Retired People Problems: Trapped Like A Rat

Sweet Gummi Mary! These people putting in gas lines to (and from) nowhere are going to drive me crazy! On Tuesday, they had FOUR trucks parked along our gravel road. Each hooked to a long, long trailer. One had six or eight giant opaque containers of water. Dirty water. Like taken out of the creek. Obviously not for drinking. Perhaps for lubricating or cooling their digging equipment. The heat index was around 110. Due to last all week.

Anyhoo... they are parked on a hill curve! On both sides now! With orange cones denoting a slim path between their equipment. Oh, and none of the eight or ten guys working there are designated to direct traffic. So we are on our own. Take your chances! You can't see over a hill, and you can't see around a curve! It's daylight. So no headlights to suggest oncoming traffic.

So far, I have avoided meeting an oncoming vehicle. Until my trip home on Tuesday evening around 4:50 p.m. As I started down the hill and around the curve, I encountered ONE OF THE WORK TRUCKS, PULLING A TRAILER!

Of course I stopped. That driver, high up in his truck cab, motioned for me to COME ON! I squeezed T-Hoe as far to the right as possible. Two tires off in the mud of the hill, where there's no gravel. That truck driver stayed where he was. I suppose he was waiting for me to go by. 

However... even if I had been continuing straight, and up the next hill towards our other property where HOS (Farmer H's Oldest Son) had lived for a while... another of their trucks with a trailer was parked on that little low-water bridge, with four guys standing around talking.

I put on my left turn signal, though, because I have to go up that side road to get to the Mansion. I guess the truck driver finally noticed. His trailer was completely blocking the road I needed to turn onto. He gradually eased forward, until my path was clear.

I don't need this stress! I just want to be able to get out to town once a day, and get back home! Poor Farmer H! He needs to haul his lawnmower to town for mowing yards of our properties. Good luck getting SilverRedO and a trailer past this mess!

Logic Is Defied, And Not Just By Farmer H

Have you heard? We live in the middle of nowhere. Yet on Monday, there was a crew putting in natural gas lines on our gravel road! Farmer H warned me when he came home around 2:30.

"Be careful. There's a crew on our gravel road putting in gas lines."

"Where? Can I go out the other way?"

"On our gravel road! By the S curve up the hill."

"You mean on [NAMED ROAD]?"

"No. On our gravel road by the S curve up the hill."

"Isn't that where [NAMED ROAD] branches off?"

"Yes. But they're not on that road. They're on our gravel road."

"I KNOW THAT! I'm just trying to figure out exactly where!"

"You can go the other way, but that's driving out the other gravel road and going the long way. You can get through."

Here's the deal. I DID get through, on the half of the road left open, since no other traffic was coming my way. But I don't understand this gas line installation. Where is it coming from, and where is it going? 

The section where the gas line is being installed it about a quarter mile from the county blacktop road. How is this gas line going to be connected to something? There's been no gas line installation on the county blacktop road. Nor on the quarter mile from blacktop to this section of the gravel. What's the purpose of a gas line that doesn't receive gas?

Something is fishy in the enclave of Hillmomba.

Scarlett Is Off Her Rocker Again

Just when you assume, after a mere year of living with us, and not in a crate 12 hours a day in an apartment, that Scarlett has grown accustomed to life at the Hillbilly Mansion... she reverts to her old self.

Sunday, I went out for my town trip. Scarlett leaped and cavorted behind me, as usual, waiting to be tossed a scrap of stale bread. But THEN, as I was climbing into T-Hoe, Scarlett came through the door of the garage! She never does that! She knows that when I leave, I'm not going to pet her in the garage.

At least she didn't keep running in after I backed out, causing the garage door to stop closing, requiring me to make multiple tries to close it.

Scarlett and Jack stood in the driveway as I started T-Hoe off the carport. Usually, Scarlett stays on the porch, and Jack lies in a hole he's dug in the gravel under where SilverRedO usually parks. I knew what was in store...

Halfway up the driveway, I saw Scarlett start to run along behind me. My loyal little Jack headed her off. Got her into the front yard/field. He ran back and forth, blocking her progress from coming after me. 

Well. Scarlett herself must be no stranger to herding, thanks to her DNA. She finally evaded Jack, and sped after me. Not her usual hopping/leaping gait, but stretched out, for speed. Sensible little Jack stood in the front yard/field, watching. 

As I went down the hill in front of our neighbor's house, I could see Scarlett still chasing.

When I came home, I did not see Scarlett. Little Jack and Copper Jack barked their fool heads off, running around on the carport as I piloted T-Hoe into the garage. 

Thank the Gummi Mary, Scarlett appeared on the side porch. I suppose she had been lying on the back deck, hoping the object of her ADORATION would make an appearance. Because Farmer H was home, SilverRedO parked in his normal place.

That Scarlett is an enigma.

It's MADDENING, I Tell You!

It's Farmer H's world, and other people are sometimes allowed to co-exist in it.

Friday evening, Farmer H said he'd get his big salad when he was ready. I set out a mini pack of Ritz Crackers for him. And the bag of fried onions for topping. Told him if he ran out of his Bacon Ranch dressing, there was a bottle of Lite Ranch in the door of FRIG II.

I was sitting at the kitchen table when Farmer H came in to get his salad. He managed to take the lid off the container. And get a fork from the drawer. Then he took out a bottle of dressing, flipped open the lid, and was trying to squeeze it onto his big salad. Looked at it quizzically. Then put it back in FRIG II's door.

"Huh. I got the wrong one."

Yes. The unopened bottle of Lite Ranch. And rather than unscrew the lid, and peel off the foil, he put it back into FRIG II. Then Farmer H took the Bacon Ranch, and started to put it on his salad.

"Wait! You're not going to shake it up first?"

"Yes! I'm shaking it."

Farmer H had the bottle upside down, and started shaking it. As if that's not a recipe for disaster!

"That's a good way to spill it all over the floor! Who shakes a bottle upside down? Oh, wait. YOU won't be the one cleaning up the mess. I will."

"I'm not shaking it upside down!" Said Farmer H, righting the bottle as he spoke.

Then Farmer H took his big salad to the long couch and set it on the marred coffee table, seating himself for a feast.

"Did you take a paper towel? Those crackers are greasy."

"Not yet. I had my hands full of the salad and my soda and the crackers."

"Because a paper towel is so heavy and hard to hold..."

Farmer H came back to get a paper towel. When he sat down again, I had another thought.

"Did you put the fried onions on top?"

"No. I forgot."

"That's what makes it good."

"I know."

Farmer H came back with his big salad, and shook some fried onions on top.

Later, when I went to put the fried onions on top of my big salad, the bag was open. Oh, well. It had only been a couple of hours. When I tried to seal the bag, it wouldn't close. Closer inspection revealed that the zip-lock part wouldn't work. Couldn't work. Because it was already sealed, with both halves on one side of the package. Farmer H had yanked it open, tearing the one zip side loose from the bag.

"Huh. I can't seal up the fried onions, because you yanked the seal off the side of the bag. It's already zipped, but not holding the sides together."

"I DID NOT! You always blame everything on me! Maybe YOU did it!"

"Well. The bag was open when I got it. So not me. I last used it a couple days ago. When I made sure it was sealed. I always do that when I'm done. And it WAS. Now after you used it, it's broken. You always have ten different excuses denying what you've done. Just because you say it's so, doesn't make it so."

"Yeah! Like you saying I messed up the package!"

I would really like to see Farmer H in court, under cross-examination from a reputable lawyer. Maybe it will happen, from the great beyond, once he succeeds in killing me.

Now Farmer H Tries Killing Me By Neglect!

I'm pretty sure Farmer H has not given up on his quest to kill me. Thursday, he went to the Devil's Playground for dog food and sundry items on a list I gave him. I talked to him around 2:45 to remind him about the Tide detergent I forgot to put on that list. Anyhoo... he was in the store at the time. He knew I was just leaving the Mansion, on my way to the bank, and to Country Mart to pick up big salads for our Friday night supper, and a few other items, including the vanilla wafer cookies he requested.

Anyhoo... as I was starting home at 4:45 from the Gas Station Chicken Store, I tried to call Farmer H. I knew he'd be home already. I wanted him to be ready to help carry in my groceries.

There was no answer. Huh. Maybe he was out mowing again. Or maybe down fiddling with POOLIO's filter. Once I got on the county blacktop road, I tried to call again. No answer. And again, as I was going up our gravel road just before the driveway. No answer.

SilverRedO was parked under the carport as usual. So Farmer H was definitely home. Perhaps snoozing again in the recliner? I don't know. But I DID know that I'd be carrying in those six grocery bags by myself! I had mostly cold stuff. But I was NOT carrying in the three six packs of Diet Mountain Dew.

Little Jack came to greet me as I got out of T-Hoe in the garage. Huh. No Scarlett. She had just been there, barking with the pair of Jacks, behind the garage.

I looped all six bags on my right arm. Thankfully there was nothing really heavy this time. Just the salads, a container of cold fried chicken, some cherry tomatoes, the vanilla wafers, a couple bags of chips, and five boxes of the 5-for-$19.99 frozen items Farmer H likes for a quick supper, or to take to his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2) for lunches. Like mini chicken sandwiches and mini cheeseburgers. This time I also found BUFFALO mini chicken sandwiches. And corn dogs. And some mini pizzas.

Anyhoo... I added my purse and metal water bottle to that arm. As I let Jack out the people door, here came Scarlett galloping around the corner of the porch (sliding to a stop). 

AHA! That meant Farmer H was down by POOLIO. Scarlett barely lets him out of her sight when he's down there. If he has the gate closed on the porch, she stands and looks through the rail at him. 

I know Farmer H knew I was home! You'd have to be deaf not to hear the creaky garage door go up and down, and the dogs barking their fool heads off. In addition, I was yelling at Scarlett, who CANNOT understand a command to GET BACK. Not even with a push to her chest! Even though I do it EVERY TIME I have groceries to set on the metal chair on the side porch, so I don't have to carry them up the steps. A couple days ago, she even got whacked with a 12-pack of Shasta Diet Cola. NOT intentionally! I was trying to lift it up, and she darted toward me, pawing at my chest.

Anyhoo... I was screaming at Scarlett to GET BACK. Explaining loudly (not for HER benefit) that I had all those groceries to put on the chair.

You might imagine how my level of not-happiness increased as I rounded the corner of the porch, and spied Farmer H sitting on a chair on POOLIO's deck!!!

Sweet Gummi Mary! Can you believe that Farmer H had the NERVE to come in through the laundry room door the very minute I was putting away items in the last bag??? I'm sure you can.

"Oh, you still have the knack, don't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Showing up RIGHT WHEN I GET DONE PUTTING AWAY GROCERIES!"

"I didn't know you was out there."

"You'd have to be deaf not to know. And I called you and called you! What if I was in a wreck? What if my car broke down? You don't answer your phone! You knew I was in town, at the store!"

"I didn't have my phone."

"That's the point!"

"I can't take my phone in the pool, HM."

"Yeah, like that's what I'm suggesting! A phone in the pool! You could put it on the deck where you could hear it!"

"It would get water splashed on it!"

I give up with this guy. What's he doing, practicing synchronized swimming? Doing cannonballs off the side? I've never seen Farmer H splashing water in POOLIO! He lays on a raft, up against the side.

I'm pretty sure Farmer H is trying to kill me. By neglect, or by rage.

The Increasingly Elderly Mrs. HM

I must be looking more frail and pitiful than usual lately. More and more people are holding open doors for me! The old men have always been nice about it. In the past few weeks, a couple of 20-something guys have done it. A little girl around 7. And a few days ago, it was a young teen boy!!!

It was at Orb K. I had parked in my favorite space by the striped handicap walkway, though not in the single handicap space. This one is more convenient for me. As I climbed out of T-Hoe, I saw these two teen boys cutting up as young boys do, and running across the County Lettered Highway to get from the Save A Lot/Subway mini mall to Orb K. 

With my many years of teaching experience, I judged these young'uns to be around 14 years old. Like that summer between 8th grade and 9th grade. Just starting to grow up and fill out. One was lanky with short brown hair, and the other stocky with curly red hair.

By the time I got to the front door, Red had just arrived. He looked back over his shoulder for Brownie, who was laughing and weaving through the parked cars. Red glanced at me, then stepped over and HELD THE RIGHT SIDE DOOR OPEN FOR ME! 

Wasn't that sweet? I looked him in the eye and thanked him. He looked embarrassedly proud. 

THEN TWO 20-something gals came barreling out before I could step in!

I had seen them approaching through the left glass door, each with a fountain soda in hand. I know they could see me through that door, and how Red was holding our side open. Of course they assumed it was for THEM! And instead of coming out the left door, they jumped over to exit through the door Red was holding for Mrs. HM! No "Excuse me" or NOTHIN' from them as they almost knocked me over. No thanks, nor even an acknowledgement, for Red, either.

Heh, heh. I suppose I need to work on looking WEAKER for this demographic...

Perhaps Mrs. HM Has Solved A Slippery Mystery

I have mentioned to The Pony and Farmer H that I don't understand why Scarlett often tumbles up the steps, and slides along the porch boards rather than stopping on a dime like Jack. She's a goofy dog, but otherwise seems coordinated enough. After all, she follows behind me, hopping and leaping, without coming down on my heels. Most of the time. She jumps off the four-foot-high concrete carport onto the slanted grass below without stumbling, in order to chase uncatchable squirrels. AND I've seen her leap UP from the grass onto the carport, flat-footed!

Jack has very sturdy digging claws on his toes. I thought maybe Scarlett, being an Australian Shepherd with no need for digging, unlike Jack's dachshund half, simply has shorter claws. Or maybe she was de-clawed by her previous master! But no. I looked. Scarlett has normal-looking claws, though not as thick as Jack's.

While I was observing her toenails, Scarlett took off around the porch corner, looking for Farmer H, who had carried in two boxes of groceries! Seeing that he'd closed the kitchen door, Scarlett came running back towards me. Tried to stop, and SLID across the porch boards. When she turned and started back to look for the object of her ADORATION again, I saw the bottom of her paws as she pranced along.

THERE WERE TUFTS OF FUR POKING OUT BETWEEN HER TOES!

That's gotta be it! Scarlett's toe-pads don't make full contact with the porch boards. The fur allows her to slide. Maybe she even enjoys this activity, like a kid in socks sliding on a tile floor. I can't imagine it being a problem for her on the grass, or concrete, or gravel. 

Now I'm wondering if this is just a characteristic of her breed. 

Acceptable News Is Better Than Bad News

Farmer H scared the Not-Heaven out of me on Tuesday morning with a couple texts. Let the record show that I usually don't hear from him throughout the day. At 10:19 I heard my phone buzz.

"Are you awake"

"Yes."

"Im going to call you"

SWEET GUMMI MARY! Something that NEEDED A CALL! My heart was thumping. Had something happened to The Pony? Because only one week ago, I got that text from The Pony's phone, asking if it was okay to call me, and it turned out to be Farmer H using The Pony's phone to call me from the ER, where he had take The Pony with a sprained ankle.

Then, the call.

It was about a problem at the Beauty Shop half of the Double Hovel flip house(s). Some damage that will need fixing, increasing costs. WHEW! [That tale is on my not-so-secret blog.]

"Okay. We can deal with it. It's only money. I was afraid The Pony or you were hurt!"

"Nah. We're fine. It's just something I hate to see. I guess I have to start checking Old Buddy's work. I cain't depend on him lately. I also had a problem over at the QuickFlip house. I promised that old lady that I'd get her water hooked up under the house, and not charge her for it. Old Buddy did that for me. When I got under the house yesterday to look at it, he'd hooked up the hot water to the cold water."

[I may not be explaining this right, but somehow it got hooked up so that the pipe from the water heater doesn't run to the hot water in the bathroom. So the old lady can't get hot water in the shower. She and her grandson just moved in this weekend.]

"Anyhoo... this morning I sent Old Buddy back under the house to fix it. When he came out and I looked, it was crooked. I said, 'I told you I wanted it straight.' And Old Buddy said, 'It DID look straight, to me.' But it was a good three inches off. So I had to cut that part out to fix it. And it cost me an extra $20."

Again, I don't understand exactly what Farmer H was explaining. I guess they had to get some pipe or connectors to fix it right. Farmer H pays Old Buddy $15 cash money for his help. So it wasn't from the labor.

"I asked Old Buddy, 'Are you okay?' And he said he was having some family problems. So I sent him home at 10:00. His mind definitely ain't on his work right now."

So... not great news, but nothing devastating. Broken things can be fixed, for a price. Lives, not so much.

I'll Have To Run This Idea By The Boss Before I Try It

Several weeks ago, I bought a different brand of frozen crinkle fries. I don't even remember which store. Farmer H likes the crinkle fries, but I prefer the plain variety. Anyhoo... he likes them when he has a sandwich or something quick for supper.

The first time I made them, I had some as well, since I didn't want to bother with two different cookings. No need to get the others out of the freezer, and put in the oven 15 or 20 minutes, when they could already be RIGHT THERE. I always eat later, so mine sat on the pan until later, when I slid them in the oven for about 5 minutes to re-warm.

Huh. They were NOT tasty. In fact, they had no taste. I quizzed Farmer H about his opinion, in case mine had just gotten dried out by sitting there and being warmed twice. 

"They wasn't very good. Tasted like cardboard."

"So you don't want them again?"

"Not really. No."

I tried those crinkle fries again another night. Still no taste. I think it's a 1-lb bag. The dogs were not crazy about them, either! Yet I hate to waste them. Figured I'd just have a few every now and then, until they're gone. Then I had the most scathingly brilliant idea...

I'm often switching channels, and land on the show Carnival Eats. Those vendors have some odd combinations, and then again, some that look delicious. I remembered some of them made loaded fries. That might be my fries solution! I could make Pizza Fries, or Chinese Fries, for Farmer H!

I figure I could make the fries, and top them with pizza sauce, pepperoni, mushroom, onion, and mozzarella cheese. Surely those flavors would brighten up the fries. Or a Chinese version. I have frozen Teriyaki Chicken, and frozen General Tso's Chicken. Those could go on the fries, with their sauce, and maybe some diced green onions, and maybe some frozen peas. Just have the fries with it instead of rice.

Not sure how Farmer H will respond to this idea. Last night, I made him something he saw on a TV commercial and asked for. SPAM! Fried chunks of Spam, in stir-fried rice, with added frozen peas. He said it was great, and he'd like it again. Hey! Maybe I could just give him some fried Spam and peas on those fries, with onions and oyster sauce or hoisin sauce.

Definitely worth the question. I get bored trying to think up things for Farmer H to eat. It's a never-ending job. If he doesn't like those ideas, I can try it for myself.

Ever-Vigilant Mrs. HM Avoids An Attempted Food Scam

You know how I feel about Country Mart. They have high prices, not-so-helpful help, and consistently have outdated foods on their shelves for sale. Yes. I still go there. Because they have some items I can't find in 10Box or Save A Lot.

Thursday, since I was over in Sis-Town anyway, I went in to pick up a few bananas, soda for Farmer H, and two big salads for our supper.

I was in luck. They actually had the big salads available. This time, there was even the chicken tenders version. It comes with a cut-up chicken tender on top. Farmer H likes the kind with chopped ham and turkey, which also includes two halves of a boiled egg. 

I picked up my chicken tender salad, and was not happy to see no label. I've mentioned before that these simpletons put the labels on wrong. Mainly, not sticking it over the edge of the plastic container. Meaning anybody could open it up and tamper with it, or eat something out of it. But also, they put the labels on the BOTTOM of their deli containers. 

So there I was, not happy to be flipping over a SALAD to see the date on the bottom. This was Thursday, July 18. My chicken tender salad said to SELL BY July 21. Good to go. Into my cart/walker.

I picked up Farmer H's ham/turkey salad. Flipped it over. The SELL BY date was July 17. No, no, no! Not fooling Mrs. HM this time, by cracky! I put it back, and reached to the last one in the row, on the bottom. Flipped it over. SELL BY July 20. Good enough for me! 

I feel sorry if anybody was tricked into buying that already-expired ham/turkey salad. I left it upside down, with the label visible. Not my fault if somebody was to pick it up and the lid fall off. Shoulda put the label on like a normal store!

No, I was NOT going to haul that expired salad up front and complain. Not my job. Besides, they'd most likely just take it back and put it in the deli case again. This ain't 10Box, you know, with helpful, conscientious employees.

I'm beginning to think this ruse is NOT due to simpletons, but is the policy at Country Mart. A concerted effort to scam the customers!

He's My Cherry Eye, Short Drink Of Water, Makin' HM Cry

Sorry. That song was on my mind. Warrant performed last week at our favorite casino. No, we did not go!

As you know, my Little Jack was missing for two days. I love that little dog so much! He helped me get over the loss of The Pony to college. We had many a tearful afternoon talk that autumn on the front porch pew. Me sitting, Jack crawling around the back of my neck, under my hair. Not as cute as it was when he was a little (half) weenie dog pup, but a comforting routine. Jack would still try it if I picked him up.

I did not originally want Jack. Can you believe it? We already had my Sweet, Sweet Juno. And poor dumb Ann, the black german shepherd stray that found us as a pup before we took in puppy Juno from my mom's roadside.

HOS (Farmer H's Oldest Son) said his wife's sister had a litter of pups, and could we take one. Of course Farmer H said we would! No idea why, since he was so against Genius and The Pony getting Mailbox Row kittens a few years before.

Anyhoo... Farmer H said these pups were from a dachshund mom and red heeler dad. He showed me a picture on his phone. I was not impressed. It's not polite to call a puppy ugly, but this litter was NOT attractive.

"Why'd you say we'll take one?" I remember this whole incident, me sitting in my dark basement lair, and Farmer H standing in the doorway after showing me the pics.

"We have room. We already have the two dogs. One more is not a big deal."

"Let me think about it."

The next day, I agree. But only if they would save me the pup with the longest legs and the shortest back. Farmer H was gone to Sweden for work when HOS delivered my pup. For being ugly, he sure was a cute little thing. Definitely dachshund by shape, and mostly red heeler by coloring. Ears neither floppy like a dachshund, nor pointy like a heeler. In between. A little flip, like a Jack Russell.

Here he is on the front porch with The Pony's leg, on May 20th, 2016.

Don't tell Farmer H, but that first night we got Jack, The Pony and I kept him in the Mansion! We put Jack in a storage tub, and The Pony took him into his bedroom, to sleep beside his bed, where he could pet Puppy Jack when he was anxious. Farmer H never allows pets in the house! He still doesn't know!

Anyhoo... Jack has been such a ray of sunshine for me, loving me unconditionally, filling a gap in my heart that was devastatingly empty of The Pony. I love that little guy. I am so relieved that he returned home from his 2-day sojourn to parts unknown.

Sadly, I noted on Friday evening that Jack had something going on with his left eye. It was the same as the something that has been plaguing his right eye for many years. I assumed it had something to do with his doggy third eyelid. On The Incredible Dr. Pol, I learned that it is commonly called "Cherry Eye." I looked it up on my estranged BFF Google, and learned quite a bit.

I had mentioned to Farmer H that Jack now had the same issue with his other eye, and that we might need to take him to the vet. Well. After research of the innernets, I don't think so.

Apparently, Cherry Eye does not cause any pain for the dog. It's mostly a cosmetic issue. A vet will treat it with surgery, under anesthesia, at a cost between $300 and $2500. They suture the third eyelid so it's out of the way. BUT... there's a 58 percent chance the malady will return! AND, during recovery, the dog must wear the cone of shame until healed. That's not something feasible for our Jack. We can't keep him put up, wearing a cone, when he's used to running free. He's not a show dog. As long as he's not in pain, I'm fine with Jack having his third eyelids showing. Supposedly, they should not be removed, because even "prolapsed," they still provide 70 percent of the tears needed to keep the eye comfortable.

Jack will be Jack. I'm not putting him through surgery that has over a 50 percent chance of not solving the problem. I really love that little guy.

My Windfall Is On Its Way

I was getting a bit concerned about my recent win in the lottery drawing. Kept waiting for something in the mail, like a notice, and a promotional form to return. That's what the info on the MOLottery site purported for this contest.

It's been 10 days since I was notified of my win, and nothing has come in the mail. Made me wonder if maybe I needed to do something else. Did they have my address in my account info? Obviously, they have my email. But it's been so long since I made that account, I couldn't remember if it needed an address.

I went back to my email notification, and called the number listed for questions. Waited through a list of six options to get the department I needed. Waited two minutes in silence, not even any muzak to pass my time, and then a woman answered. She was surprisingly polite, from what I've gathered reading other people's experiences on their Facebook page.

"I got an email on July 9th that I won a promotional drawing for the weekly giveaway. I haven't heard anything else. Is there something I need to do to claim my prize?"

"No. It will be mailed to you. It's $300, and will be sent in a **** envelope, from **** company, in **** to **** weeks."

"Okay. That's good to know. So you already have my address in my account information?"

"Yes. We have whatever you entered when you set up your account."

"That's fine. It hasn't changed. Thank you so much for the information."

"You're quite welcome. Congratulations! You have a fantastic weekend!"

"And you, too! Goodbye."

So now I'm not worried any more. My prize is on the way. Or about to be on the way. Or at least in a pile of a few thousand other winners, waiting to be sent out.

Good to know about the mailing details, since I would have been looking for an envelope from the lottery. Don't wanna toss away my windfall, thinking it's junk mail!

Where, Oh Where, Can They Be?

As I type, it's 5:05 on Wednesday evening. We have not seen Jack or Scarlett for two days. I am beside myself with worry. It's not like them to go missing.

Sunday morning, they were barking their fool heads off as usual in the front yard from 6:15 to 7:00. I suppose another dog makes its rounds at that time, after its owner has left for work. Or maybe an inside dog is let out to do its business at that time.

Monday morning, Little Jack was yipping and yapping so much that I got up to see what in the Not-Heaven was going on. Didn't hear Scarlett. Copper Jack was lying beside our driveway. Our dogs were not in sight. I stepped out the front door, and Jack and Scarlett eventually came around from the side porch. Nothing to see over there.

That's the last time I saw them. They were not on the porch when I left for town, and not here when I came home.

Tuesday morning, rain started around 8:00. Heavy rain! All day, until 4:00. I didn't hear the dogs. I figured they were holed up somewhere, waiting for the rain to slack off. They were not around when I left for town. Not here when I came home. Copper Jack was here. He looked like he didn't know what to do with himself as I pulled into the garage. He wandered up on the porch, and I gave him a treat for his trouble.

Wednesday morning, I did not hear the dogs. Didn't see them when I left for town. I met Farmer H down by Mailbox Row. I asked if he'd seen the dogs.

"No! They weren't here this morning when I put their food out!"

"I haven't seen them since Monday morning!" 

"They was here Tuesday morning when I fed. But that's the last I seen of them. I'll go home and start up the mower. That usually brings them running."

I worried the whole time I was in town. Hoping they would be with Farmer H when I got back. They were not. Just Copper Jack. Farmer H was parked on his mower over on Shackytown Boulevard, talking to a neighbor on a Gator. I sadly closed the garage door before I even got out of T-Hoe. No doggies to run under and stop the door.

Farmer H was on the mower down by POOLIO as I went in the Mansion.

"My buddy says there are other dogs out here missing. Little CUTE dogs."

"I can't image why others are missing, too. It would have been on Tuesday, with all that rain. I don't think anybody would be out here stealing dogs during that kind of weather. Somebody might take Scarlett, for her looks. But not Jack. You know, she kept coming home smelling like perfume for a while."

"My buddy THINKS he caught them on his game camera about 1:00 a.m. this morning. It looks like Jack, anyway."

"OH! That gives me hope! I've been thinking maybe they were out running, and the creek went up, and they might have got washed away trying to get back. Or somebody saw them all wet, and took them in their house, and they're trapped. Or maybe someone put out poison. That could explain other dogs missing, too. Or they might have got shot if they were running livestock, but nobody out here has livestock now. Not even horses."

"My buddy's land butts up against the state park. So maybe they wandered up in there, and got lost, and it will take them a while to find their way home."

"Or maybe somebody in the park TOOK THEM! Or the creeks are up, and they can't cross yet."

"Well, you can bet that they're both together, wherever they are. They're always together. One don't go nowhere without the other."

"I'm surprised Copper Jack isn't with them."

"Yeah. He looks kind of sad and lonely."

Aside from the possible game camera sighting, one other thing gives me hope. Their food dishes were completely empty when I went to town. I know that Copper Jack, and the squirrels, and maybe that cat that supposedly lives here, can eat the food. But many days, when the dogs are here, there's still a little left in their bowls, because Farmer H is a big over-feeder. Maybe they came home for a while to eat, then left again.

I'm quite sad. I don't want to mention it to The Pony just yet. He's a bit fond of both fleabags.

____________________________________________________________________

SWEET GUMMI MARY! Jack and Scarlett just walked by the kitchen window! It's 5:51 p.m. Such a relief! I sent Farmer H a text.

____________________________________________________________________

Now it's 12:15 a.m. on Thursday. Jack is barking his fool head off on the side porch. 

It's music to my ears!

____________________________________________________________________

Shoving Farmer H Off The Mountain, When We Could Have Navigated The Molehill

When Farmer H mentioned The Pony's hospital visit on Tuesday evening, I dared to venture a suggestion.

"The ER doctor said The Pony might have to go as far as Lexington, Kentucky, to see a worker's comp doctor for his sprained ankle."

"Huh. Maybe you should have taken him over to that urgent care in Bill-Paying Town, where he went when he BROKE his ankle. They have that orthopedist who comes once a week, who takes worker's comp cases. Rather than to the closest ER, here in Hillmomba."

"The Pony paid over there with his own insurance. Because they wouldn't take his worker's comp."

"The Pony didn't have all the paperwork then. They treated him, and he had to take the forms over the next day."

"No. He paid with his insurance."

"No, he did not! It's illegal to use insurance to pay for a worker's comp claim. We kept stressing that."

"I was THERE, HM! I know how he paid!"

"That never happened! The Pony did NOT have to repay his insurance when he finally got his settlement!"

"I WAS THERE! You don't know what you're talking about! The Pony PAID WITH HIS INSURANCE!"

Off in a huff, Farmer H stormed to the master bathroom for a soak in the big triangle tub, rather than utilizing the waters of POOLIO for which we are paying dearly.

I sent a text to The Pony.

"Dad says you paid urgent care in Bill-Paying Town with your insurance, for your broken ankle. I say no."

"I gave them the card. To hold a copy just in case. I didn't pay them, no."

When Farmer H returned from his hissy-fit in the big triangle tub, I informed him of this fact.

"He gave them his insurance card! They said they needed it, in case worker's comp didn't pay."

"So The Pony did NOT pay for it with his insurance. Just like I said."

"He gave them the insurance card!"

"That's not what you said earlier! You said he paid with his insurance. And I said he did not! It's illegal! It's insurance fraud! Obviously, this urgent care takes worker's comp cases and treats them. You never said anything about just giving the card."

"I DID TOO! I was right! The Pony paid with his insurance!"

This is just too much. Farmer H has a screw loose in his noggin. He picks a fight over the littlest things, and changes his argument when facts betray his proclamations!

Oh, and let the record show that The Pony DROVE HIMSELF over to that urgent care after the broken ankle, and also drove himself home! So Farmer H was not there for the initial visit. I took The Pony the next day, by the office for paperwork, and then to the urgent care. So it must have been a follow-up appointment with the orthopedist when Farmer H actually accompanied The Pony back to urgent care.

Like The Proverbial Leopard, Farmer H Cannot Change His Spots

As I was leaving 10Box on Tuesday evening, I called Farmer H. You know, to inform him that I was on the way home with groceries to be carried in. I knew he should be home, because of an incident concerning The Pony. And a tip from The Pony that Farmer H was leaving his house as I was headed to town.

Well. There was no answer. After a short detour to mail the electric bills for the two halves of the Double Hovel flip house(s), I tried to call again. With no answer.

That's the thanks I get for warning Farmer H to take the long way home, due to the creek being over the bridge from Tuesday's heavy rains.

Anyhoo... as I steered T-Hoe down the driveway, I could see Farmer H on his precious John Deere zero-turn mower. I'm sure he could see me, too.

I stopped before getting onto the concrete carport leading to the garage. I waited. Farmer H came through the front yard/field on his mowing section. I motioned for him to come over. But no. Farmer H turned zero-ly, and headed back up the front yard/field for another round.

I opened the garage door, and waited. Only the nose of T-Hoe starting in. Waited, there on the concrete carport, for Farmer H to come back down the front yard/field. As he did, I HONKED. And I motioned for him to come over. Nope! Farmer H turned his John Deere mower again, and headed back for another round.

WHAT IN THE NOT-HEAVEN???

Was I invisible, like when those patrons of the Gas Station Chicken Store step in front of me at the register?

I pulled into the garage, and loaded the groceries (6 BAGS) on my arm. Then my purse and water bottle. As I hobbled up the porch steps, I saw Farmer H coming towards the Mansion, mowing his strip of yard/field. He did not come to my assistance, but turned zero-ly once again.

By the time Farmer H entered the Mansion, I congratulated him.

"Thank goodness you got here after I carried in and put away the groceries!"

"I didn't know."

"I called you twice from town. Good thing my not-maintained car didn't break down! Or I didn't get caught in the high water of the creek! How could you not see me in the driveway? Motioning to you. At the end, and waiting by the garage?"

"I didn't see you, HM."

"I called AND when I got home, I HONKED!"

"I can't hear on the mower."

Well. How conveeeeeeenient!"

Don't You Hate It When...

...after your shower, you find an unexplained drop of blood on the tile floor of the master bathroom? Seriously! Am I dying? What's the deal?

It was quite unexpected. I only noticed that spot when I was sitting on the throne, post-shower, putting lotion on my legs, and then stepping into my socks. This spot was about the size of a nickel, and near my left foot. That's odd. There's nothing wrong with my left foot. I didn't have a nosebleed. I didn't shave my legs. What in the NOT-HEAVEN??? 

I suppose maybe it came when I stepped out of the shower. My right heel has been hurting, like maybe it's cracked. I can't see the bottom of my heel. It's on the outer right side of my right heel, but on the bottom of my foot. Since I'm in black socks most of the time, I don't notice anything amiss. Just the pain sometimes, like there's a crack. I suppose I will have to get Farmer H to take a gander. I don't think I've stepped on anything recently. My left foot had no pain at all, so I doubt that's where it came from. 

Anyhoo... I wiped it up, and looked for any other such spots. Nothing. So strange. Hope I haven't stepped on some odd piece of metal shaving that Farmer H carried home on his pants...

Baby Steps, A Giant Leap, And More Baby Steps

Unless you suffer from short-term memory loss, you may recall that yesterday, Mrs. HM was suffering from sinus-related jaw pain in her toothy nerves. It was BAD! The only relief came during my hot, hot shower, when I let the water spray on the left side of my face. Instant cessation of pain! Yet when I turned to finish my shower, the pain came back. Sweet Gummi Mary! If only I could stand in the hot shower for hours, to relieve my pain!

Saturday evening, Mrs. HM was in tears! Tears dropping onto the kitchen table, interfering with her scratcher scratching. BAD! The weeping even drew Farmer H into the kitchen, to ask if there was anything he could do. No. Nothing. Yet Farmer H suggested a trip to the emergency room  that is 10 minutes away from the Mansion.

"No. There's nothing they can do. They'll just assume I'm a drug-seeker. You can't even get painkiller meds for surgery these days! They'd only look down their noses, and maybe give a suggestion for high-dose ibuprofen or acetaminophen. We have those here, in regular doses."

So Farmer H went off to bed. Out of sight (and hearing due to deafness), out of mind, I suppose.

It was horrific! I understand why people with chronic pain want to end their suffering. As much as I hate to take extra meds, I vowed to make an effort to dull my jaw pains. I would take an ibuprofen every 8 hours, and an acetaminophen every 8 hours, offset.

The night was not pleasant. Those pills take about 45 minutes to show any effect. I had my ibuprofen around 10:30, and an acetaminophen about 2:30 a.m. Then another ibuprofen at 5:30 a.m. When Farmer H left the Mansion at 6:15 a.m. Sunday, I was feeling a bit of relief. I had managed to snooze a couple hours at a time. In fact, the pain had abated enough that I skipped my acetaminophen at 10:00 a.m.

The Pony texted to check on me shortly before noon. I assured him that I was 50 percent better. Planning to take my regular meds at noon. Farmer H also sent a text to see if I was okay. I was. I took an ibuprofen before my nap at 2:00 p.m. Again, skipping an acetaminophen about 6:00. That was a mistake!

My pain tried to return about 7:30 p.m. I'd only had a mini bag of chips with my Shasta Diet Cola while scratching scratchers. Deliberately chewing gingerly, and on the right side, not the painful left. But somehow my too-big-feeling tongue got caught between my left-side back teeth, and sent a jolt of pain coursing through my skull. DANG! So off I went, to pop an acetaminophen.

Right now, it's 7:56 p.m. on Sunday. I have yet to make my supper, which I plan to be a "chicken bowl" like Hardee's used to sell. Refried beans, hot sauce, frozen grilled chicken, shredded cheddar, salsa, and sour cream. You can bet that I'm leaving off the diced onion that I'd love. But common sense says "Don't poke the nerves."

I DO think I'm getting over this malady. I just tried leaving off the meds too soon.

You Don't Know What You've Got 'Til It's Pain

Sweet Gummi Mary! Mrs. HM is in agony!

Okay. Not the level of agony she experienced with gallstones, or childbirth, or a broken arm, or torn knee cartilage, or a finger slammed into a car door that then locked. But still... agony. Mid-level agony.

It's that sinus congestion nerve pain again. I'd say it was a bad tooth, but that's not it. The symptoms are wrong.

Thursday night, I made myself tuna salad for supper. Not to eat as a sandwich, but with a fork, and some Ritz Crackers on the side. It only contained tuna, a tablespoon of mayo, diced baby dills, and diced Vidalia onion. Mmm. I was happily innernetting, dining on my delicious tuna salad, when a bolt of pain shot through my left back jaws. Upper AND lower!

Well, now. I have a broken lower tooth, but it's been that way for years. Doesn't give me trouble. Same with one on the upper jaw, a bit more forward. I had bitten down on a piece of onion. Felt like it was a dagger piercing two nerves! 

The pain gradually abated to a nagging ache. It went away during sleep, then returned upon awakening. When I took my lisinopril blood pressure pill, the pain backed off. After my daily aspirin, it went away. A few hours later, I took an ibuprofen as I do before my town trip.

By the time I started home from town, that pain was building again. An acetaminophen at 11:00 p.m. did NOTHING to help.

I can only surmise that this is sinus related, like has happened before, on the other side of my mouth, and more forward on the left side, as well.

In fact, Thursday evening when I came home, I told Farmer H that I was not feeling well at all. My knees were killing me, and I had so much phlegm I couldn't seem to get rid of. I had harrumphed all the way home from town. And at times, when I leaned a certain way, my nose would run with abandon.

I'm guessing that our spot thunderstorms over the past few days are the result of a low pressure weather system, which has affected my sinuses and my joints.

There is no pain when I clench my teeth together, as these teeth fit just fine in my mouth. But when chewing, it's like my tongue feels too big, and sometimes gets caught between the teeth. Which is agonizing! More shooting pain, a bit of throbbing, and then the dull ache. Using my vibrator on my head gives a little buzz that eases my pain. But when I stop, it's like a rebound effect that makes it hurt more.

As in the past, I figure the only thing I can do is wait it out. For the weather system to pass, with high pressure once again returning things to normal, and for my irritated sinus-squeezed facial nerves to relax.

The Tomato Verdict

As I mentioned yesterday, Old Buddy gave Farmer H some tomatoes purported to be from his garden. I was suspicious of their origin, because they were cold, clean, firm, and nicely-shaped. Plus, the small tomato I sliced for Farmer H that evening was not at all juicy, and didn't give off a home-grown aroma.

Anyhoo... Thursday night, I tried a tomato for myself.

I picked the middle-sized tomato. Not because I'm Goldilocks and anticipated it to be "just right." But because it was getting a little bruised-looking spot near that protuberance on the bottom. You can see it in the picture.

I sliced my tomato, then sliced the slices. So I had some triangular-shaped chunks, in a bowl, on the side with my tuna salad supper. I added a bit of salt.

That tomato was tasty! Not a perfect, warm-from-the-sun, robust flavor of a home-grown tomato. But still, a lot of flavor. More than you get from a store-bought tomato. Also, by the end of my tomato-eating session, that bowl was full of juice. 

I declare that the tomato I ate was, indeed, a HOME GROWN TOMATO!

My apologies to Old Buddy for doubting his gift. Better yet, it's good to know that Farmer H was not hoodwinked by a friend.

Farmer H said that Old Buddy has promised him some cherry tomatoes next... Let's just keep this episode our little secret. Mrs. HM does not insult the hand that feeds her.

Maybe You CAN Crap A Bullcrapper

Farmer H came home with four tomatoes on Tuesday.

"There's some fresh tomatoes on the counter. Old Buddy gave 'em to me, out of his garden."

"Oh, good. I love fresh tomatoes."

When I saw them on the kitchen counter, I wasn't so sure they were actually "fresh" tomatoes. Granted, there were two large, a medium, and a small. Only one was a bit oddly shaped, with a pointy little pixie-hair bottom. The part where the stems came off were nice and round, not irregular. The outer skin was all the same color, except for a tiny bit of yellowish hue on the smallest tomato. Nice, smooth skin. No blemishes. No dirt or dust.

I didn't want a tomato that night, but Farmer H said he'd have a couple slices. I didn't want to waste a tomato. I cut the smallest one, four slices, and then the bottom cap, and the stem-top cap. I planned to take a taste of the top and bottom. But Farmer H PUT ALL SIX PIECES ON HIS PLATE!!!

"Oh. Well. I was going to try it. But never mind now."

"Well, you said you didn't want to waste any."

"YOU said you only wanted two slices!"

"Here. You can have some."

"No. You already have it on your plate, with salt."

Anyhoo... I can't be sure, because I didn't taste that tomato. But when I sliced it, the inside was firm. It was not dripping any juice. It sliced just like a storebought tomato. AND it was cold!

"Why are these tomatoes cold, if they came out of Old Buddy's garden?"

"I don't know. They was in the truck. I had the air conditioner going."

Huh. They should not have been cold, just from the AC. We'd had rain all day, with temps in the 70s. These tomatoes felt like they'd come out of a refrigerator. I was expecting Farmer H to say he had put them in the fridge at the Beauty Shop while they were working. He didn't say WHEN Old Buddy gave him the tomatoes. If it was on the way home when he dropped him off, I would almost swear that these were store tomatoes out of Old Buddy's refrigerator. 

I suppose I my suspicions will be confirmed or denied when I actually try a taste at supper.

A Lowe's Blow From Farmer H

Fresh from complaining that I didn't give him a document he didn't ask for, regarding T-Hoe's license renewal... Farmer H is at it again. He certainly seems to set high expectations for his unpaid office manager!

Tuesday evening, Farmer H said he would be going to Lowe's on Wednesday, to get materials for the Beauty Shop kitchen. 

"Oh, that's good. You can take this bill that we got today, and pay it there, like you did last time."

As a refresher, remember that Farmer H started a new kind of credit card account (which he still has not received) at Lowe's to use for a supposed better discount on flip house materials. It's like a contractor account, that mails itemized purchases, rather than just a total without listing specific materials, like on the regular credit card statement.

This new PRO statement comes without a return envelope. It allows two months before payment is due. You can just pay specific purchases and not the whole thing. It's a headache for Mrs. HM, the unpaid record-keeper.

Farmer H paid the first such PRO bill in person, on July 3, before our casino trip. This most recent PRO "bill" was dated July 2. So it still has the already-paid charges from May, and the latest of the June purchases. 

"Yeah, I can do it while I'm there. Just give me a check, and write down how much."

"The $444 you paid on July 3 is probably showing on the account by now. I'll subtact that off this total, and it will take care of everything on this bill. Do you want the receipt they gave you when you paid on July 3rd?"

"Nah. It should be on their computer. Just give me a check, and that bill."

Wednesday morning, I had it all in an envelope for Farmer H to take.

"Look that over, and make sure you understand what you're doing. I had to check the boxes for the items you want to pay. I left the other ones blank, because you already paid them. There's the account number on top. And a note card with the amount for the check you're writing."

"Oh. You didn't write the check?"

"No. Why would I? You said give you a check, and the amount. You wrote it last time. Will they even take a check from you with a woman's signature on it? They'll know you didn't write it."

"Well, I just thought you'd go ahead and write the check. They'll accept it."

"Okay. Hand me the whole thing."

"I don't see the other receipt in here."

"You said you didn't need it."

"I don't."

"Then why are you asking about it?"

"Well, I thought I'd just take it."

"Okay. When I finish writing this check, I'll go to the kitchen and find it."

"No. That's okay. I shouldn't need it."

See, here's the problem. I can't read Farmer H's mind. Especially when HE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT HE WANTS!

The Pettiness Of The Procrastinating Farmer

Farmer H took T-Hoe to be inspected on June 24th. That's because sometime in June, we got a notice in the mail that T-Hoe's license expires at the end of July. Farmer H went to Mick the Mechanic, because Mick always works him in whenever he shows up asking for something.

Farmer H came home with the inspection slip, saying that T-Hoe passed, but needs work on those stabilizer bushing thingies that has been an ongoing thing for about a year now. Oh, well. Only the best for Mrs. HM! We'll get T-Hoe stabilized when we're good and ready, and not an instant before. Never mind that I've complained about brought Farmer H's attention to the rattle, and explained how the steering feels "mushy." Which may not even be related, and possibly another issue. Since I also mentioned how the brakes grab, but Farmer H said Mick said they were just fine.

Anyhoo... that evening, Farmer H laid down the inspection slip, and the postcard notice.

"I'll need the property tax receipts for the past two years. And a check."

"When do you think you'll go?"

"I don't know. I have until the end of July."

"Well. I'm not tearing out a check right now. It will be out of order."

"That's fine. I'll tell you when I'm going to the license office."

So... I set aside the inspection slip and the postcard notice, and got out the two years of property tax receipts to put with them, and left them on my Puffs Plus Lotion box on the kitchen counter. Right there where I keep important things like The Pony's winning scratchers that he wants me to hold and cash right before a casino trip.

Sunday evening, Farmer H said he was planning to go to the license office on Monday. It's right next to that giant sinkhole that The Pony likes to check on after a rain, to see if it's getting bigger. The one with a piece of fence across the top, and a fence around it, that supposedly goes down into the lead mine.

Anyhoo... I set those T-Hoe license papers on the kitchen table, and put a check on top. 

When Farmer H came home Monday afternoon, he said ACCUSINGLY, 

"You didn't give me no insurance card!"

"You didn't ask for an insurance card!"

"I ALWAYS need an insurance card!"

"You have to tell me what you need. I just had the insurance cards out on Sunday anyway! To give The Pony his new one, and put mine in my purse. In fact, YOURS were laying right beside the license papers! For SilverRedO and A-Cad! Surely that would have reminded you to ask me!"

"The girl called to verify that we have insurance on T-Hoe. So I got the license."

I suppose I am remiss in not reading Farmer H's mind.

The Universe Finds Work For Dirty Hands

Monday, I picked up big salads for supper at Country Mart. When Farmer H came to the kitchen to get his ready, he first stepped out on the back porch to take a pee. No, sadly, that is NOT unusual.

Anyhoo... imagine my shock when I glanced over at the cutting block, and saw Farmer H reaching HIS HAND into the bag of crispy fried onions I had just opened to use for a salad topping.

"EWW! Get your hand out of there! You were just outside peeing, and you DID NOT wash your hands!"

"HM. I use my left hand for that."

"That's bull! You use your right hand for everything!"

"No. I pull up my shorts leg. With my left hand. That's what I use to pee."

"I don't believe you! Get your hand out of those onions! You could just shake the bag over your salad, you know. No need to stick a hand in there and root around and grab some."

"You're always on me for something!"

Yes. Yes, I am. Even though I was too late to prevent the initial contamination, I will remain ever-vigilant to thwart Farmer H's atrocious hygiene practices!

Sorry if this was too much information...

Pony People Problems

The Pony reported that he found a cat on his back porch a few days ago.

"I opened the back door, and saw this cat sitting there. I pointed my finger at it, and said, "Cat!" and it took off running for home. It belongs to my neighbor, but it comes down here sometimes."

"I hope you pay attention to when the food you order arrives. Or else that cat is going to get it. Or squirrels."

"I have my food delivered to the front porch. I can hear the delivery cars pull up, and the footsteps of the people delivering. So I get it right away. I'd still rather do that than have to interact with people by answering the door."

I totally understand. I, myself, am not a people person. However, I don't think I could make a cat disappear by simply pointing my finger at it, and saying, "Cat!"

What A Difference Three Years Makes

On the way home from the casino on Wednesday, I proudly informed The Pony that I had added a new radio station to my Sirius/XM playlist. I'm not one for change, you know. I'm happy listening to Classic Rock, and Prime Country.

"It's called The Coffeehouse! I added it, because I heard them advertising it, and it said it had artists like Ed Sheeran. I like Ed. So I figured I'd like this station."

"That's what I listen to!!!"

"Oh. Well. I've had it about three days now, and they've never played Ed Sheeran. I can't listen to it for long. It's so EMO! All the songs sound the same. Slow. About a problem, but things will be okay. This station makes me want to rush home and stick my head in the oven!"

Heh, heh. I suppose it's a fitting station for The Pony to listen to while delivering the mail. He is on the cusp of being Generation Z. 

"Not saying this specifically applies to YOU, but it's just like your generation, afraid of their own shadow, always depressed, the world is so hard to live in..."

"Hmm... I wonder who RAISED US???"

Just like Generation Z. Always assigning blame to someone else. About the only thing they have in common with Genius's people, tail-end of the Millennials. They are not afraid of their own shadow. They are entitled, and complain loudly when they don't get their way.

I refuse to take responsibility!!! After all, I raised both Genius and The Pony. So how could they turn out so differently, being only three years apart? 

It's the schools, I tell you! And the media, and the innernets! I did my best at school, but had to teach the curriculum assigned by the government. Glad I'm out now!!!

Somehow, I Expected More From Farmer H

I don't know what's gotten into me! I was disappointed by expecting MORE from Farmer H. I really need to lower those goalposts. 

On the way to town Friday afternoon, I passed Farmer H on his way home. I think his buddy, who hosts the Friday afternoon bull sessions in his garage, called that festivity off due to heat. When I got home, Farmer H was out fiddling about with POOLIO. Adding some water and such. 

When he came back in the Mansion, I offered to make him a Wild Turkey and Diet Shasta Cola, with a mini bag of chips, to tide him over until supper 90 minutes later. He accepted the offer, and went to take a shower.

My lottery scratching put me in a position to go ahead and warm Farmer H's supper about an hour later. He only wanted a previously-grilled sausage patty on bun, with leftover potatoes/onions, and two ears of corn that I put in the microwave.

Farmer H feasted, and then brought his tray back to the kitchen. Imagine my surprise when he put the two "used" corn cobs on a paper plate on the kitchen counter.

I call shenanigans! Why couldn't he walk around the counter and toss those cobs off the porch as usual??? Why am I in charge of the cobs???

I don't mind making food (or simply warming it, as he loves to correct me, forgetting how it was cooked in the first place) for Farmer H. 

I DO mind putting my hands on his saliva-laden corn cobs to dispose of them in nature's wastebasket.

Farmer H Has Been Robbed!

One thing Farmer H looks forward to every day is his lunch at the Senior Center. I felt bad when he drove us to the casino on Wednesday, because it meant he missed his 4th of July lunch and party. The menu was:

BBQ Pork Steak OR Chicken Parm

Potato Salad OR Salad

Street Corn OR Italian Blend

Garlic Toast

Red, White & Blue Cake OR Fruit

Farmer H said it was no big deal. He would be getting lunch at the casino.

On the actual 4th of July, the Senior Center was closed. Farmer H treated himself to lunch at Captain D's, (chicken and fish and fries, for $5.99) which is close to his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2) where he was fooling around with his inventory. 

I was happy that he could have Friday's lunch of

Fried Catfish

Corn Nuggets

Slaw

Wedges

Variety of Desserts

But NO! When I mentioned it to Farmer H on Thursday, July 4th, he said,

"It's closed."

"But the menu you brought home for July says that's what they're having!"

"They heard that the city workers were off on Friday, too, and had a fit so they could be off."

Huh. That's interesting. They're not city workers. They're funded by the federal government. But I suppose Farmer H will get that fish dinner on a different Friday.

It seems unfair. Unfair enough that I feel sorry for Farmer H!

Mrs. Hillbillky Mom, In Need Of A White Cane, Guide Dog, And Tin Cup, Is Not Worthy Of Riding Shotgun With Farmer H.

We went to the casino on Wednesday, taking The Pony on a day off. It was a fun trip, but the ride back was not so fun. We encountered a horrific rainstorm. We could see it as we approached. Could see the demarcation of the shade line from the storm clouds. One minute we were in bright afternoon sunlight, the next in a gloomy shade leading into a downpour.

You know Mrs. HM does not have much trust in Farmer H's driving techniques on a CLEAR day! So imagine the stress of fearing for one's life in a dark rainstorm. All the cars and semi trucks put on their flashers, so as to be visible from any too-fast drivers coming up behind. 

The Pony commented on such behavior. Farmer H said, "Thats just what the truckers do."

"Well. That car in front of us, and the one in front of him, are not truckers."

"There must be an accident up ahead, and they're warning us."

"Um. I don't see any accident. And it's been a couple miles now. Just rain."

It was so hard to see out the windshield. We were coming up on an exit.

"Do you want to pull off and wait it out?"

"No! That's a good way to get run over."

"I don't mean pull off the side of the road. I mean the exit. And wait about five minutes. To see if the rain slacks off. See? That guy ahead of us is doing it."

"He's taking the exit because he wants to get off there anyway."

You know. Farmer H is psychic. About five miles up the road, the rain slackened.

"SEE? THIS is why you don't pull off and wait. If you keep going, you get on the other side of the storm."

"Sure. You know it all. EVERY storm in the world is like this. There are none that will move past you while you're waiting five minutes. They're all stalled overhead, and you'll never get out from under it unless you keep driving... Don't pretend to know that every storm is the same, and your way of keeping driving is the only way to get out of it. It might go on for a hundred miles! YOU don't know!"

THEN, once we had entered the no-rain zone, and it started up again... I had the nerve to ask Farmer H to turn the windshield wipers back on.

"I can see just fine, HM. I don't know why you always start on me. It's because you won't go and get nothin' done to fix your eyes. THAT'S why you cain't see! It's your eyes. Not the windshield wipers."

"Well. Since you have such perfect vision, you need to buy the next car WITHOUT windshield wipers. Just tell that salesman, 'I don't want to be charged for windshield wipers. I can see through the rain. I don't need them.' No use wasting money on extras."

Because, you know, a man with glaucoma and one eye can see way better than Mrs. Hillbilly Mom in a rainstorm.

Yes, The Universe Is Having Fun At The Pony's Expense

The Pony checked his mailbox Saturday morning, and found THIS:

All The Pony had to say was "Hahaha."

Let the record show that The Pony has never had a desire to be a supervisor. He is more comfortable as a follower, not a leader. He will get the job done, following the rules, in an efficient manner. The Pony has no interest in shouldering the headaches that come with a managerial position.

The Universe MOCKS him!

What's She Supposed To Do, Chase That Car Like A Dog?

When I entered the Gas Station Chicken Store on Friday, Fave was having a discussion with a customer. Apologizing. Saying, "Don't worry about the soda. I didn't charge you for it."

There must have been a kerfuffle over the gas situation. Perhaps Customer got her nose out of joint, and was vocal about her displeasure, and Fave was trying to smooth it over. She's good with people.

"Well, it's just what I have to do. Woman Owner says she's taking twenty dollars out of my next paycheck, to teach me a lesson. So now, unless I know you, I'm not turning on the pumps. I can't afford to get fired, or pay for every drive-off."

I've mentioned before about how the Gas Station Chicken Story has good surveillance cameras, and gets good pictures of the ne'er-do-wells who drive off without paying, as well as their license plate numbers. But the police say it is a waste of time to track them down and file charges, because they usually get off in court, after a long wait, and time taken out of the busy work schedules of the owners who prosecute them.

Anyhoo... the Gas Station Chicken Store has old-fashioned gas pumps. You can't use a card to pay. You just lift the lever under the gas pump handle after you pick it up. That makes a beepy thing go off inside, and the cashier has to flip a switch to activate the specific pump. There might be as many as eight people there at once, two on each pump.

As you might imagine, the cashier is often busy, turning on gas, accepting payments, selling other merchandise to other customers, scanning scratchers, re-stocking the ice in the soda fountains, and cleaning up "accidents" in the bathrooms. If some deadbeat drives off without paying, what is the cashier supposed to do, CHASE AFTER THEM? Actually, the Woman Owner did that once. Maybe it IS what she expects!

Anyhoo... I think this is very wrong to charge Fave for a drive-off. Update your pumps! Get the kind that take a card. Lots of times, people come in asking how to make the pump work, and how to pay.

The policy now is that if the cashier doesn't know the customer as a regular who pays, the customer must walk in, and leave their driver's license until they return to pay for the gas they pump. Since they can't pay a certain amount and have the pump shut off.

I'm sure the cashiers will receive some complaints...

The Mansion Is NOT Pony House, Nor The Amityville Horror

At least not yet... I am growing concerned. A couple days ago, a fly was in the Mansion. I hate them. They're SO annoying, buzzing around. Sitting on the short couch Friday evening, I realized that there were TWO flies. One that had just buzzed my head, and one on the mini blinds of the living room window.

Later in the night, I got up to wrap Farmer H's hot dog lunch for him to take Saturday to his Storage Unit Store. While in the kitchen, I figured I might as well wash the supper dishes. In doing that, I saw one of those flies light on the curved neck of the sink faucet. I reached over for my flyswatter, and WHACKED it! That fly did a somersault over the counter, onto the floor behind it. I went around and scooped him up in a Puffs Plus Lotion, guaranteeing his demise with a good squish.

Then the other fly had the nerve to land on a stale biscuit I had set on the dog treat plate. WHACK! Same result. Somersault, squish.

I must say, I was quite pleased with myself. Mrs. HM 2, flies 0.

Saturday morning, while taking my meds in the kitchen, I saw a fly shoot out from the undercabinet fluorescent lights. Well! Where did HE come from? Got HIM, too! In fact, through the day, I killed four more! WHERE were they coming from???

When I got home Saturday evening, Farmer H was out back by POOLIO, turning the filter on and off. I can only assume that perhaps he has been leaving the basement door ajar as he works out back, and that the flies are getting in there, then finding their way upstairs at different intervals, following the daylight. Can't be ME, right? Me leaving the kitchen door ajar as I feed the dogs their treats! I've only seen ONE fly come in during such an event.

Anyhoo... I killed two more flies on Sunday morning! I'm hoping that's all of them. Again, maybe Farmer H leaves the laundry room door open as he's giving the dogs their morning water, and going out to check on POOLIO from the deck.

Here's the thing. I'm pretty sure it's irony...

One of those last flies had the audacity to perch on the flyswatter! I tried to smack it with my hand, but it jumped off and stupidly perched beside the flyswatter, where I KILLED IT!

Something odd about these flies. They are about 1.5 times the size of a regular housefly. And they're STUPID! All but one of them was killed with the first try! So they're idiots, or blind in all their 3000 to 6000 simple eyes!