer. He said to hold up. That after a few days, he'd be ready for them again.

The date on them is September 2. I'll give them a few days in FRIG II, and if Farmer H is not feeling like a sausage soon, I can put them in the freezer.  

While I was checking out, a customer asked if they had frozen fruit. Asked the checker, not me. So I kept my mouth shut, but I've NEVER seen frozen fruit in Save A Lot. They have a limited amount of brands. I figure that lady was talking about the bags of fruit like melon balls and grapes and peaches like we used to get at Sam's Club, which is just a giant Walmart. The checker told her they would be along the wall in the freezer case. DUH! I'm not sure which one was showing less smarts in this little exchange.

A Throwback Snap Of Jack

I haven't been able to get any recent photos of Jack. That's because Scarlett keeps my hands busy pointing at her and saying NO! NO! She likes to perch on the edge of the side porch, and lean out to put both front feet on my chest. Several times I have stepped back and let her topple over the edge. She's learning. Slowly. Although Sunday she laid down like I was going to beat her when I said NO and held out my palm meaning STOP. We had a good petting, though she was trembling with the effort of holding in her boisterous nature.

Anyhoo... here's a picture Farmer H sent me of Jack, perhaps from May 2022.

Jack is a chewer. I don't know where he got this treat, which is some kind of plastic jug or jar. If it's not up higher than he can reach, it's coming home with him for gnawing. 

There's Shackytown Boulevard behind him, with the Storage Container Garage in the background. The BARn is not in sight, but it's to the left of the Storage Container Garage, and about halfway of the distance there. That maroon structure is the old chicken house that Farmer H build our chickens. Which they eschewed in favor of roosting in the trees.

Jack has been feeling like his old self again. I am so relieved. He's my little buddy.

Third Time's A Charm

Like one of my favorite singers, Mary Chapin Carpenter, I take my chances. 

I was in Save A Lot on Friday, and saw some bratwursts. Perhaps you remember how those dirty dirty liars in the meat department labeled such bratwursts as BACON, when in fact they were CHEESE. So I gave them a close inspection. Didn't see any CHEESE in them like the ones in a package labeled CHEESE. I did not see the PLAIN version, but took a chance on the PINEAPPLE and BROWN SUGAR flavor.

THEY ARE DELICIOUS!!!

Farmer H grilled them on Saturday evening. We both agree that I should get that version again. Right now we have enough for two more meals. We ate them with a salad of romaine, broccoli, shredded cheddar, and fresh garden tomatoes that one of Farmer H's buddies had given him. Wonderful tomatoes, all misshapen and bumpy and dark red, meaty inside, not all seedy and waxy.

I'm glad I took my chances.

Farmer H Is Floating Down That RIver In Egypt, Playing On His Phone, Feigning No Responsibility

Farmer H is blaming the victim! Pretending he had absolutely nothing to do with the TICK found imbedded in the skin of Mrs. HM's right side-hip!

"Huh. I've only had one tick all year."

"That's surprising. But even more surprising is the fact that I HAD ONE! Where am I going to pick up a tick??? I only walk from kitchen to garage, on the porch and sidewalk. Then back inside. Less than five minutes a day! In town, I'm on pavement all the time."

"Well, you pet them dogs."

"Yes. I pat them on the head. Maybe once every two weeks, I might hug one of them briefly. It's not like I'm wallowing in a dog bed with them for hours and hours."

"I ain't around the dogs."

"You feed them every morning. You put on their flea and tick medicine. You lifted Jack down from the porch when he was sick. Scarlett tries to climb in your lap when you sit outside to call someone."

"I don't know how you think I am the one who brought a tick in the house. I ain't around ticks."

"You walk over to your sheds on Shackytown Boulevard. You ride the Gator. You have been mowing the yard and the fields on your lawnmower. You were weed-eating.  You unload stuff from your truck and carry it into the BARn. That's where the ticks are. IN THE GRASS! Not on the porch or sidewalk."

"Huh. You always want to blame ME."

Yes. I DO. When Farmer H is the one traipsing about in tick territory, and then sitting on the bed to undress before showering, laying his clothes beside him until he gets up.

Tick Talk, Tick Talk

Wednesday night, I had a terrible itch on the outer edge of my right hip. In scratching on the outside of my sweatpants, I thought I felt something there. I reached down to the skin, and definitely felt something moveable. Surely a skin tag wouldn't itch... I pulled on it, and a TICK came off in my fingertips! I squooshed it between my thumb fingernails, and ran it down the drain while washing my hands.

HOW IN THE NOT-HEAVEN DID I GET A TICK???

This question comes up every summer. I don't walk in the grass. I go from Mansion to garage, on the wooden porch and concrete garage floor. I pet the dogs. It's not like we snuggle in bed together. They stand on the porch, and I pat them on the head or shoulders. You'd think I'd notice a tick walking up my arm. Even if I didn't feel it, I would see it as I washed my hands upon entering the Mansion.

I don't pet the dogs with my hip. I don't sit in Farmer H's recliner. I don't sit on the long couch where he sometimes rests his rumpus, or eats his supper. When I took my shower at 3:00, there was nothing clinging to my hip. I put on town clothes. Then changed back into my sweatpants and button-up shirt and zippered fleece sweatshirt when I got back home.

Farmer H said he's only had ONE tick this year. So we're tied! That should not happen. He's outside all the time, walking to Shackytown Boulevard. Or riding the lawnmower to mow our extensive acreage.

I can only surmise that Farmer H somehow unleashed a tick in the bed, and it got on me when I took my nap before showering, and hid in my sweatpants until I put them back on upon return home.

That's for lack of a better scenario. Though I am open to suggestions.

Jack's Back!

Sweet Gummi Mary! I am SO relieved! My little dog Jack seems to be okay! This is better news than the two $100 winners I had on scratchers Tuesday evening! Even though Farmer H had told me before going to bed that he had petted Jack on the front porch, and he seemed fine... I was not so certain. Farmer H has been wrong before.

Farmer H said that Jack ran up the front porch steps like normal. No hesitation. I heard Jack barking right outside the front door at 5:30 a.m. Wednesday. And continuously through the morning hours. His forceful bark. The ALERT bark. Not a whimper, not the impatience with Scarlett bark when she won't let him hump. 

When I left for town Wednesday afternoon, Jack came running to the kitchen door with Scarlett. He was wagging his tail and whole back end, as usual. Trotting around with confidence. He ate his scrap of bread with chicken crispies on it. Came to the edge of the porch, smiling, to be petted. When I came back from town, Jack barked and romped with Scarlett and Copper Jack. He came into the garage, and jostled with Scarlett to be the first out of the people door.

My little buddy is totally back to normal. I have no idea what was wrong with him the day before. But he made a miraculous recovery during the night.

Jack Attacked?

I am worried about my little dog Jack. He was fine at 11:00 a.m. when a package arrived, and I petted him on the front porch. He didn't come see me off when I left for town at 3:30. Scarlett herself was even late, coming from the front porch as I was descending the steps on the side porch. She still found her stale hot dog bun dipped in green bean juice. I thought I heard Jack drinking out of the fake fish pond, but saw the curved yellow tail of Copper Jack. My Jack was a no-show.

When I came down the driveway at 4:30, I saw Scarlett standing by the boys' basketball goal that is beside Farmer H's garage door. Jack was standing on the base of it that can be filled with sand to make it sturdy. He never stands on there, so it got my attention. Copper Jack came running under the fence from his own house, barking and stirring up the other two as I steered T-Hoe into the garage.

I got out of T-Hoe, and Scarlett came from the back to greet me. Jack was not with her as he usually is. I figured he was busy tormenting Copper Jack. Again, Scarlett was lagging. Ran back around to the garage door rather than the people door. Then came forward to run through the people door before I closed the big door. No Jack.

As I started up the steps after petting Scarlett, I sensed Jack coming from the side where Farmer H parks SilverRedO. I waited for him to bound up the four steps, so he didn't get under my feet. But he held back. So I went on up. Walking around to the kitchen door, I felt little Jack's nose on the back of my right calf. Aww... it's been a long time since he tried to herd me.

When I opened the kitchen door, Scarlett trotted inside! She usually hangs back until I step in, and while my back is turned, she sneaks in a few steps. I told her to get out, so she did. But then came in while I was putting my purse on the table. AND JACK CAME INSIDE to stand by my feet! He NEVER does that! He doesn't come in the house. He knows the rules, and complies.

"Jack! What are you doing! You get back out."

But he didn't. Scarlett went out. I picked up their treat of half a slice of bread, and some of the soft chicken bones from the night before. The ribby backbone part of the thigh. Scarlett gobbled hers while Jack was still inside! He stood by the door frame. Like he was thinking about peeing on it. Then waddled out. 

SOMETHING WAS WRONG WITH JACK!

It was like his back legs didn't know what to do. Having a dachshund half, I always worry about Jack's back. I've seen this on The Incredible Dr. Pol, when dogs have a disc injury. He gives them a shot of steroids and a painkiller, and they sometimes heal just fine. 

I called to Farmer H to come check on Jack. He went and sat on the steps of the side porch, and tried to feed Jack two ice cubes, since I thought maybe he was overheated. Jack wanted nothing to do with the ice cubes. He walked really slow, his back legs swinging awkwardly side-to-side. Of course Farmer H started patting him roughly on the back.

"STOP! You'll hurt his spine if something is wrong with his discs!"

Jack was trying his best to stay upright against Farmer H's tough love.

"He doesn't seem to be in pain. See? When I squeeze or push on his back? He don't act like it hurts."

"He's trying to maintain. Trying to stay on his feet. Trying to please you. I guess the vets are closing now..."

"Yeah. Ain't no vets open by the time I get him to town."

"Maybe he's just too hot. He usually jumps in the fish pond. But I bet he couldn't get out now, with his back legs like that. I'm going to get some water and pour over him. It can't hurt."

I got a saucepan of water from the tap, and cautioned Farmer H to get up before dumping it over Jack's head and along his back. Farmer H rubbed it in a little on Jack's head. Jack gave a good shake. It wasn't pretty, but he didn't knock himself down.

Farmer H stayed with him a few minutes, then came back in the Mansion.

"He wanted down off the porch, so I lifted him down. If he's not okay tomorrow, I'll take him to the vet. It's $150 minimum, just to be seen. That's what they told my buddy with his cat a couple weeks ago."

"We'll have to decide how much we can spend on treating him. I'm sure he'd need x-rays, and maybe a steroid shot and painkillers. I don't want him having surgery, or trying to run around with his back legs on wheels. I won't let him suffer. I love that little dog."

"We'll see how he is tomorrow. He's easy to catch, and he'll ride in the truck. Not like trying to capture Juno. She was hard to take anywhere."

"Did Jack seem okay when you got home?"

"Yeah. They all followed me over to the shed. Jack went underneath it after something. Then when I came over to the house, I was petting Jack on the porch, and Scarlett tried to wedge herself in, and Jack and Big Jack run off into the woods to chase something."

"Remember that time Jack went under the shed, and came out shaking and foaming at the mouth? I thought he was going to die that time. But he was okay the next day..."

"It was the same shed. He mighta got into something. Or when he was in the woods with Big Jack. He coulda got bit by a snake, maybe."

"I'm really worried about him, but I don't know what we can do tonight."

Before he went to bed, Farmer H went out on the front porch.

"Jack's okay now. I just petted him. He looks fine."

I'm not so sure. I didn't see it for myself. I'm hoping Jack is back to his old self on Wednesday morning. It's going to be over 100 degrees again. Maybe I'll take a pan of cool water and dip his feet in it, and pour some on his belly. At least Scarlett has learned to crunch those ice cubes.

Mrs. HM Is Pulling Out Her Lovely Lady-Mullet!

Are you sitting down? Or are you one of the multitudes running an Iron Man Competition while reading Mrs. HM's blog? I don't want this to be a shock to your system like it was to mine. So brace yourself. Perhaps have some smelling salts at the ready. A home defibrillator might be an extra caution.

I HAD NO INTERNET WHEN I GOT HOME FROM TOWN!!!

Seems like only a couple weeks ago that I was absent from the innernets for that very reason! And that it cost me a couple hundred dollars and two days of my life to get a repairman out here to fix the issue.

I was living high on the proverbial hog, cruising the invisible airwaves to my heart's content, going to any site I desired. Not a care in the world (well, internetly, that is) with my new router(s) and replaced DISH eye.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen! I left my HIPPIE shortly before noon on Monday. I'd had some serious business with him, and then gave it a rest to give myself a rest before an early town trip. I returned around 3:00. Farmer H was here to carry in groceries and eat some chicken legs. We chatted for 30 minutes or so. Then he left for the auction. I went to sit down at HIPPIE, and log in to Spotify for my scratcher-scratching music.

HIPPIE HAD NO CONNECTION!!1

Kept asking for my security code, which was set by the repairman, and is very familiar to me, having tried it out before he left. He said I would only need it if I connected another device. Welp! That did not happen. Just me and HIPPIE. I'm not two-timing him, stepping out with another electronical sweetie. But he kept asking me to prove my loyalty by typing in my security code to connect. Even after I had just typed it in.

Troubleshooting said to turn my router off and on. HELLO! That's easy for him to say, because he doesn't have to walk down 13 rail-less basement steps in the absence of Farmer H! I looked into a System Restore. Funny how HIPPIE had be subjected to a WINDOWS UPDATE at 12:28. That must be when my internet flew the coop. I tried the restore. That dirty dirty liar said it would restore HIPPIE to what he was BEFORE the last restore point of 12:38. But after an hour, I discovered that he had restored HIPPIE to that very time. So of course my internet was still unobtainable.

Sweet Gummi Mary! I had to descend those steps, and look for my new router(s). They were not in the cubby of Genius's old computer desk. It was like a router graveyard. Dark dead routers. The old kind. Oh. There. That must be it, over on the DISH TV receiver by the big-screen TV. I unplugged it. Then went into the workshop to unplug the modem as well. Since I was down there and all. Huh. What's THIS? A white egg-looking thingy sitting there, with a weird oval white plug-in at the electrical outlet next to the plug for the modem.

I unplugged both of them, just to be sure. Then back in. Went back to the white thingy on the DISH TV receiver. In plugging it back in, I noticed that the logo on the front of it did not say WiFi as I had assumed. It said Wii. That's the boys' old gaming system!!!

I snooped around Genius's desk again. Huh. There was something new, behind the 500 sheet pack of paper. A white egg-shaped thingy. I unplugged the power cord in the back of it. Which promptly fell down under the desk. I also wrenched out the ethernet cable attached to it, and held on for dear sweet life. Then I fished out the power cord. Then plugged them back in. Climbed those 13 rail-less steps on all fours, to be safe and incur less pain.

I must have been turning blue, what with holding my breath, to wait for HIPPIE to power up and see if I had internet. 

I DID!!!

I hate those freakin' WINDOWS UPDATES. They say they are security updates. They're not protecting ME from anything. They are updating the ways that WINDOWS snoops on me. I'm pretty sure. I've never known WINDOWS to be so concerned about my well-being and privacy.

Priceless Farmer H

I'm sure regular readers of my not-so-secret blog remember that Farmer H loves playing bingo at the Senior Center a couple times a week, and winning "prices." One of his pals there invited him out to play bingo elsewhere with her and her husband.

I think it was two Wednesdays ago. Farmer H was all excited, talking about it for several days before. He made sure I had his supper ready in time, so he could leave the Mansion and get there before all the seats were taken, even though his pal was saving a seat for him. The grand prize was a kayak. It had gone un-won for several nights.

Farmer H returned home deflated. Not a single "price" was won by him. 

"So, it was a little harder playing against regular people than against the elderlies at the Senior Center?"

"Yeah! There was 198 people there, and they were all paying attention."

Farmer H has not talked about going back to play regular bingo.  

The Grass Is Always Greener (Than The Pavement Of The Road)

The county road department must have a commissioner who lost his mind. Here it is, the week before all the schools start, and we're having road crews working and obstructing traffic! What a mess that will be if it continues on Monday. Not just for the buses, but for all the parents dropping off their darlings.

I thought I had outsmarted one crew. They've had one of those portable signs flashing for three weeks. The kind with the light-up message that scrolls. There's one by the prison as I head into town, and one across from Farmer H's old flea market as I am heading out of town. The message is that "Beginning Week of 07/31/23, Work Will Begin." Yeah. That's still the message, here on August 19.

We had the storms and rain during the week of July 31. But no road work was done the following week. Or the week after that. But THIS week, actual orange signs were set up proclaiming MEN WORKING, BE PREPARED TO STOP, and ONE LANE ROAD.

Heh, heh! I'd fool THEM! I turned just before I got to that part, to go past Mick the Mechanic's business, and turn onto the road by the bowling alley, then through two roundabouts to loop back into town beside the Gas Station Chicken Store. But NO! There were two crews working at the roundabouts! With narrow lanes. One-way, take your chances, no flagmen. 

Oh, and on Thursday, there was a new crew before the roundabouts and bowling alley. A big white dually truck parked in the road. With an orange sign that said DETOUR. Huh. There was no real place to detour. The only road that shoots off goes up by the elementary school. And it was a good 100 feet BEFORE the DETOUR sign. 

I was trying to figure out what to do. I supposed I would take the school road, but that would put me coming out in the middle of the other construction area with the one-lane road. I kept going. Slowly. Then notice the actual detour.

IT WAS THROUGH THE GRASS ON THE RIGHT SHOULDER!

Yep. That crew had set up the tall skinny orange cones, to make a little road in the grass. It was the weirdest detour I've ever seen. You had to drive off the edge of the road, and curve around in a semi-circle through the grass, and back up onto the road. I'm not sure why. It looked like maybe a patch of concrete had been poured across the road. I don't know what could be running under there. Nothing was wrong with the road in that area.

Anyhoo... I'm glad I'm not going to be driving through those areas during school start and stop times!

Hear Ye! Hear Ye! Let The Culprit Be Known!

The Mystery of the Dotted Line is solved! The perpetrator was caught red-pawed on Friday afternoon, while inflicting another injury upon the thin-skinned arm of Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. The left arm this time.

I was grasping the handrail to walk up the steps on the side porch when Scarlett decided she'd not had enough petting behind T-Hoe in the garage, and while sitting on the side porch a few nanoseconds earlier. She jumped up and put her paws on my arm holding the handrail. I felt it this time! And watched as my life fluid began to leak out.

I avoided dripping on my clothing, and even managed to hand out the treats before documenting the evidence at the kitchen counter.

The wound washed up quite nicely with foaming Bath and Body Works Coconut Mint soap. It is now marinating in a blob of triple antibiotic ointment under a bandaid.

Scarlett is cooling her claws on the porch. Perhaps planning her next assault on the thin skin of Mrs. HM.

Farmer H's Watch Dog

When I left for town a couple days ago, only my loyal Jack came to the kitchen door to see me off. Of course he got the entire scrap of bread as a reward, not having to half it with Scarlett. She's usually the first to accost me as I step out, leaping and bounding in excitement, just for a dry scrap of bread. I didn't worry about her when I rounded to corner of the porch and saw SilverRedO under the carport. Scarlett was probably with the object of her adoration. 

At the end of the driveway, I could see Scarlett pacing along the edge of our gravel road in front of the BARn field. When I drove past, she gave me a cursory glance, then turned her head to check on Farmer H, who was mowing down in the middle of that field. I suppose she was keeping possible attackers away from him.

On Wednesday, I saw Farmer H mowing over in our 10 acres beside the BARn field. The Freight Container Garage is over there, and a bunch of tall bushy cedar trees. Farmer H keeps the grass around them mowed. I didn't see Scarlett anywhere. She had failed to see me off again, much to Jack's delight, as he got an extra round of petting without Scarlett jumping at my chest.

Later, I saw Scarlett on the back porch. I asked Farmer H why she wasn't with him over in the field.

"She was there the whole time. But she didn't pace this time. She laid down in the shade."

Scarlett likes Farmer H more than a dry crust of bread.

Mrs. HM Takes The Bait Again

Once again, Mrs. HM has been bamboozled! Tricked into buying a product that is NOT what it seems to be! The world is headed to Not-Heaven in a handbasket, shooting at the speed of a laser pointer beam!

While in Save A Lot on Tuesday, I bought some bratwursts for Farmer H to grill. They have the most delicious bratwursts, made in the meat department. They could teach a master class to those MEATS Hillshire Farms braggarts.

Anyhoo... you never know when Save A Lot will have those bratwursts. Before a holiday weekend, it's a pretty sure bet. Otherwise, you just take your chances. Also, you have to be on the lookout for your favorites. Only once have I found the apple version. They were so tasty that I have a standing order from Farmer H to buy several packs when they are available. We know better than to buy the jalapeno bratwursts. We are not spicy folks.

We also like the sausage patties to grill like hamburgers. This time I didn't get any, because they didn't have the plain version. They only had two kinds. Cheese. And a weird option that looked like it had chunks of something in it. I leaned over to read the label, since there was no flavor sticker on it like the other packages. It said pineapple and maple. No thanks.

Anyhoo... we don't like the cheese version of the sausages. Tried the cheese bratwursts one time and didn't like the taste. So I know not to buy them. This time, I didn't see any plain bratwursts, despite looking several packs down in case they were hidden. I only saw the cheese, jalapeno, and bacon. BACON! Now that's something I figured Farmer H would enjoy.

I bought two packs of the bacon bratwursts. That's 10 sausages total. Farmer H grilled them on Wednesday night, for us to have the rest of the week. I sat down to eat, and kept waiting for the bacon flavor to hit me. It didn't. Something was off. Something that wasn't just plain sausage taste. 

THERE WAS CHEESE IN MY BRATWURST!

I hollered into the living room to Farmer H. Telling him I couldn't taste the bacon, and that my bratwurst had CHEESE in it. He said his did, too!

That is deceptive marketing! How dare Save A Lot meat department staff slap BACON stickers on bratwursts that were clearly CHEESE! It would be bad enough if they ran out of cheese stickers, and just left the package looking like plain bratwursts. But to deliberately label them as bacon is wrong!

Farmer H has already disposed of the packages. So I can't look at the label that lists the weight and price and expiration dates, to see if that part also says bacon. Or if it says cheese, or nothing at all.

I'm not taking grilled bratwursts back to the store to demand a refund. It's not like they're poison. We'll eat them. But how can I ever trust Save A Lot again? I can't open up the package and slice a bratwurst to see what's inside the casing!

I wish the mom of Genius's old friend still worked there. You can bet I would bring up the issue with HER, and have her inquire about such a dastardly trick. There's never a manager around when I'm in there. I might mention it to one of the regular checkers, and ask if anyone else has complained about it. That's sure to get me nowhere. But my voice will be heard!

They Could Call It A Po' Mom

I know I revealed that TWICE this month, I have turned down a trip to the casino with Farmer H in his travels to procure merchandise in Casino Town for his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2). I can't remember if I shared my latest heartbreak...

In perusing the casino's Facebook page, I saw something that made my blood run cold, and my saliva flow like the Niagara River cascading over the falls.

CHICKEN LIVER PO' BOY

Yes! It's at the grill where we always have lunch. Only available for the month of August! I have been missing out on a Chicken Liver Po' Boy! Let the record show that Mrs. HM luuurrrrves her some chicken livers! So this is a treat that must be tried.

Not sure if I'll get the chance. Farmer H is having eye surgery on Friday. So he might not be driving around for a while. The Pony offered to take me. He kind of drives like Farmer H. Well. He used to. Maybe now that he has to drive every day at work, he has more experience. Thought he DOES drive with a steering wheel on the right side of the vehicle...

Anyhoo... I don't know how to get the picture off their Facebook page to show you. I'll give it a try, but not sure how long it will remain.

Here's the description: 

Crispy chicken livers, bacon fat aioli, and lime carrot slaw all served on a toasted french demi baguette.

Who WOULDN'T want to try that??? The Pony, for one. But he can get something else. Still not sure I am feeling up to such a long drive. But if I do, I'll be having that Chicken Liver Po' Boy!

Ears Memory Logic

Farmer H is not functioning on all cylinders. I tend to think his hardheadedness prevents him from processing context clues. That he's so stubborn and intent on being RIGHT all the time, he ignores the facts.

Monday night, we had fried chicken from the Sis-Town Country Mart. Farmer H ate first. I warmed his chicken in the oven to get it crispy again. Set out his plate, and the end of a loaf of Hawaiian Bread. That's all he wanted. Meat and bread. Turned down my offer of a salad or some cheesy noodles from a bag. He was having a breast, leg, and wing.

"Okay, your food is ready. You can come get it. Don't bother to save your leg bone for the dogs. I won't give it to them. I don't trust you to pull off that spiky bone, and I'm not doing it. Here's a baggie for the bones. Do you want to take it in there with you, or leave it here on the counter for when you bring you plate back?"

"Leave it there."

Let the record show that Farmer H was at the stove, putting chicken on his plate, when I instructed him on the leg bone. And that he responded to my question with an answer.

Fifteen minutes later, when Farmer H returned his plate to the kitchen, he said the oddest thing.

"So you don't want me to save no bones?"

"I don't know where you got that idea! Surely you don't think I went to the trouble to lay out that baggie, and explain about the leg bone, if I didn't want you to save ANY bones."

Clearly, Farmer H had heard my instructions. He answered about the baggie. So it's not his hearing. Could be his memory, though forgetting something within 15 minutes is kind of pathetic. As is standing right there beside the baggie, thinking I didn't want anything saved.

He probably just wanted to interrupt my ticket-scratching.

Sad And Sadder, Eventually Resolved

Poor Pony. He had a bad day on Friday. An incident at work that was somewhat unintentional, and put him in a sad mood. Mrs. HM said there'd be days like this. There'd be days like this, Mrs. HM said.

The Pony was gathering up his mail for delivery, and another worker asked about a package on The Pony's route. Seems This Worker knew one of the residents where The Pony was delivering. The Resident asked The Worker if he'd see if The Pony could deliver his package early, or meet him somewhere he could pick it up. 

The Worker showed The Pony the text where The Resident was asking for such special treatment (which is actually frowned upon by management). At first The Pony had said NO, and that's when The Worker showed him the text. It was not that specific text, but one The Pony saw above it, in which The Resident used a politically-incorrect slur in referring to The Pony. The Pony didn't say anything to The Worker about it, since it wasn't The Worker who did the deed. But The Pony brought it up to management, along with the request.

The management said that NO, The Pony did not have any obligation to deliver that package early. And that if The Pony wanted to do a little extra work around the office before leaving, it was available. And that The Pony might also want to take a lunch that day. So not-so-very sadly, The Resident actually got the package later than on a regular mail delivery day. Though I'm sure he doesn't know why. Just sayin'... it's best not to eff with the USPS, even behind their back. Not saying it's right, but I understand.

Anyhoo... that evening, The Pony made his supper.

"Chicken patties, ketchup, mustard, and mayo. Plus Muenster cheese. One's a double."

"A pickle might go well with them."

"Sadly no pickle, lettuce, or good red onion. Or time to toast the buns. My wifi is also acting up today and this is making me sad."

That whole patties picture made me sad. No frills. Drab backdrop as The Pony walked through his living room. To his malfunctioning wifi laptop.

Anyhoo... Things got better for The Pony on Saturday, his last day on that route, when he got assigned to one he asked for since his hold down was up. AND on Sunday, Farmer H took The Pony out to supper:

That's fish tacos for The Pony. Not my cup of tea. But he said they were really good.

Looks like Farmer H had some kind of burrito. I'm sure they both had complimentary chips and salsa while they waited.

Farmer H used a gift card that he got at the Senior Center at Christmas, when "the gals" handed out cards from assorted businesses. It was Farmer H's turn to be sad. He took The Pony to the restaurant in Sis-Town, but the gift card was for their branch in School-Turn Town.

Oh, well. I guess there's another Mexican dinner on The Pony's horizon.

The Curious Incident Of The Thin-Skinned Mrs. HM In The Daytime

One of the worst parts of being old is that you can hurt yourself and not even know how! Or maybe you just don't remember it. 

Somehow, between the time I got out of T-Hoe in the garage on Saturday, and got into the Mansion, I tore a hole in my arm-skin. I have no recollection of any pain. No trauma. No bumping or scraping or snagging. Once upon a time, I caught my left forearm on a nail in the garage wall. A nail that Farmer H had put there, with a partner, sticking out on purpose, to lay a fishing pole across. That got me a trip to the doctor for a tetanus booster. But this newest calamity is a mystery.

I only noticed the injury when I was putting my glasses case on the kitchen counter. I mentally re-traced my steps. Because actually re-tracing my steps would require too much effort.

I had returned a Pony text in the garage. Then I opened up T-Hoe's door and slid out. Scarlett and Jack came to greet me. I sweet-talked them, and walked to T-Hoe's rear. I didn't have anything to get out this time, but I needed to go around to the passenger door for my purse and water bottle. So the rear path was just as convenient as the front path. 

Scarlett was being a good girl, not jumping on me. Oh, she crouched, but did not leap. Just bounded back to T-Hoe's bumper as I walked around. I have "trained" the dogs that this is where we pet in the garage. Usually, I have T-Hoe's hatch open. I can set my keys down, and lean over and pet both dogs. Scarlett likes to put her front paws on the bumper and lean into me. Jack sometimes just wiggles at my feet, and sometimes will but his front paws on my leg. He's not a leaper.

Anyhoo, the hatch being closed kind of boggled Scarlett's mind. She halfheartedly put a paw on the bumper. Then got down. Then tentatively balanced on her haunches, and gingerly rested her front paws on my belly. That was fine. She was not hyper and jumping. So she got a good petting, as did Jack. When I told them we were done, Jack trotted around the end of T-Hoe towards the people door. Scarlett has trouble with transitions. I had to push her legs down, and she tried to sit up again. It's possible her paw could have scraped my arm. 

That's not moles. That's not freckles. Those are pinpoint bruises on my arm. Too close together, really, to belong to either Jack or Scarlett's claws. Yet I have no other explanation. I did not jab a fork into my arm. Nor start a tattoo. I suppose dog claws could have done that at an angle, in a sweeping motion. You'd think I would have felt something.

Anyhoo... it cleaned up nicely, and stopped bleeding almost immediately. The little bruises are bit bigger right now. But I think I'll live.

Raging At The Enrager

We all know that Farmer H leads an extremely busy life, what with not-rebuilding that carburetor on the generator, not depositing The Pony's house payment in our credit union, and not putting flea medicine on the dogs. So imagine my surprise extreme rage when he finally DID something on Tuesday night.

It was the night my internet died. Was working moderately with basic websites until I left for town mid-afternoon. At least I was able to blog, though had no frills for entertainment. I consulted Genius, who was not able to solve the problem, though gave me some diagnostic tests to determine if it was a HIPPIE problem or a router problem or a DISH problem.

I had just sat down to scratch my scratchers, the only pleasure I had left, after sending Farmer H off to the living room with his supper. Barely through the first ticket, I heard Farmer H mouthing about how I must be crazy, because HE HAD INTERNET on his phone. You know, because obviously I was making the whole thing up, depriving myself of internet, just to make him look bad.

"What is the security code?"

"WHAT? What are you talking about?"

"I'm calling DISH and I don't know what the code is, or what the problem is."

"Why in the NOT-HEAVEN are you doing that right this minute??? I am finally getting time to scratch my tickets, and you decide NOW is the time to deal with this? After a month of having problems with it? I told you, you need to pick a day when you can stay home, and call them from the basement, because they usually tell you things to do so they can diagnose the problem. Like unplugging, or turning things off."

"I am TRYING to help you, but I have no idea what you're doing!"

Let's just say the conversation took a downhill turn after that. 

Farmer H had plenty of time over the last week to make two trips to Casino Town for SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2) business, spend three days at his SUS2, attend two auctions, and play bingo for money with a Senior Center pal and 189 other people. But no time to deal with my internet issue before the whole thing went kaput.

Mrs. HM has grown tired of her place at the bottom of the list.

Let the record show that Farmer H's "internet" was not through our wifi, but only the service his phone picked up as they will do when conditions are just right. And that Mrs. HM made that call her own self, on Wednesday morning, with the pertinent information at the ready. And scheduled a service appointment for the next morning. Took two days of servicing, but her internet is back!

The Place To Be (Is As Close To Mrs. HM As Possible)

Some people have a knack. An innate sense that may or may not be helpful. Mine is judging people. Yes. I said it. JUDGING! Not to look down my nose from the rarefied air, perched atop my high horse, to make myself feel superior to people. But to determine whether a person is trustworthy, or a sneaky backstabber. Sometimes I can just tell. I suppose all my years of teaching honed my skills in people-reading, proving my initial judgment.

Anyhoo... Farmer H has more than one such knack. We all know that he is especially gifted at missing the grocery-unloading by mere minutes. And at calling me at the worst possible time, almost as if he could see through the phone. But there's another knack. BEING WHERE I WANT TO BE! Sometimes I can barely move, with Farmer H up under my armpit.

Like Monday, when I was ready to leave for town. I was standing behind the short couch, stepping into my shoes, when I heard the kitchen door open. In came Farmer H, to the living room.

"Oh. Are you going to town now?"

"Yep. Just putting on my shoes, and I'm out."

"Okay."

Farmer H turned and walked back through the kitchen. That was odd. Why had he come to the living room? He usually plops down in his recliner, or goes on past me to the bathroom. He had just come in, but now was going out. No mention of why.

I put my ID and debit card in my shirt pocket, put my glasses case in my purse, picked up the scrap of stale bread I give the dogs as I leave, and opened the kitchen door.

"JACK! JACK! You come back here!"

Of course Scarlett and Jack met me at the door, like they always do when they hear it open.

"Hey dogs. Just a minute. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

"I'm TRYING to put flea medicine on them dogs!"

"Huh. Right when I'm leaving? You KNEW I was getting ready to go. They come to get their treat."

"I didn't know you give them a treat when you LEAVE! JACK! Get back here!"

"Give him a minute. This is where I give them bread. By the steps. There, Scarlett. Jack! Yours is under Dad's feet."

Jack has no qualms about walking under a metal mesh chair filled with Farmer H. He doesn't even have to hunker down. He ate his treat, then stood at the edge of the side porch, wagging his tail (and body) for me. He is slightly fond of Farmer H, but that little dog has hearts in his eyes for ME.

As I was petting Jack, Farmer H grabbed him by the back skin, and started trying to squeeze that liquid flea medicine between Jack's shoulders. Jack didn't mind at all. I was petting him. 

Scarlett had other ideas. She ADORES Farmer H. She took a leap at his lap. Which pretty much didn't exist, what with Farmer H bent over treating Jack's back.

"SCARLETT! Get down! Get out of here!"

Did that hurt Scarlett's feelings? Not at all. She oblivious to scolding! Kept trying to hop back up on Farmer H.

"Come here, Scarlett. Come on. That's a good girl."

I had to switch my petting to Scarlett. Who jerks her head around a lot, so I patted her neck and shoulder, even grabbing onto her shoulder skin to keep her away from Farmer H and Jack. Of course that's when I found out that Scarlett had already gotten her dose of flea medicine. It got on my hand. My town-going hand. That was going to be on the steering wheel.

I asked Farmer H why he ALWAYS HAD TO BE WHERE I AM! He was kind of snippy with his reply. As if I was making it up!

"I'm SORRY I don't do things by your schedule!"

"That's for sure! I've only been telling you for four weeks that these dogs were scratching, and needed their flea medicine. So you HAVE had four weeks to get it done. It didn't have to be done the exact moment I was heading to town, disrupting our routine. You KNEW I was leaving. You just asked me!"

Farmer H continued his blustering as I made an escape to the garage. Where I was rushed to back out before the dogs came around, and kept the door from closing by running under it as it went down.

At the end of the driveway, I got out my GermX and tried to get that flea medicine off my hand. Essentially washing my hand of Farmer H and his shenanigans.

The Forgetful Might Inherit The Earth

It's a real possibility! IF the Forgetful inherit the Earth, it will be because they FORGOT to make the deposits entrusted to them by the Holders of Wealth! Some 20/30/40 years later, when the Holders of Wealth kick off, somebody will find a pile of wealth and deposit slips squirreled away, gathering dust instead of interest, and that pile will most likely be in the possession of a Forgetful.

On Sunday, Farmer H went to eat at a Chinese buffet with The Pony and The Veteran. The Pony had organized the feast, inviting the other two, yet Farmer H paid the bill! That has nothing to do with my current topic, but my mind wanders, and it just illustrates that we have $50 less of wealth to hold now.

Anyhoo... since The Pony was busy strapping on the old feedbag at the time I would have picked up his house payment and money for July expenses on the flip house, I said he could just give his checks to Farmer H. Who dutifully brought them home to me, made out in my name as usual. I signed the backs. Then asked Farmer H when he could deposit the house payment in our credit union, which is just up the street from his Senior Center bingo den. We're putting the Pony House money back into the account we used to make the Pony House renovations.

"I can do that tomorrow."

"Okay. I'll lay it out."

I took the other check on Monday to deposit in our bank, to replace half the money we had already paid on those July flip house expenses. As I was filling out the deposit slip before leaving, I saw The Pony's house payment check still sitting on the kitchen table where I put things for Farmer H to pick up on his way out the door.

Farmer H SAYS he will deposit that check in our credit union on Tuesday. But he's also going down to Casino Town on Tuesday to pay for the rest of the merchandise he bought last week, when he didn't have enough cash for all he wanted to buy. It's okay. He and that businesswoman have an understanding. She told him to just bring the rest the following week.

Anyhoo... Farmer H asked again if I wanted to ride along and go to the casino while he does his business. I don't think so. Farmer H just might FORGET to come back for me before starting home.

Farmer H's Logic

While we were sitting around Thursday with no electricity, Farmer H got a call from The Veteran, who had a bunch of trees down in his back yard. He said they were watching TV, and heard the storm. He immediately put his shoes on, which he always does during a storm. He told his wife and girls to go to the basement. Then heard the trees crashing. One pulled up, roots and all. Thank the Gummi Mary, they fell away from the house.

Anyhoo... The Veteran asked if Farmer H needed any help. Nope. The electric company crew was fixing the tree that was causing our problem. The Veteran was on his way to his mom's house, to get a tree off the roof. I'm assuming it was just a branch or two, since he didn't mention any structural problems.

Anyhoo... Farmer H said he was trying to find something to do. Like maybe work on our generator that he'd been neglecting for six months. Having last said that he needed to rebuild the carburetor to make it keep running. His excuse was that he never got the kit to rebuild the carburetor. So I don't know how he could work on it right then, if he didn't have the kit. Anyhoo, he said he was going to plug it in and charge the battery so he could try it. Oh, and he also said he might go out and mow the yard.

Once he hung up, I questioned his activities.

"Well, I don't have the kit, but I can look at it again and see if I can get it working."

"There's no way you can mow grass! With all this rain? The blade will just comb it. And you'll probably get the tires stuck in the mud."

"Yeah. Maybe you're right. I can wait until the yard dries out a little. I'm going out to charge the generator battery."

I was on my way to change clothes and go to town. I don't really pay attention to what Farmer H is doing around the grounds. I mainly just need to know if I should lock the door when I leave.

When I came back from changing, Farmer H was in the house again.

"Huh. You decided not to work on the generator?"

"I plugged it in, and then I realized we don't have electricity! So that idea's out."

Heh, heh. Sometimes Farmer H is not the sharpest tool in the themed shed. 

We Should Consider Ourselves Lucky That He Wears Clothing, And Does Not Squat In The Street To Relieve Himself

Trying to civilize Farmer H is a full-time job. And often not successful.

As I've mentioned, Farmer H likes to take his meals to eat in his recliner, in front of the TV. That's fine with me. We don't eat on the same schedule, and I'm not missing anything by not looking at him across the table.

What I DO mind is finding the TV remote greased up like a piglet in a county fair contest. I sit down to watch TV after Farmer H goes to bed, and I'm lucky if I can hold onto the remote. Even more discouraging is the fact that I always lay out a paper towel with Farmer H's plate. Every. Single. Night.

Saturday evening, Farmer H grilled some bratwurst from Save A Lot on GassyG Jr. They are delicious. Farmer H IS a good griller. I had his plate set out on the cutting block. A blue plastic picnic-style plate he likes, because it has dividers. I had set out the bag of buns on top of his plate. And a fork. And a paper towel. He was left to his own devices to assemble his bratwursts on buns, and dish up his slaw and baked beans, while I cut up a fresh tomato he had bought from his buddy early in the week. The tomato went in a bowl. Everybody knows that the minute you start slicing a fresh tomato, its taste begins to fade. So I do it right before Farmer H takes his plate to the living room.

As I was straightening up the counter and putting away the leftovers, I noticed that Farmer H's paper towel was still lying on the cutting block.

"HEY! I put out a paper towel for you, and you couldn't even be bothered to use it! I'm tired of getting a greasy remote when I try to watch TV."

"Ah, you're crazy. I wipe my hands!"

"Not on the paper towel I laid out for you!"

"I just forgot it tonight."

"Last night the remote was terrible!"

"I wiped it off! With my paper towel, and on my shirt, and on my pants."

I think maybe Farmer H is missing the point of his paper towel. It's NOT for wiping off the remote! But for wiping his HANDS before they touch the remote!

The League Of Self-Important Rumpus-Holes

Of late, Hillmomba is teeming with Self-Important Rumpus-Holes. You can't throw a stone without hitting one. I don't espouse violence, but that's exactly what needs to happen to some of them!

I was waiting in line at the Hillmomba Casey's on Friday around 4:00. Only one cashier was working. He had a line of four people when I went in. It ballooned to eight as a scrawny elder-teen had trouble paying for his snack with a debit card. He kept announcing that the machine wouldn't work, and the bearded cashier pointed out that his card didn't have that magical feature that lets you wave it near an equally magic box. 

After a couple more people bought drinks and treats with plastic, I told the guy beside me that he could go ahead. He declined, but when I insisted, citing that I was going to buy lottery tickets, he agreed. As he was pre-paying for gas with cash, a SELF-IMPORTANT RUMPUS-HOLE barged through the door, and strode straight to the counter.

"I've been trying to call in a pizza for 10 minutes!"

Welp. I suppose that said more about his tenacity or stupidity than it validated his line-jumping. Cashier Beardy had nothing to do with that. Yet he had to address the situation. Which he did by hollering over his shoulder to the kitchen, "Hey, guys. Has the phone been ringing off the hook?" Au contraire. The phone had not been ringing at all, according to the most visible of the cooks.

Self-Important Rumpus-Hole was seething. It might have become a stare-down if Cashier Beardy had suffered this fool. But he went back to giving change, then waiting on me. Self-Important Rumpus-Hole turned to stalk out. Cashier Beardy said to his back, "You might go talk to the kitchen. They're the ones who can take your order." No response.

I was parked next to Self-Important Rumpus-Hole. I had paid no attention when I pulled in, other than to note that there was someone in the car. As I went back out, he was doing something at the trunk, slamming it shut, then walking back inside with a bleached blond lady I can only assume was Mrs. Rumpus-Hole. 

I'll be darned if I'd sit on the parking lot trying to call for 10 minutes, when I could simply walk inside and order in person. Then again, I'm not a Self-Important Rumpus-Hole waiting for a reason to jump line.

Pony People Problems: The Hole Tooth

As if the oppressive heat wasn't enough to thwart The Pony's mail delivery efforts...

Uneven Steven served up a problem on a silver platter on Tuesday. It was The Pony's lunch break. He DOES take one every now and then. Especially when he delivers on a route that includes Domino's Pizza. Let the record show that The Pony is not an anorexic model surviving on a TicTac and Diet Coke daily. The Pony knows how to strap on the old feedbag.

"There is a red pepper flake in my tooth hole."

"Mmm. That looks good. Can you rinse it out with a beverage?"

"Hasn't worked so far."

"I guess leave it alone until you can get a toothpick, or brush it when you get home. Or chew some gum and stick it against the tooth hole to snag the pepper flake."

"Yeah."

No answer on what tactic The Pony used, but I'm pretty sure he does not still have a red pepper flake stuck in his tooth hole after the wisdom teeth extraction two weeks ago. Though he DID have another issue a few days earlier. I will spare you a picture.

"I was worried when you were sick. That you might have an infection from your tooth holes."

"Doesn't feel like it. There was something weird with one of them yesterday, like a blood vessel or clot or something dangling down from the hole after I swished my mouth out."

"Sometimes there's a strip of dead skin that got crushed when they pulled the tooth."

"Like I'm 90 percent sure it was connected, since it wouldn't come out and like, touching it with gauze came back very lightly bloody after I brushed my teeth. I pushed it back in and overnight it retracted or dissolved or fell out. All I know is it was white when I shoved my phone in my mouth."

"Yeah. Dead skin from the pulling."

At this point, The Pony sent me a video of the inside of his mouth. Complete with sound.

"Yuck! I didn't need to see that!"

At least mouths can't hold a candle to FEET!

You Know Mrs. HM Is Not At Her Best When She Turns Down A Casino Trip

Farmer H had SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2) business down in Casino Town on Wednesday. He had plans to work on the flip house in the morning, eat lunch at the Senior Center, then go. Yet he told me Tuesday night that he'd come back out to the Mansion and get me if I wanted to go. And we could eat lunch at the casino. Sounded good to me. 

I looked up the menu at the casino grill where we eat. Decided I'd have the chicken strips again, with fries. Checked my casino bankroll. It was fat and sassy. Planned my medicine-taking and sleep schedule. Then I checked the weather.

As the night wore on, I began to reconsider. It seemed like such a hassle. The Pony couldn't go with us. It would be just me and Farmer H. The way he told it, we would get there around 12:30, and leave at 3:00. Was it worth 90 minutes of gambling (lunch takes an hour) to ride three hours in A-Cad with Farmer H? With flash flood warnings, and the morning rain re-developing in the evening.

Nah. I don't think so. It hurts my joints to ride so long. If I'm going to endure that, I need more than 90 minutes of gambling, or I at least need three hours of time with The Pony.

You heard it here first. Mrs. HM turned down a trip to the casino.

Good To Know, But I Wish I Didn't

I was walking into the Gas Station Chicken Store on Tuesday afternoon, passing the area where I found three pennies and a bullet. A man had just come out the door. He was headed for his truck, but turned and came towards me. He motioned to the winning scratchers I had clutched in my hand.

"I notice you buying lottery here and at Casey's. I just wanted to tell you that my stepdaughter won $10,000 yesterday at the School-Turn Casey's!"

"WHAT? That's GREAT! What ticket?"

"It was a $20 ticket. She bought three. The first one won $500. The second one won $100. On the third one, she won all the prizes. As she started scratching them off, every prize was $500. She called me while she was scratching it, telling me the amounts. She was crying! She couldn't believe it."

"I'm really happy for her! Was it the new $20 ticket?"

"I don't know which ticket, just that it was the $20 tickets."

"That's great! I usually don't buy the 20s."

A girl on her way in had stopped to listen to the story. "I won $50 this morning on a $3 ticket. I've never won more than $100."

"Me either."

"I've won $1000. But never anything higher. That's fantastic! Just to know that it's possible to get a big winner around here."

Funny how I was in the School-Turn Casey's on Sunday, and actually bought one of the new $20 tickets. Loser. That jackpot wasn't meant for me!

Back home, I told Farmer H the story.

"Was he a big guy?"

"No. Kind of medium size. Not fat."

"But tall?"

"Yeah. He was pretty tall."

"And hunched over?"

"Maybe a little at the shoulders."

"Drove a silver truck?"

"Yeah."

"I KNOW THAT GUY! He used to be a wrestler a long time ago."

"Huh. Well. I'm happy for his stepdaughter. I hope she's one of those people who really need it."

"It that's them, yeah, they really need it."

She probably has a star by her name in Even Steven's ledger...

Scenes From A Task Struggle On A Hillmomba Hill

It has been two days since the thunderstorm wind blew a tree down on our gravel road at the bottom of Farmer H and Buddy's Badly Blacktopped Hill.

Nobody has tried to clear the tree.

I remarked to Farmer H on Sunday evening when I got back from town:

"I guess everybody is waiting for Hill Man to get the tree off the road. Since it's a tree from his property."

"I don't know what's wrong with people! I started to get the tractor and go down there and shove it back, but then I remembered my tractor is parked over in The Pony's yard."

"Well. ONE of your tractors."

"The one that runs!"

"I can't believe these people out here! Who do they think is going to clear that tree? Nobody ever volunteers for anything anymore!"

"Well, I thought it would be gone. This afternoon when I came home, I saw Hill Man and his two buddies down there looking at the tree. I figured they was gonna move it. They're thick as thieves. They're the ones who've been blading the road."

"Maybe they're tired of doing it for nothing. But it IS a tree on Hill Man's property. So he has more responsibility for it that anyone else."

"What I don't get is that a couple of those guys are YOUNG! In their 30s. And one of them does tree-trimming for a living!"

"I wouldn't hold my breath waiting for anyone to move that tree. I'll just keep driving around it."

At least Farmer H had good intentions about moving the tree. That's more than I imagine any of the other freeloaders out here did. There are 13 families that use this section of road. A chainsaw could cut off the limbs that are in the road, and a guy could shove them over that tree trunk so they're off the road. It's not rocket science, and it's not that much work. The trunk itself is not in the way.