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!

The Bull Barges Into The China Shop

Friday evening, Farmer H announced his plans to have a bath in the big triangle tub in the master bathroom. Fine with me. It meant I could get started on my scratchers before starting supper. I made Farmer H a Wild Turkey and Diet Shasta Cola as he requested. I handed it off to him in his recliner as I went to change out of my town clothes and leave the bathroom to him for his soaking time.

Of course Farmer H continued to sit on his rumpus in the recliner for another 10 minutes. Not that I cared, but he was planning to watch a show at 6:00, and it was already 5:25. Running the bath water takes about 15 minutes. Still, not my monkey, not my circus. It was Farmer H's own fault he would miss a special about Dolly Parton starting at 6:00, because he couldn't tear himself away from a 70-year-old Gunsmoke rerun that he'd probably seen five times already.

Anyhoo... I was still putting away some groceries when Farmer H went to run his bath water. He usually gets in and waits for it to fill up to the desired level. Especially when he has a drink to sip. 

My cell phone rang, but said it was likely a scam. I let it go to voice mail. I had just opened that app when here came Farmer H! Of course spouting off about something. I was trying to hear my message. I shushed him, which of course made him talk more. THEN he opened FRIG II and started rummaging. 

I had flat-out asked if he wanted a snack with his drink, and he'd said no. So I can only assume he was digging for that shot he takes every week, jabbing himself in the thigh. It sounded like he was taking out all the crisper drawers and whacking them together. I don't know how one man can make so much noise!

I didn't even turn around, because I'd taken my phone off the charger to hold up to my ear and try to listen. The best I can tell, it was a political call listing candidates and asking who I was likely to vote for. I'd never heard of any of them. The area code for that number was in the city, so maybe it was a local race there. 

I blocked that number on my cell phone. Easier than blocking Farmer H from the kitchen.

Here's The Catch

Farmer H, who can't be bothered to name a single item that he wants from the store, or suggest any meals that he might like prepared for the week, came to life on Sunday and said,

"Where's that fish my buddy brought me from the lake?"

"You mean two or three months ago? It's in the freezer."

"Huh. Well, he brought me some more this afternoon."

"Where is it?"

"He brought it to my store. So I put it in my little refrigerator there."

"It should probably be in the freezer."

"I thought about that. I guess I'll drive down there tomorrow and bring it home."

"Well, I'm not eating it!"

"Why not? It's good fish."

"I don't know how long he had it. Did he catch it that day? Did he have it at home for a while, and then bring it to you? Like that fish from the lake. That's over a 3-hour drive. Did he clean it there first? In a house or camper, or just on the edge of the lake, rinsing it in lake water? Was it in a cooler? A cooler with ice, or with melted water from the day? There's too many unknowns for me to want to eat that fish."

"I don't know any of that. He just gave me fish."

Yes. The fish in FRIG II's freezer right now is in a Glad sandwich bag stuffed full of fish fillets. I just worry about their cleanliness and travel conditions.

When I was at the store Monday, I got some coating to use to cook Farmer H's fish. The cornmeal kind that you can use to coat the fish and bake it. I'm not one to use a deep fryer for fish.

Monday night, Farmer H went to the auction and didn't get home until 8:30. Tuesday he went to bingo and got home at 7:30. Wednesday he picked up Domino's Pizza (half price online this week).

"So what about your fish? I didn't notice that you brought it home."

"Oh. It's still down in my refrigerator. I didn't go there."

"So I guess you won't be eating that fish."

"I don't know why not! It's been in the refrigerator."

"For FOUR days now! And you don't know how long he had it before that. Let's remember the time you got food poisoning from a TV dinner Linguini With Clam Sauce. And IT was FROZEN! I've never seen anybody turn that shade of green."

"Yeah... I guess I won't be eating that fish."

Keeping Farmer H alive, one day at a time.

A Week Late And A Soul Short

The Pony started the week pained and stressing from his recent dog bite. At the end of the day Monday, he saw something that cheered him up a little.

The Pony said he thinks it's a light. Maybe one that collects solar power through the day.

It's not the real thing, but a sign that means something to The Pony and me, from all the living ladybugs we found around us right after my mom died February 4, 2015. A fake ladybug is better than no ladybug.

The Pony is due for some protection and comfort. Mom would do it if she could.

The Crackhead Mugger

Monday, I was over in Sis-Town to withdraw Farmer H's reimbursement for his cash payments on flip house materials for the month of February. Since I was there, I stopped by Country Mart for the lottery machines, and a couple pieces of chicken for my supper, since Farmer H would be gone to the auction.

I was lucky to grab the second handicap parking space. No carts left out, so I had to hobble my way to the front door on the uneven sidewalk. Then I got a cart, and headed for the two lottery machines. Well! People were there ahead of me! That usually doesn't happen. 

Because my knees are happier hobbling than standing, I went to the deli first, for some cold chicken already packaged. Then I got some bananas, though not the quality I get at 10Box. I picked up another jar of Kraft Mayonnaise. Looked for some fish batter for Farmer H. Then bread and Hawaiian Rolls. Of course there was a guy and a gal stocking the bread, right in front of what I wanted. I managed to get the rolls and some Nutty Oat, but had to give up on the cheap wheat sandwich bread.

Farmer H's Diet Mountain Dew was 50 cents off, so I got two. And some frozen fried rice. A little jar of Chinese duck sauce. A jar of Alfredo sauce. It's like I went down every aisle to get one item from each. Then the only checkout open was the one next to the portable hot food cart thingy. It's really narrow. You can't reach stuff down in the cart proper. I had to take out one of the sodas and balance it on my arm until I could pull in beside the conveyor.

On the way out, I stopped by the machines for my lottery tickets. I was at the last one, cashing in a $5 winner to get another $5 ticket, when a stringy-haired skinny lady walked by. It seemed like she wanted to use that machine, but too bad, so sad. I was there first! It's not like I was checking 20 draw tickets to see if they won something. I was just scanning one scratcher, and buying another.

Skinny Crackhead went to the other machine. Or so I thought. I wasn't watching her. Yet when I started wheeling my cart the 10 feet to the door, she was on my right shoulder. I held up. To give her time to go in front of me. But she didn't. She stayed right there. So I went on out the door and made my sharp left to go across the storefront to T-Hoe in the handicap parking area. 

Skinny Crackhead was going the same way! That set off my self-preservation alarm. I am old. I am slow. I am not able to fight. I had my purse in the cart's child seat, with assorted scratchers sticking out. I held onto one of Pursey's straps with my hand. And kept looking over my shoulder at Skinny Crackhead. Just to let her know that I was onto her!

About halfway to T-Hoe, Skinny Crackheard finally went around me. She lit up a cigarette. How she managed that in the gusty winds is beyooooond me! But the smoke poured back into my face. Perhaps she was trying to blind or suffocate me. 

THEN SHE TURNED INTO THE OPENING BETWEEN THE FIRST CAR AND T-HOE!

What in the Not-Heaven? Was she pretending that she was getting in T-Hoe? I clicked the clicker to unlock T-Hoe, and open the back hatch. Skinny Crackhead stepped closer to the first car. I set Pursey into T-Hoe's rear while I was unloading my grocery bags from the cart. No way was I letting Skinny Crackhead run by and grab Pursey! I also gave Skinny Crackhead the stinkeye. She had the good sense to turn and face that first car.

After I loaded the last bag, somebody came out of the store and went to that first car. Clicking open the locks, and allowing Skinny Crackhead to get in.

Whew! Situation narrowly avoided! I might be paranoid, with a wild imagination. But seriously. Who makes their passenger go out to the car in gale-force winds and 20-something wind-chill, without giving them the key...

A Little Updating

Farmer H took the three insurance bills to our insurance office to grill them about the duplicates. They said this company always bills to the trust, and each name on the trust. That's poppycock! They said they've questioned this company about it, but it happens to every client who has a trust.

Of course they said the higher amount was what was due! Even though two of the bills showed the lower amount. AND, Farmer H did not bring back all three envelopes to me so I could show him that discrepancy. He said he "forgot" to ask about that. But they assured him the $1100-something was correct, not the $808 shown on the bills addressed to me, and to the trust. Anyhoo... he wrote a check and paid it. Now all we have to do is collect from The Pony, since it's his house.

In other news, I reminded Farmer H on Sunday that T-Hoe STILL needed something done to the driver's door, as I'd asked at least six months ago.

"It sounds like the door is going to fall off every time I open and close it! Can that happen? Can the door fall off?"

"Well, 99.9 it won't."

"You are NOT helping! Last time you sprayed that ugly foam stuff on it, and it quit making that creaky noise."

"I'll go do it right now. I have some things in the truck I need to take over to the BARn anyway."

Monday, when I opened T-Hoe's door, I felt like I had a new car! Until I started driving, and it still had the rattle underneath, and the tire sensor that shows ZERO pressure, and putt-putted at the stoplight like it might die any minute and leave me blocking traffic.

Oh, and Farmer H bought batteries for T-Hoe's clicker. They've been lying on the kitchen counter for about three weeks now.

Baby steps...

I'm Pretty Sure They Weren't ACTUALLY Trying To Burn Down The BARn

When I left for town on Sunday, the dogs did not come running for their treat. I smelled smoke, and assumed Farmer H was burning stuff on his burn pile over by the BARn. I filed this assumption away for discussion during This Is the Time We Talk About the Most Recent Thing You've Done Wrong.

When I pulled out of the driveway, I saw three trucks around some smoke billowing from our across-the-road neighbors' field. Actually, it's the field next to them, owned by the previous across-the-road neighbors' brother, though they pastured their horses in there indiscriminately.

Anyhoo... during the storm that rolled through a couple evenings ago, some spindly trees were twisted, and their branches lay partly in the gravel road. That's what was being burned. It was not a smart decision, with the trees whipping around all day in winds of 20 mph. All those flames had to do was send a spark across the gravel road, and the dry grass in our BARn field would catch, and send fire down that field to the BARn. 

At least there were five or six men standing around, as if they might do something to attempt to stop such a conflagration. 

Farmer H was off the hook for clueless burning. The BARn survived. I suppose those guys might work during the week, and wanted to do this task on Sunday. I would have gladly suffered swerving around those spindly road limbs in lieu of worrying about a wildfire destroying the BARn.

Mrs. HM Rants On

Saturday, we got an insurance bill for Pony House. While he's making payments for it every month, we have not signed it over in his name. Our main insurance company does not handle "rental" property, which is what they term Pony House, since it is inhabited, yet it is not our primary residence. They have another company that insures "rental" property. Plus a different company that insures "rehab" property, like our flip house.

Anyhoo... we get the insurance bill for Pony House, pay it, then The Pony pays us for the premium. Here's the problem. Saturday, we got THREE BILLS for insurance on Pony House. What in the Not-Heaven? There was a bill addressed to our trust, which holds the title to Pony House. And a bill addressed to Mrs. HM. And a bill addressed to Farmer H.

The trust bill, and the Mrs. HM bill were in regular envelopes. They showed a cost of $1100-something, and a premium due of $808. The Farmer H bill showed a cost of $1100-something, and a premium due of $1100-something. Huh. Such a curious billing. None of the three envelopes included a payment stub and envelope. Said it could be pain online, or by mailing to "the above address."  

Well. Suppose we mailed in a payment. Would the other two unpaid billings be reflected as overdue or unpaid? 

Farmer H is going by our insurance office to discuss this matter on Monday. Because as usual, the bills are scheduled to arrive over a weekend, so you can't contact anybody with questions. At least our insurance bills, and medical bills. That's when they always arrive, regardless of date.

Our regular insurance agent is named on the billing. I assume he gets a commission, as with our regular insurance. So Farmer H is correct in going to the office to inquire as to the triple billing. He will also pay at this office, so there will be a record of payment on this account. I don't trust sending a payment without an official stub and a return envelope.

Imagine people who simply receive a bill and make payment. You can't trust anybody these days. Especially insurance companies. We have a different one for the flip house. It sends a bill three months before it's due. We hold off paying until a few weeks before the due date. Because if you pay so far ahead, and the property sells, good luck getting a refund on your payment! At least they include a payment stub and envelope.

Mrs. HM Is Having One Of THOSE Days

Friday was not pleasant for Mrs. HM. From the get-go, at 5:30 a.m., something was afoot. My knees were extra-painful. No idea why. I hadn't done anything strenuous the day before. Just the regular errand trip. Yet upon standing, I felt like gravity had doubled. Perhaps the barometric pressure was falling, due to the severe storms on Thursday night. Thank the Gummi Mary, it mostly skipped us, aside from some strong wind and a brief downpour. 30 miles north, there were TAKE COVER tornado warmings. Somewhere there was baseball-size hail.

Anyhoo... the double gravity did not help when I was preparing chicken pot pie for our supper. I boiled some boneless skinless chicken breasts for that purpose. Then decided I might as well use the other half of the bag. So did it twice. The cubed hash brown potatoes I had bought for this purpose turned out to have RED AND GREEN BELL PEPPERS in them! Farmer H despises peppers. So I stood at the cutting block, picking out peppers. I went back and forth through the kitchen, gathering my ingredients.

This process took me from 9:30 to 1:30! It's like I was in slow motion. I'd get one thing done, then have to go back and do another. I had two big bowls for combining the ingredients, because it's hard to stir it all in one bowl. Of course I had to dice up the chicken once it cooled. And grease the 9 x 13 glass pan, and a 9 x 9 glass pan, to freeze, for leftovers later.

Whew! Then I had several dishes to wash. That done, I could busy myself with writing out payments for the electric bills on the flip house and the Beauty Shop. Of course during all this, The Pony was texting me, and then Farmer H also deciding to text, while my hands were in the dishwater.

Off to town, where a rumpushole was parked BESIDE my rightful handicap space. That means he was in the driving lane! Preventing people from passing by the diesel pumps. I'm so fed-up with these idiot-parkers, I just pulled into the handicap space anyway. Too bad, so sad if he couldn't get his door open. He could easily pull up beside the empty space in front of me. No idea why he thought that was a parking space.

Once back at the Mansion, I had to put the store-bought pie crust on top of the chicken pot pie, and bake it for 35 minutes. While putting ice into a red Solo cup with my Shasta Diet Cola, I dropped an ice cube. Third one for the day! Then I had to find where it had skittered, to toss it into the sink.

The smoke alarm went off when I opened up the oven to put in the chicken pot pie. When I sat down at the table to do a little scratching while waiting 10 minutes to put foil over the crust, I hit my soda with my elbow, and soda and ice cascaded onto the table and floor. So I had to mop it up with two towels from the laundry room. At least it wasn't sticky like real soda. But it wasted a soda, and the best ice cubes that I had picked out for it. Then I had to wash and dry the two towels.

At least the chicken pot pie was delicious. We'll be eating it again on Saturday and Sunday. Me probably some more on Monday, when Farmer H is gone to the auction.

When turning to get out of my chair, I felt a sharp pain in my left rumpus-cheek. I must have tweaked it while picking up those errant ice cubes from under the cutting block. Or maybe while mopping up my spilled Shasta.

I'm hoping Saturday is better.

Just Another Day In Hillmomba

I'd like to say that nothing interesting happened on Thursday. We've had quite a week so far, with The Pony falling and skinning his knee at work, then being bitten by a dog. And my rightful handicap parking spaces being FULL OF HANDICAPPED PEOPLE'S CARS, or blocked by inconsiderate rumpusholes pinning me in. 

Yes. I'd LIKE to say that nothing interesting happened. But that would be a lie.

Unfortunately, I can't reveal all the details. It's a story the basics of which remain to be shared. Perhaps in a month or so. As for now, I can only share that Thursday's incident routed Farmer H from his recliner right after he'd finished his supper and a Little Debbie Zebra Cake for dessert. Sent him to town for 90 minutes. And involved a naked man, a broken cane, a big lie, and the police.

An ti ci paaaaaa tion...

Knick Knack, Jack Don't Hack, Give HM That Bone

I came rolling home Tuesday afternoon to find my little Jack on the porch have a blast with a bone. Scarlett was trying to be good on the side porch, so I was petting her. For once, Jack didn't run over and hope for some run-over petting, when I reach my arm extra-far across Scarlett's head to give him a pat.

Jack stood at the top of the porch steps, gnawing and dropping a bone. Just a small piece of bone, but quite loud. I thought maybe he had a piece of deer jaw. When I looked closer, that bone was all the way in Jack's tiny mouth, and it was RED! I assumed he had a fresh bone, with some meat or blood on the edge.

As I started up the steps, something about that bone did not look right. I called Jack over. He's quite compliant with me. I reached into his mouth and pulled out the slimy bone.

It wasn't a bone at all!

It was Carl Wheezer, friend of Jimmy Neutron! I didn't know that at first. I just knew that he didn't belong in Jack's mouth. No dog of mine is going to choke to death on Carl Wheezer. I took him inside, washed him off in the sink, dried him, and posed him on top of the paper towel rack. Then I sent a picture to The Pony, who had just gotten home from his dog bite.

"Who is this? He looks familiar. At first I thought it was Rugrat Chuckie, but his hair is different."

"That's Carl. Carl Wheezer. He was on Jimmy Neutron. Genius would know. He loved that show."

I sent Genius the picture on Wednesday. "Caught Jack chewing on Carl Wheezer yesterday."

"LOL. What a random find."

Yes. It was. No idea where Jack found Carl. We never had any of those figures here.

Farmer H Gets His Nose Out Of Joint At The Devil's Playground

AND, Mrs. HM got her ears out of joint at the Hillbilly Mansion! You know Farmer H cannot tell a story. He leaves out important details, thinking you can read his mind. When you question the narrative, you are told that you DON'T KNOW NOTHIN'! And that you CAN'T REMEMBER ANYTHING! Even though a captive audience at Madison Square Garden would unanimously concur that the narrative was full of holes and misdirection.

I will try to spare you the inconsistencies, and report the facts as I gleaned them from my interrogation. I feel like I aged six months, and 25% of my lovely lady-mullet grayed with commiseration. You're welcome.

Farmer H recently bought a trailer from former Back Creek Neighbors Bev and Nick. It's a nice trailer. I passed Farmer H on the way home with it. Nicer than our current trailer, which we had to buy to replace the one wrecked by a certain relative who won't be named. It's a long trailer, suitable for hauling a car or tractor. 

Anyhoo... Farmer H paid for that trailer himself. Then promptly broke it on the first day of use. He said something about the hitch section of it was broken. It came loose from SilverRedO! But at least not on a highway where somebody could have been hurt.

Anyhoo... Farmer H took that trailer over to The Pony's house. Poor Pony! And went to the Devil's Playground to buy a grinder to work on the problem area. But the grinders were LOCKED UP! I don't know what the deal is with that. The grinder Farmer H needed cost $22. Not like it's a high-dollar item that people are shoplifting on the regular.

Anyhoo... Farmer H asked a clerk at the automotive service desk (in the back, near the grinder case) for help. She could not get the key to work in the lock. She said she'd get somebody to help Farmer H. He waited for 20 minutes, but nobody came. So he started back to the service desk. On his way, he saw that clerk with a customer in the gun section. She saw Farmer H, and immediately started over to the service desk. 

Farmer H said nobody had come to help him. The Clerk said that the other gal didn't know how to work the lock, either. But Farmer H saw her in the automotive section, and asked her to help him. She was a redhead, who said that she was HELPING A CUSTOMER. Farmer H said, "I'm a customer, too, and I've been waiting 20 minutes after being told I would get help." The Redhead did not have a comment for that, other than repeating that she was HELPING A CUSTOMER. The Clerk said she was going to get a manager.

Farmer H went back to the grinder case, and in about 10 minutes a manager showed up. He, too, had trouble with the key, but got the case unlocked so that Farmer H could get his grinder.

"Your redheaded gal over in automotive is [a rumpushole]," said Farmer H. The manager had no comment. No question, no apology. Farmer H said the two gals, as well as the manager, were about the same age as The Pony.

"Well. That explains it. They don't care about helping anybody! They don't think they should have to do anything to earn their pay."

You'd think at least the manager could have PRETENDED that he was sorry for Farmer H's 30-minute wait, and said he was sorry for Farmer H's trouble. The rumpushole declaration did not help...

This Is Kind Of Creepy And Unnatural

Remember when Farmer H was getting boxes of FREE food from Ponytail Steve? Boxes that his wife was handing out in another county, to anyone who wanted them, but always had a surplus? So Ponytail Steve asked the guys at the old flea market, and brought the food to them so it wouldn't go to waste.

Anyhoo... that had to be at least two years ago. Maybe three! A few weeks ago, I was trying to make room on the top shelf of FRIG II, and found some cheese. Cheese from Ponytail Steve!!!

I remembered that it was a long time since we got food from Ponytail Steve. I looked for an expiration date, but couldn't fine one. That doesn't mean the cheese is not expired!!!

Sweet Gummi Mary! That is not natural! Cheese should not last that long! I realize that it's not "real" cheese, but a processed cheese. Still. When normal cheese is sometimes moldy before the BEST BY date, I don't trust three-year-old processed cheese. I tossed it in the trash.

The chemicals in it might have made me glow in the dark!

Farmer H Couldn't Buy A Clue, Even If Mrs. HM Financed It

Perhaps you've heard that Farmer H has a talent for arriving home right after Mrs. HM has carried in the groceries and put them away. Last week, I carried in 10 bags. Some were not light. Like the 9 bananas, and the carton of chicken broth, and the sour cream, biscuits, cream of chicken soup, and canned mushrooms. I left some of the heavier items in T-Hoe's rear. Things that didn't need refrigeration. Like canned white meat chicken, and pasta sauce.

Anyhoo... all week, I've been bringing in two bags of such non-immediate groceries as I return home. There are still some left. Some items in a box, from the last time I went in Save A Lot a couple weeks ago. Like salsa, and pickles.

Sunday evening, Farmer H realized he was drinking his last Diet Mountain Dew with supper. There are four 6-packs of it in T-Hoe's rear. Farmer H declared that he would go out and get it after supper. He did. Brought in two 6-packs. NOTHING ELSE!!!

"I thought you might bring in some of the groceries I've been carrying in two bags at a time. The 10 bags the other day almost killed me."

"Huh. You should have said something."

"A normal person would have noticed groceries that should be brought in. It's not like they're going to be stored in T-Hoe for eternity."

"Well, if I'd brought them in, you'd complain about having to put them away."

"Because you don't know how??? I would leave them until a convenient time to put away, later in the evening. It's not like I'd jump up and do it immediately."

"Huh. I can go back out right now and get them!"

"Never mind. You can do it tomorrow. It's just that you see them in the back of the car, and don't even consider how they're going to get in the house. And you only bring in two 6-packs of soda for yourself."

Sweet Gummi Mary! Where does Farmer H think his food comes from? He would starve if I depended on him to carry in the groceries.

Mystery Solved, Mrs. HM Refuses To Take The Fall

FOUND IT! My missing Blogger-eaten post! It was over on my not-so-secret blog! Sorry if you read both, and have already seen it. People who don't know about this blog are probably thinking their gal Val had a stroke, and was typing gibberish.

It's possible I could have typed both posts on that account. But I've not made such a mistake in all these 15 years or more that I've had two blogs. So who shall we point the finger at? A seasoned veteran of double-blogging, or BLOGGER, who has supposedly instituted a new sign-in screen? Perhaps it got its wires crossed in a momentary glitch. Both my blogs DO have the same recovery email. Though they have different sign-ins and passwords. Maybe that jumping cursor issue also affected my sign-in.

Anyhoo... with only one day of ado, here's what I meant to post on Saturday.

_____________________________________________________________________

Friday morning, I made sauce for the pasta I planned to cook that evening. You know I don't like spaghetti. Too messy. Too hard to eat. So I had some shells that I find acceptable. I always cook the whole package, and then we have leftovers.

The problem with pasta leftovers is that they soak up the sauce. In the past, I've had little jars of pizza sauce in the pantry, that I can add to the leftovers. I got them at Save A Lot, and haven't been there in a while. I picked up some Ragu sauce at 10Box in a plastic jar. I figured that instead of using my usual canned pasta sauce, and needing more for leftovers, I'd get this jar. Since it has a screw top, I would have some left to add later.

Well. I'm re-thinking that decision. The Ragu said it was old-style, with meat flavoring. I poured it into a saucepan while I was browning the hamburger. As usual, I added some minced garlic, ground black pepper, a large can of mushrooms (per Farmer H's tastes), and a little bit of margarine. Upon an initial taste, that sauce was WAY TOO SWEET! Dang it! I fiddled and faddled, trying to make it more like my old sauce. I added some powdered parmesan from a shaker. Spooned in some of the hamburger grease. Added more ground black pepper. By the time I added the cooked hamburger, it was acceptable.

Farmer H didn't know the difference. He said it was good!

When I warm up the leftovers, I'm not sure what it will take to make the addition of some sauce taste like the original. I'm guessing ground black pepper and more powdered parmesan will do the trick. Perhaps some garlic powder and garlic salt if that doesn't work. 

I'm going back to my canned sauce, and getting some pizza sauce to have on hand.

The Blogger Ate My Homework

Huh. I'm sure I had a post ready to come out at 8:00 a.m. on Saturday. You know Mrs. HM. You can practically set your clock by her. Or at least your calendar. Unless there's a power outage, I put out my drivel on a daily basis. I KNOW I had something not-very-important to say yesterday, and set it to publish before signing out.

The only explanation that comes to mind is my glitchy NEW POST program. It has a terrible habit of updating for me mid-sentence, and erasing complete sentences. Or leaving them, but jumping the cursor to a random paragraph middle. Sometimes a section turns blue, and the next keystroke erases it. At least I've learned to go up to the "undo" arrow, and get it back, as long as I catch it before typing away too much.

This happens on both my blogs. Sometimes when I'm answering comments, too, and there's no "undo" arrow for that. So if I'm longwinded, I will COPY a section before continuing. Just in case.

Anyhoo... I have no idea what was in that post. It must be lolling around in limbo, or up in the CLOUD, sipping a fruity drink and snickering with The Universe.

Setting this one to go back to 8:00 a.m. on Saturday, just for recordkeeping purposes. Talk to you tomorrow. I HOPE!

The Storm That Didn't Arrive

Poor Pony. He was in a funk on Thursday morning. Rain was forecast for 7 hours, starting around 10:00 a.m. That makes mail delivery difficult, you know. Getting soaked, squishy shoes, wet mail, slippery steps. The Pony said his rain jackets were in his work vehicle. And that taking extra socks wouldn't matter, since they would be soaked within minutes.

I felt bad for The Pony. But reminded him that it's only 8 hours. Hopefully. Since if other workers don't show up, The Pony could be told to help with other routes when finished.

However... after a 15-minute deluge at 11:15, the rain dissipated. Even The Pony said, "The rain is being inconsistent and not even a third as bad as was forecast. This makes me nervous it'll hit all at once. Just waiting for me to take off my rain helmet!"

"Heh, heh. The Universe is a cheeky prankster!"

A little later, The Pony reported, "Took off my hat at 12:36. At 12:39 it started sprinkling again."

Anyhoo... The Pony said he had only about half the usual packages, and might finish the day 20 minutes ahead of schedule. "Just going slow and careful, because I don't want to be given any extra to do tonight in the rain when I'm done."

"Good idea. Work smarter, not harder."

I had also suggested that at least rain might mean that loose dogs would not be out roaming. The Pony had a chuckle at that assumption. "They're still out there. Just wet."

Anyhoo... I didn't hear when The Pony clocked out. But the rest of the day was not rainy. Just a couple sprinkles when I was in town, getting T-Hoe's weekly gas.

Another storm avoided.

The Usually Unflappable Farmer H Was Flailing Like A Car Wash Inflatable Tube Man

Nothing much shakes up Farmer H. Other than bossing people around and flipping out if he doesn't get his way, he's a fairly steady guy. Good in a crisis. Calming during a catastrophe.

Tuesday afternoon, Farmer H called me. Get that? CALLED me. Rather than sending a text.

"I just got an email thanking me for my payment! I didn't make any payments! It has an invoice I can click on, but I ain't openin' nothin'. It's from some guy I never heard of. I didn't make any payments. I hope nobody is using my name and getting our money!"

"Don't open anything. Don't worry about it. I've gotten a couple of those a while back. They had a company name instead of a guy's name. It's a scam wanting you to click on something, trying to get more information from you."

"Well. Somebody could have made a payment with our money..."

"Not like this. None of our stuff is under your email. So how would you get a notice? If they used our credit card, we would have gotten a security call. Like when you used it once up by work, when I was using it at the Devil's Playground. The other payment thingy the credit card is linked to sends me an email every time a payment is made. I didn't get one. I'll check our bank transactions to be sure, because it's time to do that anyway. Don't worry about it."

"Yeah. I guess you're right. None of that stuff comes to my email."

There. I talked Farmer H off the ledge.

The Universe Is Laughing

Monday evening, I was happily scratching, listening to music on Spotify, when the music stopped. It was the end of a song, but it didn't go on to the next one. My Spotify is sometimes glitchy, even though I pay the premium price monthly. Probably due to my slow internet, or my old HIPPIE. Usually, a refresh of the page will fix such a problem. Not this time.

My next tactic was a shut-down and a turn-on. That's faster than a restart. I don't know why. 

Still no success. I tried a couple other websites. NO INTERNET!!! What in the NOT-HEAVEN? The weather was a bit cloudy, but the TV was still working. They both run off DISH satellites. I considered waiting 15 minutes or so, to see if it was just a weather thing. Deep in my bones, I knew it was not. I could wait, be inconvenienced, and then bitter when it still didn't work. Or I could face the music and DESCEND THE 13 RAIL-LESS basement steps to unplug and replug the router and the DISH connection.

Farmer H was conveniently (for him) away at an auction. Otherwise, he would have done this task for me. I swear, every time the internet has gone down since we replaced the router, Farmer H has been gone to an auction! It's like The Universe bides its time, waiting until just such an evening. 

I went to the basement. Halfway down, I realized that I had left my phone on the kitchen table. That's not good. One of our landline phones down there, next to my recliner, does not work. The other is in my office. If I fell, I doubt I could drag myself to the office, and find something to grab onto to reach that phone. Oh, well. I was not going back up to get my cell. The descent continued.

I unplugged the router egg-looking thingy. Then went into Farmer H's workshop to unplug the main power to the DISH receiver. No clock in there, so I counted out loud to one-thousand-sixty. Plugged in the two cords again (because I didn't know which one was for sure to the internet DISH). Then went back to the router egg, and re-plugged it. Up those 13 rail-less stairs. 

SUCCESS! 

My right knee is a bit angry today. But I fixed the problem. Farmer H said he would have done it for me if he was here. So there's that...

Their Reputation Precedes Them

I went in the Sis-Town Country Mart on Monday. I was planning to look for some fried chicken in their deli. Just before leaving home, I realized that I was OUT OF MAYONNAISE! That never happens. I always have a reserve jar waiting. But not this time. So that was added to my "list" along with soda on sale for Farmer H, and some slaw to go with the chicken.

Good thing we aren't out of bananas yet. The selection there was HORRIBLE! Only a few bunches of mottled dark small bananas, looking like they'd had quite a rough voyage to get here. 

An older woman was wheeling her cart around the pre-packaged bakery goods. I'm pretty sure this store has a bakery along with their deli. But I doubt they made these cakes. The kind on a black plastic base, with a clear dome covering.

Anyhoo... Older Woman picked up several. Then asked the girl working in the deli area,

"Are these cakes fresh?"

"Yes, Ma'am?"

"I wanted to know if these cakes are fresh."

"The date should be on the tag on each one."

"Oh. I see. Yes. I'll be able to eat this one before it goes bad."

Heh, heh! AS IF! That's not a problem we have around the Mansion. A cake will never go bad. Besides, it's not like one day they're fine to eat, and at midnight they turn deadly. 

Still, I understand. Country Mart is notorious for selling out-dated goods. I don't blame Older Woman. I prefer not to spend my money on their overpriced items when they are not even in their prime. I made sure to check the date on my mayonnaise. JULY, 2024.

Can you believe that jar of mayonnaise was $5.98??? That's outrageous! That's why my previous three or four jars had been off the bargain bin at 10Box. Marked down to $2.50. Of course, it WAS expired...

Help Is In The Mind Of The Helper

Farmer H is the proverbial monkey wrench. A walking, talking monkey wrench who unintentionally (I hope) sabotages any project or plan I have in the works. Like Saturday evening...

Farmer H had sent me a text that he would be staying at his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2) until 4:30. That's the time he usually get home, or perhaps a bit earlier. I responded at 4:00 that I was just leaving for town. It usually takes me about an hour, when I go in the store for a few items.

I was back home at 5:00. Hoping that Farmer H would be there. It's about a 30-minute drive from the SUS2 over in Bill-Paying Town to the Mansion. Nope. No SilverRedO under the carport. 

I carried in the bags after giving my fleabags a good petting. I put away my items. Still no Farmer H. I bagged up the trash that was overflowing. Put in a new trash bag. But I didn't tie the drawstrings of the old one in a knot. I had more stuff to put in it. Once out of the trash can, there was room left inside.

The trash doesn't get picked up until Tuesday. When we get a full trash bag, Farmer H takes it up to the dumpster at the end of the driveway as he leaves in the mornings. He just tosses the bag onto the hood of SilverRedO, then gets out and puts it in the dumpster.

Anyhoo...I tried to call Farmer H at 5:15, to see if he had left yet. His phone was dead. Meaning that my call did not go through. It just seemed like it was calling. But there was no ringing sound, and no voice mail to leave a message. That happens when Farmer H is inside his SUS2. He doesn't get good reception. Sometimes a text will go through. So I sent him a text. After 5 minutes, he replied that he was almost home, and just getting the mail. So I knew that I could start his supper of chicken tacos.

I carried the full trash bag around to the kitchen table area, where it's handy for Farmer H to pick up on his way out in the morning. I had an empty box from my Shasta Diet Cola on the kitchen counter by the sink. I planned to put in the end of the lettuce I was chopping, and the skin and ends of the onion I would also be chopping. That would save me walking out to toss it off the porch. It would be sealed up in the trash bag in the dumpster, not stinking up the Mansion.

Farmer H came in, and I complimented (heh, heh) him on his uncanny ability to arrive right after I had carried in and put away the groceries, and bagged up the trash. I asked if he wanted a whiskey and Shasta, or if he was just having Diet Mountain Dew with his meal. He said he'd take a whiskey and Shasta. I reminded him that there were still three 6-packs of his Diet Mountain Dew in T-Hoe's rear.

"Oh. I'll go out and bring in two."

I have no idea why he wouldn't bring in all three! He has carried in more that three 6-packs before. But I don't question Farmer H's ways. There's no rhyme nor reason to his logic.

When I sliced off the ends of the onion and put them into the Shasta box, I noticed that the TRASH BAG WAS GONE FROM THE KITCHEN TABLE AREA!

"Hey! Where's the trash bag? I wasn't done with it!"

"Oh. I took it out when I went back to get my soda. It's on the truck."

Sweet Gummi Mary! Of all the times to vary from routine, and take the trash bag out at NIGHT instead of in the morning! Not only was Farmer H not helpful. He was UNhelpful.

"Well. You never do that. And I have this soda box full of lettuce and onion parts that were supposed to go in that trash bag. So you'll have to take out this box in the morning, and put it in the trash bag."

I'm assuming he did. The soda box was gone. Surely he didn't put it anywhere else.

I've Always Maintained That Something Fishy Is Going On Here

Friday, I planned to get scratchers at the Liquor Store. I go to the Gas Station Chicken Store every day, but also to another place, because I don't like buying multiple tickets off the same roll. Gotta have my crosswords. And now the new Frogger ticket that is fun to play.

Anyhoo... when I got to the stoplight, I saw that the parking lot of the Liquor Store was full! All six spaces down in front, all seven spaces along the building, and the drive-thru line was out the entrance! I know it was a Friday. And a first-of-the-month Friday, too. So old folks and people drawing government benefits had just gotten their "payday." But still... that's a LOT of people to be buying alcohol and cigarettes and vapes at 2:45 on a Friday afternoon.

I've always suspected that something else is going on in that Liquor Store. Not sure what. Poker or illegal gambling in a back room? Many times I've been there with many cars in the parking lot, but no customers inside! Where could they be? This is not a place for commuter parking. People are usually in and out within five minutes.

I think their sign may say that they do payday loans. Would that cause a bunch of people to be there on the first of the month? Maybe paying back money? Surely that would be something private, to take place out of the store aisles. I don't think that could explain the drive-thru traffic, though. Perhaps those people saw all the cars parked, and didn't want to go inside, lest there be a long line to stand in.

Whatever is going on, I wanted no part of that crazy traffic. I went to Casey's instead. And won NOTHING there. My original instinct is usually the best for my lottery luck. I hope somebody enjoyed a big winner that was meant for me!

Not Exactly Cookbook Material

The Pony is looking for a brick or piece of a concrete block or a big rock to put in his new trash can. Something heavy, without taking up a lot of space. Until then, that precious trash can will not be left at the curb on windy days. Like this past Tuesday, when The Pony carried out the trash bags in it, left them curbside, then brought the precious trash can back INSIDE the house. Not on the front porch or the back porch.

The Pony has been feeding himself more, now that the long December days of overtime are over. Back then he relied heavily on having food delivered, because he was so tired upon getting home after working late.

Here's another version of a hamburger he made the other day:

Said he was too tired to cut up the onion correctly, but that the egg on top was a delicious addition. Oh, and the lettuce was used up on the previous burgers.

A couple days later, the menus was corn dogs and fries:

The Pony said he wished for another corn dog, but didn't want to spend the time or energy to put another one in the oven.

Not all meals can be gourmet adventures. 

SOMEBODY Needs A Visit From The Count

Can you tell me how to get to Sesame Street, and locate The Count? We are in desperate need of his services. Surely it wouldn't cost much to get him here. I assume he could turn into a bat and fly.

Wednesday was chugging along like a normal day. Farmer H went off to do whatever he does at 6:00 a.m. Around 10:00, I spent some time at the kitchen table on HIPPIE. While there, I saw my little Jack on the back porch. He's usually not there. He was traipsing along, sticking his head through the porch rail, looking out into the back woods, and then into the fake fish pond. The weather had turned chilly overnight. I thought he might be back there to soak up some morning sun.

Around 3:00, I was ready to leave for town. I opened the kitchen door to toss my banana peel off the back porch. That is usually a signal for Scarlett and Jack to come running around in anticipation of their "leaving" treat, a 1/4 slice of bread each. But this day, Scarlett did not appear. I proceeded to the side porch with an eager Jack. 

"Okay. I've got your treat. Where's Scarlett? She better come around, or you'll get HER treat, too!"

Jack wriggled agreeably as I tossed him his bread, and side-stepped down the stairs to the sidewalk.

"Well. I don't see Scarlett. So here, more for you!"

That's when I heard a scratching at the garage door. Maybe a slight whimper.

"OH NO! Did Dad shut Scarlett in the garage again???"

Jack is not a snitch. He busied himself eating Scarlett's treat. I opened the people door to the garage, and Scarlett ran out! Dang Farmer H! How hard is it to notice if a hyper Australian Shepherd is still in the garage when he closes the door?

Poor Scarlett missed her treat. But at least she was free. I gave her a quick pat and an apology, then went on about my business. Scarlett had been trapped in the garage since 6:00 a.m. when Farmer H left the Mansion after setting out their food. Nine hours is along time for a dog to be trapped in a garage. Poor Scarlett couldn't hold her morning pee. She had relieved herself in the front corner of the garage. Unfortunately, that large puddle had run down alongside T-Hoe! Right where I walk before climbing in.

I did not blame poor Scarlett. At least dog pee does not smell as foul as cat pee! I called Farmer H once I got T-Hoe down the driveway.

"You closed your dog in the garage again! How can you not notice?"

"I could have sworn she was on the porch when I left."

"No. She was in the garage. It was in the 20s last night. So she had to lay on that cold concrete floor for 9 HOURS!"

"At least she was out of the wind."

"But she didn't have the warm sunlight to lay in! AND she couldn't hold her pee that long, and I had to walk through it to get in my car."

"Huh. I'm on my way home right now."

Indeed. I passed Farmer H on the county blacktop road. When I got back, I saw his solution to the pee. He had swept leaves and dirt onto that stream. So instead of just stepping in a shallow stream of dog pee, I had to avoid tripping on uneven dirt and slippery leaves. I'm pretty sure Farmer H is trying to kill me. This time with dog pee!

Once in the Mansion, I asked Farmer H...

"How hard is it to count to TWO??? We have two dogs! Make sure they are both on the porch before you leave!"

"Scarlett was on the porch! I guess she went back in the garage when I put the lid back on the dog food bucket."

Yeah. When I get home and put groceries on the chair on the side porch, and go back to get my purse and water bottle out of T-Hoe, she runs back in. I know that. She is not invisible! Who doesn't know when their dog follows them into a garage? Especially a dog who ADORES you, and follows you wherever you go!

I don't think Farmer H even apologized to Scarlett. I guess he didn't see the need. She loves him SO MUCH! She probably holds ME responsible!