Mrs. HM Is Giddy With Excitement Over The Super Bowl

It's been a couple decades since I really cared about watching football. Once the Rams left St. Louis, I was done. No more entering the weekly high school/college/pro football contest in the local paper (which I won TWICE, by cracky, a prize of $100 each time). Didn't follow it in the papers or on the news. I sometimes watched the Super Bowl to see the commercials. But even these have grown less funny, and too preachy/message-y over the last few years.

My giddiness over this year's Super Bowl has nothing to do with the Chiefs playing. I've never been a Chiefs fan. I suppose it's more interesting than any other Super Bowl, since there IS a Missouri team I could be rooting for. I'm not excited to see Taylor Swift there cheering on her man. I find that whole romance to be contrived and likely fake. A business deal to garner publicity for both of them, and the NFL. I'm not sure who the half time entertainment is. Seems like I might have heard Dolly Parton. If that's the case, it could amplify my giddiness!

Anyhoo... the thing that gets me excited about this year's Super Bowl is that THE PONY MIGHT BE COMING OUT TO THE MANSION! Seems like we only get to see him on holidays, or the occasional casino trip. Especially since December started, with all the extra Christmas mail.

The Pony is not a football fan. I thought of inviting him, but was afraid he would feel bad to decline. But the very next morning, The Pony, out of the blue, said, "I can come out on Super Bowl Sunday to help you get Dad's snacks ready." How sweet is THAT???

Of course I want The Pony to come out! His idea is that we will sit at the kitchen table, and watch a movie on my laptop, or chat and listen to music. MAYBE we'll catch a few of the commercials. I surveyed The Pony for his snack preferences. I've already picked up a few of the non-perishables.

The Pony has scheduled some leave time. But he plans to volunteer to help, if needed, on the Monday after the Super Bowl. That way he can earn some more leave hours for later in the year.

Anyhoo... since the game starts at 5:30, it will last fairly late. I told The Pony he can spend the night here. He doesn't have to move in, heh, heh! Just sleep here until morning, since Farmer H will probably have a drink during the game, and won't want to get out late to drive The Pony home. Same with The Pony. He'll probably have a glass of wine, and doesn't need to be on the road. As he pointed out, he wakes up early. So he'd have plenty of time to drive home and shower and go into work if they contact him on Monday morning. Anyhoo... we still have over a week to solidify the plans.

I really hope all this works out. There's not much that excites me these days.

This Is Why I Have To Watch Him Like A Hawk

Farmer H's supper on Monday was a Hungry Man TV Dinner that I'd bought a couple weeks ago. I was fine with making him something else, but he said he wanted the Salisbury Steak TV dinner. It came with two Salisbury Steak patties, Mashed Potatoes, Green Beans, and a Brownie. Farmer H also had two biscuits left over from the previous night.

Anyhoo... you can cook those TV dinners in the microwave, but I prefer to use the oven. I warmed it for 40 minutes, set out utensils, a metal tray to put that plastic meal tray on for carrying to the living room, the butter, and the biscuits. Farmer H warmed his own biscuits in the microwave, and applied butter. 

I instructed Farmer H to put his empty meal tray back into the box when he was done, so it would only take up half the room in the wastebasket. I left the box on the counter beside the stove. 

When Farmer H returned after eating his meal, I stopped scratching, turned off my music, and watched. Just to be sure, you know, that he followed directions. 

Farmer H went to the stove and set down the metal tray. Then he picked up the empty TV dinner box, and stuffed a paper plate into it! The paper plate he'd used to warm two biscuits in the microwave. A plate which could have been used again, for slicing an onion, or covering up something splattery that might be warmed in the microwave. Or at the very least, jammed down beside the other paper plates in the wastebasket, like a sideways stack. 

"Why are you putting that plate in the box?"

"Just because it was here."

Farmer H took his empty meal tray and jammed it into the box beside the paper plate. It would have slid right in by itself, but that round plate wasn't fitting too well. Farmer H held the bottom edge of the box, and pushed down vertically on the meal tray to fit it in. As he turned to take three steps to the wastebasket, I saw something streaming from the bottom of the box.

"Hey! What's that? You're dripping something all across the floor, out the bottom of the box!"

"Oh. Huh. That's my green bean juice. I forgot it was in there."

"Well. You'll have to clean that up!"

"I'm going to."

Farmer H took a single (select-a-size) paper towel, got down on his knees, and swiped in front of the stove. Then threw it away.

"Well. Now I'll have spots that turn black with dirt from walking there..."

A person with common sense would have sopped up the liquid, then used a wet or soapy paper towel to wash and rinse that area of the floor. Meaning I will have to do it later. Like I did the area beside the cutting block, when I noticed a puddle of liquid there as well. No wonder the kitchen smelled like green beans!

I guarantee that if I hadn't been watching, the puddle of green bean juice would still be in front of the stove. I guess I'm lucky that Farmer H didn't drizzle it all across the living room carpet on his way to the kitchen.

Nothing Like Your Near-Death To Make You Feel All Complainy

What in the NOT-HEAVEN is wrong with people??? I'm beginning to think that most of them are just idiots. Stupid idiots with no common sense or regard for life and limb. Even their own!

Sunday afternoon, I left for town. The weather was overcast. No rain. No sun. Dry road. I stopped T-Hoe at the stop sign where our county blacktop road comes to a T with the county lettered highway. The speed limit on that highway is 55 mph. Many people drive faster. It's a long way between towns.

I always take care when pulling out onto that highway, making a right turn to head into town. There's a hill about 50 yards to the left, where cars come up over at a high rate of speed. I can't see them, and they can't see me until they crest that hill. So once I pull out, I have to get up to speed in a hurry, lest a car come over that hill while I'm in the act of pulling out.

From my position at the stop sign, I can see nothing to the right. There's a rock bluff blocking the view. The long bridge is only a couple car lengths from where I pull out at the stop sign. It doesn't matter, because I'm in my own lane going that direction. Well. It SHOULDN'T matter...

On Sunday, I stopped. Checked to the left. No traffic. Looked to the right, just in case a car was coming off the bridge and turning in to county blacktop road. They sometimes cut the corner short, but then again, they can't really see me sitting there until they get past that rock bluff.

Anyhoo... I checked again to the left. Nothing. I pulled out.

SWEET GUMMI MARY! A CAR WAS COMING AT ME HEAD-ON!!!

A little gold sedan was passing a pickup truck on the bridge! It was over halfway across the bridge already, coming straight at me. I jammed on the brakes. Sat waiting for the collision. There was absolutely nothing I could do. You can't avoid a car coming straight at you at 55+ mph, with only 50 feet of road between you. No ditch for me to go into, because I was at the concrete side of the bridge.

I guess the pickup truck sped up a little. The red car behind it was hanging back enough that the little gold sedan slammed on its brakes and cut back behind the pickup. Probably missed T-Hoe's bumper by less than 6 feet.

Welp! I had the adrenaline shakes for the rest of the drive to town. Nowhere to pull off.

Here's the crazy thing. The road is NOT marked with the double-yellow-stripes NO PASS zone on the bridge! Even though there is barely enough room on each side to avoid hitting the concrete side walls of the bridge. Absolutely nowhere to go if somebody is over the line. AND, there is not enough time for a car to pass and get back over after passing, because that hill is coming up where a car might be ready to speed into sight. Not to mention cars like me coming out of the side road.

Not that a driver such as this would obey the NO PASS zone anyway... Hopefully the driver got enough of a scare to never pass on this bridge again. I'm sure he would have been killed if we collided. Me too, if his body came out of his windshield and into T-Hoe's and hit me! 

I'm glad T-Hoe is a behemoth. Even though his doors make close-parking difficult.

Might As Well Teach My Old Dog Grizzly To Fly A 747

Let the record show that my old dog Grizzly crossed the rainbow bridge to live on a big farm upstate about 15 years ago. But it might STILL be easier to dig him up and explain in detail from a manual how he could pilot a 747... than to expect Farmer H to perform a task most kindergarteners excel at.

Farmer H went to a concert on Saturday night. At 9:13, he sent me a text saying who the "special guest" was. A songwriter from Nashville.

"I'll have to look him up. Sounds familiar."

I did this out of curiosity. Then found a video of one of his songs, which I was sure Farmer H would be familiar with. You know, just to be nice. To have something to talk to him about when he wanted to tell about the concert. 

Time marched on. I wanted to watch Saturday Night Live (in retrospect, nothing worth budgeting my time for) at 10:30. I already had the TV on the right channel. I waited. And waited. Hoping to play Farmer H a snippet of that song as he came in the door, then escape to the short couch to watch my show.

At 10:27, I gave up and went to the living room. But I left one window open on my HIPPIE on the kitchen table. With the video all ready to play. I had watched it through once, and backed up to the 0:03 second mark. All that was necessary was to click on the PLAY arrow.

Of course I heard Farmer H make his entrance through the creaky kitchen door at 10:29.

"I just sat down to watch my show, but I have one of that guy's songs ready for you."

"I don't need to hear no song."

"I thought you might want to know one he wrote. It's ready to go. All you have to do is click on PLAY."

"Okay."

"I don't hear anything."

"It ain't doin' nothin'."

"Did you push PLAY?"

"Yeah. It ain't doin' NOTHIN'."

"Are you sure you were on the PLAY arrow? With the mouse?"

"Huh. No. I used my finger."

"It's not a phone! You have to put the mouse cursor over the PLAY arrow, and click it."

"Okay. I did."

"Wait. What am I hearing? That's not the song."

"It's a commercial, HM."

"It shouldn't be playing a commercial. Now I hear another one."

"Yeah. That's what it did. Wait. There. I closed the ad when it said CLOSE AD."

"How hard can this be??? Do I need to come in there? I'm already missing my show because I had to put it on MUTE!"

"FORGET IT! I don't want to hear it anyway! Quit yer bitchin'! FORGET IT!"

And with that, and me already up and in the kitchen to show him how to hit PLAY to hear the song I had ready for him, Farmer H stormed off to the bedroom, flapping his arms like an antebellum debutante in a hoop skirt having a hissy-fit.

Well. You know what they say about good deeds.

I went to HIPPIE, who was already playing a song. NOT the song I had ready. The next one. Farmer H had apparently clicked on the arrow with a vertical line after it. The one that means to skip to the next video or, in this case, song.

Grizzly, I'm ready for takeoff.

Timing Is Everything

My errand day did not get off to a good start. I had several bills that needed checks written. Then Farmer H came home sooner than expected. The delays made me an hour late leaving the Mansion. Of course there was a heavy downpour at the time. Not what I wanted to see when I would be walking from the pumps across the parking lot when getting T-Hoe's gas.

The only good thing about leaving late is that I didn't have to rush to beat the after-school traffic. It was over as I was starting to town. I decided to reverse my route. Stopped at the Gas Station Chicken Store first. That's pretty close parking with my placard, to get under the roof by their pumps. I can't buy T-Hoe's gas there, because the pumps I need are imbedded in concrete islands, and my knees don't want to step up and down to get over them.

From there, I went to the School-Turn Casey's. Again, I parked pretty close to the door with my placard. The rain had lessened a bit, but not enough for me to risk mailing Genius's letter, and four bills, through the snout of the outdoor mailbox across the street. 

I proceeded to the main post office, with its covered parking, to take my mail inside. They've closed their drive-thru mailboxes, for some reason.

THEN I  was ready to go to the Sis-Town Casey's for T-Hoe's gas. And the rain had slowed to an occasional sprinkle. So my timing was impeccable. At the time, I didn't know just how impeccable! 

On the way home, I didn't have to drive back into Hillmomba. My Gas Station Chicken Store business was already done. So I just took the roundabout by the bowling alley. It was along that stretch of road that I saw THE MOST AMAZING RAINBOW EVER! It started up by the state park, curved over the prison, and ended miles away near a blacktop road that goes to Bill-Paying Town.

Of course I couldn't see exactly where the rainbow started and ended. If I could, I'd not be writing this, but living it up in Vegas with my two pots of gold! But this rainbow was spectacular. I was in awe. It was SO THICK, and GLOWING WITH COLOR, like a cartoon rainbow! I couldn't get a picture there on the road. But I watched it as I drove along, hoping it would last until I got home.

Well. You know how that goes. I DID manage to get a picture coming up our gravel road, approaching the edge of our second property.

You can barely see it at the end of the road. The sun was getting lower in the sky, and some clouds were moving in from the north.

As I got closer to the BARn field, I could see it better. But wait! I saved the best for last!

There's the other end of it, which I caught while starting down Mailbox Hill. Still not as wide and brilliant as when I first saw it, but pretty impressive.

I'm pretty sure that if I'd left on time, I would have missed this beautiful sight.

Life With Farmer H Is A Permanent Scavenger Hunt

The Pony never asks for anything. But Tuesday morning, when I mentioned that I was going to the store, he said that he'd like two Symphony candy bars if I found them on my newly-discovered candy aisle at 10Box. He likes the plain version, whereas I prefer the kind with toffee and nuts.

I DID find the Symphony bars! It's been so long since I bought any that the packaging has changed! Anyhoo, I got two of them for The Pony. I also got him a brick of Kerrygold butter, to go with the five corn muffins I was planning to send him. That was a surprise. When we talked about the beans and corn muffins I had made, The Pony recalled how he always liked the corn muffins. "There's something about the texture, right at the end of chewing them." That surprised me, because The Pony is quite persnickety about food textures.

Anyhoo... Farmer H had plans to pick up The Pony for lunch on Wednesday, his day off. So I set the bag with the two Symphony bars and the five corn muffins in front of the banana bowl, so Farmer H wouldn't forget to take them as he left the Mansion that morning. I was waiting to put in the butter, so it could stay cold in FRIG II overnight.

Sweet Gummi Mary! On Wednesday morning, before Farmer H got up, I thought I would never find that butter. The butter Farmer H had put away for me when carrying in groceries the day before.

Any normal person would have put the butter on the top shelf of the door, behind that little see-through plastic flip-up thingy, next to the Kerrygold butter we already have. But we have established long ago that Farmer H is not a normal person.

I searched high and low. Finally found that Kerrygold for The Pony. It was on the third shelf, behind my daily can of Shasta Diet Cola and a third-pack of shredded lettuce and a half-pack of slaw mix. I had to move those three items to get it out. It was almost as if Farmer H was hiding that butter for himself!

Anyhoo... I asked The Pony later if he had carried in his candy and corn muffins and butter. 

"They are all in my refrigerator right now!"

"I didn't know if you needed the butter, so I got you some anyway."

"Mother. I am a BUTTERTON! Of course I have butter. Lots of butter. But more is always better."

At least The Pony knows where to find his butter. 

Providing Location Without A Direction

Lost or unlost, the boxer has been sighted! Yesterday I told you how a lady out here asked Farmer H on Facebook if he'd seen her boxer. Which she said was following our "brown dog." That could only be Scarlett, since Jack is white and spotted, and Copper Jack (thought not our dog) is more golden than brown. My whole time living here, I've only seen a boxer out on the blacktop county road.

Wednesday, I saw the boxer! It was around 3:45. I was coming home from town, already on the gravel road after snatching the mail out of EmBee. When I came to the place where I make a LEFT TURN to get on the gravel road that runs in front of the Mansion, there stood a boxer. 

The boxer had on a blue collar. He seemed mild-mannered. Glanced at me as I drove by. He had a companion! Across the gravel road, sniffing into the woods. A bloodhound! A pretty one, too. All smooth and brown, with long floppy ears, and a bright orange collar. He seemed to be the leader of the two. Going his own way boldly, with the boxer hanging back, watching him, ready to follow.

I called Farmer H, who was already at bingo, and told him so he could send that lady a message. It's been a couple days, so I'm sure the boxer has been going back home. But she might want to know where he was, and who he was with. Definitely not our Scarlett!

You'd think it would be pretty obvious that a smooth lanky brown bloodhound was not our stocky fluffy white-ruffed reddish Scarlett. Maybe the boxer follows several dogs.

Anyhoo... I deliberately did not mention any directions to Farmer H, lest he give that lady faulty information. I just told him that the boxer was between the two little bridges by Farmer H and Buddy's badly blacktopped hill. That was only 10 feet from their true location. If the lady went there, and they remained, she could easily spot them if she looked between the two little bridges.

Those dogs might be the source of our fleabags' constant barking. Them, or the Boston Terrier in a sweater that I saw two days ago by the BARn field.

Farmer H Leads With A Right For His Boxer Story

While in the midst of our left/right kerfuffle over The Pony's ice pictures, Scarlett walked in front of the picture window. Which reminded Farmer H of a story to change the subject. Sort of...

"A woman over on Friendly Field thinks her boxer was after Scarlett. She thinks she's in heat."

"Did you tell her she's fixed?"

"No. I should have. She just sent me a message saying, 'Hey, Mr. Farmer, have you seen my boxer? He was chasing your brown dog for the past two days. I'm just asking because it's so cold, and he's run off.' You know, Friendly Field, down behind us."

"Friendly Field is NOT down behind us. It's to the left. Down on the way to the mailboxes."

"You mean RIGHT!"

"No. I do not mean right. We are sitting here looking out the window. Friendly Field is THAT way. To the left."

"Oh. Well. If you count it like that..."

"I count it exactly like that. That's why I said it's not behind us, it's to the left. That's the direction you go to find that road."

"Yeah. But you have to turn RIGHT to get on Friendly Field."

"That's beside the point. I was telling you the direction it is from here, since you seemed to think it was behind us."

Once again, Farmer H changing the narrative to try and make himself RIGHT.

Farmer H Rights A Left

Oh, the lengths Farmer H will go to, just to PROVE that he is right!

Monday morning, I was going to show him two pictures that The Pony had sent me, about ice on his route that he has to navigate. I specifically told Farmer H about the pictures. Got the first one on my phone, and handed it to him.

"Here's two pictures The Pony sent me, of ice he has to drive on. Swipe left."

Farmer H took the phone. Squinted. Then swiped right. Which took him back to the previous picture The Pony had sent me, of two candles on his new desk.

"No! Your OTHER left!"

"I DID go left."

"I sat here and watched your finger and you swiped RIGHT!"

"Yeah. To see the picture on the left."

"That's not the other ice picture! It's on the right. So you swipe left."

"I know what I did, Val. I pulled it to the right to see the picture on the left."

"EXACTLY! Even though I just said: SWIPE LEFT!"

"I don't know why you carry on so much."

"Because no matter what I say, you turn it into the opposite. If I say something is white, you'll say it's black. Up is down. Always to prove you're right, when you're NOT!"

Which was followed by another example of the same thing less than five minutes later. A tale for tomorrow.

A Hearty Meal For The Frigid Temps

Mrs. HM is full of beans! Well, about to be, anyway. I'm waiting until my blogging duties are done before partaking of the most delicious-smelling meal that I spent three hours preparing this morning. I had to thaw out the Christmas ham bone, and the ham I had cut up into cubes before freezing. I'd soaked the Great Northern Beans overnight. All that was left was to put the bone and ham into the pot, after rinsing the beans. Add some minced garlic, ground black pepper, and a few Mild Banana Pepper Rings, and their juice. Then let them simmer for 2 or more hours.

The Mansion smelled terrific! Even Farmer H said so as soon as I got back from town. I whipped up some corn muffins courtesy of Jiffy. Fed Farmer H so he could watch football playoff games. And bided my time until my never-ending free work was done.

Here's a picture of the beans:

I moved some into a saucepan, so I don't have to lift the big pot out of FRIG II every time we need to warm them. Farmer H has already taken out his serving. Yes, he DID use the ladle and tip it sideways to let out the JUICE! That's okay. I like the juice with my corn muffins.

The corn muffins turned out great. I let them cool a few minutes, then tipped them out of their muffin tray. Farmer H has already helped himself to the corn muffins.

I might or might not be drooling just a little as I look at these pictures, with the aroma of beans, ham, and cornbread hanging in the air. 

Gotta go slice up some banana pepper rings and onion to add to my beans! 

The Distractors

I went in 10Box today for the purpose of buying scratchers. The temperature was up to 20 degrees, but I didn't want to risk falling at another store. The Liquor Store has an uphill ramp to get to the door, and Casey's has a sidewalk in the shade all day. So whatever treatment they use is generally ineffective. Don't even get me started on the giant icicles and frozen sidewalk at Orb K.

Anyhoo, 10Box has a sidewalk on level ground. It gets the afternoon sun. So that was my destination. I took some winning scratchers to scan at their machines. 

Well! Seems like it was social hour 5 minutes at 10Box! One of the cashiers came over to sweep the area as soon as I stepped up to a lottery machine. I like her. She's a friendly gal with a sense of humor. But I really don't want to talk to anybody while I'm making my transactions.

"I am SO tired! It's almost time for me to clock out. I've been busy all day. I had to stock my freezer shelves and face the product. Then I went to help other people, but since they already had three on the cereal aisle, I went to the pickles, peppers, and olives. Of course when I was lifting the last tray of pickles, one slipped off and broke. What a mess!"

"A few weeks ago, I bought a jar of the sweet banana pepper rings, and when I got it home, I saw that part of a pepper was trapped in the lid. So it didn't have the vacuum seal. And I had to throw it away. It's my own fault, though, for not checking. I assumed the factory had quality control to catch things like that!"

"Yeah. That shouldn't happen. Time for me to go home now."

Of course a customer was there to take her conversational place.

"What's winning?"

"Well, the $10 tickets, especially this newest one, is working well for me."

"I won $177 on this Red 777 a couple days ago at the Gas Station Chicken Store."

"Huh. That must be why I only won $10 on it yesterday!"

Meanwhile, as I was trying to scan in my winners to pay for my purchases, I got the message from the machine that "This ticket has already been redeemed." No wonder I couldn't keep track of the ones I scanned, with all the conversation expected of me!

I finally got scanned, and bought my tickets. Won $48 there. So not a tragedy.

You Can Lead A Customer To Water, But You Cannot Let Him Pay

Mrs. HM was a little unhappy with a certain city's water department last week. It's School-Turn Town. That's where our flip house is located. Farmer H has had the water turned on there for five or six months. They mail the bill here to the Mansion. When we get it, there is barely time to get the payment mailed back by the due date. 

According to the front of the bill, service is from the 20th of one month, through the 19th of the next month. I'm pretty sure this is standard for every customer. No way is a city going to mail out water bills every day, depending on when a customer started service.

The billing date is always the 25th, except for December, when it was the 26th. We got our bill on January 11th. The due date was January 15th. Oh, and the 15th was a holiday. 

Seeing as we get our mail in the afternoon, I had Farmer H take that payment to town to mail so it would go out as soon as possible, on the 12th, a Friday. Nobody gets mail within one day around here. Even though this town is adjacent to the main post office town. Like, I could park T-Hoe with his front half in School-Turn Town, and his rear in Sis-Town, which is where the main post office is located.

So... the mail is in transit on Saturday the 13th. Nothing happens on Sunday the 14th. A holiday means the water department and the mail are both closed on Monday the 15th. Making it Tuesday the 16th as the earliest our payment could arrive.

I figure public utilities are pretty reasonable. Getting payment on the 16th, when they weren't even open on the 15th, should be good enough. I think it was. As far as I know, the flip house still has water. Farmer H has gone by there to make sure no pipes froze. He has the pipes he put in insulated well, along with the already-there pipes.

Anyhoo... I am not really worried about our payment being processed. I figure it got there, and reasonable people will understand that it IS timely, due to the holiday.

HOWEVER... Farmer H got a haircut last week. He said his barber was complaining because last month, THE CITY SHUT OFF HIS WATER! His barbershop is two blocks away from city hall! Barber said he never got a bill. You know how THAT goes! If I don't get a bill, I don't remember that it's due! Barber said that his water was shut off 1 WEEK after the bill was due. He's been operating his barber shop there for 20 years.

Barber complained to city hall, and they apologized. Turned his water back on. Said they made a mistake, that they weren't supposed to disconnect his water. Because he was a BUSINESS OWNER! Pity the poor "normal" people who have this done to them. Because here's what's on the back of the bill:

You have to PAY the bill, even if you don't GET a bill! How are you supposed to know how much you owe??? Imagine the entire population of the city traipsing down to city hall on the 25th, asking how much their water bill is. That's ridiculous. Even if they spread it out and go ask over a two-week period, before the due date.

Here's the thing. Water bills around here have a history of not getting mailed on time. Hillmomba itself went through that a couple summers ago. The city said it mailed the bills as usual. They have a permit with first class postage paid. Supposedly they deliver the bills, which are little postcards, in big boxes to the post office, ready to go. The post office said the boxes of bills were not brought in, or were not brought to the proper place. I don't know if the city drops them off, or if a carrier is supposed to pick them up. Anyhoo... the main thing is, this is the second city to have issues with getting their water bills sent.

Maybe I'll ask The Pony about that process. Maybe the cities outsource this service to a printing company that is making the process difficult.

Are My New Stove Burner Drip Pans Ready?

Heh, heh! I'm sure you already know that answer!

On Tuesday, Farmer H had plans to go by the flip house. Not for ME, mind you, nor my new stove burner drip pans that need the Dremel tool he left there. Not even for any work. Farmer H had plans to take some TOILET PAPER to the flip house! That's because he uses it as a pit stop when he's out and about. His own private toilet. He previously used The Pony's house for that function. But I suppose after me nagging him about giving The Pony privacy, since he IS buying that house from us, and has paid over 20% of the cost already... Farmer H stopped popping in to use a toilet.

Anyhoo... I was NOT happy about Farmer H taking our Mansion toilet paper to the flip house. I buy the good stuff! Let Farmer H go into a store and buy his own butt-wipes! No need to have Cadillac toilet paper in an Edsel house. 

"Why do you need OUR toilet paper? Nobody is using the bathrooms there. Let the buyer buy their own toilet paper."

"I use it! So I don't have to go to Casey's. I don't go by The Pony's any more."

"Why do you need TWO rolls???"

"There are two bathrooms!"

"You can't use them both at once!"

"When Old Buddy is with me, we might have to go at the same time."

"Let Old Buddy bring a roll of toilet paper!"

"I am not asking Old Buddy to bring his own toilet paper!"

Farmer H could not be nagged bullied persuaded into buying his own toilet paper for the flip house. In fact, he could not even follow through on his plot to take toilet paper from the Mansion to the flip house. That evening, when I got home from town, I saw the intact package of 12 Charmin Ultra Strong Mega Rolls on top of my Shasta Diet Cola box on the kitchen floor, where it was waiting for Farmer H to take the initiative to re-stock the hall closet.

"Did you bring the Dremel tool home to work on my stove burner drip pans?"

"No. I didn't go by there."

"Uh huh. Because you FORGOT TO STEAL OUR TOILET PAPER!"

"Yeah. I did forget to take toilet paper to the flip house. So I didn't go by there."

It is a bit disheartening to realize that me getting new stove burner drip pans depends on the needs of Farmer H's rumpus,

SOMEBODY Is Stepping Out (Or Stepping In) On Farmer H

Scarlett was nowhere to be found on Wednesday when I left for town. Not that I went searching for her. My little Jack came trotting around from the front porch, where the sun shone brightly, temp at 38 degrees. I gave Jack his scrap of Nutty Oat bread. Then when Scarlett didn't come barreling around the corner, I have him hers. 

I eased myself down the porch steps. Jack stood with his paws on my lower hand on the rail. I stopped at the bottom for a mini lovefest. We can rarely steal a moment together when Scarlett is present. Jack put his head under my chin. I hugged him and sweet-talked to him. Jack grunted and whimpered and wriggled with pleasure. He's a very loving little imp.

I finally told him, "See you later, alligator." That's my standard parting routine on my way to town. I don't say it when we go to the casino, or are planning to be gone longer.

When I returned an hour later, Scarlett came running across the front yard play-fighting with Copper Jack. My little Jack trotted along behind them, and entered the garage as soon as the door went up. I let him out the people-door, where Scarlett was already waiting for me on the side porch. As I walked by, Scarlett was kind-of calm. Not jumping at me as she used to. But standing, and pawing at me with her right leg. I told her, "No. No. Sit down." Which she did. Kind-of.

I reached out to pat Scarlett, and noticed that she SMELLED! Strongly. A pleasant smell. Like perfume! Definitely not a doggy smell. Or a nothing smell, like Jack. This was definitely a man-made scent. Like a woman would wear. Or a feminine-leaning man. Or clothes fresh from the dryer with a fabric softener sheet.

Once inside the kitchen, I heard Farmer H holler to me from his recliner. "Was Scarlett out there? She wasn't here when I got home."

"Yeah. She's here. And she SMELLS! Like a woman!"

Farmer H went out on the front porch to take a pee, because three bathrooms under roof are not good enough for him. Except when the temperature is in the single digits. Anyhoo... Scarlett and Jack came running. I suppose Farmer H petted Scarlett. Because when he came back inside, he said, 

"She DOES smell! I bet somebody had her in their house."

"Yeah. And then realized she's crazy, and put her back out! Or maybe she was running along the road. Or had followed you down to the mailbox. And somebody stopped and called to her. You know she'd jump right in. Or at least put her paws up on somebody to get petted. So I guess she got perfume on her. That could explain where she was earlier."

"I was out here once today. I guess she could have followed me when I left."

"If she was down by the mailboxes, somebody might have thought she got dumped and needed a home. Until they saw how fat she is!"

Not sure what's going on, but Farmer H is the one who needs to worry. Wouldn't want Scarlett ADORING anybody new...

Scarlett Needs A Trip To The Woodshed! Or At Least To The Rolled-Up-Magazine Side Porch.

Scarlett is in the dog house! Figuratively, though I hope she is also there literally, since it's a cold night. Farmer H, whom she ADORES, has done her no favors by favoring her. She needs some tough love. I know Scarlett is a high-spirited pooch. She has stopped running into the house. She mostly keeps her paws off of us when she's leaping and hopping as we walk. But now, SHE HAS INTERFERED WITH MY LITTLE JACK!!!

Farmer H feeds the dogs every morning before he leaves. He has been the one to dole out their special evening treats of hamburger-grease-soaked bread during the cold snap. I put the pieces on separate paper plates, because I know Scarlett will steal Jack's treat. I gave Farmer H specific instructions.

"Jack was in Juno's house just a while ago. So if he's in there, just set his plate inside. He gets three pieces. Scarlett gets the one with four, because she's a bigger dog. Then bring the plates in, because Jack might eat them."

Well. The second evening, I asked Farmer H what took so long.

"I handed them out one at a time, so Scarlett wouldn't take Jack's."

Okay. That was a good move on Farmer H's part. Tuesday was a little warmer, and I was out of grease bread. But the night gets cold. The dogs need energy to burn to stay warm. When Farmer H came out to the garage to carry in groceries, I told him to give the dogs each half a bowl of regular dog food.

Their bowls are separate. Scarlett's is on the side porch, next to the people-door of the garage. Jack's is on the other section of porch, across the steps from Scarlett's bowl. The bowls used to be side-by-side, but Scarlett would nudge Jack out of his bowl.

Farmer H poured the dog food, then carried bags inside. I got the remaining bags, and saw Scarlett run over to Jack's bowl as he started crunching his food. Jack immediately went to Scarlett's bowl. Scarlett ran back and shouldered Jack out of the way. He returned to his food bowl. Barely got a mouthful when Scarlett was back shoving him away. Jack went back to Scarlett's bowl. This continued about five times as I was climbing the four steps to the porch.

When I hollered at Scarlett, she would stop momentarily and look guilty. That gave Jack time to get a bite before she was pushing him away from whatever bowl again. POOR JACK! No wonder Scarlett is getting hefty, and Jack is trim.

I laid out a junk mail advertiser, and told Farmer H to use it to swat Scarlett when she knocks Jack away from the food bowl. 

"Maybe THAT will get her attention! She's a bully. Better yet, I think you should call Scarlett down to the garage when you're getting out the food. She'll come in, because she ADORES you. Feed her there. Then real quick, close her in while you're giving Jack his food. Let him have time to eat, then let Scarlett out. Otherwise, Jack is going to starve, and Scarlett will weigh two tons!"

I cannot tolerate a dog bully. Even my Dear Departed Sweet Sweet Juno knew my wrath, when she dared to bare her teeth at my little Jack, and grab his treats.

More On The Stove Burner Drip Pan Debacle

Sunday I needed my stove burners. We had been feasting on non-stove meals like the super nachos, and a frozen meats pizza that only required the oven. But Sunday, I wanted to make a pot of beans. I scrapped that plan and went with some pasta shells (have I mentioned that I don't like spaghetti because it takes too much effort to eat?) with a hamburger and mushroom sauce. So I needed my big front burner, that had suffered the charring during the sausage/cabbage/potato boiling, and the small back burner behind it, which wasn't completely decommissioned, but still sent up some smoke when turned on.

You might recall that Farmer H had feinted at putting in my new burner drip pans, but finally stopped when he saw what lay beneath. I had put off cleaning out those burners, just because I was ticked off that Farmer H had tried to act like he was going to do it, and get the glory of new stove burner drip pans.

Anyhoo... I took the most immediately-needed burners apart. I scrubbed around the rim, and under the drip pans, with my Barkeep's Friend. I prefer Comet myself, but Farmer H had this stuff, and I was all out of Comet. Got my cleaned area all rinsed and dried. I put the new burner drip pan in. Plugged in my burner. Went to snap down the little lever on the opposite side of the plug-in, and

IT DIDN'T GO IN!

The hole in the new burner drip pan for that little lever was TOO SMALL for the grabby part to go through. It looked like it went through, on the large front burner, but that little lever would not stay snapped in. The prongs didn't go all the way through. On the smaller back burner, the grabby part would not even go through the hole at all.

You know what I had to do, right? In order to cook my shells and sauce? I had to CLEAN THE OLD stove burner drip pans!!! That's easier said than done. That big one was charred solid. I took out my other two burners and drip pans, cleaned all around them, and washed up those two drip pans to use on the burners I prefer. Then I tried to clean the worst two drip pans as best I could, and put them on the less-used burners.

That task took me THREE HOURS!

I sent Farmer H a picture of the problem. He replied: "OK."

Of course when Farmer H got home, he went to the stove, and took apart my handiwork, to prove to me that the new burner drip pans would work. Heh, heh! They didn't! Even though he pounded and tried to force that grabby thing through the too-small hole. Then Farmer H stacked the old drip pans in the new drip pans, held them up to the light, spun them around, looked at it upside down, while saying, "Them holes look the same. I don't know why the new ones won't work."

"BECAUSE THE HOLE IS TOO SMALL! I don't know how you can't see that!"

Then Farmer H declared that he should be able to use his Dremel tool to enlarge the holes.

"Or... you could just buy different drip pans, not from the Dollar Store."

"Why spend the money?"

Oh, I don't know... maybe so YOU CAN HAVE FOOD TO EAT???

Sweet Gummi Mary! You can get a set of 4 at the Devil's Playground for $10. It's not like we'll have to sell off any of Farmer H's precious collectibles to afford them!

There are my new useless burner drip pans, in all their cheap glory. The large opening for the plug-in part of the burner, and the little hole opposite it for the grabby part to fit through.

Anyhoo... Sunday night, I asked Farmer H if he had his Dremel tool over in the BARn. Nope. It's at the flip house in town. You know, on the way to his precious Senior Center where he goes for lunch and bingo. But they're not open on MLK day. And Farmer H is unable to drive that extra five miles to get it, because he is only going to Casey's for his morning donuts, then coming back home for the first time in six months, to work in the BARn.

I don't know why I care so much about having usable burners to prepare Farmer H's meals. I am perfectly happy with a tuna salad sandwich. Too bad Farmer H hates tuna.

A Missed Opportunity For Mrs. HM, But A Bonus For The Fleabags

We are supposed to be on our way to the casino right now. The Pony has the MLK holiday. Farmer H has nothing to do at the flip house, and lunch is not being served at the Senior Center. 

It was Farmer H's idea to go to the casino. Who am I to veto such a trip? I'm the CHIEF SAFETY OFFICER, that's who! The high temperature today is supposed to be 7 degrees. Wind chills below zero. AND there's a 76% chance of snow! Only a dusting to an inch. But at this temperature, nothing will melt that snow off the road. IF the 15-20 mph winds blow it off, our trip might be okay. 

Here's the thing. The first 30 miles are on hilly, twisty, 2-lane blacktop. With no shoulder, and some steep drop-offs without a guard rail. No way do I want to take a chance on slipping off the road and freezing to death! There is no cell phone reception on this road. IF we made it those 30 miles to the interstate highway, we'd likely be fine for the rest of our drive. IF...

The Pony was not sad to hear that I was re-thinking the trip. He used most of his casino bankroll to pay us for his part of the flip house air conditioning unit. So he's amassing more throw-away cash for a casino trip next month to celebrate our birthdays.

Farmer H said he's going to spend most of the day working in the BARn on his fishing poles. He buys them at the auction, and fixes the broken ends. There is a furnace in the BARn, so he'll be fine. AND he lets the dogs come in! So I'm happy for that, they can get warmed up all day, and Scarlett can lie and watch the object of her ADORATION.

My Dear Departed Juno developed an aversion to going in the BARn, since she was shut up in there more than a couple times by Farmer H. She tore the door up trying to claw her way out. One time Jack got closed in, and destroyed the foam insulation Farmer H had put on the inside of the door.

"Do the dogs come in the BARn?"

"Yeah. They come in."

"Do you have a rug for them to lay on?"

"Yeah. But the part I'm in has a wood floor. So it's not concrete."

"Will they be okay? Do they behave? Do they just lay around?"

"Scarlett is fine. She's been in houses before. She lays down and watches me. Jack is the problem. He gets into things."

"He's a chewer. I just don't want him to bite a fish hook!"

"He'll be okay."

I have told Farmer H to send me a text when he gets home from Casey's, and is in the BARn. The cell phone doesn't work in there. He can stand in the door and send a message. I've told him to text me every couple hours so I know he's okay. I don't want to worry that he got SilverRedO stuck on the snow, and tried to walk back to the Mansion, and slipped, and was slowly freezing to death on Shackytown Boulevard. 

Still, we will be safer than on the road to the casino.

The temp is supposed to shoot up to 17 on Tuesday, and to the low 40s with sunshine on Wednesday. Then I can go back to town for my precious scratchers!

The Deliverer's New Clothes

Pony needs a new pair of pants! Not because he split them, or had an accident of indisposedness. But because he only has two pair of uniform pants, and one is too tight when he layers tights and a pair of cargo pants under them during frigid weather. 

In case you don't know, and why would you, the USPS uses vendors who will only sell to city carriers who have an official number for their yearly uniform allowance. When The Pony was a CCA (City Carrier Assistant), I think he got around $500. That seems like a lot, until you see that the vendors charge over $100 for a pair of pants. Don't get me started on the jacket prices.

Anyhoo... The Pony has acquired two pair of pants, a few pair of shorts, and a couple shirts. Also a jacket, which I think he bought, but might have been given by another carrier. I know one gave him a cardigan.

Anyhoo... you can't just go online and buy these uniform togs with a credit card. So I was looking for alternatives to get The Pony through the winter. Other carriers online had sung the praises of Ben Hogan Golf Pants, from the Devil's Playground. They're around $20, and come in that gray/blue heather color of regular uniform pants. The only thing is there's no stripe on the side.

The regular uniform pants come unhemmed. The Pony had Farmer H take them to his "tailor" to be cut off and hemmed. That's a lady where Farmer H takes his Goodwill jeans for hemming. Farmer H has a 28-inch inseam. The Pony measured, and tried to tell me his is 25 inches! I'm pretty sure it's not. Doesn't matter anyway, because the shortest inseam on the Ben Hogan pants is 30 inches. Worst case, The Pony can have them hemmed like he did the uniform pants.

Anyhoo... I ordered two pair of the golf pants, to see if The Pony likes them, and if they'll fit okay. While I was at it, I ordered him a pair of the shorts, just to try them out, so he'll know if he wants to get some in the summer. As with any good deed Mrs. HM attempts, she and The Pony are being punished by other deliverers. The shorts arrived on Friday, and the pants, allegedly getting here Saturday, now won't be here until Monday. Which is MLK day, and FedEx may or may not be working.

While I was at 10Box ahead of the upcoming arctic air mass due to hit on Saturday night, I picked up two pairs of gloves for The Pony. He has some, has misplaced others, and might as well have a couple extra. They cost me a grand sum of $1.76 for the men's, and $2.21 for the women's. (Oh, plus the 10 percent that 10Box charges at the register.) Different prices, even though they are the exact same style. Just a different color. I figure The Pony can cut the fingertips off the right hand, which he needs to be able to touch the mail, and use his scanner. What's it matter, at that price?

Here are The Pony's shorts and gloves:

See what I mean about the same color as the postal uniform shorts/pants? I got the black gloves because they won't show dirt. And the women's gloves because they're the color of the pants. They are posed on the back of the long couch, on a blanket that my niece, Niecy, made for me a couple years ago.

Here's an odd thing about these shorts. The back pockets, which you can clearly see here, have the silky pocket pouch area dangling inside those shorts. But you can't put anything in them! The seam is sewn shut! Believe me, I pulled and tugged and looked for Velcro, but nothing will open those back pockets. It would be different if they were mock pockets, with nothing inside the shorts. But there are actual pocket pouches that cannot be accessed.

I even asked Farmer H to take a look at them, in case my valedictorian brain is not well-versed in men's pants. Farmer H said, "Huh. They've sewed the pockets shut."

I don't think this will be a problem. I can't imagine The Pony wanting to carry anything in his back pockets while working. It's not like he'd take a chance on losing his wallet...

Anyhoo... I'm interested to see if the pants come with the pockets sewn shut.

The Man Who Couldn't Listen If His Wife Depended On It

Sweet Gummi Mary! There is stubborn. There is hard-headed. And there's Farmer-H-headed! That man will not listen to reason. And by reason, I mean ME!

Remember those stove burner drip pans Farmer H was supposed to get. And got them, then took them off the kitchen counter where they were reachable from the stove area, and put them on the back of the kitchen table, across from the sink counter? Well. After being nagged within an inch of his life to set them where I didn't have to hike around the counter and balance myself to reach over two chairs to the end of the table, he decided to put them in himself.

"No. That's fine. Just leave them there beside the stove. I'll do it tomorrow."

"I've got it."

"No. I've done it before. Not a problem."

"I've done it at least twice before."

"Stop. I said I'd do it."

"It's fine."

Farmer H had the coil burner part out, and was setting the old drip pan on top of the stove. Looking into the hole. Reaching for a new drip pan.

"Now what are you doing? If it dripped in there, I'll have to clean it out."

"FINE! I'll let you do it!"

Farmer H started putting the old drip pan back in. Shoved the burner coil into its plug-in place. Left the burner coil all akimbo.

"Wait. What are you doing?"

"Nothing. I'm done."

"Not like that. It's not even."

"It's fine."

"No..."

"There. Just like I said."

Farmer H had finally realized there was a clip thingy that a part had to snap into. Three thingies, three parts to clip in.

Seriously. How hard is it to just lay the drip pans on the counter and let me do it myself? Without acting so know-it-all-y, and messing things up, then backing out when seeing that cleaning will be involved.

The Old Gray Matter Ain't What It Used To Be. Or IS It?

I would venture a theory that Farmer H is in cognitive decline, but that would not be accurate. His brain has always worked a little differently from the brain of a normal person. I think part of it stems from always wanting to be the boss. In charge of every little detail in order to contradict anyone else's belief, plan, or instructions.

When he came home with a bag containing the 9-volt batteries for the fire alarms, and the burner drip pans, he walked through the kitchen door, and set it by the sink. Not a problem, there was room. No dishes to wash, because he'd been to bingo, and I had a Dairy Queen burger and pretzel sticks.

Farmer H took off his coat, then grabbed the bag from beside the sink, and leaned over two chairs to set it on the back of the kitchen table. 

"Why did you do that? I'll have to walk around, and lean over to try to get those drip pans."

"Well. I thought you'd complain about them being by the sink."

"I was sitting right here. I saw you put them by the sink. I didn't say a word."

Farmer H got the burner drip pans out, then set the bag of batteries back on the end of the kitchen table. Even though we keep batteries in a drawer by the stove. He walked the burner drip pans around to the stove. A story which will come tomorrow.

"Why did you leave the batteries way over here on the table, and not put them in the drawer?"

"I'll be the one changing the smoke detector battery. You ain't gonna do it."

"No. But you'll have to walk all the way over here to get the batteries, when you could have just put them in the drawer."

Farmer H grunted. Then came walking back around past the table, hurdling my sore knee that I had stretched out, and took off his cap to set on top of his coat by the door. And hurdled my knee again, to go back through the kitchen to the living room, leaving those batteries still on the back of the kitchen table.

I think his nose was complaining to his face about Farmer H's spitefulness. 

The Night Of Living Strange-erously

Farmer H has been up to his strange antics again. It all culminated Wednesday night. A tale which will take three tellings. Here's the background info you will need.

Monday night, a smoke alarm started chirping. We argued over which one, with me being proven correct. It was the one in the hall between the boys' bedrooms, not the one in the kitchen. Farmer H took it down. Put in a battery. Put it back up. And then the chirping resumed. He diagnosed an expired battery, and vowed to get some more of the 9-volt kind.

When I made our pot of sausage/potatoes/cabbage on Friday, some of the juices bubbled out. I thought I caught it in time, and wiped off the stove and burner edge. Turns out more ran down under the burner, into the burner drip pan, and charred when I was trying to re-warm a pan for supper the next day. It was really charred. So I asked Farmer H if he could get some burner drip pans when he got the batteries. He agreed. Forgot on Tuesday. But picked them up at the Devil's Playground on Wednesday.

Wednesday afternoon, as I climbed into T-Hoe to go to town, I twisted my knee. It's the good bad knee. The one that's had two surgeries. I just had my foot turned too much on the running board when I sat down on the seat. It was a sharp pain, like a torn cartilage feels, although I've had cartilage removed (TWICE!) from that knee. I could hardly get my leg in through the door. Usually I can adjust that little catch, and walk it off, and be fine as long as I make sure my foot isn't pointing sideways next time I climb back into T-Hoe. But this pain persisted, even after I was home, and had been sitting at the kitchen table with my scratchers.

I made a baggie of ice cubes from FRIG II's freezer, and rolled up my pants leg to hold it in place. It made my knee feel better. By the time Farmer H came home from bingo with the batteries and burner drip pans a couple hours later, my ice was partially melted.

"Could you put this in the freezer for me? Laying down, but with the top where there water won't leak out?" You know, because if water is along that close-y part, it will freeze, and force the close-y part apart.

Farmer H took my baggie of ice, and stood with the freezer door open.

"What's wrong?"

"I cain't find no place to put it."

"Fine. I'll do it myself. Just leave it."

"Well. There ain't no room."

"Just lay it on a bag of food!"

Sweet Gummi Mary! FRIG II's freezer has four shelves! Plus four shelves in the door! How can Farmer H not find a place for a regular size baggie of ice? When I checked later, he had set it on a little ledge, third shelf down, STANDING UP! So instead of having a flat baggie of ice to put on my knee next time, I'd have a log of ice frozen in the bottom of a baggie.

I moved it to the top shelf, on top of a bag of frozen chicken chunks. It fit perfectly. No adjusting of any freezer items necessary.

Tomorrow, more strangeness from Farmer H...

I'm Pretty Sure Farmer H Is Trying To Make Me Kill Him

You may recall that Farmer H came home midday on Friday, sneezing and snorting, declaring he did NOT have a cold. Yet all symptoms were there. He was all nasally and bucket-head talking, but seemed to endure his illness fairly well. He bought a giant bottle of over-the-counter cough medicine that I suspect he doses himself with at bedtime. He bought a giant bag of sugar-free mentholyptus cough drops. 

I made him a hot toddy on Friday evening. He said it was too strong, even though it contained the regular amount of whiskey I always give him in a regular drink. It's his own fault he chose the small cup and didn't get it watered down enough. 

Anyhoo... I also made Farmer H a hot toddy on Saturday evening, in the big cup, and it was satisfactory. On Sunday, Farmer H came home a bit early, having shown the flip house to a looker/possible buyer. When I awoke from my hour nap, and got out of the shower, Farmer H was in the basement, kicked back in my vibrating heated recliner. When I hollered down to him, he seemed a little confused. I figured he had been napping. Then he announced that he had to pee, like a toddler might do, and I left for town.

When I got home, Farmer H was back upstairs in his own recliner. I asked if he wanted a hot toddy before supper, and he said he did. I had the hot water already poured into the honey and lemon juice, and was getting ready to add the whiskey when I noticed that the bottle was almost empty!

"Hey! Did you have a drink sometime? Because this bottle is way lower than I thought it was yesterday when I made your drink."

"Oh. I had a drink. With Diet Coke."

"You already HAD a drink today? Then why am I making you a hot toddy?"

"Because it opens up my head."

"But you already had a drink and didn't tell me! I don't want to overdose you!"

"You won't overdose me!"

"You're not on any cough medicine or Nyquil are you?"

"No. No medicine."

"Okaaaayyyy. I'll go ahead and make it. But I'm not sure you should have it."

Let the record show that Farmer H drank his hot toddy. Then ate supper. And stayed up until 9:30! He usually goes to bed around 7:30. However... the next morning, I had to wake him at 5:30, a time at which he is usually feeding the dogs and getting ready to leave the Mansion.

For a minute there, when he failed to get up, I was trying to get my story straight...

It's Mailman Weather

Nothing stops the U.S. Mail! 

The three inches of snow we awoke to on Saturday was not a problem on the roads. It WAS a problem for The Pony, who slipped and fell down a hill early on his route, then had to work in soaked clothes for the rest of the day. Temps in the 30s.

The Pony had a day off on Sunday. Then snow was in the ever-changing forecast for Monday night and Tuesday. The Pony sent me a text before noon, saying he might have a fever, because he was shivering through his four layers of clothes. With the wind chill in the 20s, I hoped it was just that, and not a fever.

The snow held off. I went to town around 4:00, and there was a light mist and weird droplets that might have been mushy snowflakes. It was only noticeable on T-Hoe's windshield. 

Pony had to work an hour-and-a-half into darkness. It was 6:30 when he was done. He said that a light freezing rain started at the end, and froze the mail to his hands as he walked his last two loops.

The good thing is, when The Pony took his temp at home, it was 97. He figured he had not warmed up enough from work. I figure it he had an actual fever, that thermometer would have spiked anyway, over the normal 98.6.

The real cold is rolling in early next week, with daytime highs in the low 20s. The Pony needs layers, a wind barrier, and a good hat! I'm not sure of his current glove situation.

Standing At The Right Hand Of (Mrs. Hillbilly) Mom

Why are weirdos so freakin' weird???

Sunday afternoon, I was in the Gas Station Chicken Store, thanking my favorite clerk for selling me a $500 winner on Saturday. Nobody else was in the store.

"Do you know what you've done?"

"What THIS time?"

"You sold me a $500 winner yesterday!"

"Ooh! Which ticket?"

"The new ten."

"Have you cashed it in?"

"No. I didn't even bring it to town. I figured Man Owner wouldn't be here on a Sunday."

"Sometimes he stops by. But not today."

"I might just cash it at 10Box. I don't always get to town before Man Owner leaves."

"He's been staying a little later. I might be working on Tuesday. I got a call from Woman Owner this morning, asking me to work if it snows."

"Oh, no! More snow? I think temps are supposed to get into the mid-30s, though. So maybe it'll be off the road."

I might just wait until Tuesday to cash in that winner. I like to take it back to where I got it, because everyone's always so happy it came from their store. 

Anyhoo... I was cashing in a previous winner, and Fave already had my tickets on the counter, ringing them up. An Old Man came in and stood next to me! At my right elbow. Too close for my comfort, although I'm sure he could smell the Halls Mentholyptus Honey Lemon Cough Drop on my breath. 

WHAT IN THE NOT-HEAVEN IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE???

A line forms BEHIND the person currently being served. Not beside them. Another guy had come in, and was lagging back, in the area behind me. Like he was normal. Old Man was just in the way. I had to go out around behind him to get to the door.

I am really not at all fond of people.

I Feel So NORMish

Now that I'm back on my feet, going to town every day, it seems that I've been missed!

My favorite clerk at the Gas Station Chicken Store asked me, "WHERE have you been???" We chatted before other customers had the nerve to enter the store. She had me laughing, which started a mini coughing fit. Of course I turned my head and put my mouth in my elbow, even though she was protected by a stand-up plexiglass barrier. 

At the 10Box on Saturday, I felt like NORM from Cheers. Except nobody knew my name. They hollered when I entered, though!

"HEY, LADY!"

That was a checker who used to work in the deli. The one who always shares scratcher info with me. She wanted to know if I'd won anything good lately. Nope. But little did I know, I had a big winner sitting out in T-Hoe at that very moment. She said she'd won $100 on a $20 ticket. 

I went on with my shopping, and came across another checker on the baking aisle. She had a large cart with boxes from stuff she'd just put on the shelves.

"Are they punishing you? Have you been naughty?"

"No. We're just SO BUSY here at the first of the year. And tomorrow is truck day. We're out of almost everything. See there? How there's no product behind the front row? AND we have inventory coming up. So we'll be really busy."

She also calls me "Hey, Lady." It's not so bad. I've been called worse!

When I was walking toward the checkout, another worker-gal caught my eye. She usually works the service desk, but was just walking around.

"Are you ready to check out? I can get you over at the desk."

"Oh, no. I'm ready, but I don't mind to wait. But thank you! Everyone is so nice here."

"That's so kind of you. We do have a lot of nice employees. Everyone works together to help people. I know it's not like that at some stores."

She turned to another lady who was walking up, and took her to the service desk to ring up her groceries. The checker I had was efficient, friendly, and didn't even bruise my bananas.

I almost felt like I was getting special treatment!

At The Mansion, Pity Is Kept Under Lock And Key

Farmer H made a surprise appearance at the Mansion at noon on Friday. He's usually gone the whole day, but popped in after his Senior Center lunch, because he had taken the wrong medicine in his pocket. He gets a shot every Friday afternoon, and takes his own vial of meds for injection.

FARMER H WAS NASALLY SNOOTY! OR SNOOTILY NASAL!

"Do you have a cold? You do, don't you?"

"No. No. I ain't got no cold. I was just sneezin' outside."

I'm pretty sure Farmer H is coming down with a cold. Even though he said he didn't have one, he said he got it from me or The Pony. POPPYCOCK! We first had symptoms Dec 26. Our fevers were gone Dec 30. No way were we contagious two days ago when Farmer H must have been exposed to his version.

Anyhoo... I WANT to be sympathetic, and give Farmer H some pity, because I know what he's in for the next 10 days. But it's really hard. Because at noon, while telling me he wasn't sick, he asked for my cough drops! You know, the bag I had to go buy for myself, once my fever was over, and I was not too dizzy to drive myself to the store and get them.

Around here, pity is doled out like opioids for legitimate pain. Like cream filling in the middle of an Oreo. Like an old crone clutching her change purse, dropping a single penny into a trick-or-treater's bucket. 

I don't want Farmer H to be miserable. But he should not expect special treatment. Especially since I didn't get any much. And he MIGHT just be giving me some new strain of virus right after I got over the old one.

When Farmer H returned home in the evening, he set a giant bottle of OTC cough medicine on the bedroom dresser. And a large bag of sugar-free cough drops on the kitchen counter. He said the pharmacist told him the cough medicine was okay with his high blood pressure. Hope so...

There are two yellow Gatorades left. I'm going to offer them to Farmer H.

Another RumpusHole Incites The Dust

WHAT is wrong with people! I am beginning to think that everybody in the world (save The Pony, and perhaps 50 percent of Farmer H) are psychotic!

Wednesday, I stopped to pick up the mail, since it is Farmer H's bingo night, and I wanted to save him from looking for it in the dark. It was around 4:30. I pulled T-Hoe alongside mailbox row and parked. No cars were around. I got out, making sure to close the door, and walked to the front of T-Hoe to reach my arm into EmBee's round mouth. Only a single item, from our financial advisor, which was basically junk mail.

As I was glancing at it, I heard a vehicle coming from my left. It was a white work truck, bigger than a regular pickup truck, but not so big as to have dual tires. It was pulling a low black trailer, using a goose-neck hitch. The truck was going pretty slow, so I thought it might be turning into our gravel road. I stood where I was, facing EmBee, waiting for it to go by.

WELL! When that truck got right behind me, having just crossed over the low water bridge, it did NOT turn into our gravel road. That driver SLAMMED HIS FOOT ON THE GAS PEDAL, and roared up Mailbox Hill, the truck tires and the trailer tires stirring up the gravel that had leaked over onto the blacktop. The gravel didn't shoot around, but the DUST billowed up like somebody had set off a smoke bomb!

Lucky for me, the wind was out of the west, and what little eddy we had down in the hollow was keeping that dust over on the gravel road side. I don't know why that RumpusHole felt the need to pull that stunt when he got right behind me. If he wanted a run at the hill, he should have started it the minute he came down the opposite hill, before he crossed the bridge. If he wanted to scare me, he might better have honked the horn.

People piss me off.