Sweet Gummi Mary! Now She's A Kidnapper!

Our adopted dog Scarlett has been gradually getting better with her manners. She will almost always go to the spot on the side porch by the chair now, and await my pats. Not so feisty during petting. Actually sits down sometimes, and gazes into my eyes. Sadly, I must neglect my little Jack during these times, lest Scarlett shove him off the porch to regain sole attention. Don't you worry about Jack. He gets his pats before I leave. Even Scarlett understands this schedule. She stands back and doesn't crowd in at leave time.

Tuesday afternoon, I had to be cross with Scarlett. She always runs into the garage when I get home. Stands and watches me, all wiggly, while I slide out of T-Hoe. She doesn't jump. She waits for me to close the T-Hoe's door before she edges past me to go to the front of the garage, and await the opening of the people-door. If I'm getting stuff out of the back, I push the button that open's T-Hoe's hatch. Scarlett goes back there and puts her front feet on the bumper. I pet her a few minutes, then say, "We're done!" and she gets down and goes out to bark at Copper Jack.

The reason for the crossness Tuesday was that I had the hatch open, and was walking back there, but Scarlett went past me towards the front. Not a problem. EXCEPT... she ran back and BRUSHED AGAINST MY LEGS, getting me off-balance. Good thing I was holding onto T-Hoe with my left hand as I was walking.

"NO! BAD DOG!"

Scarlett might be goofy (heh, heh, MIGHT), but she is not stupid. She knew she did wrong. She ran out of the garage. Not to bark at Copper Jack, because he's been tied up for a week. Hunting season is starting, and he is deer-looking enough that our neighbor doesn't let him run during hunting seasons.

Anyhoo... when I got my box of groceries, and went out the people-door, Scarlett was LYING on the side porch, looking embarrassed and sorry, reaching her head occasionally for a bite of dry food from her bowl. I've never seen her eat while lying down! I set the box on the chair, and called her over, and we had our pats. 

This is her biggest transgression lately, brushing against my legs while I'm walking. She did it a couple weeks ago on the porch. I can't put up with that. She can hurt me. It gets her an angry NO and BAD DOG and scolding. She gets the message, at the time. Let's hope she will remember.

Now for the latest questionable behavior... Wednesday around noon, as I was sitting at HIPPIE at the kitchen table, I saw Scarlett heading around the kitchen nook on the porch, going to the water bowl. BEHIND HER WAS A PUPPY!

What in the Not-Heaven??? Where did Scarlett get a puppy? It was big enough to be weaned, but still very puppy-ish. Looked like a beagle. The white, brown, and black markings. White-tipped tail standing up like an exclamation mark. Trotting along after Scarlett, through the crunchy leaves that fell in the past two days, and sailed directly onto our porch from the 20-feet-away treeline.

Scarlett came back around, completely ignoring the pup, who pranced along as happy as could be. I sent Farmer H a text about it. He said

"Well maybe we now have another dog"

"Maybe. Or somebody might be on Facebook looking for it."

If it's still here when Farmer H gets home, I'll make sure he checks our enclave's Facebook page. I sure don't want to steal anybody's puppy. Don't know how we'll keep Scarlett from kidnapping it again, though.

A Slice Of Life From Our Big Sandwich

Hope you're not eating when you read this! That's a warning. Do not pooh-pooh Mrs. HM's warnings! That's a warning in itself. You know I always try to shield my loyal readers from any questionable or downright unpalatable content...

Let's start with the pleasant part of our Big Sandwich Adventure. I made a sauce to eat with my sandwich. I used to make it all the time when The Pony was living here right after college. The Pony is the one who deserves credit for teaching my how to make this tasty concoction. It's great with sandwiches, or as a dip for chicken tenders, or even eggrolls. I just make an individual serving.

I make this in a ramekin:

garlic aioli - 1 tbsp

spicy brown mustard - 1 tbsp

yellow mustard - a couple squirts

mayo - 1 tbsp

horseradish - 1 tsp

Those measurements are approximate. You stir it all together with a fork. I plan to add more horseradish next time. The Pony also adds a dab of ketchup, and some black pepper. Not sure if The Pony uses horseradish. Anyhoo... this made about a half-ramekin full of sauce. Rather than spreading it on my sandwich, I dip in a fork, and put a bit on the sandwich before taking a bite. That way I can enjoy the flavor of the sauce more. I also used it for dipping a few plain potato chips.

This Big Sandwich was DELICIOUS! I am looking forward to having more for supper tonight. I might have mentioned yesterday how I sliced it. Once down the middle, then two slices across, with the middle cut being off-center to give Farmer H a larger portion than me.

And now, for the less-than-savory details... WARNING!

I unwrapped the Big Sandwich on the cutting block, and picked my our long sharp knife, made by Farmer H's former butcher-supply company, to make my slices. The sandwich was on french bread, which was quite firm on the bottom. I wiggled the big sharp knife on its curved blade, listening and feeling for when it went all the way through. Then I called Farmer H to the kitchen to get his food.

Farmer H was on the phone with The Veteran, who had called just as I was getting the Big Sandwich out of FRIG II. Farmer H had come home from his Senior Center lunch around noon, then worked over in the BARn, gathering tools he would need for a job the next day at Nick and Bev's house, putting in an electric meter. Farmer H then went back to his Storage Unit Store 2.5 to move some merchandise around. When he got home that evening, I had made him a Wild Turkey and Diet Shasta Cola, which he sipped for over an hour, eating broken tortilla chips, and taking three pee breaks on the front porch talking to Scarlett, he being the object of her ADORATION.

Anyhoo... Farmer H told The Veteran that he needed to get off the phone to eat supper. He came to the cutting block where I had his plate. He put some chips on it, then got out the spicy brown mustard.

"This is your side of the sandwich, with the bigger pieces."

Farmer H picked up his end slice. Or TRIED to. There was a sliver of the bottom bread that was not cut all the way through.

"Just pull on it. I've got it," I said, holding Farmer H's next slice, while wielding the knife to make that final little cut."

Before I realized what was happening, Farmer H grabbed MY sandwich section with his right hand, while holding his with his left hand, trying to pull them apart!

SWEET GUMMI MARY! 

You realize, of course, knowing Farmer H, that he had not washed his hands since he came home. And there certainly is no sink on the front porch, his unofficial toilet.

"STOP! I don't want your pee hands all over my sandwich!"

"You SAID to pull on it!"

"Not on MY piece! Now I have to eat your bacteria all over my sandwich! You know you haven't washed your hands since you got home! And I DID wash my hands before getting out the sandwich."

No comment from Farmer H. I made sure to eat the Farmer-H-handled section of my sandwich that night, rather than let those bacteria flourish for 24 hours.

Like I said, my sandwich was delicious. I wonder if the next piece will be as tasty, without Farmer H's added ingredients.

I Got One!

My trip to Country Mart on Monday to seek a big sandwich was successful! Barely. There was only ONE big sandwich in the deli case. Of course I took it. So Farmer H and I can try it out, and he can decide if this is what he wants to take to the election day potluck for his fellow election judges.

Look at this beauty!

That's my mouse for HIPPIE, to show you a size comparison. We cut this big sandwich into six pieces, to eat for supper three nights. I had suggested eight, but Farmer H said six. Anyhoo... that third supper will be the day of the use-by date, so just as well.

I sliced it down the middle, and then across twice. I like that shape of a sandwich better than when people slice it like a loaf of bread, and you get a sliver. That's hard to hold and eat. Besides, I sliced it slightly off-center, because Farmer H eats more than I do, so he gets a little more for his meal. We had dill pickle spears and chips on the side, though another option for following nights is slaw, or cauliflower with dip.

This angle does not do my big sandwich justice, though it gives you an idea of how packed with layers it is. It cost $19.99, so for Farmer H and I, that's less than $3.50 per serving. Can't get a fast-food meal for less than $5.00 these days. So not too bad for the convenience. Oh, and don't forget we were actually TESTING it as a pot-luck option for Farmer H.

Anyhoo... as I type this, I have not yet tasted the big sandwich. Farmer H is finished, and said it was really good. I'm pretty sure he spent more than $19.99 on the stuff he took to the last election. He has said he will probably cut the election day sandwich into 10 pieces. It's not like he is solely responsible for feeding them all day.

I have suggested that Farmer H go by the Country Mart deli and order a big sandwich to be picked up next Monday, the day before his election duty. We'll see. He's taking a chance on one being there if he doesn't. The store is only three blocks from the Senior Center. It's not like he has to go out of his way. Besides, he could probably call them to order the big sandwich. If he doesn't show up, they could just put it in the deli case the next day, and it would sell.

An Incredible Tale Of Staggering Helplessness

Uh huh. You already know who this is about, don't you? When Farmer H got home Friday evening, I asked if he'd eaten lunch at the Senior Center.

"No. I got busy and didn't make it in time."

"So you didn't have any lunch? I guess I need to stop my tickets and get your supper right now."

"No. I'm okay for now. I ate some peanuts that I have down at my locker."

"I can warm up your chicken. It's not a big deal. Do you want something on the side? Cauliflower and cheese? A baked potato? Some Beanie Weenies?"

"No. But I might have those Beanie Weenies right now, and you can wait until you're done to warm my chicken. I can get 'em myself."

"Okay, if you're sure. They're in the little pantry."

The little pantry is a tall cabinet on the right side of FRIG II. As tall as FRIG II. Connected to the kitchen counter with the other top and bottom cabinets that make a corner, then run along to the stove. Farmer H came to the kitchen, and opened up the top cabinet in the corner.

"Wait! What are you doing? That's the bread cabinet! Not the pantry."

"Huh." Farmer H opened up the upper cabinet to the left of the bread cabinet.

"NO. That's the spice cabinet! I told you, the Beanie Weenies are in the little pantry!"

Third try, Farmer H got it right. The little pantry has only been there for 27 years, you know. He went to the drawer and got out what I thought was a spoon.

"Do you drain out the liquid? Do you want them in a bowl, warm?"

"Yeah, most of it." Farmer H popped the top off the can and started pouring the liquid down the sink. "I can eat them like this. They don't have to be warm." He started out of the kitchen, back towards his recliner. That's when I noticed the can he was carrying was blue. Not a label with brown beans on it.

"Hey! Wait! What have you got? That's not Beanie Weenies! It's Vienna Sausages!"

"Huh. Same thing. It's got weenies."

"Don't you need a bowl to get them out of the can?"

"No. I have a fork. I can get them out."

"They'll tear apart."

"I can eat them with the fork."

SWEET GUMMI MARY! How can a man not recognize a pantry that's been in his house for 27 years, or notice that he's just drained clear liquid out of a can of Vienna Sausages, and not brown sauce from a can of beans with wieners? AND, when he got a fork, he chose the small "salad" fork, rather than the regular long fork he prefers.

Don't even get me started on how he threw that metal pop-top lid into the wastebasket, to sever my hand if I tried to rearrange the trash more compactly!

The Universe Saw My Offer, And Raised The Stakes On Errand Day

I guess taking The Universe's pressure off of The Pony is more than a one-day job. As bad as events went on my Wednesday with the financial advisor appointment, Thursday was just as bad. Maybe worse.

As with Wednesday, I was ready on time for Errand Day. Left the Mansion a few minutes earlier than I planned, to get to the Sis-Town Casey's before school let out. That really helps, with more gas pumps available, and a shorter wait in line.

I was tooling along in T-Hoe, singing with the radio. I made the light by the Devil's Playground, which has a two-minute wait for each red light. Sometimes it takes me three cycles to get through, if I leave late and the Hillmomba school traffic is ahead of me.

When I pulled onto the Casey's lot, I noticed that only one car was at the gas pumps. I think there are 12 total. My beloved Pump 4 was open. Wait a minute! What's this? All the handles on the Regular gas pumps had red plastic bags over them! The Diesel pumps looked normal. But T-Hoe doesn't take Diesel gas. I pulled through, glancing down the line. Yep. All the pumps had handles with red bags. AND, beside the end of the building with the drive-through, was a patch of torn-up concrete, roped off, with red flags on the ropes. I guess there was an issue with a gas tank.

Welp! There went T-Hoe's weekly gas. And the scratchers I had planned on buying. I went on to the post office, and then Country Mart. No bank this week, as I had Farmer H's cash that he paid us for his Lowe's merchandise that was on the credit card.

Huh. A lot of handicapped people were shopping. I had to take the next-to-last of the five handicap spaces. At least somebody had left a cart down at that end. So I was able to grab it as a walker.

Once inside, I discovered that the deli had NO BIG SANDWICHES! Also, no BIG SALADS! And only one box of cold fried chicken, which didn't look all that good. I got myself a small salad. Then I got some frozen chicken sliders, and mini cheeseburgers, for Farmer H to take in his SUS2 lunches. He said he has a microwave now, and could warm food.

The bread aisle did not have the Nutty Oat and Hawaiian Bread that was on my list. I had to get 12-Grain and Sourdough. 

The checkout guy DROPPED one of my banana bunches. The picked it up off the floor, and put it down in the bag on top of the bread! Saying, "Oops. I hate it when I do that." Then lifting the bread back on top. He filled the bags randomly, not by shape or squooshiness or coldness. Big bags, too full and heavy. Something frozen or cold in separate bags, not together.

On the way back to Hillmomba, I was stuck way back at the Devil's Playground light. Took me three cycles to get through. When I got to the Gas Station Chicken Store, with the weekly tickets I give to my favorite clerk, Man Owner was still there! So I couldn't give them to her, and had to wait until the next day. My own tickets only won $16.

When I ate my small salad for supper, the lettuce was wet. Soggy. Some pieces chewed like they were twisted-up pieces of dental floss. I can't think of another way to describe it. Didn't want to get chewed up. Tried to wedge in my tooth spaces.

The only bright part of the day was that Farmer H was already at the Mansion when I got home, mowing on his beloved Zero-Turn mower, and carried in the groceries for me.

Still, I would gladly take this bad-luck burden from The Pony, no matter how many bad days it costs me.

Mrs. HM Gladly Distracts The Universe From Tormenting The Pony

Like a killdeer feigning a broken wing to lure predators away from her nest, Mrs. HM is shouldering the shenanigans of The Universe so The Pony may have a respite.

Wednesday, we had our annual appointment with our financial advisor over in Sis-Town at 2:00. I was meeting Farmer H there in front of the building. I left home with time to pick up my prescription, make two stops for scratchers, and mail a bill.

"HO HO HO," said The Universe. Because Mrs. HM plans, and The Universe laughs.

There are only a couple days a year that Mrs. HM has any specific place to be at a specific time. This being one of them. I wanted to get my other stops done before the appointment, because it takes an hour, and this was my main TV night, so I'd be in a rush getting supper made and eaten, and my tickets scratched before the first show started at 7:00.

I left home ten minutes before my original plan. There was a line of two cars at the pharmacy window, so I proceeded to 10Box, almost next door, for my scratchers. 

I got a good parking space. The machine on the right spat out my tickets. I put money in the machine on the left. It accepted. I selected the crossword ticket. The picture of it came up on the screen. But no numbers to choose how many. The machine was stalled. It does this sometimes. You just have to be patient, then it works. Not this time. The screen went back to normal. I selected a different ticket. The picture came up, with no numbers to select. I waited. The screen went back to normal. I selected the crossword again. Nope. Same picture, no numbers. I could see this was going nowhere. I turned to ask the two chatting cashiers if they could call someone up front. One did. The Manager Gal immediately came to the front.

Their phone rang. A distributor wanting to talk to the Manager Gal. "Just put them on hold. I'll talk to them in a minute." She opened up the lottery machine, and gave me back my money. Said she couldn't give me tickets, because the machine wouldn't register a sale. I understood. But I'd wasted at least 7 minutes waiting on that machine, and now I'd have to get my tickets elsewhere to get my daily requirement of crosswords.

Back to the pharmacy. Nobody in line. I parked at the window. They have a brick wall, and two big metal poles painted yellow that won't let you get close. I couldn't reach their little doorbell thingy to notify them that someone was waiting. However, there's a big window. People were walking around. I knew they could see me. They must have had a customer inside. I waited. For five minutes! Then I got my meds, and proceeded on my way to the financial appointment.

Of course I had to make a stop at the School-Turn Casey's on the way. I had planned to get my crosswords, and use their bathroom. No time for the bathroom! I drove through the outside mailbox at the main post office, put in my bill, and was in front of the financial office with five minutes to spare.

Farmer H and I went in. We never get sent back at our appointment time. It's usually ten after the hour. We chatted with the receptionist about the McDonald's food poisoning issue. We don't eat there, but she enjoys it once a week. She was saddened that one of her meal choices had been taken away. We waited. And waited. Heard sirens and saw the fire rescue truck go by. Then the actual fire truck. Receptionist got a call. Our financial advisor was stuck on the highway, in traffic, from a motorcycle accident.

Another couple came in, saying they had an appointment. I checked my phone, and it was 2:30. The receptionist told them there were two ahead of them. Heh, heh! Doesn't pay to be early, or even on time, at this place! I was regretting not taking bathroom time at Casey's.

It was 2:40 by the time we got in. I said right off that we could just sign papers and go! No need to chat! FA said it was okay, she knew the couple waiting, and it was not a problem! Thankfully, Farmer H was not his usual talkative self, and we were out of there at 2:55.

I made it home, got my tickets done (with moderate winners), and after making Farmer H's and my own supper, was only five minutes late for the start of my show.

Take THAT, Universe!

(Perhaps I should have left off that last part, considering the cards The Universe dealt me the next day...)

Like A Ray Of Sunlight Through The Dark Clouds

Poor Pony, in the midst of a multitude of tribulations tossed at him by The Universe... found a bright spot when arriving at work on Tuesday morning.

"Somebody brought pulled pork today so I had it for breakfast."

Yes. Take pleasure in the simple things in life! 

Lest you think this might be a weird breakfast, remember that most of the carriers are NOT in the office at lunch time. They are out on their routes. From my readings on Reddit, anything is fair game for breakfast if you find it in the break room. Tacos, hamburgers. Gotta fortify yourself for the day. Anything is a treat to start your 11-mile route. Not that all routes are the same. But The Pony's is 11 miles.

Besides, it's pork and potatoes and bread. People have that for breakfast all the time, right? Sausage and hash browns and toast. Not so crazy.

Gone, But Not Forgetting

You may recall that right after my mom passed away in February 2015, I saw ladybugs everywhere. They appeared in the Mansion, on the porch, in T-Hoe, in my classroom, on a baby sibling's ear when talking to a student at open house... Places you might not expect to be seeing ladybugs in the middle of winter in Missouri. Initially it was several times a week. Over that first year, it tapered down to a couple times a month. Then just randomly during subsequent years. I mostly wrote about it on my not-so-secret blog.

I associated the ladybugs with my mom, because she'd had a horde of ladybugs living in her drop ceiling of the family room. They only came out during the day, a few here and there in the family room. She would use her little Dustbuster to vacuum them up, and set them free outside. Refused to get an exterminator, because she said they didn't bother her, and they went back up in the ceiling at night. Anyhoo... I took each sighting as a sign from her, and they really cheered me up.

The Pony went off to college in 2016. He also had encounters with ladybugs there in Norman, Oklahoma. Like when he was introduced with the rest of the National Merit Scholars with full ride scholarships at the first home football game. Go SOONERS! There was one crawling on his pants leg right before they were called out on the field. And he also saw one on the wall of the Student Union when he was studying for finals. They'd land on his arm when walking to classes.

Anyhoo... on The Pony's very bad Saturday, he sent me pictures.

That one looks like it's on the car seat.

There's one on The Pony's shirt.

And on the vehicle window. Can't tell if it's looking in or looking out.

Anyhoo... The Pony said there was also a fourth ladybug, but he didn't get a picture of it. That's quite a few ladybugs in different places along his 11-mile route. I sent a text:

"Grandma has definitely found you! You are being soothed."

That's how I see it. You can cut eyes, and spin your crazy temple twirly finger, but I don't think this was a coincidence.

Poor Pony. Still Being Tormented By The Universe.

The Pony received some depressing news on Saturday morning. The USPS City Carriers have been working for 20 months without a contract. It has been in negotiation all that time. Not sure what could have taken so long. But apparently that's standard operating procedure for the post office. During this time, they were not getting their cost-of-living adjustments. Some of the carriers who are ready to retire were waiting... to be sure they would get their back pay raise for the time they worked without the contract.

Anyhoo... the result was finally released on Saturday morning. It was a disappointment and an insult. Only a 1.3 percent raise. The Pony was saddened to hear about it. Most others were spitting mad! Their union will still have a chance to vote on whether to accept it. The feeling being that it couldn't get much worse, but it could take another 20 months in arbitration. So The Pony was off on his route with that on his mind.

But wait! That wasn't enough shenanigans for The Universe! Later in the afternoon, The Pony's cell phone fell out of his pocket and shattered! At least it's still operational.

As if those events were not sufficient to make The Universe chortle with glee... The Pony felt the beginnings of a cold, with a sore throat and runny nose.

Sometime soon, The Pony's luck needs to change.

Some Progress Of The Baby Steps Variety

Are you sitting down? Surely you are. Who reads a blog while standing up? Do you have some smelling salts handy? I wouldn't want to cause somebody to lose consciousness from the shock of what I'm about to reveal. Brace yourself...

FARMER H CALLED TO TELL ME SOMEBODY WAS COMING TO THE MANSION!

It happened Sunday afternoon. I was sitting in T-Hoe at the time, in my rightful handicap parking space at the Gas Station Chicken Store. I had left for town an hour early. It was just after 3:00.

"I just called to tell you that The Veteran is coming out to get something out of SilverRedO. So if you hear the dogs, or see somebody in the driveway, or digging through my truck, it's him."

"Okay. Good to know. When is he coming?"

"He's probably almost there now."

"I'm in town. So that's okay. I'll know if I see somebody when I go home."

Can you believe it? Farmer H actually let me know so I wouldn't worry! Or probably so I wouldn't bother him, as he was on his way to an auction.

Not only THAT, but he told me he'd be late getting home that evening. AND he called at 5:21 on Monday evening, to report that he was still at the eye doctor, and would be leaving shortly.

I might need to check Farmer H for a fever. He could be delirious.

The Non(Common)Sensical Farmer H

Saturday evening, I was scratching my scratchers around 5:00, debating on when to start warming Farmer H's supper. He is usually home from his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2) activities by then. Sometimes earlier, if business is slow, or if there's a NASCAR race he plans to watch. 

His supper was going to be warmed-up chicken and dumplings from the night before. The quick kind I make with flour tortillas boiled for 5 minutes in chicken broth and cream of chicken soup (minced garlic, black pepper, and butter added), then chicken stirred in when it's done. Farmer H LOVES it!

Anyhoo... I didn't want to start too soon, because that meal sticks to the pan. I waited. And waited. And waited some more. Finally, at 6:15, I got out the chicken and dumplings, and put them in a pan. Turned on the burner to the lowest setting. That would take about 20 minutes to heat up, from being in FRIG II.

Could I have sent a text to Farmer H asking where he was? Yes. But the day before, I'd sent a text telling him that I put his Diet Mountain Dews out of T-Hoe's rear and onto the chair on the side porch... and he walked right by them. Said he never got my text. He doesn't like me to call, because sometimes he's waiting on a call (or ON a call) with a government agency that must approve certain sales.

You'd think that if a man is going to be late for supper, he'd let the supper-preparer know.

Farmer H walked in at 6:30.

"Did you get lost on your way home?"

"No. There was people kept coming in, HM. So I wasn't going to close when I had customers!"

"Too bad there's not something like a cell phone you could use to notify me."

"Well. You say I always call at the wrong time."

"You DO. If I'm driving or in the store, I won't answer. But you could leave a text. Or call back. That's a long time to be late. I was trying to figure out your supper. It's probably ready now."

"My phone has been acting up. I still ain't got that text you sent yesterday."

Yeah, sure. Always an excuse. A woman should just expect her man to get there when he gets there, I suppose, with supper ready to eat.

It will come as no surprise that when Farmer H dipped his dumplings from the pan into his bowl, he once again held the bowl in his left hand while standing at the stove, and rooted around in the pan with a spoon in his right hand. 

"There you go again. If you were SMART, which I'm pretty sure you're not... you'd set that bowl on the stove, hold the pan above it with one hand, and spoon the dumplings over the side with the spoon in the other hand."

"You just don't like it because I'm not doing it YOUR way!"

"Just saying, you can chase that pan around for five minutes trying to stop it moving with your belly. Or you can hold it with your other hand while you dip out your food."

The fact that common sense so often eludes Farmer H is a mystery to me.

Farmer H Prepares For Pot Luck

Farmer H will be working at a local polling place again for the November election. Last time he took a cheese and meat tray, a package of Hawaiian rolls, and two packs of cookies. 

When I was getting Farmer H his sandwiches for lunches Saturday and Sunday at his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2), I saw a new item at Country Mart's deli. It was a large sandwich. Farmer H has been looking for a place to get one of these for a while. That's what he'd been thinking of taking to his family reunion last summer. He doesn't go to the Devil's Playground much, and sometimes they are out of the big sandwiches anyway.

"Hey, I saw a big sandwich at Country Mart! It was on French bread, and weighed more than a baby, it felt like! It cost $19.99, but there's a lot of meat and cheese on it. It would probably be cheaper than the triangle sandwiches I get you now for your store. Especially since you're sharing them with Old Buddy. The two sandwich packs I get you are $6.99 each, and you get four servings out them. This sandwich would give you at least six big servings. Probably more like eight. With a lot more stuff on them. We could have it for a meal here, and then you take the rest to your store."

"Huh. You can get that for me next time. I might do that for election day!"

The way he talked about the last election, only a couple people could go back to eat at the same time. Farmer H could slice his sandwich, take it in a disposable container, and maybe people would just take out their portion, and not leave the whole thing sitting out on the table all day.

The Oven Detective

On the way home from the casino on Wednesday, discussion turned to our oven. It has not been working like normal for the past week. Seems like it doesn't get hot enough. I first noticed when the slice of raisin bread I put in it for toasting took twice as long. Then, on Tuesday night, I cooked an individual pizza for Farmer H. The cheese was not melting on top. I left it in longer. The edges looked done. Farmer H reported that yes, the edges were done, but the middle was doughy.

"I think the top element is broken. When I looked in a few days ago, only the left edge of that loop was a little bit orange. The whole bottom element was glowing orange. It was set on 425, like with your pizza. It doesn't seem to be toasting my bread. Or cooking your pizza through."

"That's impossible. The top element doesn't heat up anyway, unless you're using the BROIL setting. Besides, it's all one piece. So you wouldn't see only part of it glowing. It's all or nothing."

"I know it's one piece. I looked in to see the shape of it, in case I need to order a new one, like we did when the bottom element broke. All I know is that I saw that left edge of it dimly glowing."

"Well. You might of seen it right when the wire broke, and it was just cooling down."

"Huh. I thought it didn't get hot unless I was using BROIL."

"It don't."

"Then what you said doesn't make sense."

"Alls you have to do is Google it to see that I'm right. Pony. Google it on your phone."

"My top element has been broken for a while. And it used to glow when I turned on my oven. So you're wrong, Dad. I'm looking at it right here. It says both elements are used during the BAKE function."

"Well. It depends on the brand of oven."

Anyhoo... Farmer H was supposed to test our oven when we got home. He went over to Shackytown Boulevard instead, to get some items out of his Fishing Shack to take to his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2). But later, he went to the kitchen to try the BROIL setting.

"It ain't broke. Don't order an element. It lit up when I put it on BROIL. It could be that the thermometer in there is broken. So when you set the temperature, it don't heat up enough. The only way to check that is with another thermometer. I think I have one at my shop. I'll bring it home."

Well, Farmer H did not have one at his shop. But he stopped to buy such a thermometer on his way home. Hasn't tested it yet. We'll see what I need to do to get my oven working normally again...

Mrs. HM, The Pharmaceutical Provider

We went to the casino on Wednesday. No big winners among us. In fact, no winner at all among us. At least our losses were manageable. 

The smoke inside the casino seemed worse than on previous trips. I don't know what has changed to affect it. They DID put in a Starbucks store. Doesn't matter to us. None of us drink coffee. It's not in the main casino, but has a separate entrance, with curbside service. The new hotel that's attached is open now. But that shouldn't affect the ventilation system.

Anyhoo... as we were driving off the premises when Farmer H picked up The Pony and me at the front door, The Pony said he felt a headache coming on, and did I have any ibuprofen. OF COURSE! I always put a few tablets in my shirt pocket, just in case. On this day, I had three ibuprofen, and three acetaminophen. 

On the way to the casino, I took an ibuprofen, hoping it would kick in when we got there. I suppose it did, though this was a painful trip for me. My knees had already been hurting before we left, and the previous day as well. I suppose it might be attributed to a cold snap, and our first frost. Anyhoo... I still had an ibuprofen to give to The Pony.

Then Farmer H said that he, too, was getting a headache. So I gave him the third ibuprofen.

"I usually take two."

"That's not good for you. You don't even have a whole headache yet. I have more in my purse. I'll get one if you want. But I'd rather give you an acetaminophen. You can take both of them together."

"Okay. I'll do that."

I handed Farmer H the ibuprofen, which he took with a swig from the dregs of a Diet Mountain Dew that had been in A-Cad since that morning at 6:30. It was now 2:45 p.m. Then I handed Farmer H the acetaminophen.

"Huh. I dropped it."

Sweet Gummi Mary! Do I need to pinch Farmer H's nose shut, and put a pill on his tongue, and then blow in his face to make him swallow? I got another acetaminophen out of my shirt pocket, and laid it in Farmer H's palm. This time he managed to get it into his mouth. I took the lid off my metal water bottle so he could wash it down, having drained the sun-warmed Diet Mountain Dew.

Neither of my clients reported a headache later. So I suppose my pill-pushing was a success.

An Advantage-Taker Lights Mrs. HM's Fuse

Tuesday, I stepped into the Gas Station Chicken Store to see three people in line ahead of me. They were kind of spread out, so I had to stand at the wall between the two bathrooms. 

There was a guy paying at the counter. A woman who was done, but standing behind him stuffing her red tickets for the gas drawing into the box sitting on top of a tower of beer cases. Then a holy-roller-looking lady in a long skirt, rainbow-striped knee socks, and sandals, waiting on the other side of the entrance to the middle aisle. With a working man standing in that aisle leaving a space between them indicating that Holy Roller was ahead of him. He caught my eye as I walked in, and I nodded. Just meaning that I saw him, and knew he was there first.

The ticket-stuffer completed her mission and left, so Holy Roller moved over a bit towards the counter. I stepped over by her previous place next to a snack cake display. Working Man took a step forward. While all this shuffling was going on, there was an Orange Shirt Man roaming along the beverage coolers on the back aisle. While Holy Roller was paying for gas, Orange Shirt Man got in line behind Working Man.

Holy Roller left. I nodded to Working Man. "You were here before me." He stepped up to the counter.

SWEET GUMMI MARY!

Orange Shirt Man, holding a tall canned beverage which looked more like an energy drink that a tallboy beer, followed Working Man like they were new Army recruits instructed to stand nuts-to-butts in line for vaccinations! 

IT WAS NOT HIS TURN! I had been in the store way before he left the coolers and got in line.

I figure maybe he saw me holding two scratchers to cash in, and felt entitled to forge ahead of me. No way could he have thought I was talking to HIM about being there first. I didn't make eye contact with him, and he knew I was there when he got in line. I didn't appear out of thin air.

When Orange Shirt Man set his beverage on the counter, he told the cashier: "And give me four number 10s, and four number 6s." So not just simply paying for a drink, but also buying scratchers! Then he had the nerve to turn and look at me over his shoulder. Perhaps to gloat, I presume. I was staring out the door, careful not to lock eyes with him. But I'm sure he could tell by my expression that I wasn't having it. I knew exactly what he did!

Once he was out the door, I was the lone customer. I whined to Cashier about him taking my turn. I did not blame her at all. She was busy, and couldn't see down that aisle for when Orange Shirt Man got in line.

"Some people just can't wait their turn! He's probably going to be in the next place I go, too! Sorry. I'm just complaining. People like that drive me crazy."

Too bad it wasn't Fave's day to work. We could have had a good gripe session.

A Sudden Moment Of Clarity

I remembered! A mere 24 hours after I forgot my blogging topic, it was back! Not with all the details, but the general idea. I count that a victory for the steel-trap mind of Mrs. HM.

On my way to town Monday, I stopped as usual to put on my seatbelt at the end of our gravel road, just before pulling out onto the county blacktop road. That seatbelting spot is right across from Mailbox Row. One second I was slowing down, reaching for that seatbelt, and the next second my eye was drawn to the top of Mailbox Row, where sat a new mailbox.

That's it! That's what I was going to mention in my forgotten blog post! The "new" mailbox that had stunned Farmer H, The Pony, and me way back in February when we first saw it. I even wrote about it on my not-so-secret blog, on February 23.

The gist of that previous tale was that a new mailbox doesn't last long out here in the middle of nowhere. As I said back then, "The hopefulness of it makes my heart hurt."

BUT IT'S STILL THERE! Unblemished. Not a scratch. Perched atop Mailbox Row like a glittery unicorn with a protective force-field.

When I brought The Pony out to the Mansion last Sunday for our album-release listening party, I pointed out that mailbox.

"Can you believe it? How can that mailbox have survived all this time?"

The Pony, perhaps with mail-delivery insight, said, "I'm betting it belongs to the people who were bashing mailboxes."

Choose what you wish to believe in. Magic. Divine intervention. Criminals not crapping in their own backyard. Or in this case, their own mailbox.

Mrs. HM Is The Losingest Loser

I've been betrayed by my lucky bone! For 18 days, I have been losing at scratchers! I don't mean complete shut-outs. Haven't had one of those. But only winning $6, or $9, or $12 per day is not what I'm accustomed to, considering what I spend on scratchers. I've had to dip into my casino bankroll a couple of times!!!

The only exceptions were one day when I used The Pony's accumulated winnings from his daily Cash4Life draw tickets, to buy him a $50 ticket that he requested out of the blue. My lucky bone was functioning that day! He won $100 on it. And four or five days later, I won $70, hitting $50 on a $10 ticket, and $20 on a $5 ticket. But lately, the only thing that pays are my $3 tickets.

Of course I keep buying them! What kind of a gambler do you think I am, anyway? A smart one? Au contraire. I keep funneling that money right back into the gaping maw that devours my weekly allowance and casino bankroll. Every day, I'm sure I'll be a winner...

Because, you know, a losing streak can't last forever. Just like a winning streak.

The Mind Is The First To Go, And Mrs. HM's Has Done Gone

I usually write up my two blog posts before I go to town, and set them to publish the next morning. Sometimes if I'm running late, one or both might not get done until that evening. Sunday, my main blog post was ready, but I didn't have a topic for this one. I figured something might happen in town that was complainable blogworthy.

As I started down the gravel road for town, an idea popped into my head. By the time I was at the low water bridge on the county blacktop road, it had grown into a complete blog post. I knew what I was going to say. Could see parts of actual sentences in my head. I still remember specific sections of the road where I was making certain points.

I CAN'T remember my topic.

It's gone! Gone with the drive to town! I've mentally re-traced my steps. From shower to putting on shoes to gathering up my purse to going into the garage to driving along composing that blog post.

I got nothin'.

Of course it would have been the most amusing and pertinent story ever told! The world shall be a lesser place with the loss of Mrs. HM's masterpiece.

I rue the day I stopped taking my little flip notebook with me in my purse. I could have pulled over and jotted down the topic, at least. Thing is... you never think you're going to forget.

Mrs. HM Casts A Line And Phishs For Herself

Sweet Gummi Mary! Can Google and Gmail and Blogger and all their related products quit snooping and trying to run my life???

Saturday afternoon, I was getting my blogs ready for the next day. From my phone, I emailed myself pictures of the Senior Center lunch that Farmer H brought home Friday evening. Three pictures. One labeled SOUP. One labeled SIDES. One labeled SOGGY REUBEN.

I went to my Gmail account to download those pictures for my not-so-secret blog. And was astounded to open up to a big red box! A warning that I had apparently sent myself a dangerous message! This message was on the SOUP and SIDES emails, but not on the SOGGY REUBEN email, which showed up as normal, with my picture ready to download.

_________________________________________________________________

This message seems dangerous

Similar messages were used to steal people's personal information. Avoid clicking links, downloading attachments, or replying with personal information.

Looks safe 

_________________________________________________________________

One attachment scanned by Gmail

Downloading this attachment is disabled. This email has been identified as phishing. If you want to download it and you trust this message, click "Looks safe" in the banner above.

_________________________________________________________________

Shame on me for phishing myself! At least I didn't reel myself in. 

I re-sent those two photos, and they arrived as normal in new emails. I did everything the same as usual. I hope this is not going to be a continuing issue.

Another Pony House Mystery Solved

We were only a few minutes into our 6:00 a.m. phone conversation when The Pony said:

"Is Dad still there? I'm going to send a video with a noise coming from my bathroom. I don't know what it is. I hope it's nothing in the walls, or something wrong with the wiring. I heard it when I woke up, and at first I thought it was the fans on my gaming computers running extra-loud. But the more awake I got, I realized it was coming from the other direction. My bathroom, not the living room. I'm going in there now."

I was getting read to receive that video, and hand the phone to Farmer H. But The Pony was talking again.

"Never mind. I found the problem. It was my toothbrush on the bathroom floor. Running. Somehow it jumped itself off the sink overnight or this morning. I don't know how long it was going. But now it won't work since I picked it up and turned it off."

"The charge is probably used up. It might have been going for a while."

"Yeah."

"Bummer. You'll have to move your arm to brush your teeth now!"

Not a big deal. Certainly less worrisome than a critter in the walls, or a problem with the wiring. Still, one more obstacle to The Pony starting his workday.

Not to mention how that toothbrush ended up on the floor, running....

Farmer H's Feud Update

You may recall that the atmosphere around Farmer H and his former best friend at the Senior Center has been quite frosty lately. Neither is willing to talk it out adultly, or concede that they may have been responsible for whatever imaginary or real transgression occurred.

I've told Farmer H that he's being petty about this. He says he has tried to start a discussion. Yet whenever a tale of interaction with his new nemesis is told, Farmer H speaks in a mocking, sing-song-y voice. So it's obvious he's not open to a real dialogue, or even forgiveness if it turns out New Nemesis was at fault.

This week, Farmer H only ate once or twice at the Senior Center. He said his other buddy there said there have been numerous complaints about New Nemesis. Again, I'm hearing this second-hand, through Farmer H's filter. So I don't know the actual situation.

A couple days ago, Farmer H said that his buddy revealed that there were going to be changes, due to complaints. That New Nemesis would be doing other assignments rather than at the counter (or something like that) because that was the area with most complaints. 

Yesterday, Farmer H said that New Nemesis gave a short speech to the elderlies at lunch. That she had been offered another job, and would not be doing her job as it currently was at the Senior Center. And that bingo would be more often, and cost $5 to play! I asked Farmer H if he thought this was accurate, and he said he didn't think so.

"How could they charge you elderlies $5 to play bingo??? Aren't the prizes donated? It's not like the prizes are worth $5, even if you win!"

"I know. That don't make sense. She said somethin' about having a corporate sponsor each week for the bingo. So maybe they would be giving the prizes. But I don't know why we'd have to pay to win donated prizes."

"How can the elderlies afford to play bingo at that price? Isn't it meant as an activity for them? I can't imagine they can pay to play. Are they just supposed to sit and watch others play?"

"Most of them people that live upstairs didn't have any idea what she was telling them."

It's sad that such a situation has developed. I don't know what's going on with New Nemesis. She and Farmer H were such good buddies for quite a while. I'm sure he will get the blame for whatever changes come about. At least in HER mind. 

Waiting Is For Others, Not For Mrs. HM

The only interactions I have in my everyday life are during excursions to town to buy scratchers. Most days, nothing memorable happens. But then there are the days when everybody wants to drive in my lane, drive faster than me, park in my rightful handicap space, break their neck getting in or out the door ahead of me, and MAKE ME WAIT IN LINE!

Card-scanners are the bane of my existence in convenience stores! Just pay cash! It's so much quicker! Using a card takes at least three times as long. For the codes to be punched in. And/or a rewards code, depending on the store.

I know people don't like to wait behind ME, but I make it as quick as possible. I know exactly which scratchers I want. I hand over my winners with the bar codes already scratched off. The cashier just has to scan, print the receipt, and tear off my new purchases and scan them. I pay in cash. Correct cash. Usually no change necessary, unless it's a big winner worth more than what I'm buying.

Tuesday, I was happy to walk into the Gas Station Chicken Store and see only a woman finishing her transaction, and one man behind her. Only she wasn't FINISHING her transaction. She had given the cashier some draw ticket slips. The ones you fill in the numbers you want, and have to scan to get a ticket printed with your numbers. I never play this kind. For The Pony's daily Cash4Life ticket, I just get the machine-generated random numbers. 

Slow Gal could get those kind of tickets for herself over at 10Box, from the machines, without inconveniencing ME in a convenience store. Except she didn't have the cash to pay for them.

Yes, Slow Gal waited until Cashier was done printing her tickets, then said, "How much is that?" And at that time opened up her purse, took out her wallet, and started digging for $9. She didn't have it. "Oh. I'll just put it on my card." Thus began the torture of waiting for her to scan. They gave the first card (!) three tries, but it wouldn't work. So Slow Gal meticulously slid it back into the clear plastic sleeve in her wallet, and selected another one. Three tries. Nope. "Oh, I always carry several cards. Let's try this one." She said, selecting yet another. IT WORKED!

The guy behind her stepped up and paid CASH for his gas, and was out the door. I stepped up with my winners, got my new scratchers, paid CASH, and was out the door. Slow Gal was still juggling her wallet, purse, and draw tickets.

Meanwhile, five new customers had come in while the other guy and I had been in line.

Farmer H Makes It Easy, If I Was So Inclined

I am not trying to kill Farmer H. But if I WAS...

When The Pony was here on Sunday, I gave him some storebought Cookies and Cream Brownies. Just a plastic bakery container, with brownies that had white icing with Oreo bits mixed in. They were pre-cut in squares. The Pony didn't eat any while he was here, but I intended for him to take the brownies home. I asked him to leave a couple on a plate for Farmer H.

The Pony did so. Two brownies still stuck together, on a small paper plate on the cutting block.

When we were getting our lunch ready earlier (The Pony's being easy, since it was Hardee's chicken tenders in a bag on the table), I got some olives out of FRIG II to go with my pinwheels. I used a blue plastic fork to get them out of the jar. I love olives! And I love plastic forks! I wash my plastic forks. I prefer them over metal, unless we're having something like meat that needs cutting. Anyhoo... I licked the blue plastic fork, and laid it down on the cutting block, because The Pony was between me and the sink counter.

You guessed it! When Farmer H came home from driving The Pony back to town, he warmed up leftover pizza, then picked up his brownies for dessert. Yes. Both of them. Remember, we're talking about Farmer H. I didn't notice until later that there was a blue plastic fork in the wastebasket.

What in the Not-Heaven? I do not throw away a plastic fork unless it is broken! I didn't think The Pony would have done that. I rescued my precious plastic fork, and noticed that there was something brown on the back of the tines.

BROWNIE!

Farmer H had taken my licked-off olive fork from the cutting block to use for eating his brownies. Serves him right! Not my fault he can't reach into a drawer and get his own fork. It's not like the blue plastic fork was laid on his brownie plate. Or even next to it. That fork was on the other side of the cutting block, laying tine-points down.

I guess my cooties didn't make Farmer H sick. He's still very much alive.

People Are Driving Me Crazy, And It Ain't The Elderlies

Sweet Gummi Mary! The milk of human kindness has soured! Been clabbered! 

My week was full of entitled rumpusholes rumpusholing their way through red lights, driving down the middle of the road, parking in handicap spaces, and striding through convenience stores like Olympic race-walkers!

At the Hillmomba Casey's, I couldn't park T-Hoe in my rightful handicap space (the ONLY handicap space) because a dirty white pickup truck with a dirty red off-road 4-wheeler in the back was parked in it. Strangely enough, there was no handicap license plate, nor placard on the mirror. And the dirty 20-something guy who got into it as I was leaving did not have any visible sign of different-abledness. I suppose he thought that blue sign, and stencil on the pavement, were artistic exhibits.

As I was buckling in to leave Casey's, parked next to the handicap space in what was not really a space, but the end of the building where the large dumpster sits... ANOTHER truck pulled into that handicap space! Again, no plate, no placard, no evidence of a handicap on the 30-something dude who jumped out.

When I went to fetch The Pony on Sunday, I stopped into the School-Turn Casey's for scratchers. On my way toward the door after my purchase, a 20-something guy flew past me like crazy Scarlett. He actually brushed against my side in his haste to beat me to the door.

"Oops." Was all he said, as he rushed out, letting the door close in my face.

I can't wait until they discover the secret that one day, THEY WILL BE OLD!

A Damper On The Day

I arrived at The Pony's house about five minutes late, picking him up for our day of listening to the new release of his favorite composer's album. We'd both been looking forward to this event.

Welp! When I pulled up, The Pony walked out empty-handed. That was a bad sign. He climbed into still-running T-Hoe.

"What's wrong? Aren't you coming? Where's your stuff?"

"I don't know if I can. I have a migraine."

"Oh, no! That's terrible. Did you take anything?"

"I took Excedrin. And then ibuprofen. Neither seems to be working."

"Well... I'm sorry that you feel bad. I don't want you to feel like you have to come out. I've been looking forward to our time together."

"I know, Mom. It's just that I'm afraid it will get worse. Right now I'm over the nausea. But I'm still shaking. It feels like my left eye is being scooped out with a spoon."

"Aww. Sorry. You won't have to do anything. You can lean back and close your eyes while I drive. But I understand if you don't feel like it."

"I guess I could come out. Like Dad says, I might as well be there feeling bad, as at home feeling bad."

"Yeah. You can lay on the couch if you want."

"For sure I'm not going to drink anything, in case it gives me a worse headache. But I'll still eat lunch."

The Pony went back in his house to get his keys, and checkbook for house payment, and a bag of ice cubes wrapped in a towel to hold on his head while we started the 30-minute drive. I got him a Coke at Hardee's, and chicken tenders and fries.

We got the music going on my laptop (HIPPIE!) so The Pony didn't have to bring his laptop. The concert was good. The Pony ate lunch, and started to feel a little bit better. "Now it's just like a spoon is pressing on my eye, but not scooping it out!" A couple hours later, The Pony took more ibuprofen. Then Farmer H came home to drive The Pony back to town.

Not the greatest visit, but I'm happy that The Pony started to feel better. I hope a good night's rest will get rid of that migraine.

Another HM And Pony Show

The Pony is coming out Sunday. There's another live new-release album that we plan to listen to, from The Pony's favorite composer. As before, I'll be going to town to fetch The Pony, so he can enjoy an adult beverage without driving. Farmer H will take him home, once he returns from his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2). 

No special meal or BBQ this time. The album starts at 1:00. I will be having pinwheels that I picked up at Country Mart on Thursday. We'll drive through Hardee's and get chicken tenders and fries for The Pony. It's always a good time, listening and chatting.

The dogs love it when The Pony comes out. I guess they haven't heard that he's a MAILMAN! Of course Jack remembers him from his early puppy days. Shh... remember that on Jack's first night, he was inside the Mansion, sleeping in a Rubbermaid tub beside The Pony's bed. What Farmer H doesn't know won't hurt us! He was conveniently away in France, I think, at that time. Seems like that's the trip Farmer H brought home a French maid for The Pony. That wooden cut-out that's over in one of the themed sheds on Shackytown Boulevard.

Anyhoo... no real complaints today, or breaking news. I'm just excited that The Pony will be spending the afternoon.

Alas, Big Salad, I Heartily Rue Ye!

While shopping at Country Mart on Thursday, I picked up a Big Salad for my supper. Farmer H was having leftover Chinese food that I had made a couple days ago, so didn't want a Big Salad. There were several in the deli case, all within the expiration date, all looking the same.

Have I mentioned how much I love the Big Salad? Even when something is left out that makes me feel cheated, the taste is always great. I looked forward to that Big Salad all evening. It was after 9:00 when I got around to eating it.

Upon taking off the see-through plastic lid, I realized that my Big Salad came without the standard two halves of a boiled egg. Dang it! But there was still an adequate amount of the diced ham and diced turkey in opposite corners of the square container. There was ample shredded cheddar on top. Slivers of carrot. That dang purple cabbage I don't really like. But wait! I only had FOUR cherry tomatoes! It usually comes with EIGHT!

Well. These minor setbacks were not going to keep me from enjoying my tasty Big Salad. I set about preparing it as usual. I removed the two rings of green pepper, and the four cucumber slices from the top. No late-night heartburn for me! Took out the meats to eat on the side. Picked out a few of the bigger purple cabbage pieces. Sliced my tomatoes in quarters, to spread out better throughout my Big Salad. In fact, I added four more cherry tomatoes from the pack I had on the counter.

Then I was ready to add my Ken's Steak House Chunky Blue Cheese Dressing from FRIG II. And sprinkle some store-brand crispy onions on top. Mmm... ready to eat!

The taste was different! I can't explain how. Nothing was off. Just not as delicious as usual. I can't explain why. I never chop up the boiled eggs in the salad, but eat them on the side. So there was nothing left out of the salad that I usually have in it. And nothing extra added, except four cherry tomatoes like the ones that came in the salad.

Well, of course I ate every bit of my Big Salad. But I wished I had gotten some fried chicken instead. Now I am wondering if I will try another Big Salad next week. I suppose I will. For research purposes, you know...

The Pony Pokes The Envelope

Back to work after his unfortunate rash-arm-itization, The Pony actually took a lunch break on Thursday. Usually, he skips lunch to get off work 30 minutes sooner, choosing to eat some snacks during his break. This lunch break happened to be at supper time around 5:00. The Pony was having a long day. This was at the same place he got the shrimp pizza last Friday, the night before the rash appeared.

"Stopped for dinner. If I break out it means I'm allergic to something in their seasoning!"

Looks delicious to me, and I am not really a fan of pasta! The Pony said it was Mostaccioli, which was listed on the menu as: Penne Noodles, Red Sauce, Beef, Mozzarella. The only thing it would have in common with the shrimp pizza last week would be their red sauce.

We'll see if there are any repercussions of the epidermal kind.

Farmer H Is NOT The New Centipede

Farmer H's new shoes (all four pairs of  them!) were supposed to arrive between Friday and Monday. They were shipping by UPS. Lately, such packages have arrived around 9:30 a.m., though one got here at 4:30 p.m. I wanted to be ready, to call off the barking dogs, lest they scare away a delivery person. 

Friday, I put on my good sweatpants. The ones with no holes, that don't fall down unless I hold them up. They fit fine, but have a ribbed ankle feature, so do not pull up as easily when I want to put wraps on my knees. Every time I heard the dogs bark, I went to the front door to look out. Only to be greeted by galloping Jack and Scarlett, who were barking at Copper Jack, and he at them.

Friday passed, with no delivery. I went through the same procedure on Saturday. No shoes. UPS does not deliver on Sundays. But Monday, I was sure Farmer H's new Skechers would be here. Nope! Surely Tuesday would be the day.

I had mentioned that I could not track this order. The only notifications I had were from PayPal, my method of payment. It was four emails. Two at a time. They had transaction numbers, but no order number. I had nothing from the eBay commerce store where I had seen the info about the shipping dates. No way to go back in there and look for it now. The only option was to download the PayPal app using one of those scannable square thingies with my phone. I don't want the PayPal app! It seems like one more thing that could get hacked.

Anyhoo... in searcing around on the PayPal site, I found a way to download it on my laptop. So I figured I'd just go ahead. I really wanted to find out about Farmer H's shoes.

In going through my PayPal transactions, I saw that the last one was two weeks ago! For my music service that is $11.99 once a month. Nothing at all about the shoes!

I went back to my emails. When I'd looked before, I only looked at one of each of the double emails. You know, because I figured I had been charged twice, and it was just telling me I was getting two shipments of two pairs of shoes each, coming at the same time. I HAD seen the two different transaction numbers in the emails.

Now I clicked on the emails I had not opened before. In these, when I clicked the TRACK PACKAGE button, it took me to the PayPal log-in site, and instead of just giving me the app screen, it let me click on the specific transaction for that eBay Commerce store. 

CANCELED - AUTHORIZATION

The temporary authorization was canceled and your payment method wasn't charged.

What in the Not-Heaven??? I guess the seller didn't do something from their end? Maybe they didn't really have four (or two) pairs of those shoes in that size? Because both of my transactions had that message.

Oh, well. I wasn't charged anything. But now Farmer H will have to go barefoot until I can find somewhere to buy his very special shoes!

Hi Ho, Hi Ho, It's Off To Work The Beast Of Burden Goes

The Pony returned to work on Tuesday. The rash was not painful, the less-acute rashy areas fading away. The right arm was still covered, but seeming to be getting on with the healing process. The Pony was able to get more than four hours of sleep, and take a regular shower instead of a cold shower. That might be reflected in the appearance of the Tuesday morning rash.

Those bumps look pretty red in the morning sunlight of the parking lot, but they are shrinking, and perhaps starting to dry out a bit. 

The Pony felt fine, and his doctor's note was only for Monday. The doctor had said that the steroids would have kicked in after a full day on them. Still, if he needed, The Pony has accumulated leave that he could have used to stay home another day to recover. 

As I write this, it's NOON:17 on Tuesday. Bright and sunny. I'm hoping The Pony has an uneventful day of work. I'm back to my regular worry schedule.

The Ever-Resilient Pony

The Pony got up to get ready for work on Monday morning, still vacillating on whether to go in. With the cream and the steroid medications, the pain was not as bad in his rashy arms. Then again, would a day walking around with intermittent clouds and sun, at temps in the 70s, irritate the rash even more? He had the doctor's note, and he had accumulated sick leave. Yet he hated the thought of making the office short-handed on a Monday.

The Pony said he would decide after a shower. 

The Pony decided to stay home, rather than risk further irritation. I understand.

"That's your call. NO judgement from me!"

"I don't want to scratch any of those bumps and end up with a staph infection. The doctor said if it didn't hurt, I could go back to work. Just don't do anything that could get the area infected."

"Maybe you need some "sun sleeves" to wear over your arms for a couple of days."

"I think I have two, but that was from when my dog bite was healing, and the sun hurt the new skin coming in. I can't use it now, because the cream for the rash says NOT to cover it. To leave it exposed while having the cream on it."

"Oh. I didn't think of that."

"I'm sure Dad will have judgement about me missing work."

"Well. You know Dad. He's sitting right here listening. Want me to ask? I'll show him your newest pictures. Huh. Dad says, 'I always figure I can be sick at work as well as I can be sick at home. And get paid for it.'"

"I have sick leave. So I'm getting paid anyway."

"I'm not sure I'd want to see my mailman with a rash like that, touching my mail!"

"I hate to leave all that work for other people, but I'm calling out today."

The Pony actually seemed in good spirits. Even suggested a casino trip in a couple of weeks on a day off. So many physical things have gone wrong lately. But our little Pony was chipper. Upbeat.

Of course, that could have been the steroids talking...