Mrs. HM Is A Raw Ball Of Exposed Nerves

Sweet Gummi Mary! The people of Hillmomba drive worse than Farmer H! It's not bad enough that a county road crew has been putting down fresh pavement on our blacktop road, impeding Mrs. HM's progress on her daily town trip for two day. But NOW, The Universe conspires against her Errand Day travels.

The first incident was rolling into School-Turn Town, after passing by the cemetery that holds Mom and Dad. A peaceful trip most days. I slowed to the speed limit of 30 mph at the city limits. That's because of a four-letter word: C O P S. They regularly patrol that area. So I don't even try to get by with five miles over. I strictly obey. 

Coming up on the first traffic light, I saw three oncoming cars waiting to make a left turn. As I lawfully approached, I said to myself. "I'm too close!" when a black SUV made a left turn across my path. Imagine my consternation (and panic) when the cherry-red SUV behind it  also made a left turn across my path. I had to jam on the brakes to avoid broadsiding it. Of course I laid on the horn. Not that it could do any good. That car was already in my path. But it made me feel better to "voice" my warning and displeasure.

The next incident was after I had mailed Genius's weekly letter, and passed through the ridiculous 5-way stop. An oncoming white SUV was over the non-existent center line, about to sideswipe T-Hoe. I veered as far right as I could, with no time to horn him. What in the Not-Heaven? Are people so oblivious to keeping right? I can tell when I'm on my own side of the road, even without a center line.

The third incident was on a bridge taking the lake road from School-Turn Town to Hillmomba. That bridge is plenty wide enough for two cars to pass. It has concrete sides. No forgiveness there. Yet a small white SUV was over on my side. So close! It was a narrow miss, even though I moved as close to the bridge side as possible.

What is wrong with drivers these days??? They are worse than Farmer H and his sweaving! I never thought I would be able to say that!

Like Cheers, Except Nobody Knows My Name

Business at the Gas Station Chicken Store comes in waves. There's a sudden rush around 3:00 when schools let out. Then another at 3:30 when a couple local factories end a shift. And around 4:10, when I suppose more distant factories let out, or the 3:00 batch of city commuters return to town. I know traffic off the highway backs up at the lights.

I try to plan my town trip between the busy times. On the weekend, it's not an issue. Late afternoon on the weekend there's a lull. There was only one car, at the gas pumps, when I pulled in Sunday afternoon. The guy was coming back to his vehicle after paying. You can't pay at the pump there. That's how old the gas pumps are.

Anyhoo... I drove around to the side of the building to my rightful handicap space, placard swinging from T-Hoe's mirror. I gathered my winners for cashing in, and headed inside to see my favorite cashier. She always greets me cheerfully, even though not by name. I've told her once, when she asked, but don't expect her to remember it.

"Hi! I saw you coming!"

Fave pushed a Cash-4-Life draw ticket under the plexiglass shield toward me. 

"Let's see if my other predictions were right!"

"Well. I AM pretty predictable. I bet you ARE right!"

I named off the numbers of the tickets I wanted, and she pulled them out from under the counter, already torn off from the rolls. She was EXACTLY right!

"Good job on that. But what if I went on by?"

"I thought of that, but since it wasn't crowded, I figured you'd stay."

"As long as my handicap space is open! If there's somebody parked in it, I sometimes keep driving out the alley, and go over to Casey's first. Then come back."

"I know you won't come in if it's crowed, and you'll leave if too many people come in while you're waiting. But I didn't know THAT. I would have kept them for you. You always come in."

I am predictable, and she is efficient. It works out well. Besides, she could have sold those same tickets to anybody else who asked for them later in the evening. Or set them back on the roll to sell the next day if nobody wanted them that soon.

There's A Rotting Corpse In The Mansion's Garage

Hold up! Don't be calling the police just yet. I'm pretty sure it's not a HUMAN corpse. That would be seen by the naked eye. Nothing seems out of place in the garage. It's just the smell. I'd say that body has been dead for about 5 days. The odor started off faint, rose to a crescendo, and is now starting to fade.

The Pony thinks it might be a bat. We've had them "hanging around" by the louvered vents up high. I'd think more along the lines of a mouse, but we don't have cats to kill them any more. It seems unusual that a mouse might die of natural causes in the garage. The dogs are only in there when I come home, and they are at my heels the moment I step down from T-Hoe.

When I got home on Tuesday, my little Jack was in the garage with me, waiting at the people door to go out. He was looking up high, at the shelves over the two large lidded trash cans where Farmer H stores the dog food he pours out of the bag. 

I didn't have the gumption to peruse those shelves for a corpse.

The Queen Bee And The Pea(like implement of torture)

Mrs. HM is no princess, but some might refer to her as a bit of a queen bee. Her royalty status was confirmed on Monday afternoon, in an incident in her master bathroom.

I was getting ready for my shower when I stepped up to the sink to brush my teeth. OUCH! Ow, ow, ow, ow! That sure did smart! I moved my left foot, and looked down to see that I had trod upon one of Farmer H's dropped pills on the rug in front of the sink.

It really should not have hurt that much. Or at all. It was a little gel pill, shown here on the counter with a penny that fell out of my pocket a day earlier, that I had set aside for Farmer H's collection. In addition, I had my foot wrapped in an Ace bandage, because bones in the top, over the arch, have been hurting lately. Arthritis, I guess. The wrap makes it feel better when clomping around the Mansion in my Crocs.

Anyhoo... if such an incident doesn't prove my place in a royal bloodline with that Pea Princess, I don't know what would!

Farmer H Is The New Lou Grant

Mrs. HM is a little perturbed with Farmer H. Heh, heh. AS IF that's a surprise to anyone. Well. Maybe the "a little" part. 

Friday evening Farmer H grilled pork steaks and sausages. I made baked beans. Of course Farmer H doesn't like canned baked beans. He must have them actually baked. That gets rid of the "juice," you know. And I add diced onion, and some BBQ sauce, and mustard, and steak sauce. They're tasty beans.

Anyhoo... on Friday night, Farmer H ate an entire pork steak, and a sausage. He wrapped up two sausages for his lunch at his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2) on Saturday and Sunday. Then he ate two more sausages for his supper on Saturday. So... out of the six sausages, I got ONE.

Don't you worry about Mrs. HM. I didn't starve. I had most of my pork steak on Friday night, and the rest on Saturday night with the sausage. I had a ramekin of baked beans on Saturday. The rest of the beans (baked with onions and condiments) were left for Farmer H. That's fine. I didn't want a lot of beans.

Sunday, Farmer H planned to grill the other two pork steaks, and another six sausages. I said I'd make some potatoes and onions. Farmer H sometimes does these on the grill, with mixed results. Sometimes they stick to the foil. Or don't cook completely. Anyhoo... I put them in the oven for two hours on Sunday afternoon, so they'd only need warming while Farmer H was grilling. 

Those potatoes and onions were layered in a 9-inch glass casserole dish, with butter and ground black pepper in between. They smelled quite delicious while cooking. I warmed them in the oven during Farmer H's Sunday grill time. Then he fixed his plate (yellow plastic school-lunch tray), and took HALF! 

I had counted on eating those potatoes and onions for two meals! It was like Lou Grant showing up at Mary Richards's dinner party, taking 3 of the 6 servings of Veal Prince Orloff! 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TKKAu2laOfM (YouTube, 2:54) 

If you want the whole episode, it's 23:47. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bhEi0E_R1uM

Anyhoo... Farmer H is quite inconsiderate when it comes to portion size. Thinking he should get whatever he wants, and not thinking about anybody else getting a fair share.

A Case Of Up-To-No-Good-Ness In Hillmomba

Friday, I arrived at the Gas Station Chicken Store during a lull. I had time to chat with my favorite clerk, after first making sure she didn't need to catch up on something like filling the ice machine, or taking a bathroom break. She assured me she was fine, and had time to talk. I told her about cashing in my tickets at the lottery office, because she's always asking if I've done that yet. Then she told me a tale that was concerning.

"I was over in Bill-Paying Town, and going to pay my taxes while I was there. But I had my dog in the car. I couldn't take him in. But I really needed to pay my taxes. I put down all four windows far enough so he could get air, and stick his head out, but couldn't get out. Nobody else was around where I parked.

When I came out, there was a black truck parked by me. Really close, and at kind of an angle. He had all those other parking spaces, but parked crooked, right by my car. There was a man sitting in the truck, looking at me. I thought that was kind of odd."

"Yeah. Doesn't seem right. Do you think he was trying to steal your dog? What kind do you have?"

"He's a pit bull/lab."

"People try to steal pit bulls. Or do you think he was going to report you for leaving a dog in the car?"

"See, I don't know. Because that guy never went into the building. He just sat there, watching me, and then drove off. I was only inside 10 or 15 minutes. And I had all the windows down. I don't know what he was planning to do. I followed him for a little bit, but he didn't go anywhere like he was going to report me, so I quit."

"Something's not right there. You never know. People are crazy these days."

Some people need to mind their own business, and stop being so creepy!

So Long Ago, But Just Like Yesterday

I don't hear from Genius very often, even though I write him a weekly letter. But Friday evening, I got a text:

"Can you send me a pic of that photo of me on the wall when I was a little kid, the one sitting on that wicker crate?"

"How soon do you need it?"

"Ideally now, but if you're busy it's not a big deal. I'm at a party and we were all talking about pics of us as kids. If it's too much trouble don't worry."

Well. I had just sat down from trying to soak Farmer H's tray that he used for eating BBQ. And putting away leftovers, but leaving my food that I would warm up later. But nothing will prevent me from supplying a picture when my kid needs one at a party! I wasn't sure exactly which one he was talking about. So I went to the living room with my phone camera.

First I sent a picture of Genius sitting in a wicker chair, at about 2 years old. A photo from a photographer at the Devil's Playground, with a Christmas tree backdrop.

"This one? Or when you were older?"

"I was thinking of another one--in that red vest, I think."

So the next picture I sent was of Genius at a year old, wearing a red vest and plaid red pants. Also a Christmas photo. He was born in December. No wicker chair. But there was another picture from a photographer that went to Genius's daycare when he was 3. Of him wearing a little black vest, with jeans and high-top Nike shoes, sitting on a wicker trunk.

"THAT'S THE ONE!"

"It's my favorite picture of you. Shows your future personality."

"That is wicker. I was close!"

"You loved that vest! I couldn't get in closer, because Dad was sitting in his recliner in front of it."

"No, this is perfect."

I hope Genius won some sort of prize at that party for his picture!

Farmer H's "Trying To Kill Me" Plan Might Actually Be Working

Have I ever mentioned that I'm pretty sure Farmer H is trying to kill me? I think that I have. His latest tactic appealed to my appetite. He brought home a cheesecake from the auction Monday.

"There's a cheesecake in the fridge if you want some. I paid $25 for it, because it was for charity."

"That's a lot for a cheesecake!"

"Yeah. But since it was for charity, I didn't mind. It's like a Walmart cheesecake. With the different kinds."

Farmer H himself loves cheesecake. We usually have it in the freezer, and take out one piece at a time to thaw or not. I don't care that he bought this cheesecake. It's his auction money. Didn't cost me (or us) a thing. It was generous of Farmer H to offer me some, though he almost always does this with auction food.

Farmer H ate a slice of the Strawberry Swirl on Tuesday evening. He skipped it on Wednesday night. But I tried a slice of the New York Style. This cheesecake assortment is only a 6-inch diameter. Not the full-size selection. So It was only a little bitty slice.

That cheesecake tasted off. I attributed it to me being used to the frozen version, not the refrigerator version. But on Thursday, I told Farmer H:

"I'm not eating any more of your cheesecake. So feel free to have whatever kind you like. I tried the New York Style on Wednesday night, and it seemed off. Now I have to poop. And it's not my pooping time. It's been about 21 hours since I ate the auction cheesecake."

Farmer H had no comment, other than, "Well, mine seemed a little off..." Then he ate TWO pieces! The Strawberry, and the Chocolate Swirl. I, myself, had been interested in sampling the Brownie version. But the roiling of my poop stomach dissuaded me.

We'll see if Farmer H suffers any ill effects. I just can't trust an auction cheesecake, which might have been at room temperature for a while before Farmer H's bid.

Don't Show, Don't Tell

The Pony is really having a hard time dealing with his second dog bite on the job. The physical damage has healed, but The Pony is apprehensive about a future attack. It will obviously take time to process the trauma. Hopefully, he will be able to move forward.

Farmer H got The Pony a gadget to carry along in his satchel. The Pony has the standard-issue dog spray that all new hires get in their packet of equipment. Some carriers say it's not as effective as they'd like. And profess that they carry bear spray. Or an air horn, which startles the dog away before it's close enough to bite. Of course, that's assuming you SEE it coming, unlike The Pony's second biter.

Anyhoo... this gadget is a little camouflage flashlight. When you look at it. But when you push the lever, it's a taser. Doesn't shoot out anything except a bit of blue squiggly lights, and emits an electrical zapping kind of noise. It is, indeed, a taser if it comes in contact with an attacker. 

Anyhoo... on our morning call Monday, The Pony said he had it in his satchel, and was going to ask a manager about using it.

"I wouldn't. They might tell you it's not allowed. Then if you used it, you would be in trouble for insubordination. Better to have it, hope not to use it, and apologize after the fact. I hardly think you'd be in serious trouble for defending yourself while being bitten. Maybe a reprimand or suspension for a couple days at most."

The Pony didn't say anything to that. I don't know if he mentioned his new gadget or not. But he DID give it a test run at the house where dogs rush the fence, gnashing their teeth and barking when he goes by.

"It's the house where one jumped over the fence one day, but ran off before I got there. This thing works! When it made that noise, they shut up and backed away from the fence. They didn't like the sound."

"Good. So you know it can be effective. It's not like you're chasing down dogs and jabbing them with it. Noise won't hurt anyone. Nothing for the owners to complain about."

I hope this gadget will give The Pony a little peace of mind for now. He is seeing a therapist about the issue, with hopes that it will help.

Ain't It Just Like The Wind This Time To Hit Me From Behind

Hillmomba was supposed to get severe storms on Tuesday afternoon. Starting around 4:00. I really meant to get to town a couple hours early, but that didn't work out. So I was coming out of 10Box at 3:45, when I almost fell flat on my face. 

I had just parked my cart/walker by the front door, for some other person like me to take inside. It's closer than walking to the new cart area once inside. I even had the closest handicap parking space. But a gust of wind came from behind me, and nearly knocked me down. 

Everyone knows that Mrs. HM is not a dainty person. She's sturdy. If Jame Gumb, the villain from Silence of the Lambs, decided to make a skin suit from Mrs. HM's flesh, he would need to take it in. Were she more spry, Mrs. HM could hold her own with an NFL offensive lineman. 

THIS WIND WAS STRONG!

I had seen on the morning news that this storm could contain large hail, 60 mph wind gusts, and possible tornadoes. Thank the Gummi Mary, most of it went north of Hillmomba, or had dissipated through the day. But that wind gust was no joke!

I held onto the concrete base of the metal sign designating that parking space as handicapped. The wind whipped my lovely lady-mullet almost from my skull, and blew my shirt all willy-nilly, though thankfully not over my head.

The Pony was heading back to the office then to clock out. And Farmer H was already at bar bingo. When I got home, some rain had just started. Jack and Scarlett were in a frenzy. Copper Jack was wise enough to stay home.

Oh, yeah. I stole that title from a James Taylor song lyric. [YouTube, 4:04]

Like Living With A Grown-Up PigPen

Farmer H doesn't quite walk around in a cloud of filth like Charlie Brown's buddy PigPen. But it could happen any day.

Monday, Farmer H had proclaimed that he wouldn't be home, because he was going to an auction that starts early. Of course I knew this meant that he WOULD be home, because that's what always happens. I won't expect him, then he comes barging in and scares the Not-Heaven out of me.

I had laid down for my nap at 2:00, with my alarm set for 2:30. When you only sleep 3-4 hours a night, that half-hour can make a difference. At 2:25, I was awakened by random thumping, then a slamming noise. I figured it was Farmer H waltzing about on his footless stumps, but was puzzled by the slamming. Without even turning over to look, I said,

"Of course you're home to wake me up. What happened to 'not coming home?' And what are you DOING to make that slamming noise?"

"I've BEEN home, HM. I fixed my mower again, and mowed over in the field. It's about an hour until I leave for the auction. And that noise was the toilet seat sticking to my butt when I stood up."

"I TOLD you I hate that toilet seat! It always does that! It's not heavy enough. But at least it's not shaped like a funnel like the other one."

"Oh, bullhocky! There's nothing wrong with that toilet seat."

Because obviously, my opinions don't count unless they mirror Farmer H's opinions. Anyhoo... once he cleared out of the Mansion, I got up for my shower before going to town. When I walked into the master bathroom, I recoiled in horror.

SOMETHING WAS ON THE TOILET SEAT!!!

Of course I jumped to the conclusion that it was poop. Farmer H has a history of that, you know. But when I looked closer, at the stuff all over the front half of the toilet seat, I saw that it was blades of grass and leaf particles.

What in the Not-Heaven???

I suppose that while Farmer H was mowing, stuff flew up and got on his pants. So when he stood up from the toilet and pulled them up and fastened his belt, the particles fell off onto the toilet seat.

Was it wrong of me, for a split second, to imagine that Farmer H had been out in the yard, dragging his rumpus across the grass like a dog?

SO Glad I Don't Like Pepper Jack Cheese

Farmer H went to a birthday party Sunday evening, on his way home from his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2). It was for one of The Veteran's daughters. Farmer H ate a little bit of food there, and did not require a full supper when he got home after 5:00. I pointed out that we had some of the sliced cheese assortment left from our Easter feast, in case he wanted some cheese and crackers. He said he might, later.

Around 6:30, when the NASCAR race Farmer H was watching ended, he stood up from his recliner, and announced, "I have to pee." Then proceeded out to the front porch. You know. Because the outdoors is one big toilet.

Anyhoo... when he came back in, he started to the kitchen, where I had set out a pack of Ritz Crackers, and a plate for the Pepper Jack cheese slices. That's what Farmer H prefers, over the Swiss and Colby Jack. 

"Um. You might want to WASH YOUR HANDS, since you just came in from peeing off the front porch."

Farmer H grunted, and went to the kitchen sink. You know he would never have done that if I hadn't made a comment about it.

Seriously. It's not like he could pretend he had a hands-free urination. I must remain ever-vigilant with my nagging.

Terror In Hillmomba!

Friday as I started home from town, a truck pulled out from a side road. There was a car in front of me, and we both had time to hit the brakes. That truck looked quite a bit like SilverRedO. It headed out the road towards the Mansion. OVER THE CENTER LINE!

I was talking to myself, saying "Please don't let that be Farmer H!" Because that driver was obviously drunk, or having a medical emergency. It proceeded past the prison, drifting over the center line, reaching speeds up to 45 mph. The legal speed limit through there is 55 mph. 

Going over the long high bridge, that truck was in the middle of the road! Straddling the center line. Then it signaled to turn onto our county blacktop road. Great. At least I had discerned that the color was not cherry red like SilverRedO, but with an orange tint, like a truck that I've seen in our enclave. Not much solace there, but at least it wasn't Farmer H.

Sweet Gummi Mary! That truck STOPPED in the middle of the road, a few hundred feet onto the blacktop route. AND a black truck was approaching from the other direction. I stopped. What else could I do? I didn't want T-Hoe to be rammed from a collision. 

The black truck and I sat there. Not moving. Waiting. Then the red truck went forward, FAST. But not moving into its own lane. Right at the black truck! At the last minute, it veered into its own lane. The guy in the black truck, an older man sporting a pointy gray beard, dropped his two right-side tires off the pavement. No shoulder on that road. He was taking a chance with that couple-feet drop-off. But it was better than risking a collision with an idiot.

I watched that red truck turn right onto a gravel road/driveway where a new home had been built. And then immediately turn left INTO A YARD of a ritzy brick home! Made a circle through their yard, and came back out that gravel road/driveway. I was lucky to get T-Hoe past it before the driver pulled back out onto the blacktop road. 

It was a 50-something woman, with long gray hair. I'm assuming she was drunk. Not quite old enough to assume Alzheimer's. And a stranger to the area would not have been on the side road where she pulled out. Seemed to be someone who kind of knows the area, but changed her mind.

In T-Hoe's mirror, I saw that red truck drive down the WRONG SIDE OF THE ROAD to the sharp curve before access to the county lettered highway. 

A lot of guardian angels were apparently on duty this day.

Almost A Good Deed Not Gone Unpunished

Yesterday, I mentioned how I had finally made an appointment at the lottery office to cash in two scratcher winners that are too large for a store to redeem. How Farmer H had been nagging me to get this task done.

Well. Today I returned home to see Farmer H mowing the front yard/field. He drove the mower onto the carport to come talk to me as I got out.

"You'll never guess what I got out of the mailbox today."

"Oh, no! How much do we owe? Who is suing us for what?"

We've had some recent issues with situations that are not our responsibility. But it doesn't keep people from trying to squeeze blood from a non-responsible turnip.

"Oh, it's not that. But I got a notice for jury duty at the time you scheduled to cash in your tickets."

Further interrogation revealed that Farmer H was confused with the calendar. The ticket appointment was actually a week ahead of his jury duty. So no big deal. 

It wouldn't have been such a problem anyway. I could cancel the lottery appointment, and mail in my tickets in time. But if Farmer H missed his jury duty, he could be held in contempt of court, and fined, or had "other sanctions imposed." Which I take to mean arrested and held in the county jail. 

Don't worry about Farmer H. I will make sure he shows up for jury duty.

Be Careful What You Nag For

After months of Farmer H nagging me about setting up an appointment to cash in my two $1000 scratcher winners, I finally did it. One ticket is due to expire in May, so that was added impetus. 

It's not that I didn't WANT to get my money. Only that I am not happy that the lottery office has continued to require AN APPOINTMENT since they switched to that format during The VIRUS. Seriously. There was never a room full of people clamoring to cash in winners. I only saw another person there once during the times we went to cash in a ticket. And now they have an appointment every 10 minutes. It's not like it's a lengthy process.

Anyhoo... I might as well have mailed it in, considering the time it has taken me to make an appointment. Part of the reason was that I never know what Farmer H has planned. He had assorted medical appointments. And his business takes up Friday/Saturday/ Sunday. Then he sometimes goes to an auction on Monday. Plays bingo on Tuesdays now, when it used to be Wednesdays. So that basically left Thursdays, assuming there was no appointment.

Farmer H is all wishy-washy about making decisions. I couldn't pin him down to a day of the week that would be good. So I finally decided on Wednesday, a day that The Pony should not need him for an emergency, that being The Pony's day off.

So... when Farmer H asked me yesterday if I'd made the appointment, I told him, "YES! Wednesday at 10:00 a.m." Of course that put his nose out of joint. He will miss his lunch at the Senior Center on meat loaf day.

It's not like that's a special holiday meal. They will serve meat loaf again.

I Hope She Wasn't Sent By Farmer H

Last week, I mentioned how 1/3 of the Rumpushole Troika had blocked in T-Hoe beside the Gas Station Chicken Store, and then LIT UP A CIGARETTE while standing by the propane tanks. I'm pretty sure nobody should be smoking near propane tanks. But I didn't remember seeing such explicit instructions. 

Welp! The instructions were there!

In fact, the instructions are all over that case holding the propane tanks. All it takes is one little malfunction in one tank, and we all blow sky-high!

Surely you don't think this gal was sent by Farmer H, do you? For a new plot in which I'm pretty sure he's trying to kill me? How else could a smoker be so clueless?

There Oughta Be A Sign

You know those signs, the red circle with a line slashing through it, to ban certain behaviors. I need one with Farmer H in a kitchen, and that slashed line. No need to get more specific. If it's a kitchen, and Farmer H is in it, there will be trouble.

Be careful what you wish for! Ever since I wished Farmer H would be home and help me carry in groceries, he's been there. Carried in the groceries. And then attempted to put some away. I've grown used to the bananas being tossed all willy-nilly into the bowl, like someone under the influence of LSD tried to play JENGA with them. And 5 lb bags of potatoes being hidden on the floor of the pantry so they will remain unnoticed until they start to rot. I know to correct these Farmer H "helps."

Monday, I caught Farmer H red-handed, trying to put a package of paper plates in the cabinet. A package. A literal package.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

"Putting away these plates."

"First of all, that's the wrong cabinet. That's the regular plates. Been there for 25 years. It's the cabinet by the sink you want. WAIT A MINUTE! What are you doing?"

"Putting away the paper plates!"

"Not like THAT! Why would you do that? Put a whole package on top of the stack of paper plates in there? So when I have to grab one, I have to take out the whole package, open it, and put them back. When it should be done right now."

"Huh." 

Farmer H tried to open the plastic wrap on those plates with his fingers. Heh, heh. Not happenin'. Then he looked for a knife in the silverware drawer, which holds no sharp knives, as they are in the drawer below. He ended up taking a fork and jabbing a hole in the plastic, then wrestling it off the stack of plates.

I should have known better than to take my eyes off Farmer H while getting my glasses and phone out of my purse. He had put a couple other things away before I shooed him out of the kitchen. It was the next morning, when I went to get out a couple slices of dog bread (the cheap wheat sandwich bread that I buy just for giving to the dogs) that I saw Farmer H had been in that cabinet, too. A package of 8 hamburger buns was plopped on top of the dog bread loaf. Smashing it to half its size.

I know I've asked this before... but do you think it's possible Farmer H does these things wrong so I won't want his help in the kitchen???

All Over But The Dryin'

Who knew an eclipse could be so much work?

Yesterday I decided to take a kitchen chair out onto the back porch deck to "watch" the total eclipse. It was awkward, but not as difficult as it would have been to drag the metal chair from the side porch to the back porch. 

First I had to take Farmer H's winter vest off his chair, the closest one to the kitchen door. Well, except for the spare chair right next to the door, with some caps and a gift bag that says "Have Yourself a Merry Christmas." No idea what's in there, it's his junk, not mine. 

Anyhoo... that winter vest is like cotton duck workpants material, not a puffy thermal vest. It has a sheepskin-look lining, and is heavier than one might imagine. Plus there was a plastic grocery bag of something hanging on the other side. Again, I didn't look. I was in the business of getting seating for a total solar eclipse, not cleaning up Farmer H's hoard.

Anyhoo... I got that chair out to the corner of the porch. Then upon sitting down and seeing a wasp fly out from under the corner board that makes a little flat surface for once upon a time holding BBQ accoutrements, I wondered if that had been a good decision. It was the only pest, though. Well. Unless you count Jack and Scarlett. It's easy to transpose those last two letters sometimes. While I love my pets, they can each in their own way be a pest.

I allowed myself a half hour for the viewing. The totality itself was only about 40 seconds here. I wanted to enjoy the dimming atmosphere. It's not every day you get to see a total solar eclipse.

Anyhoo... the minute I started dragging that chair across the porch, here came the dogs. Scarlett was a bit more subdued than usual, not bouncing up and down like a hyperactive pogo stick salesman after 20 Red Bulls. Just a bit of hopping and positioning herself to keep Jack away. Jack is no dummy. He went around to my left side the moment I sat down. 

Thus began the struggle to "watch" the eclipse. I think five minutes of petting is sufficient. The dogs did not. My lovey little Jack put his front paws on my knee politely, and I leaned over to hug him and sweet-talk him while absentmindedly fending off Scarlett with some errant pats, just keeping in contact with her.

Scarlett always wants more. She roots her head under my arm if my attention lags. She tries to crawl into my lap. I suppose her eventual goal is to crawl down my throat. She can't get close enough. One of her big paws scratched the front of my throat as I was fending her off. It wasn't her usual frenzy, just constant creeping, trying to climb higher and higher on me. She tried to ascend from every angle. I finally got her between my feet when Jack ran off to sniff a trail through the woods with Copper Jack. Scarlett's back legs may have grown tired, because she SAT and accepted head pats during the main part of the eclipse.

When the light started to return, I saw that my comfy home clothes were COVERED with dog hair!!! The fine white undercoat of Jack on my left leg, and the longer floating-around red-and-white locks of Scarlett on my right leg. Of course the Scarlett hairs were all over my zippered sweatshirt as well.

Dang it! No way those hairs were brushing off. Especially Jack's. Stuck to my dark blue sweatpants. Scarlett's hair would come off, but settle right back after swirling around. So it was off to the washer. Except I was headed to the shower and then town, so I didn't want to start a load of clothes to leave unattended. Farmer H's old friend Buddy's wife did that, and their hose connecting the cold water to the washer had a malfunction, and they returned home to a flooded laundry room.

Anyhoo... the washing had to wait until I got home and made supper, and as I type this, it's all over but the dryin'.

Special Occasion, Special Meal

The total eclipse is coming! In fact, it will be here on the day this post hits the innernets. Farmer H will be having a special meal at the Senior Center. According to their monthly menu, his lunch will include:

Saturn Sandwiches (Ham Salad)

Solar Salad (Spinach Salad)

Space Soup (Cheesy Broccoli)

Eclipse Cake OR Fruit

What makes these food items eclipse-worthy, I don't know. It's easy enough to slap a name on dish, without it actually having any connection/connotation to a space event.

Anyhoo... Farmer H says they will have lunch as usual, then hang around to view the total solar eclipse. The Senior Center has viewing glasses for the attendees. The totality is supposed to start around 1:52 or 1: 58 Central Daylight Time. Depending on which source you trust.

Anyhoo... they will be going outside the Senior Center to the sidewalk to watch. Farmer H says they will have chairs for the seniors.

I will be watching from the back porch of the Mansion, petting my fleabags. 

Another Kitchen Horror Story, Courtesy Of Farmer H

You're not eating, are you? If so, I suggest you finish, and return later after your vittles are safely digested. Once again, Farmer H has made his mark on Mrs. HM's kitchen. He wasn't showy about it. Thought he was getting away with something. Or not. It's quite likely that Farmer H saw nothing wrong with his actions. And possibly thought he was doing me a FAVOR! I hate it when he does that.

Anyhoo... we're still having Easter ham for supper. So Farmer H comes in and makes his own sandwich. The other leftovers are gone, except a couple of deviled eggs that are going to the dogs. They're past their prime.

Anyhoo... I reminded Farmer H that there was still French Onion Dip to go with his Ruffles potato chips. 

"You might have to pour out a little liquid. It gets some on top when it sits in the fridge."

I was busy scratching at the kitchen table. Out of the corner of my eye, I sensed Farmer H taking the lid off the dip container. Then something seemed odd. I turned to see him with his nose down in the container!

"What are you doing?"

"Smelling it to see if it's good. It smelled a little funny."

"It's FRENCH ONION DIP! It has a smell. The date is good until May 14."

Farmer H started looking at the container for a date. I told him it was on the lid. He looked at the top of the lid. So I had to tell him (not too cheerfully, as he was taking up my scratching time) that the date is along the rim of the lid. He finally saw it, and decided the dip was safe to eat. Heh, heh. From the man who eats dog bread, and lunch meat two weeks open in FRIG II.

I heard Farmer H digging into the chip bag and dumping a handful on his plate. Then my peripheral vision noticed him dipping out dip. Wait a minute! My brain realized that I had not laid out a spoon, and Farmer H had not stepped over to the silverware drawer. I turned to see Farmer H

DIGGING IN THE DIP CONTAINER WITH A CHIP!

Which promptly broke off. So Farmer H dug that part out after a big scoop on the large half of the chip. And then licked his fingers and put the lid back on.

"WHAT are you doing?"

"Getting my dip."

"You have just ruined the whole container! It's contaminated now. It will never last."

"It's fine. I always dip it with a chip."

"Your hand, and crumbs from that chip, have now infiltrated the dip!"

I guess that's what happens when I'm not around. I know that when I lay out a spoon, it always gets dirty. So Farmer H was just too lazy to take two steps for a spoon. Not sure if I want any of that dip. At least I witnessed Farmer H wash his hands in the kitchen sink when he came in from mowing the yard. But he didn't scrub them like a surgeon.

A Troika Of Rumpusholes

Never a dull moment in Hillmomba. Especially when it comes to The Wronging of Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. She's a virtual Rodney Dangerfield. She don't get no respect.

I rolled onto the parking lot of the Gas Station Chicken Store on Thursday, ready to park in my rightful handicap space. Well! The Universe thought otherwise. A car was already there. No plates nor placard to verify their worthiness.

I pulled in and parked in the space by the FREE AIR hose. It was a chilly, windy day, and my knees were aching. I did not feel like walking the extra steps around that entitled vehicle. So I sat in T-Hoe until the driver came out. I made sure to give him the stinkeye. I regret not twirling my handicap placard. It was in full display, though. That 30-something able-bodied guy backed up and left. I doubt he felt guilty.

Once I pulled forward and parked, I hobbled inside. A fidgety man was fiddling about at the draw ticket stand, filling in bubbles on his draw ticket that he wanted to submit. I've seen him there before. As I got in line, he went down the aisle to the back of the store. As I waited for three customers ahead of me to complete their transactions, Fidgety got in line behind me. 

Well! The guy directly ahead of me was trying to buy a fountain soda. It was $1.89. He started to put his card in the portable scanner, and my favorite clerk said, "It's a $3 minimum." The guy slapped at his pockets. Acted discombobulated. I was about to pull two ones out of my shirt pocket to pay for him, when Fidgety said, "I got it brother. Go ahead."

With that, Fidgety stepped in front of me, and told Fave that he wanted some draw tickets, specifically the CASH POP version. He also told her he had been winning big lately. He gave her the form he had filled out to choose the numbers for his tickets. Then he paid with a card. As an afterthought, he turned to me and said, 

"Oh, I didn't mean to jump line. But I figured you had more lottery than me."

What a rumpushole! I had two tickets in my hand! Of course I couldn't let his transgression go without comment.

"If I knew it would make me next, I would have paid for that guy's soda!"

Seriously. I was already next. Until this Fidgety rumpushole elbowed his way around me. When he left, I told Fave,

"That's not good karma. His winning streak is about to end!"

Heh, heh! My winners later totaled $100. So who's sorry now?

Back in T-Hoe, I was writing on the back of my scratchers when a white sedan pulled up next to my driver's door. NOT in a parking space, I might add. In the driving lane between the handicap space and the diesel pumps. Good thing I was back in, not trying to open my door to get out.

A woman got out of the white sedan, walked in front of T-Hoe, and stood beside the metal cabinet that houses the propane tanks. Then she LIT UP A CIGARETTE! I'm pretty sure that is not recommended near a stack of propane tanks. What in the Not-Heaven? That gal could have parked in the FREE AIR space behind me. And waited in her sedan for Fave to get a minute to come out and give her a propane tank.

The world is full of rumpusholes, and they are magnetically attracted to Mrs. HM.

It's A Small Town After All

I got a late start on errand day, but it was by design. I wanted to avoid the after-school rush, yet get to the Gas Station Chicken Store after the owners had left. I give my favorite clerk a couple scratchers every week, and I don't want to cause trouble for her if they might object. I don't ask for special favors, and I think it's not really their business if I want to "tip" that gal for her cheerful service.

On my way out the gravel road, I met Farmer H in SilverRedO. Of course we stopped to talk. He had some interesting news about our other 10 acres, and said he was going to get the lawnmower and go back to town to mow. Who knows which property. There's Pony House, the two flip house yards, and another that he's now responsible for. I didn't ask, because I had to get moving before banking hours were over.

Anyhoo... my first stop was the bank, because I didn't want it to close before I had an opportunity to withdraw our weekly allowance. Then it was on to the Sis-Town Casey's for T-Hoe's gas. When I came out after paying, I was greeted from two pumps over by my niece, Niecy. We chatted a few minutes while I put in T-Hoe's gas. She asked how The Pony was doing with the dog bites. I replied that physically, The Pony seemed to be healing well, but emotionally, not so much. 

Niecy agreed that it's a problem that will take time to resolve. She said she never was afraid of dogs, and used to go for a walk with her baby, Babe, in a stroller. Then one day she encountered a German Shepherd along her path, and realized that it could become a dangerous situation. She agreed that The Pony may never be bitten again, but the fear would still be lingering.

"Heh, heh! I told The Pony he can look at it as winning the dogbite lottery. Sue every owner that lets a dog run loose and bite."

"Yeah! Go out daring a dog to bite!"

"Sure. The Pony might even grease his legs with bacon fat to tempt them!"

I wouldn't make that joke to The Pony, but I did to Niecy, and we had a chuckle.

From there I headed to the main post office, to mail Genius's weekly letter, and the water bill for the flip house. It was like the busiest roundabout in Europe! Everywhere I looked was a Metris. That's the mini van that has mostly replaced the LLVs (Long Life Vehicles). Of course, it was 3:55, and most regulars clock out at 4:00 if they choose not to take their lunch break.

Then on to the School-Turn Casey's for scratchers. I had just parked in the handicap space when a white van pulled in at an angle behind me, essentially keeping me from backing out. WHAT IN THE NOT-HEAVEN? But then I noticed it was a USPS Metris, and looked inside to see if it might be The Pony. I couldn't see the driver, this being a right-hand drive vehicle. I was looking down to get some winners to cash in when who should appear at my passenger window but THE PONY! My heart swelled with pride, seeing my dear sweet Pony in uniform! 

"I just thought I'd stop and say hi," said The Pony, opening up T-Hoe's door.

"You look so good in your uniform! Will you get in trouble for being stationary while you talk to me?"

"No. It's a convenience store/gas station. They expect us to be stopped at one. I'm on my way back to the office. I can't clock out until 4:15, because I was 15 minutes late this morning. I forgot my ID, and had to go back home and get it."

The Pony was grinning from ear to ear, happy to see me! And also because I had some pleasant news concerning finances and property. That's not a story for today.

Anyhoo... I had a pleasant day, and ended up winning $155 on scratchers.

The Long Trumpets Are Blaring A Fanfare

It's a fanfare for the common mom! Victory for Mrs. HM! She has slain the TurboTax beast, and stands triumphant with her foot upon its throat. Okay. That's just wishful thinking. The foot-to-throat part. I would obviously topple over from my nonexistent balance. But I DID slay the evil TurboTax beast! I DID!

Poor, poor Farmer H, so clueless in the ways of tax forms, had our mail-in version of the tax returns printed for me at the UPS Store. He hands his phone to the gal, and she turns my email attachment into papers for him! Such a wizardess is she. However... what Farmer H brought home was a stack of 40 papers printed FRONT AND BACK! Actually, two such stacks, since I wanted two copies of the set.

Tax forms are confusing enough without trying to figure out what goes where! They should be filed in numerical order of forms and schedules and worksheets and such. If you drop them, or somebody picks one up to look at it, you might get the second page of one mixed in with the first page of another. Nobody wants to search through all the tiny print at the top to see the name of that second page.

However... you work with what you have. I sat down at the kitchen table Wednesday morning to start numbering those papers with a blue pen. A tiny number, upper left corner, where it would not interfere with the black printed number on multiple pages of various forms, showing the sequence for that specific document. 

I was also multitasking, waiting for computer pages to load. We had a hailstorm, then sun, then rain, then more hail, then gray skies. It was a virtual weather cornucopia. Something for everyone. THEN my internet quit. I was hoping it was just the satellite signal due to the weather. But the TV was still working on its satellite. And my connection icon showed I had a signal. I was spitting mad at the thought that I might have to go down those 13 rail-less basement steps and unplug my router and satellite.

I busied my time with numbering the first set of tax forms. Paid the flip house water bill, which got here amazingly fast this time, not being due until the 15th, when last month we got it on the 13th. I added up Farmer H's cash outlay list for the flip house labor during March. I shut down my HIPPIE. Started him again, with the same results. Then did a restart, which for some reason takes longer. Addressed the envelope for Genius's weekly letter. Put on stamps.

Then I tried my internet again, and IT WORKED! So I fired up TurboTax to try my alternate plan to just e-file the federal tax return, and mail the Missouri return that needed the $25 fee. But first... let's give it one last try with the double electronic filing.

I think I felt the flap of cherub wings as they circled me in a single shaft of sunlight shining through the dark clouds! That last TurboTax page TOOK ME TO THE PAY SCREEN after only one minute of the white pop-up screen of death!

I put in my credit card info, and the screens progressed as normal, and my tax returns were submitted!!! Sweet Gummi Mary! I was giddy with triumph! I called The Pony and said to send those returns RIGHT NOW, while the system was working! 

Meh. The Pony did not seem so excited, though he did allow me to rejoice. The Pony said he'd try to get to it in the afternoon. His taxes are done, it's just the submitting left to do. I hope the TurboTax beast does not regain its strength before The Pony has a chance to take advantage of my victory.

Technology Can Bite My Ample Rumpus

Sweet Gummi Mary! I spent another three hours on taxes, and had them all done Tuesday morning by 11:00. I called Farmer H to get his driver's license info in order to file our taxes online. Same as every other year using TurboTax. 

Yes, I had the whole day ahead of me. Looking forward to going to town for scratchers, since I had missed that on Sunday and Monday. I had my credit card at my elbow, ready to pay the $25 it costs to file a Missouri return online. Hit the button to do so. Got a message that TurboTax was saving my return. And then, I got 

THE WHITE POP-UP SCREEN OF DEATH!!!

Seriously. I thought it was just taking a while. TurboTax always runs slow on HIPPIE. I waited 6 MINUTES! Still nothing. No opportunity to enter my credit card info. Nothing at all. Just a white screen. Mrs. HM is no fool! I closed that white pop-up screen of death, and it went back to the TurboTax screen which now said it appeared that my payment had not gone through. No excrement, Sherlock! It could not have gone through, since I didn't get a chance to enter my info!

I tried that three more times. Always the same result. I consulted my estranged BFF Google. Aha! A lot of people were having that problem! Some as far back as 2019. I suppose I am lucky that mine worked all those years. But of all the times for it to fail me, this year, when I waited until two weeks before the filing deadline. 

I went back, and tried the option to use my federal refund to pay for my Missouri e-file. That looked like it was about to work. I put in all the info that I didn't really want to share. And then it said there would be an extra $40 fee for processing this option! That's highway robbery! Dirty pool! Poppycock! Yet it was worth $40 to me to get it over with and file my returns.

When I attempted to send my returns, I got a notice that this option was currently unavailable.

WHAT IN THE NOT-HEAVEN???

Farmer H came home to shower for bingo. I explained the predicament. Told him we might as well mail in our tax returns. They were already prepared with the TurboTax software. I used to send them by mail. All I needed was a PRINTER, since my new one does not work! I told Farmer H that I would email him an attachment of our completed forms, so he could get them printed at the UPS Store, which he uses for printing forms for his business

While driving home from town, it occurred to me that I might be able to e-file our federal return, and just mail the Missouri return, since it is free to e-file the federal. We'll see how it goes...

I called The Pony to explain, since he has completed his taxes, but not yet filed. He has a different version of TurboTax. I said I'd address his envelopes for him if he couldn't e-file. For somebody who works for the post office, The Pony is sorely lacking in envelopes and skill at addressing them.

The Taxed Man Stalleth

I spent five hours Monday working on our taxes. Yes, I've put it off this year, having loaned The Pony my CD/DVD player to load his tax software. Neither of our laptops have one these days. I would have gotten The Pony a download for his taxes, but wasn't sure how complicated that would be, coming to my email. Anyhoo... The Pony had been a bit busy with work, and then the unfortunate skin piercings courtesy of canine teeth. Then when I got my player back, I was busy with other stuff.

Granted, 30 minutes of my efforts was tied up with my TurboTax CD not wanting to load. When I finally got it, Farmer H walked in. I know you won't believe this, but sometimes he's a DISTRACTION! Then I had to set up an Intuit account, because you can't use TurboTax anymore without it. Just more spying, methinks! But that was actually the easiest thing I did.

While I had Farmer H captive in his recliner, I called for info to complete his business tax portion. Of course he did not have it all, and had to trek down those 13 rail-less steps to the basement to retrieve some details. Then he kept answering in his normal way.

"Okay, so what were the items for that expense?"

"Business cards."

"You spent over $300 on business cards???"

"No. Them was about $45."

"So where were the other items?"

"Business cards."

"You just said they didn't cost $300!"

"They didn't!"

"Then what was the rest for?"

"I told you! My business cards!"

"Listen to yourself! You are doing it again! You spent over $300. I got that. But I have to list what the things were you spent it on!"

"Oh. Well. Forms. I had to buy them packets of forms for the customers to fill out. And copies. I had to make copies. Every time I need something printed, like from my email, I have to go to the copy store for that, too."

"Okay. So forms and printing and copies. That's all I needed."

THEN he said his expenditure for electricity at his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2) was just what he estimated. He took one month, and multiplied it by 12.

"NO! You can't do that. I pay that bill every month! You reimburse us for it. You have to have records."

"I have them in all the emails they send when they say how much I've spent so far this month."

"That won't work. It might be more. I have it all in the checkbook register. I'll look it up. You write down the months, and I'll read off the amounts to you. It's easier than getting out the envelopes and opening each one."

I normally don't stress about taxes, but dealing with Farmer H is a trip! That portion took up 2 hours of my efforts. I'm wondering when I'll get my salary for being his secretary and tax preparer...

Anyhoo... after filling in the info for 7 of the 1099-R forms (that's money we get from retirement accounts) I gave up and saved my document until tomorrow. It's a lot of work for getting assorted small checks every month from previous jobs. But better than not getting them, I suppose.

Everyone's A (Food) Critic

The Pony came out for Easter dinner on Sunday afternoon. He's a good last-minute helper, stirring and covering and uncovering and setting out. Makes his own Stovetop Stuffing. Bakes the Sister Schubert's Rolls. He was stirring the vinchtables, as he calls the potatoes/carrots/onions roasted with bacon on top. It was a childhood thing.

Anyhoo... as the stirrer, The Pony took the liberty of sampling a carrot to see if they were warm enough yet. I cooked them Saturday morning, and they just needed heating. Of course he couldn't resist razzing me about a previous vinchtable faux pas.

"Mmm. Pretty good. Not like the Friend Incident one Christmas, the year you served us carrots that were like chomping into a finger bone."

"I think it was the carrots! I always cook them the same. Then a couple holidays ago, they were all shriveled and soft. Like.. like... chomping into a baby's pinky."

"That is terrible! Who would say such a thing!!!"

"Hey! YOU are the one who said it was like eating a finger. I was just trying to compare!"

"A BABY? Really?"

"Yeah. Just cartilage, before it hardens into bone. Anyhoo... these are just right. Goldilocks would enjoy dining with us."

The Pony, always striving to make sure things are right, ate three more carrots to confirm their readiness for consumption.

The Meat Master Assists

I spent Saturday getting food ready for our Easter feast on Sunday. It's a thankless job, but makes the Mansion smell delicious, and at least there's food for a few days with little effort. 

Farmer H contributed by slicing the ham. Granted, it's a spiral ham, already cut, except for freeing the slices from the bone. It's already fully cooked, so I just have to warm up some slices for the meal, not cook the entire ham.

Anyhoo... I appreciate Farmer H doing that task, because I'd spent the morning on the roasted vegetables with bacon, and had the evening for deviling the eggs and washing the rest of the dishes, and then Easter morning to construct the 7-layer salad. The other items don't take much time, and The Pony will help.

Of course slicing the ham was in Farmer H's wheelhouse. He's the meat master, you know! I set out everything he would need. A giant tray for the ham, the container to put the slices of ham in, another to put smaller pieces in for The Pony, who prefers to make mini sandwiches on Sister Schubert's Rolls. I set out the big knife. Farmer H did not want for tools needed to do his task. Farmer H also put the bone in the large baggie I'd set out. And chunks of ham in another to go in future beans. Yes, the chunks were much larger than what I would have made them. But it beats doing it myself.

I guess I should find a way to tie meat into other tasks I would like Farmer H to complete!

Mrs. HM Is Not The DumbRumpus Here

Good Friday found Mrs. HM in 10Box, buying her Easter fixin's. That's because she rarely consults a calendar, and as recently as Monday thought she still had another week before Easter dinner.

Anyhoo... I found everything on my list except Peppercorn Ranch Dressing. It's The Pony's favorite, but I haven't seen it lately in 10Box nor Country Mart. The new trend seems to be Cucumber Ranch. I didn't get the ham I wanted, but I got a spiral-sliced smoked ham that will do. It's pretty big, but I already have the beans to use with leftovers. At least I didn't have to get one of those pressed-ham loaves, or the $57 (plus 10% at the checkout) ham that was looking for a brief home.

I went to the first register, which had the same clerk I had last time, when my head was in a fog, and I couldn't seem to get my card to work. Heh, heh! Because I was putting it in BACKWARDS, the end without the chip. 

Anyhoo... I had a whole lotta stuff. I told that Checker Gal, 

"I hope I can work my card this week!"

She smiled politely. I'm pretty sure she remembered my difficulties last time. She got everything scanned and I meticulously turned my card the right way and slid it into the card reader. I put in my PIN when prompted. Hit the green ENTER button. Then a weird screen came up! As I was trying to decipher it, that screen switched to say ENTER THE AMOUNT OF CASH BACK. 

Hold on there! I didn't want any cash back! They stopped giving that option back when it was still Country Mart, before the 10Box remodel. Something about having a cash machine on premises, so no cash back feature at the register. Not a big deal to Mrs. HM, who only got cash back if she needed small bills for the lottery machines. They don't give change, you know. Feed them a twenty, and you have to buy that much in tickets. So I sometimes got $5 or $10 back, then repaid the house money with my allowance money when Farmer H was available to change a twenty for me.

Anyhoo... I didn't want cash back, and that screen stayed on.

"Sorry. I don't know what's going on. I don't want cash back, but that's what it's trying to give me."

I could tell by the look on Checker Gal's face that she thought I had messed up again. But I was innocent this time! I told her so. If she'd been one of those Indian deities with a plethora of arms, I'm pretty sure each one would have been exercising the crazy temple twirly finger. But to my face, Checker Gal said, 

"Let's start over." 

She leaned closer, turned that contraption where she could also see the screen, and watched me like a starving hawk surveilling a field mouse.

I put in my card. Did the PIN. And that screen came up again asking about cash back.

"SEE? I don't want cash back. I didn't hit anything to GET cash back. I was looking for the screen where it wants you do say OKAY to the total. But this came up! And there's nothing to hit, because I don't want cash back!"

Checker Gal seemed a bit surprised to see that screen. But she just said, "Really?" to my declaration that I'd never seen it there before. I don't know if that's a new feature or what. Maybe Checker Gal has been seeing it all week. Or maybe this is the first time it ever came up.

Anyhoo.... she punched in $0.00, and that card reader went to the approval screen I had been looking for. I guess I'll know what to do next time if I get that screen. At least nobody was behind me. The aisles were full, but not the checkouts.

I am NOT taking the blame on this one!

She's Quite A Traffic-Stopper

I lost my dang internet (bet you thought I was going to say MIND, didn't you) on Thursday at 12:30. I sent a text to Farmer H, who said he was headed home within an hour to put a belt on the lawnmower. Which lawnmower, I'm not sure. I think it was the red one on a trailer parked over at the BARn. Not the yellow one or green one parked under the carport where the Gator should be, except that it has been broken for several months now and is somewhere near the BARn.

Anyhoo... after resetting my router and satellite in the basement, Farmer H went back outside. I went to town. I'd just finished gassing T-Hoe when Farmer H sent a text that he was heading to town, because he had the wrong belt for that lawnmower. He must have taken his sweet time leaving, because I passed him on the other side of Mailbox Hill 30 minutes later.

I was only about 100 yards up the gravel road when I saw a familiar site. SCARLETT was beside the road, having just come up out of the little waterfall area of the creek. She knew the sound of T-Hoe, and came gamboling across the road in front of me, running alongside. Then she cut back across to my right side where I couldn't see her. I guess I wasn't going fast enough for her!

Then we rounded a little curve by the pole that the Farmer-H-Blacktopped-Hill-Badmouthing Wife of the Bad-Hay-Baling Lawyer's son had knocked down on his birthday, taking out power to our entire enclave. Coming towards us was a small black sports car. I'm not sure who drives it, but it belongs out here.

That dang Scarlett darted back across in front of me, right into the path of that car! I hit the brakes. He hit the brakes. All the while, Scarlett pranced and darted, looking at me over her shoulder. When she got back on my side, that sports car proceeded, as did I.

No good is going to come of this! Farmer H must find a way to stop Scarlett from chasing him all the way to the blacktop road. 

AND when we got back to the garage, Scarlett was smelling like perfume again! So who knows where else she'd been. Maybe she had followed Farmer H this morning, too, and somebody stopped to pet her. There wouldn't have been time from when I'd just passed Farmer H. Or maybe there was. A white car came along right after him, I think.

Anyhoo... Scarlett does not know enough about traffic to be running along the road down there. Jack, the good boy, was at home with Copper Jack.

Whose Job Is It, Anyway?

As long as there are clerks in convenience stores, Mrs. HM will never run out of things to complain write about!

Wednesday, I went in the Liquor Store for scratchers. I had a $77 winner in my hand. As usual, I stepped up to the counter. No other customers in view. The clerk was the little guy who always wears his hoody up. He's nice enough, though a bit disinterested in the whole "work" concept. I still slip a dollar into his tip jar when it's out, because he is polite enough.

This time, as I stepped to the counter, he stepped sideways behind the register. Off to my right. I thought he was on the phone. I could hear talking. Thought he was mumbling a response. I couldn't see if he was holding a phone under his hood. 

I perused the lottery tickets, whose display now sits on the floor, due to a wall of see-through little cubes that hold assorted vapes. Kind of like a giant shadow box. I had my winner laying on the counter. I knew the new tickets I wanted. If only that clerk would get off the phone! I tried to be polite. Gave him a glance. He turned away. I stood facing the counter. Looked at stuff sitting there. No tip jar out this time.

A couple of other customers came in, clanging the cow bell attached to the door as I had when I entered. They wandered around the liquor area. I kept waiting. I'm never in a hurry. I just wondered when the clerk would be done with his call, which I assumed to be about something he needed for the store. He wasn't saying much.

Then the clerk said, "Can I get you something?"

What in the NOT-HEAVEN! He wasn't on the phone at all! He'd just been standing there, not saying anything. I guess what I heard was the person waiting on the drive-thru customers behind the shelf that divides that window from the counter.

Sweet Gummi Mary! That could have gone on all day, if those other customers hadn't come in!

"Yes. I want to cash in this $77 winner."

"Do you just want cash back?"

"No. I'm going to get some tickets."

I said the numbers of my tickets, giving him time to rip them off the roll before mentioning the next one. Because of getting two of the $3 tickets, I had a dollar coming back with my change.

NO DOLLAR FOR YOU!

Am I wrong to think it's the "job" of the clerk to greet a customer by asking how he can help them? At least saying, "What can I getcha?" Maybe just a grunt to acknowledge a customer's presence! Why else would a customer stand at the counter holding a scratcher for five minutes? I was actually to the point of walking out without getting anything, it was taking so long.

I was a bit annoyed. He even gave me the WRONG ticket! One that was next to the one I had asked for. I usually don't complain about such a mistake, because you never know if it might be The Universe's way of giving me an unintended winner.

The Universe and the clerk must have had a good laugh over it being a loser.

Why Mrs. HM Cheats

Here's another example of why Mrs. HM cheats. Parks T-Hoe farther to the right side of a parking space rather than in the center. Especially if there's a nice roomy striped section between her car and the space to her right, big enough to park a whole car.

This was at 10Box on Sunday. I was just running in for my lottery tickets out of the machine. I'm in a handicap space with my placard dangling from the mirror. You can see how I parked with plenty of space on the left side of my parking slot. No car was there at the time I parked, but from experience, I know they don't always stay within the lines.

This little van/SUV hybrid is within its lines. Not really doing anything wrong that should irritate Mrs. HM. But if I had parked in the dead center of my space, or as close to the line as that hybrid, I never would have gotten my door open all the way. I'd have needed to wait until that hybrid left, so I could climb into T-Hoe and get my knees bent far enough to get my legs into the car. Looks like that hybrid might have been parking close to the line before.  I think that's a big scratch on the side.

Anyhoo... I don't care if people think I'm an idiot for parking like this. At least I could get right into T-Hoe and leave when I came out of the store, and I wasn't impeding anybody on my right side.

She Couldn't Buy A Clue, Or Even Accept The One Handed To Her

Welp! Monday I saw a rare sight. Rarer than a unicorn, though not as aesthetically pleasing. It was a young gal who could not use technology!

I was in the School-Turn Casey's, waiting to buy scratchers. Young Gal looked about 14 years old. She had a canned beverage on the counter, with the flip top open. I didn't recognize the can. Not a soda. Maybe some kind of iced tea or energy drink. Young Gal was trying to pay with a card.

She put it in the card reader, but it didn't work. Three times. The clerk asked if she had the TAP feature. She didn't know what he was talking about. He took the card, looked it over, then touched it to the reader. 

"There. You have it. Now try."

Young Gal messed around with the keypad. Still didn't work.

"Maybe another code?" The clerk was very patient with her, trying to help. 

Young Gal just looked at him. Did something with her phone. I thought maybe she had an app that could help her. Then she went back to trying to shove the card into the card reader again.

Sweet Gummi Mary! I was not in a hurry, but I was tired of standing there watching this exercise in futility. Doing the same wrong thing over and over was not going to solve her problem. I swear, if I'd had my wad of one-dollar bills in my pocket, I would have paid for her. It cost less than two dollars. But I only had twenties, and was not going to break one to pay her bill. My generosity does have its limits.

Finally an Older Gal came charging through the door. She was probably the big sister, judging from her age. She grabbed the card, jammed it into the card reader, punched a couple keys, and the transaction was done. I guess Young Gal had sent her a text when fiddling with her phone.

"SEE? What was so hard about that?"

Older Gal turned on her heel and left, while Young Gal picked up her drink and thanked the clerk.

What ever happened to using CASH???

A Leftover Farmer H Will Eat

Last week I made chicken pot pie. It used up some boneless skinless chicken breasts in FRIG II's freezer. Okay, they were a couple months past the USE BY date. But still good. They had been frozen the whole time! I boiled them because it was the easiest way to cook them before dicing to put in the chicken pot pie. It's pretty simple to make, using store-bought pie crust for the top.

I coated my very old 9 x 13 glass baking dish with butter. Margarine, actually. I'm not going waste that (worth its weight in) Kerrygold greasing a pan. Then I mixed the innards in a couple of large plastic bowls, so I had room for stirring.

1 bag frozen hash brown cubes (thawed)

2 bags frozen peas/carrots (thawed)

1 can cream of chicken soup

16 oz sour cream

1 large onion (diced)

2 tablespoons minced garlic

a couple shakes of garlic salt

ground black pepper

I baked it for however long the store-bought crust said, after rolling the room-temperature crust over the top of the dish. I think it was 450 or 425, for maybe 30 to 40 minutes. Can't remember, I just followed the instructions on the crust package. I DO know that I baked it for about 5 minutes, then covered it with foil, which I removed for the last 10 minutes. The extra crust I trimmed off was used in pieces on top of the crust. I made sure to poke many holes to allow for the contents to let off steam and bubble up.

Gotta toot my own horn and say that this chicken pot pie was DELICIOUS!

We had four nights worth of supper from it. Farmer H was not complaining.

When re-warming, I took off the crust, and put in on foil in the oven to try and regain the crispiness. It only works on the edges. But still, better than microwaving with the innards. It might look dry here, but was just right. Not runny, but still moist.

Mmm... I want to make another one already. More truthfully, I want to EAT another one already.

Just When The Universe Saves You From A Crackhead Mugger, It Sends A Burly Thug In Her Place

Three days after I dodged the Crackhead Mugger at Country Mart, I was presented with a new parking lot challenge at the Casey's. Coincidentally, both incidents occurred over in Sis-Town, home of my sister the ex-mayor's wife, and now The Pony. Maybe I should warn them to be extra-aware of the company they don't want to keep!

I had to park T-Hoe at Pump 3 on Thursday, because as I was turning in, a lady in a Jeep usurped Pump 4, my rightful gas pump. Not a big deal. Pump 3 is only a few more steps farther from the concrete handicap ramp onto the sidewalk in front of the store. I went in to pre-pay for gas, and get my scratchers. It was a sunny, windy day. Not too bad for hobbling back to T-Hoe to pump.

I'm always in a hurry to get from counter to gas pump, because one time I made the mistake of taking a bathroom break first, and by the time I got to the pump, my payment had expired. I had to walk all the way back in and get it reset. So now I don't dilly-dally, but make a beeline from cash register to pump. Well, as much of a beeline as I can, what with having to walk to the ramp and then across to T-Hoe, rather than stepping off the curb and going in a straight line rather than a right angle.

Anyhoo... as I neared the ramp, I saw a burly man in his 40s standing there. Not up against the building, not near a car. Just standing on the sidewalk by the ramp. He wasn't the raggedy man I used to give my change to, or the weirdo on the bicycle who likes to talk. I was a bit leery of his presence, but hey, it's a free country. A burly man can stand where he likes. I'm not the sidewalk police.

I went down the ramp and was startled when Burly Man started walking behind me. I don't like that. I don't even like it when my nutso dog Scarlett does than. I wondered why Burly Man would do this. I didn't have my purse, just my cash and debit card in my shirt pocket, unseen. And some scratchers gripped in my left hand. What if Burly Man wanted to snatch my scratchers! NOOOO! I kept them in my left hand, as he was angling to my right. The Jeep lady was gone from Pump 4, so nobody was nearby to intercede on my behalf if I needed it.

My heart was pounding. I bumbled along. Of all the times for the pumps not to be busy, and no traffic about to run me over! I was across the driving lane, and at T-Hoe's bumper. Burly Man had slowly passed me, and was standing at Pump 4! What in the NOT-HEAVEN??? Why was a Burly Man without a vehicle or gas can standing at a gas pump just a few feet away from me?

Wait! Here came a truck along the driving lane. Maybe that driver would help me. In fact, he was pulling right into Pump 4, with a trailer holding a Bobcat. The versatile mechanical vehicle, not the animal. 

Truck Driver greeted Burly Man! In fact, he left Burly Man putting gas in the Bobcat, while he took his young daughter inside Casey's.

Another Mrs. HM mugging narrowly avoided!