Selfless Mrs. HM Gives Back

I stopped by Orb K to cash in some winners and get more lottery tickets on Saturday. The nice, but somewhat dim girl had just opened her register. I was next in line, and bypassed the older clerk, because Dimmy was at the register nearest the scratcher display, and I needed to see the numbers on the tickets without squinting, or having another customer bobbing around blocking my view.

Dimmy cashed in my winners without issue. She had to circumnavigate the other clerk to get to the scratchers case. She tore off the ones I wanted, with the exception of a $10 ticket that the other clerk said they were out of. Not a big deal. I can take cash back, rather than buy a ticket I don't like.

"Okay. That's all. I'll just take the rest in cash."

Dimmy rang up my new purchases, and handed me my change. She gave me a ten and a five.

"Oops! I think that's too much!" 

I laid down each ticket separately, telling her the cost. Indeed, she had given me five dollars too much. I peeled off that five, and handed it back.

"Here, take this back. I don't want to cheat you."

Dimmy looked a bit confused, but she took the five and put it in the register. I think the problem was that she had left my two $5 scratchers hooked together, folded over, and only scanned it once.

No way am I going to take a chance on bad karma from ripping off a convenience store clerk for five dollars, when I KNOW I don't deserve that much in change.

Heh, heh. Honesty is the best policy! I had a $40 winner there, and a $100 winner over at the Hillmomba Casey's! You can't go courting retribution from Even Steven by scamming five dollars you don't deserve!

Another Try With The Newly-Tough Pork Steaks

Farmer H grilled pork steaks last night. I got them at Save A Lot. Taking no chances on them being almost inedible for toughness like the last two ventures, I upped my marinating game.

You may recall that such pork steaks bought from 10Box AND Save A Lot turned out really tough. I don't blame Farmer H at all. Mark the calendar!!! He used GassyG Jr, just like all the other times. Same sauce, same method. He usually makes really good BBQ. 

Anyhoo... this time I bought some actual soy sauce. That's what I used for my marinade. Soy sauce. A sprinkle of teriyaki sauce. A couple serving spoons of dill pickle juice for some acidity. Then brown sugar rubbed on. Oh, and first of all, I stabbed those pork steaks with a fork to let the marinade in. I did all this at 11:00 p.m. Sealed the pork steaks in a 9 x 13 plastic container for FRIG II. 

The next morning around 9:00, I took that container out, and changed the order of the pork steaks, putting the top two on the bottom, and the bottom two on the top. Just so they all had an equal exposure to the inch or so of marinade sloshing around the bottom.

Farmer H went out to grill at 6:15. He bought a new grill! I have not asked questions about where, or the origin of the money. Farmer H said GassyG Jr started to fall apart when being loaded into SilverRedO at the Senior Center. This new grill is black instead of silver. I have not named him yet. I guess I'll need to see his brand name, or judge his personality first.

Anyhoo... Farmer H grilled for 40 minutes. I ate half a pork steak. The texture was not as good as those long-ago delicacies that came off the orginal GassyG. But not tough. Only one little piece was a bit chewy. The flavor was great. I would have preferred mine to be a bit more well-done, with crispy black edges on the fatty part. But still, a tasty meal. I'm going to call the 13-hours of marinating a success.

Still, it shouldn't have to be this way.

Farmer H, The Walking Talking Money Vacuum

By money vacuum, I do NOT mean to imply that Farmer H is sucking up money to redistribute to our household funds! No. It's quite the opposite. He's a regular Charlie Brown friend PigPen kind of guy, except that it isn't dirt swirling around Farmer H... it's bills.

Two months ago we stopped taking monthly money out of Farmer H's 401K. That's because of the stock market performance over the past few years. That money will run out too soon, what with selling off stocks each month for our monthly allotment. Eventually, stocks will rebound. So you don't really lose anything if you don't sell off any shares. The value will come back up. So says Farmer H. I can see his point. It won't kill us to not take that money out for a while. 

Well. It won't kill us if Farmer H can stop needing MONEY every time he turns around. 

There was $100.49 for SilverRedO's dead battery.

Then the $400 to the dentist for two fillings (that he charged and didn't tell).

Around $50 for a tank of propane so he could grill for the elderlies' BBQ.

The $191.52 for chemicals to feed POOLIO.

And $153.09 for a new mask for his breather.

That's only for June! No one item, or even two, is anything to worry about. Like I've said before, I carry a cushion on the checking account. But funny how none of this stuff was needed when we were still bringing in our usual monthly "salary."

Oh, and three days ago, SilverRedO had a flat tire! He's been parked over at the BARn ever since. Meaning Farmer H is driving A-Cad. Meaning Farmer H is putting gas on the credit card, rather than paying it out of his weekly allowance he gets for such expenses. When that bill comes, he will swear that it was gas for our trip to have lunch with Genius, or for him to go to the doctor halfway to the city, or for lawnmower gas, or his family reunion trip. He always wiggles his way out of his gas-scamming tactics. He NEVER uses his cash for gas except in SilverRedO. Even though he's been driving A-Cad like he does SilverRedO, all around town(s), and to his SUS2 while adjusting inventory.

Anyhoo... Farmer H said that tire was fine. When he stopped at Mailbox Row on the way home, he saw it was low. And when he got a mile up our gravel road, it was completely flat. So flat that Farmer H must take off the tire and drive it to town in A-Cad to be fixed. Not just a quick pump-up and drive it five miles to Mick the Mechanic. AND, if that tire is not fixable, I imagine Farmer H will need TWO tires for SilverRedO. Since he's always told me you have to replace tires in pairs.

My point is, I control the purse strings with my old crone talons, and I do not like to pour out money for unexpected expenses. No, Farmer H isn't doing these things on purpose. It's just the unhappy coincidences which seem to follow him.

Word On The Street From Hillmomba

Over the past few months, the Dollar General store in Hillmomba has closed. It was next to the Save A Lot. Bad parking, but still convenient for dashing in and grabbing something like a birthday card, or POOLIO floaties. 

In place of that Dollar General, a new store was built, up the hill on the lot where Genius once parked the solar car when he was in college, to charge the solar panels, and avoid dragging it out to the Mansion, where the team was spending the night on their multi-state race.

Anyhoo... this new store is called a DG Market. Supposedly, it has more food than a regular Dollar General store. Like a grocery store. I have not been inside, since their parking lot is on a hill. AND, I can't discern where their handicap spaces are. I don't care enough to drive up in the parking lot and look.

Farmer H asked if I'd been there yet. No.

"My buddies say that it's only self-checkout! They went, and got up front, and there was only one employee in the entire store, and you had to scan your own items to pay. Said that everybody was leaving their carts and walking out. They don't want to do all the work to buy their groceries!"

I can empathize. Anybody who wants my business will dang well ring up my purchases and take my debit card. I'm not on their payroll! Give the customers service, or do without the customers!

As I drive by there these days, I only see six or eight cars on their lot. It probably holds 24 cars or more. Granted, it's now the end of the month. But when the place first opened, the lot was full. Not sure where people are taking their business. I'm guessing 10Box. Because the Save A Lot has parking available now, too.

Rash Indecision

For about 5 days, Mrs. HM has been plagued by itchy skin! It's on my lower legs/ankles, and on my left inner forearm. What could those two areas possibly have in common?

I've been trying to assign a cause. 

I haven't eaten any new foods, nor taken any new medicine. 

I pat Scarlett with my left hand, and my left inner forearm often comes in contact with the fur on her shoulders or back. I thought perhaps she might have been in some poison ivy, though I have not been allergic to it in the past. My mom, dad, and sister (the ex-mayor's wife) all broke out from it, and needed calamine lotion. But after only one such issue, I never got it again. And... my lower legs and ankles did not touch Scarlett's fur, and I did not rub my forearm on them.

The arm is very itchy in the mornings. I stick it down beside me on the short couch, under the fleece throw that The Pony gave me from college. I cover my legs with the throw, but they are protected by my holey sweatpants, and socks.

I thought maybe the use of a new fabric softener sheet might have caused the itching. When I was in high school, my mom switched from TIDE to some other detergent, and I broke out in a rash where my socks contacted my skin. However, though my holey sweatpants were dried with the fabric softener sheet, my socks were hung to dry. And I haven't washed my sweatshirt, or the fleece throw before my itching started.

The most logical culprit is my lotion. Every day after my shower, I put lotion on my lower legs and ankles. Only recently did I put it on my left forearm, because there was a dry itchy patch. However... it's the same lotion I have used for years! Same bottle for the past few months. Why would I suddenly develop an itch from my regular lotion?

I know I'm allergic to lanolin. When the boys were babies, I used Eucerin Cream on their little rumpuses. It prevented diaper rash. Even when they were older, I kept getting Eucerin Cream to use on my hands as a moisturizer. Then I made the mistake of putting it on my arm. And once on my belly. I broke out in hive-y itchy blotches. A review of the ingredients of Eucerin Cream pointed to the lanolin. I know to only use such a product on my palms. It is not an ingredient in my regular lotion.

I'm not sure if the lotion is the problem. I stopped using it on Sunday morning. My itching seems to have lessened. The blotchy red area on my left inner forearm seems to have shrunken just a bit. The itching is not as urgent.

As a test, I only used the lotion on my left lower leg on Tuesday. We'll see if there's a difference in it, and the other leg and my arm...

The Pony Anticipates Becoming A SOUPER BIG DIPPER

When The Pony stopped to buy wine on his break Saturday, he also found some other items of interest.

"Also got some soup and dip mixes to try eventually, even if they're apparently supposed to simmer an hour and a half!!!"

There's the soup mix. The Pony LOVES pasta. It looks pretty good. Though a bit pricey. Still, supporting a small business.

There are the instructions. Shouldn't be too hard.

"Good luck with not falling asleep during simmer!"

The Pony is generally exhausted when he gets home from work, and sometime falls asleep between shower/bath and supper.

"Not sure if I'll make them tonight. It'll be a bit of overtime so I might order pizza/breadsticks from Little Caesars and try one of the dips."

Here are the dips. Also a favorite of The Pony.

"Yeah, sounds like the best plan."

I didn't ask The Pony on Sunday which of the dips he tried. I'm pretty sure he didn't attempt the soup yet.

A Sunday Success

I went to town early Sunday, to pick up The Pony and bring him out to the Mansion so we could listen to a "concert" online. The Pony bought some wine for the occasion. He had three kinds: Raspberry Tart, Honey Elderberry, and Honeydew. He'd had the Raspberry Tart before, and knew what it tasted like. He brought the other two. 

I was never a wine drinker. It seems bitter to me. Perhaps I was expecting grape juice, heh, heh. Anyhoo... The Pony asked me which I thought would be better. I said probably the Honeydew, because I wasn't sure I liked the idea of Elderberry. The Pony opened the Honeydew, and wafted the bottle under my nose. It didn't have much of a smell. At The Pony's urging, I tried a little sip out of his glass. It was SWEET! So I suppose that's not a dry wine. Maybe a WET wine! Like I said, I know nothing about wine.

The Pony has a wine shop on his route. When he wants wine, he shops for it using his break time. He sent me a text on Saturday when he got it.

"I barely had the strength to resist an offered wine tasting at my wine store!"

Thank the Gummi Mary, The Pony has a good head on his shoulders. As we discussed on Sunday, it was the Honeydew wine that was offered as a sample.

"I knew I shouldn't try it while I was working."

"Yes. I'm sure the tiny sip you would have gotten as a sample would not affect your work. But it's the idea of it. You were in uniform. Some disgruntled post office patron might have been in the store, and seen you. Then they could complain that you were drinking on the job."

"Yeah. I knew better."

Anyhoo... The Pony enjoyed that Honeydew wine. He'll probably get it again. It was sweet, like grape juice!

Our 2-hour music event was fantastic. Farmer H came home at 3:45, and he and The Pony got the cover off POOLIO. The Pony helped Farmer H with his tablet thingy that he wants to use for keeping track of his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2) inventory. The dogs received extra attention from The Pony. Scarlett was a well-behaved lady.

So a good time was had by all. Farmer H drove The Pony and his remaining bottle of wine home. I miss him already. The Pony... not Farmer H.

Marching To His Own Drummer Must Be Quite Tiring For Farmer H

Farmer H has spent the past three days raking leaves. Two years worth of leaves. Off the cover of POOLIO. Since his surgery last year, Farmer H didn't even open Poolio, because he couldn't get his back submerged for a while, even in the big triangle tub in the master bathroom.

Anyhoo... he started a few days ago by pumping water off the cover. He probably got about a foot or two of water out. As for the leaves, Farmer H got the dip net thingy used for skimming. But here's the catch. HE USED IT FROM THE BACK PORCH! That's right! That thingy must have been telescoped out about 12-15 feet!!! 

I was watching through the kitchen window. Farmer H would get a partial net of wet leaves, then that pole would bow as he tried to lift them. Still, he managed to get them over the side of Poolio, and dump them. Then bring it back for more. Like I said, he's been working on this project for three evenings.

I cautioned Farmer H when he actually went down to stand on the ground beside Poolio on Saturday evening. It's strenuous work in this heat, lifting wet leaves over and over. Equivalent to shoveling snow in the winter. 

Most of the leaves are gone now. A little water remains on top of the cover. The Pony is coming out Sunday afternoon to listen to a space-punk opera debut with me. It's a composer he has followed for a while, and got me hooked. We are planning a carry-out dinner while we listen to the 2-hour broadcast. Farmer H will be at his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2). The Pony will help remove Poolio's cover when Farmer H gets home.

Farmer H and I are both excited for our Sunday festivities...

Wondering If It's Worth The Worry

When I left for town at 2:45 on Friday, I heard voices down behind the Mansion, in the area of the creek. The woods are dense, and you can't see the creek from here. It was directly behind the Mansion, where Farmer H's first cabin, the A-Frame, is located.

A creek is not owned by anybody. It's fair game to the public, should they enter at a bridge and follow the creek, without getting on anybody's property. There is a 10-acre section of land across the creek from us, with a house on it. So anybody who lives there has the same right to approach the creek from their side. I'm not saying there was anything wrong with people being in the creek area.

It sounded like kids, perhaps playing in the water. Just a joyful loud whooping and excited talking. The only issue that concerns me is that a few years ago, kids vandalized Farmer H's Creekside Cabin. He has a bunch of old-timey stuff in there, tins and such, bought at auctions. He figured out the culprits then, and their father decreed that they come spend a Saturday working for Farmer H. Which Farmer H wanted like a hole in the head. 

Anyhoo... those kids are grown now. But other people have moved in since then. You never know if they have kids, or "partial" kids who come for visitation on the weekends, and don't feel any sense of neighborhood here, or respect for the property of people they don't know.

Again, I'm not saying there was any shenanigans. Only that we never hear anybody down by the creek, and it IS the weekend.

Farmer H can't drive down there because his Gator is out of commission. SilverRedO is too big to go down the trail. I don't want Farmer H trying to walk down there. He might take a tumble, and there's no phone reception down in the gully.

I guess for now, we'll assume that the cabins are fine.

Farmer H Couldn't Find His Rumpus With Both Hands, A Magnifying Glass, And GPS

We allowed 60 minutes to drive north and meet Genius for lunch on Wednesday. The ride usually takes 45 minutes, but we left early, just in case. There's some highway construction along the way. 

Well. Good thing for the 15 minute cushion! I went out to A-Cad, and questioned Farmer H about my seat position as I was getting in.

"Has my seat been moved?"

"Yeah. Old Buddy was in here with me. But he moved it all the way back."

I pushed the lever, and the seat slid back four inches.

"I don't think so! It just moved back!"

I got in. Adjusted the seat back so I wasn't lying down waiting to be launched into space. I got my purse on my lap, with my cell phone in an outside pocket to receive texts concerning Genius's approach. I reached down to have my seatbelt extender ready, for when we got onto the blacktop road. The seatbelt will fit without the six-inch extender, but without much play. One little reach for something, and it locks tighter. No use buckling up on the gravel, even with the extender, as all the lurching will lock that seatbelt tighter and tighter.

"Hey! Where's my extender?"

"Right there. It was on there when you got in."

"No. It's not clicked in. It's not here."

"I just put it there! It was on the seat!"

"No. I looked at the seat when I was figuring out it was not in the right position. And it's a different color. Gray, not tan like the seats."

"Maybe you sat on it."

"I don't feel anything. And I didn't see it."

Farmer H reached over. I lifted my butt off the seat, leaning over on the other cheek of my rumpus, for him to feel around. Nope. Nothing there. I searched the console. The crack down beside the seat. Farmer H reached down on my floor side. I looked in the glove compartment. Nothing.

"I guess we can pull over down by the mailboxes, and you can get out and look for it."

"It has to be here. Old Buddy left it hooked to the regular seatbelt. It was banging on the side of the car when I drove. So I took it off, and put it back on the latch part. Check over on the hanging thing of the seatbelt."

"It's not there."

Farmer H pulled over on an offshoot gravel road, before we got to Mailbox Row. He got out. Rummaged around on the back floor. 

"Nope. It's not back here."

"Well, I'm looking down in the crack, and I see something red. Like on the buckle end of it."

Farmer H rummaged some more.

"No. It's not here."

"Well, the red part disappeared. So you must have moved it."

Farmer H rummaged again. "Oh. Here it is."

Of course Farmer H swore that it was on the seat, and I hit it with my butt getting in, and knocked it between the seats. Saying that he had clicked it into the latch thingy, but it must not have caught. So the whole episode was MY fault! Let the record show that Mrs. HM is mighty observant before she plants her ample rumpus anywhere. And that extender was NOT on the seat.

SWEET GUMMI MARY! I don't know how one man can be so blind. Even with one eye! He still has one left, you know!

We arrived at the restaurant one hour after we left the Mansion. As we were waiting to be seated, I spied Genius and Friend parking out front, and walking in. Little did they know, we were almost late.

As If SAYING It's So, MAKES It So

Farmer H is back to his usual tricks. Actually, he never veered away from his regular tricks. He's quite consistent in telling me not to believe my lying eyes...

Wednesday, we returned from a lunch trip to meet Genius and Friend as they passed through from Pittsburgh on their way to work at Boys' State in central Missouri for a week.

Farmer H parked A-Cad on the concrete carport to let me out before pulling into the garage. There's not enough room to get the passenger door open. Even The Pony has to get out before garaging, when he's riding shotgun with Farmer H. 

Anyhoo... Farmer H announced, "I need to pee!" Because, you know, the world needs that information. He does this all the time when we get home from a trip, much to The Pony's horror, and jumps out to relieve himself with the car running. At least he USED to step over to the edge and water the grass out back. But this time, he just watered the concrete.

I was easing my aching knees out of the door, getting them used to me standing on them again after our 45-minute drive. Farner H got back in, and I stepped away from A-Cad. He pulled into the garage, with me walking after him.

Huh. That was odd. There were two puddles on the carport. A smaller one where the driver's door had been. And a larger one over behind where the back end of A-Cad had been. So as I was hobbling through the garage, I asked Farmer H...

"Did you pee twice?"

"No. I peed once. I really had to go."

"Then why are there two puddles?"

"There's not."

"Yes, there ARE. Two puddles. I was just trying to figure out why you'd pee, then stop, then pee in a different place."

"I didn't, HM. I only peed once."

"Then what's that other puddle?"

"There's ONLY ONE PUDDLE, HM!"

"LOOK! Look out there right now! Before I close the garage door."

Farmer H turned from his position on the porch steps, to look.

"Huh. That was from the air conditioner."

It might have been. I don't know enough about how cars work. I didn't know the air conditioner drips out water when the car is still running. Or that it leaves a puddle outside the car frame, in the area of the driver's door, on a level slab of concrete. But that's just me. Me and my lyin' eyes.

I didn't CARE that there were two puddles. It's not hurting anything. I was just curious. But I got more stubborn when Farmer H kept declaring there was only ONE puddle.

Good Thing They're Elderlies!

I think a revolt was narrowly avoided at the Senior Center on Monday. Famer H was planning to go to an auction that afternoon/evening, without returning home for supper. I think he can get a burger or hot dog at this auction, but I looked at his Senior Center menu to make sure he got a good lunch.

"It says you'll be having

Ham with Pineapple Glaze

Sweet Potatoes

Brussel Sprouts

Roll

Peach Pie a la Mode, or Fruit

"That's good."

Well. When Farmer H got home around 9:00 p.m., he mentioned right away that he did NOT have ham for lunch at the Senior Center. 

"They give us noodles with hamburger. I said I thought we were having ham, and a bunch of the other people said so, too. That this was NOT what was on the menu!"

Farmer H did not elaborate about an explanation. He says they DO sometimes switch up the menu, which annoys the elderlies. Good thing the extent of a revolt might only be a lot of cane-shaking and complaining. Throwing chairs and burning the place down would be too strenuous for arthritic joints.

Beware The Scaminators!

Sunday afternoon, I was minding my own beeswax when my cell phone started ringing. There's no need for my cell phone to ring, unless it's The Pony, Farmer H, Genius, or my sister the ex-mayor's wife. Nobody else has that number to call me, now that I'm retired, and don't need to be a branch of the emergency SCHOOL'S CALLED OFF phone tree.

At least my cell phone warned me: SCAM LIKELY. 

This Scaminator had the nerve to leave a recorded message. It was a robocall. Of the political variety. And shamefully, this guy was taking advantage of the HOLIDAY! Apparently, he's a Missouri judge, running for Secretary of State.

"This is [REDACTED] wishing you a Happy Father's Day..."

WHOA! Last time I checked, I had not fathered any children! That I KNOW OF, heh, heh!

I had never heard of this guy, but he just made sure he won't get my vote.

Treating A Substantial Purchase As An Afterthought

Farmer H was sitting on the long couch at 5:45 a.m. Thursday, when he said,

"Oh. I went to the dentist last week, and got two fillings. It cost $400. I put it on the credit card. I didn't know if you were ready for me to use the debit for something like that."

Huh. Thanks for sharing. It's not like I print money in the basement, or can snap my fingers and draw it out of thin air. We either have the money or we don't. A credit card is not magic, like young HOS (Farmer H's Oldest Son) used to believe. So saying in not so many words at the Devil's Playground once, where I always spent cash, as I wondered aloud if I had brought enough: "Just put it on a credit card. Then it won't cost anything."

Anyhoo... I am the maintainer of the bank account. Farmer H must ask me for a check if he needs one. He's not allowed to carry them, because he is just unreliable about details. It is for this reason that I carry a secret "padding" amount on our bank account. It doesn't show if you look in the checkbook register at the transactions. But it's THERE. It shows the true balance on the monthly statements, which Farmer H never bothers to peruse. That "cushion" is there specifically for Farmer H's shenanigans, so I am confident that we are never overdrawn, unless he randomly decides to buy a third tractor, and put it on the debit card...

I don't like having a credit card, but it's necessary to shop online. I never carry a balance on it. Interest charges are 20-SOMETHING PERCENT! That's because it's a really old credit card, back when interest rates were even higher than they are now. We haven't changed, because we always pay off the balance every month, so don't incur interest charges. It's just easier to keep the same card, with it being linked to a couple of online entities.

Anyhoo... I'll pay that dentist bill when it shows up on the credit card.

Another Confusing Description By Farmer H

Friday, Farmer H brought home a carryout meal from the Senior Center. My head is still spinning from the resulting (and previous) conversations. 

Thursday, Farmer H brought home TWO carryout meals from the Senior Center. I had still not recovered from THAT explanation.

"I brung you a pork steak from the Senior Center."

"Okay. I can have that tonight. Will I still be making your supper?"

"Yes."

So I was prepared to go forward with his planned-on supper of chicken patties on bun, with a side of waffle fries.

When I went to look in FRIG II while Farmer H was out mowing the lawn, I saw TWO black plastic trays, the kind you find inside a frozen microwave dinner. Each had some steamed broccoli, mashed potatoes with a dab of brown gravy, and two thin pork chops. When Farmer H came in, he said he really wasn't hungry. He'd eaten that for his lunch, and just wanted the ONE dessert he'd brought home, and a snack. He called the dessert "Mexican cheesecake." Not sure what it really was, but he was welcome to it.

Anyhoo... I had to interrogate him further.

"You're full after eating one of those frozen dinners?"

"They're not frozen, HM. The girls cook the food there at the Senior Center. I had my regular tray, and they give me two more pork steaks."

"You mean pork chops. So you had the regular meal they warmed up and put on your tray, plus two more of the meats?"

"They don't warm frozen food, HM! They cook it! They give it to us on a tray, like them yellow ones we got, and put the rest of it in those black trays to send to the shut-ins."

"I don't believe that for a minute! Those are exactly like frozen meal plastic trays! You're saying they put the food in, and seal the top with a clear plastic shrink-wrap?"

"YES! I've done it myself, helping them."

"That's really hard to believe. How come when you bring a dinner home, it's in white styrofoam with a flip top?"

"That's the ones that's left over, HM! How can you not understand? The take-out meals are in black plastic that they put them in. For people who don't come to the center. But for people who call in to pick up, they go in the white ones. Or what they give some of us to bring home."

"It all sounds fishy to me..."

Anyhoo... so here came the fish in a white styrofoam container on Friday.

"You can have it if you want. I just had it for lunch. There's a piece of catfish, and some baked beans, and fries, and corn muffins. I can eat the other pork steak dinner. Or you can. You can pick, and I'll have the other one."

"Well, I only want the fish, and a few fries. You can have the beans, and the corn muffins. Are you sure it's corn muffins? That seems odd to go with that meal. Do you mean hush puppies?"

"No! It's corn muffins."

I took Farmer H's word for it. You know what a mistake that always is! When I went to FRIG II to start warming Farmer H's assorted leftovers, I did NOT see any corn muffins in that white styrofoam container. But there was a small white square styrofoam container. Which revealed a square piece of cherry pie. Funny how Farmer H had never mentioned it! But nevermind, I don't like pie anyway.

"Hey! I don't see any corn muffins in here! Just these little things that I can't tell what they are."

"Them round things? They're corn muffins!"

"They are the size of quarters! They are not bread! They might be hush puppies..."

"They are NOT hush puppies, HM! They are corn muffins! They have corn in them!"

"Huh. Maybe they're some type of corn fritter. But definitely not corn muffins! You never can explain anything!"

"YOU are the one who can't understand anything! Like them containers!"

I gave up. I warmed up Farmer H's pork chops, broccoli, mashed potatoes, baked beans, corn thingies, half the fries, and the two rolls he'd brought in a separate container with the pork chops on Thursday. Then he ate the cherry pie.

Farmer H is definitely not going to starve to death. No. His possible demise would be more violent, if my angry brain cells are able to escape my skull...

Critters Gonna Critter

Thursday evening, I was sitting at the kitchen table, tap-tap-tapping away on HIPPIE, when movement on the porch caught my attention. I can see out the three windows of the kitchen bay area through the slits of the mini blinds. Usually, it's Scarlett, pacing, pining for the object of her ADORATION. The squirrels barely distract me any more. They run along the top of the porch rail.

Anyhoo... I saw movement over the top of HIPPIE's screen. I waited for what I thought was Scarlett to come around to the window closest to me. I talk to her. She hears me. I'm no Farmer H, but she responds by wagging her stump tail. She often walks around to get a drink from the water bowl in the nook by the laundry room door.

This time, it was not reddish Scarlett, but a white four-legged animal. I first thought it was my little Jack, although he prefers to sip and dip in the fake fish pond. The critter was walking, in no hurry. But something was off. It wasn't sleek Jack, with his tiny red spots. It was a FURRY animal! Kind of mottled. 

EWW! 

That seemed so creepy! I jumped up and ran around to look out the laundry room door. IN MY MIND. In reality, I turned on my chair, hoisted myself up, leaned on the kitchen counter until my knees unstiffened, then hobbled into the laundry room. Huh. Nothing out there on the porch by the water dish. Can you believe it? I opened the door and stuck my head out. I could see the whole length of the back porch. Nothing was there.

I knew it was too big to be a possum. I HOPED! It appeared slightly bigger than little Jack. I went to the living room and described it to Farmer H.

"Huh. There's a big calico cat over at the BARn. I seen it for the past couple days. That might be it."

"That might explain what the dogs were going crazy at around 4:00 this morning, in the front yard."

"Yeah. Maybe. I don't know where it came from. But I've seen it over there. It's big."

So far, that has been my only sighting. 

It's The Little Things

The Pony works hard. Five days a week. His two days off are not consecutive. One of the small pleasures The Pony has are his suppers. He skips lunch, choosing instead to be paid for that half-hour, and not wanting to feel bloated while trying to complete his route. So he snacks on his break time, but waits for a big meal at the end of the day.

A couple days ago, The Pony made burgers again. I don't know what he used the paprika for, or the bag of Knorr noodles or rice. Maybe it wasn't for that meal.

As a side dish, he had CRAB RANGOONS. I can find them at the Hillmomba Save A Lot. They're not as good as the ones from an actual Chinese restaurant, but good enough to keep in the freezer and cook at your convenience. The Pony has looked for them over in Sis-Town, but none of the stores carry them.

Anyhoo... last time I went to Save A Lot, I picked up two boxes of crab rangoons for The Pony. He still had part of a box in his freezer. So he cooked those when he made the burgers. It looks like a LOT, but I'm sure The Pony is hungry after a day of walking 11-12 miles on his route.

Once Again, Farmer H Oversteps The Boundaries

In his frenzy of working three days a week at his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2), and doing PAID work for the Old Lady who bought our QuickFlip house, and trying to finish up the Beauty Shop portion of the Double Hovel... Farmer H has let The Pony's yard go without mowing. It's not to the height that would trigger a letter from the city. Just kind of shaggy, with clover flowers shooting up.

Now that SilverRedO has a problem, Farmer H can't risk taking his precious zero-turn mower to town to mow yards. Tuesday night, HOSS (Farmer H's Oldest Son's Son) sent him a text asking if Farmer H had any work for him. He was wanting to earn some money to pay for his phone. Farmer H said he could mow The Pony's yard with the push mower.

Not a big deal. Farmer H used to mow it with a push mower, which he has stashed over in The Pony's garage. So he picked up HOSS on Wednesday and took him to The Pony's house. This was totally a surprise for The Pony, on his day off, who had an appointment at 5:00, and was planning to also go to the store beforehand, because his phone charger died.

Anyhoo... Farmer H came home late on Wednesday night after bingo, complaining about The Pony. Can you believe it??? Here's what The Pony DARED to do...

"I knocked on the door to get water for HOSS. I asked The Pony if he had a bottle of water. He came to the door in just a towel! Said he was planning to soak in the tub before he left for town. Then he gave me a soda for HOSS."

"Not one of his special Cokes, was it? The Mexican Cokes, with real sugar, that cost $10 for four at Country Mart?"

"Yeah. It was a Coke."

"I don't know why The Pony had to provide drinks for lawnmowing. He pays you $30 for mowing his lawn."

"It's just what you do, HM. You give the lawnmower something to drink."

"So if you hire somebody to mow your yard, you give them drinks?"

"Yes! That's what a normal person would do!"

"Did The Pony know you were coming to mow the yard?"

"No."

"So you didn't tell him before you just showed up?"

"No. But he had to hear us out there."

"Yet he was planning to get in the bathtub before his appointment."

"That don't matter none! You always offer drinks to the lawnmower."

So let's review. Apparently, The Pony is supposed to sit around fully dressed on his day off, with a refrigerator stocked with bottles of water, in case somebody shows up to mow his yard.

Let the record show that Farmer H threw up his hands in a fit of pique, and stomped off to bed at 8:50 p.m., having just arrived home from bingo, before even sitting down in his recliner.

Farmer H is an entitled prima donna. 

SilverRedO Is Revived. Temporarily.

After the kerfuffle at the Devil's Playground automotive center, Farmer H took his business to Rural King to get a battery for SilverRedO. He spent $100.49. Said it was $45 cheaper than it would have been at the Devil's Playground.

Farmer H put the battery in by himself. He's handy like that.

THEN, The Universe smote Farmer H for some unknown reason. On Tuesday, SilverRedO had an issue. Totally unrelated to the battery. Farmer H was headed back to town to mow some lawns (Pony House and the flips), when SilverRedO went into LIMP mode. Only went 5 miles per hour.

Farmer H said that mode is to enable the driver to get the vehicle off the road when something happens. He thinks it's a "throttle body position." Whatever THAT is! Said he was going about 20 mph down his formerly badly-blacktopped hill, and only 5 mph when he turned around to bring sick SilverRedO back home.

Farmer H will run a diagnostic program on SilverRedO, to see if it's something he can fix. Otherwise, SilverRedO is headed to Mick the Mechanic's shop for repairs.

The Entitledness Is Astounding

Friday, I pulled onto the Hillmomba Casey's parking lot, with the intent of buying scratchers. There was a large white pickup truck parked in the HANDICAP space. It's clearly marked, with a stencil, and also a blue-and-white sign on the wall of the building. The truck was a crew cab, meaning a four-door truck meant for hauling passengers, and it had black writing on the side proclaiming that it was associated with a well-known construction company out of St. Louis, a mere 60 miles north.

Huh. That was curious. Why would a driver of a construction company's truck need to park in a handicap space? Is there a differently-abled job available at a construction company, that requires a truck that can haul five or more employees?

I parked to the right side of it, way at the end of the building, where there's not really a parking space. It was an area in front of the dumpster and air hose. I figured the trash truck wouldn't be needing access on a Friday evening around 4:30.

I hobbled into the store. I didn't know who was driving that truck, and had parked there. But on my way out, a guy came up from behind me to climb in. I think he was holding a couple of 20-oz sodas. He was early 40s. Didn't seem to have any disability that I could tell. 

I wish I had taken a picture of that truck parked in the handicap space, to send it to the construction company. I'm pretty sure such behavior would be frowned-upon...

The Quest For A Battery Gets Farmer H All Charged Up

Saturday, Farmer H took time away from his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2) to replace the dead battery in SilverRedO. He had to jump the battery to get it started. He drove to the Devil's Playground automotive department, and saw that they were very crowded. He didn't want to go in and ask now long, because he knew SilverRedO wouldn't start if he decided not to stay. So he drove down to Bill-Paying Town to THAT Devil's Playground. Which didn't look very busy. This was around 2:00 p.m.

Farmer H parked SilverRedO back at the automotive department and went inside. The Guy told him three cars were ahead of him, then he'd be next. They had two oil changes, and I don't remember the other. Farmer H waited. He saw those three vehicles serviced. He'd told The Guy that they'd have to give SilverRedO's battery a jump to drive him inside. Yet Farmer H saw A DIFFERENT truck taken in for servicing. And then ANOTHER!

Well. As you can imagine, this did not set will with Farmer H. He went to the service desk to complain about what he'd been told, and what was happening. By now, he'd spent 2.5 hours there waiting, and cars that weren't even there when he arrived were being worked on before SilverRedO.

Another Guy told Farmer H that those were people who had called in. That the policy was to service the ones who called in first. Well! This was news to Farmer H! Not so much to me, because Terrible Cuts does the same thing, with people who check in on their app being seen immediately when a Terrible Cutter is free.

"So you mean if I go call you, I'll be the next one after the other call-in people are done?"

"Yes."

"So just by calling, they go ahead of everybody who's been here waiting?"

"Yes."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!"

"You can call, or you can go buy one of our batteries and put it in yourself."

"I wouldn't buy one of your batteries now for NOTHIN'!"

So Farmer H stormed out and came home, all charged up at the injustice of it all. Not sure how he got SilverRedO started... 

Mrs. HM Is The New Flounder

Like a flounder lying on the bottom of the ocean with his lower eye migrating to the top side of his head... Mrs. HM may soon have her nose on the back of her noggin. That's from it getting out of joint so many times while waiting in convenience store lines!

Thursday, I went inside the Sis-Town Casey's to pre-pay for my gas, and get scratchers. A complaining woman was at the left register, the only one open, haranguing the clerk for not having a certain brand of cigarette advertised as a special on a handwritten sign leaning against the register. Well. There's only so much you can do, you know. The clerk couldn't twitch her nose and conjure those cigarettes out of thin air. If you're out, you're out. Complaining once you know the facts is useless.

Next in line was a man with a fountain soda, and little boy with a bottle of chocolate milk.

After them was a woman with a couple of candy bars.

Then me.

As we waited, an old man with a cane, holding a half-gallon jug of chocolate milk, walked up from the side. He looked at me. Then stood there, facing the shoulder of the woman in front of me. Sorry, buddy. No cutsies. He had a cane, by cracky! While I was balancing the bottom of my femur bones on top of my tibia and fibula bones. That's how it feels when I stand or walk. Like bone-on-bone. Unstable. So as much as I might have liked to do a good deed and let him go ahead, I was in no better shape than he. Besides, he was a bit presumptuous, standing there ahead of me. I tried to think he was just saving steps, and would fall in behind me as we moved up.

Another lady came in and got in line behind me. The man and boy got their turn. We moved forward. A worker woman came from the back, her little girl on her hip, probably going off shift, or just coming in. Because it's not normal that little kids work the counter at Casey's. She stepped over to advise the clerk to just put the sign back, and tell people they were temporarily out of that kind of cigarettes.

Old Cane Man stepped up to the right side register and set down his jug of chocolate milk. AS IF it was his turn, and AS IF that lady was working. She was not in a uniform. But she WAITED ON HIM, with that little girl on her hip. Well. Don't beat all! But wait!

As this was going on, a man had gotten in line behind the woman behind me. As I was paying, and Old Cane Man was getting his change and caning away, That Man left the line and stepped up to the right side register! All without the girl/woman saying she was open and would help somebody. And him thinking he was entitled to jump ahead.

MEN!!!

Sometimes, they need to be put in their place. Or in this case, KEPT in their place. 

In line.

No Good Deed By Farmer H Goes Unpunished For Mrs. HM

Farmer H volunteered to take Gassy G Jr to town on Friday, to grill for a cookout at the Senior Center. He had to stop by (heh, heh, as if he wasn't already there for morning donuts) the Hillmomba Casey's to get a thingy of propane to cook with. Didn't want to run out midway through the shindig. That cost $26. No reimbursement.

When Farmer H was starting home after the event, SilverRedO was dead. Farmer H needed a jump, and has to buy a new battery. So Mrs. HM needs to find the funds for such an unanticipated purchase. Farmer H's windfall of six bratwursts to bring home hardly offsets his expenses...

Farmer H will be taking two of the six bratwursts in his lunch for the weekend at his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2). And will eat two of them on Saturday evening for his supper (with sides concocted by Mrs. HM). Mrs. HM is given permission to eat the remaining two.

No good deed goes unpunished.

Mrs. HM Knows Her Kitchen

When I returned from my errand day on Thursday, I noticed that the overhead kitchen light was on, as well as the recessed spotlight thingies over the sink area. 

"Why are so many lights on?"

"Oh. I was washing my utensils for the BBQ I'm doing at the Senior Center on Friday."

Well. I guess that's as good an explanation as any. Farmer H doesn't deign to wash any other dishes or utensils. But the ones he leaves hanging out on the porch, which he uses while cooking for us, must be scrubbed for his special senior friends.

When I went to get a pan for warming some thawed vinchtables for Farmer H's supper, I noticed that everything I had left to drain in the clean sink was wet.

"Hey! Why are all my dishes wet? I washed them early. They should be dry by now. So I can put them away like usual."

"Oh. I might have gotten water on them while I was washing my utensils."

REALLY?  How does that happen? How sloppy must you be to get the draining dishes wet, while washing your utensils in the other sink?

I suppose I should consider myself lucky that Farmer H did not ask me to wash his BBQ utensils to take to the Senior Center.

The Downside Of ADORING Farmer H

I haven't seen my adopted dog Scarlett in two days! Oh, she's here. But not where she could interact with me. I am, after all, only the person who gives her TWO treats a day, and pets her when she can sit calmly.

Farmer H has been popping in before his usual 5:00 p.m. And has been mowing the grounds of the Mansion. Scarlett follows him. Even though he barely speaks to her, and doesn't pet her, and yells at her to GET DOWN because he has not given her consequences for her jumping-up.

Tuesday, neither dog was here on the porch when I left for town. When I returned, only COPPER JACK was here to greet me. Not much of a greeting. He stood on the carport looking over the edge, towards the woods. Where the other two fleabags usually give futile chase to the cheeky squirrels who eat their leftover dry dogfood.

As I went up the porch steps, Copper Jack remained a respectful distance, on the brick sidewalk, past SilverRedO.

"Come on, Big Dog. You can have a treat."

By the time I was inside with my grocery bags, Copper Jack had come onto the porch and was waiting behind my Dear Departed Juno's doghouse. I tossed him half a slice of bread. The standard treat.

On Wednesday, my little Jack was on the porch to see me off for town. He got both quarter-slices of stale bread that had been swiped through the grease of grilled hamburgers. Scarlett snoozed and losed! Off minding the object of her ADORATION while he mowed the BARn field.

When I returned, only my little Jack and Copper Jack were the welcoming committee. Not even any barking! Apparently, Scarlett is the catalyst for the frenzy as I come down the driveway.

Anyhoo... I invited Copper Jack to come get a treat. And tossed the two bones from a chicken thigh, the softer part to my little Jack, and the actual thigh bone to Copper Jack. 

Scarlett doesn't know what she's been missing!

THIS Is Customer Service

My handicap placard and I parked T-Hoe in the second handicap space from the left at 10Box on Tuesday. I made sure to cheat over into the striped walkway, since people purely love to close-park in the regular space to my left. As I was getting out, and limbering up my right knee that is so contrary, one of the workers came around the corner from the bench put there for the smokers. Or the bicycle homeless people who occasionally offer me a ride.

Anyhoo... this gal is one who is always polite to me. She has cashed a couple of my $500 winners at the service desk. She has offered to open up a register to wait on me. She has left me a cart to use as a walker when I'm parked out in the regular spaces.

"Wait right there, honey. I'll get you a cart."

Such an empathetic employee, catering to Mrs. HM's needs!!! I have mentioned to her before how much I appreciate the 10Box employees, since they are always SO NICE, and go out of their way to help the customers.

A young guy had just been collecting carts. When I parked, there were about 5 stuck together in front of T-Hoe. I took a couple minutes getting my glasses out of the case, to perch on top of my head. And sorting my scratcher winners to cash in after my purchases. He took that row of carts before I could nab one. So this Exemplary Employee was a special gift from The Universe.

As I hobbled around to the front of T-Hoe, she was down the sidewalk, past the doors, getting a cart out of the bay where they are pushed in from outside. Here she came, wheeling that cart backwards, to place it in front of me. The young guy, and another purple-shirted employee, were at the cart bay.

"They're going to say 'You're doing it backwards!' since they've just collected the carts. Thank you SO MUCH! I can always depend on you!"

"You're very welcome!"

Some people deserve more than The Universe is giving them!

Is This Any Way To Run A Store?

I was over in Sis-Town on Monday, to deposit a check in the bank. I stopped by the Country Mart, because I needed bananas. There was only ONE BANANA on the banana display table. This store does not have boxes of backup bananas below it, like 10Box and Save A Lot. The table here is over a solid cabinet.

Also, I was hoping to get some mini tomatoes, which they usually have two packs for $5. But there was ONLY ONE PACK OF MINI TOMATOES! Which I got anyway, because they are better than the variety offered at 10Box for $3.98. But of course since I could only get one, it rang up as $4.99.

Sweet Gummi Mary! It would not surprise me in the least if a worker ran out after I left, and set a single pack of mini tomatoes back on their display...

Attention, The Universe

It has come to Mrs. HM's attention that the odds are being ignored in her quest for a winning lottery ticket. For over three months, Mrs. HM had not had a "big" winner. That defies the odds she has endured in the past. No winning streak lasts forever. No losing streak lasts forever. Mrs. HM is well-acquainted with percentages. Yet for over three months, Mrs. HM has repeatedly reaped less than her usual 40 percent win percentage.

In addition, Mrs. HM's daily contacts who also play the lottery say that they have NOT BEEN WINNING ANYTHING! One of the die-hard gamblers said she has given up playing for a while! Something is clearly not kosher with the state lottery commission. It's as if a moratorium has been issued on winnings. Sure, there are a couple of high-profile wins published on the official Facebook and website. That must be smoke and mirrors! The kibosh has apparently been put on daily small wins. 

Don't tell me that scratcher wins are totally random. A look at the monthly winners' map will show clusters of wins over $1000 in specific cities. Almost as if somebody scheduled regional wins...

Intruder (No) Alert

Saturday evening around 7:00, we heard a knock on the Mansion door. That is unheard-of! People who live out here do not drop in. Salesmen have not broached out enclave for 35 years or more. Not sure if it's the PRIVATE ROAD, TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED sign down by Mailbox Row. It didn't deter salesmen in the past. They'd creep in, make contact with a homeowner near the entrance, and then use them as a "reference" to explain why they were trespassing in here. 

Anyhoo... both Farmer H and Mrs. HM were shocked to hear a knock. Of course Farmer H got out of his recliner, where he was enjoying his post-supper Little Debbie giant Zebra Cake, to see who it was. From HIPPIE at the kitchen table, I heard Farmer H greet the intruder, and step out onto the porch. When he returned five minutes later, I asked for the details.

"It was SoAndSo."

"The one up next to the boys' land, who threatened to shoot you, and went to court because he threatened to shoot the county deputy who came to ask about the encounter?"

"No. The other SoAndSo. Up our road. From when we first bought the property. The Nudists."

"Oh! Are they still out here?"

"Yeah. He's 84 years old now! Wanted to know if I wanted a political sign for our yard." [I refrain from political discussions here, so we won't get into details.]

Heh, heh. I think there might be a little bit of irony here.

"Good thing you didn't have a shower tonight, and answered the door in your underwear! But then again, he WAS The Nudist!"

That's what everybody called them in the beginning. He and his wife were city people, who bought their 10-acre lot, and came down on weekends. The "NUDIST" name identifying them because they mowed their lawn while totally naked. Dang. That was 35 years ago. Maybe they still do...

Not sure why our dogs didn't alert us to the intruder. Maybe they sensed that he belonged.

It's Like Worrying About My Children Again!

When our adopted dog Scarlett greeted me Wednesday on the return from my daily town trip, I noticed a problem with her tail. Scarlett has been "molting" lately, just like my Sweet, Sweet Juno did twice a year. I suppose it's a thing with certain long-haired dogs. Juno was presumably a border collie/lab mix, from her looks and behavior. We'll never know, since we took her as a pup after she was dumped at my mom's house. Scarlett, on the other hand, is a purebred Australian Shepherd. We welcomed her when a relative of a friend of Genius wanted to rehome her, due to a grueling work schedule, and not wanting to keep Scarlett in a wire kennel more than 12 hours per day.

Anyhoo... Scarlett has a bobbed tail, in accordance with the standard for Australian Shepherds. But on Wednesday, I noticed that her stub tail was RAW! Like Scarlett had caught it on a barbed-wire fence, or had been chewing on it due to fleas or ticks.

I told Farmer H (for the -illionth time!) that he needed to get flea and tick medicine for the dogs. AND that Scarlett's tail looked raw, and I didn't want any flies laying eggs on it! I watch The Incredible Dr. Pol! I've seen the vets at his practice pulling GRUBS out of pets!!! I told Farmer H that we either need to take Scarlett to the vet, or get something like fly spray that is used on horses, to prevent such a catastrophe. But I didn't know if the fly spray would be poisonous to dogs if they licked it.

Farmer H was going to the Family Center anyway on Thursday, to buy dog food. So he said he would check on something for Scarlett's tail (stub). He came home with a spray for hot spots. Said at first, Scarlett acted like it hurt. But then ignored her tail, not chewing at it. Farmer H was not clear on how many times a day that hot-spot spray could be used. I just don't want Scarlett to have a raw tail that could become infested with pests.

It didn't look any better on Friday when I came home. Scarlett started spinning, chasing her tail, like it itched. I told her "NO!" and she stopped. I still think she might need a vet visit. Farmer H seems okay with that. We'll see how she does over the next few days.

At least there's a new vet within a couple miles of the Mansion, over by the bowling alley. Scarlett has ridden in SilverRedO with Farmer H in the past, when she used to run away, and be rescued. So it shouldn't be a physical hardship to take her. 

Monetarily, it remains to be seen...