Don't Come A-Knockin' 'Cause Mrs. HM Ain't Good At Walkin'

Monday morning around 10:00, I had just sat down on the short couch to watch The Kitchen, a rerun when they were making stadium foods at home. I'd finished washing dishes, and had put a load of laundry in the washer. Jeff Mauro was grilling some hot dogs and steaming pretzel buns.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

What in the Not-Heaven? No dogs had barked. No sound of a vehicle crunching down the driveway. No sound of footsteps clomping up the wooden steps.

I froze. From shock. Then disbelief. Then annoyance. I did not get up.

Here's the thing. This is a private association. No thru traffic, especially up here on our road, where it leads to nowhere. No solicitors allowed, at least according to a sign posted down by the creek, where any sane person would think more than twice about coming up into the woods to annoy gun-toting hillbillies.

I called Farmer H to see if there was somebody he was expecting. No. Except maybe the lady who lives across the creek behind the Mansion, who was going to pick up empty egg cartons that Farmer H had left for her in the back of the Gator. No need for her to knock.

I didn't even bother to turn down the TV volume and pretend nobody was home. It's my house. I was not expecting company. Why should I try to rush to the door? It's hard for me to get up off the couch and hobble to the door. Besides, what if it was a ne'er-do-well? How could I defend myself against a home invasion? I'm not going to open the door when I'm not expecting someone.

There was no sound of footsteps clomping down the wooden steps. No dogs barking. No sound of a vehicle crunching up the driveway. Yet I assumed after a second round of knocks that the unwelcome visitor had left.

We still have no idea who it was. Anybody who wants something out here would announce it to our enclave's Facebook page, or call or text Farmer H directly. I suppose we'll never know what opportunity I missed, or what calamity might have befallen me.

Mrs. HM Still Has It

The teacher stinkeye! Mrs. HM has not lost this valuable tool, despite being retired since 2016. I suppose it's a skill like riding a bicycle. You never really forget it.

I was in Save A Lot on Sunday. Minding my own beeswax, pushing my cart along the condiments aisle, searching for Worcestershire Sauce, which I never found. I suppose they were out. Anyhoo... I sensed somebody coming up behind me. It was a boy around the age of 9, pushing an empty cart. He wheeled past me. Stopped in the area in front of the employee door that leads to the cooler. 

I needed to get past The Kid, to get some sour cream. He was pushing that cart to and fro, as if doing a choreographed routine. Pushing the front end to spin it. Holding the push bar to pirouette in the other direction. Spinning, spinning, with no adult in sight. What in the Not-Heaven??? It's not like he had been sent to get a specific item. He was just playing.

On my way past The Kid for my sour cream out of the cooler, I glanced his way. I did not lock eyes. I didn't know this kid. He might have been a perfect angel in all other parts of life outside Save A Lot. I was not trying to confront him. I was mainly focused on the cart. I had my left eyebrow raised, as if: "REALLY?"

The Kid saw me coming. I could almost feel the sassiness leave his soul. He stopped spinning the cart. Turned it away from me. Remained motionless as I walked by.

If you try this technique for yourself, with success... thank a teacher.

Always The Helper

Thursday, when I was staying home because of the rain, and feeling under-that-weather with my cold, I was late with my regular schedule. Knowing that I was not going to town, I dawdled over HIPPIE during the afternoon. When Farmer H came home, he said he was going to run a bath in the big triangle tub in the master bathroom.

"I'm still not feeling that great. I think I'll have a bath."

"Oh. Well. I was going to have my nap, and then a shower. A bath will use all the hot water. I guess I can skip a shower, since I'm not going anywhere."

"No. I can wait. Go ahead with what you're doing."

So I had a short nap. While I was in the shower, I heard Farmer H's phone ringing. He had put it on the charger on the bathroom sink. When I started back to the living room, I asked Farmer H if he wanted me to bring his phone. He did. He said he was waiting until his show was over to run the bath.

Farmer H looked at the missed call, but didn't recognize the number. Listened to the voice mail,  but neither of us could understand it. The sound was really low, despite Farmer H always having his phone on almost MAX volume. I figured it was probably his pharmacy trying to push some service, or his insurance. It was a woman's voice.

Right after I left the living room, Farmer H got another call.

"Huh. Yeah. I have some here. I can do that."

Turns out it was Farmer H's old wife. Calling to say that HOS (Farmer H's Oldest Son) was out in her car, and had run out of gas. He didn't have money for gas. So Farmer H said he would go meet HOS with 2-3 gallons of gas that he had in a gas can for the lawnmower.

Good thing he wasn't in the bathtub! 

Farmer H accomplished his mission. Too bad he had to get out after dark when he wasn't feeling well. I was worried that he might get hit by a car. You know how sometimes people stop to help, and then a tragedy occurs. Farmer H assured me that HOS was not on the side of the road, but on a church parking lot. It wasn't too far from the Mansion. Farmer H was back home within 45 minutes. 

He never did get his bath.

An Incredible Recovery

Sweet Gummi Mary! It's a miracle! This is Friday, Day 4 of my illness contracted from Farmer H, and I FEEL NORMAL! Well. If normal includes a deep (though productive) sudden cough about once every two or three hours. My headache is over. Nose has stopped dripping. The congestion that started Thursday evening is gone. I'm cured!

This was good news for The Pony, who was worried for me. Especially after I cut short our Thursday morning phone call because I felt so bad. Also, today's report might have given The Pony hope for his own recovery, since he came down with the same symptoms one day after I did. 

The Pony had spicy Chinese food Thursday evening, to clear his head. He had suggested that Farmer H bring me some Hot & Sour Soup to make me feel better. It's been a go-to in the past. But Farmer H came home at 12:30 on Thursday! I didn't even have time to ask him to pick up soup.

Anyhoo... I am thrilled to be back to almost-normal. I didn't even go to town on Thursday, because my eyes were all watery, and there was rain, and I had chills. I'll be headed to the store today. But more importantly (to me) I'll be getting my own scratchers, rather than relying on Farmer H.

Not Much To Tell

Mrs. HM is pretty much miserable with her recently Farmer-H-supplied sickness. This is Thursday, Day 3 for me. Farmer H is on Day 7. Oh, he's fairly chipper on his steroids, which he calls a Z-Pack. I told him that's an antibiotic. Zithromycin. The antibiotics often end in "cin," and the steroids often end in "one."

"They gave me Dexamethasone when I was in the hospital with pneumonia. That was my steroid."

"It's a Z-Pack! I take a few pills the first time, and less the second time, and so on."

"That can happen with steroids, too."

"I don't know what it is! It has a big long name on the cardboard pack."

"If the NP said it was a steroid, then it's not a Z-Pack. That's all I'm saying. You should probably pay more attention to your medications."

Also, Old Buddy called Farmer H Wednesday morning saying he was sick and couldn't work. Thursday  he called and wanted to know which urgent care Farmer H went to. 

 

"See? You gave it to OLD BUDDY too!!!"

"No I didn't. If anything, Old Buddy gave it to ME!"

"How is that possible when you got it Friday, and he got it Wednesday after that? Heh, heh! Now The Pony has it! I blame you for that, too!"

"I ain't been nowhere near around The Pony! I know I didn't give it to him!"

I agree with that. But sometimes when you're not feeling good, it lifts your spirits to torment your spouse... 

Farmer H started laughing AT me about something I said about feeling cold, my chest burning, and how I was miserable. Then he had a coughing fit. Thanks, Even Steven.

________________________________________________________________

I went to see the name on Farmer H's steroid prescription. You're welcome...

Let the record show that it is NOT a Z-Pack.

_________________________________________________________________

Who's Sickly Now?

That's right. It's Mrs. HM! Despite avoiding the diseased one as much as possible, I caught Farmer H's bug. Of course he insists that it wasn't him. That I obviously picked it up in town, during my five-minute interactions while buying my scratchers. Rather than from him, breathing on me, getting too close, coughing with uncovered mouth, touching the TV remote, faucets, FRIG II handle, doorknobs, washer and dryer controls, etc.

Anyhoo... mine started just like his. The need to keep clearing my throat, then little coughs. Mine hit on Tuesday. Which means I must have caught it on Sunday. It's Wednesday at noon, and I have some wheezing and chest discomfort. Now my nose has started to drip. My eyes feel tired and teary. My stomach is uncomfortable, probably from the clear liquid mucus draining continuously down the back of my throat.

Farmer H seemed better. He complained Tuesday evening that he was NOT feeling better. Duh! It was only 8 hours since he started his steroid pills. They are not magic! But still, Wednesday morning Farmer H was more like his old self, curt and dismissive over my whining revelation of sickness. Off he went to town to go about his regular non-duties at 6:00 a.m.

At 9:10 Farmer H sent me a text.

"Oh," I thought. "How sweet. Farmer H is probably checking to see how I'm feeling."

Nope.

"My buddy will be over by the BARn."

Well. At least he notified me this time. 

I don't foresee Farmer H preparing my supper and carrying it to me tonight. Or making me a Wild-Turkey-free hot toddy.

The Mansion Is The New Convalescent Ward

Monday was not a good night for Patient 0. He came home from town around 2:00, and settled into his recliner to watch Gunsmoke. Farmer H had been planning to fry some eggs and ham for his supper, but said he wasn't really hungry. He did say he would have a hot toddy when I returned from town with lemons and Wild Turkey.

"Do you want it in my big cup that I use for soup?"

"No! I don't need THAT much!"

"You won't be getting a giant cup full of Wild Turkey! You will be getting the regular amount of Wild Turkey that I pour in your cup when you have a regular Wild Turkey and Diet Shasta Cola! The big cup just means there will be room for more hot water, so you can sip it longer, and it won't taste as strong."

"Oh. All right. I'll have the big cup."

I heated the cup so it would stay warm longer, rather than immediately soaking up heat from the hot water. Added the Wild Turkey, half the juice from half a lemon, a little more honey than lemon juice, and filled the mug with boiling water. It smelled pretty good when I was stirring it. Farmer H said it was good. He still didn't want supper. 

"I'm not hungry."

"You could just have some ham and crackers. Maybe cheese."

"Yeah. I might do that. I think I'll take a hot shower."

That's what Farmer H did. Then he went to bed! Without supper. Without dessert! At 6:30 p.m. He sent me a text from the bedroom at 4:38 Tuesday morning, saying he was going to sleep in, so I knew not to wake him. But he was up before 6:00.

"I couldn't sleep all night. I think I might call the doctor and see if she can work me in. I can't cough anything up. My chest is burning. Or maybe I'll go to urgent care. I usually don't feel very sick, but I do this morning. I already sent Old Buddy a text saying we're not working today."

"That's a good idea. I hope you don't have pneumonia. That's how mine started. No appetite. No energy. A low fever for a couple weeks. Maybe you have the flu. It starts with a cough and achy body, and a fever."

"I don't think I have no fever. But I have the rest. I think I'll just go to urgent care."

"Yeah, you will for sure get seen. It's closer. They'll probably take it more seriously than your doctor just saying you have a cold and giving you cough medicine."

Off Farmer H went on a 10-minute drive to urgent care. That gal listened to his chest, looked in his ears and throat. Heard his symptoms. Said she DIDN'T think he had THE VIRUS or THE FLU, but asked if he wanted to be tested for each. He did not. She said his lungs were clear of pneumonia, and prescribed him a steroid. Said he should be feeling better by the next morning.

As I type this, Farmer H is coughing in his recliner, having taken the first of his pills, and awakened from an hour nap. Hopefully this puts him on the road to recovery.

Ailing Again

Such a shock that Farmer H seems to have picked up another sickness. After working outside in below-freezing temps for two days, trying to thaw out a water line at our flip house. And burning materials he cleaned out and tore off our newest flip house. I know there are not random viruses swirling around in thin air, waiting to invade his mucous membranes. But working outside in the cold gives his body other priorities, and puts resistance on the back burner.

This time, it has started with a cough. A deep rumbling cough. Farmer H said he first noticed it Friday morning at his SUS2.5. The need to cough. But not a lot was coming up with the cough. This would suggest that he started getting his ailment on Wednesday. The day he began fiddling with the frozen water line. 

Anyhoo... Farmer H suggested that maybe it was just something from inhaling all that smoke during the burn at the other house. Indeed, he went straight to the shower when he came home. Washed his clothes. His coat stunk so bad that I made him get it out of the kitchen, where he hangs it on a chair overnight. He moved it to the laundry room, which took on the smoky smell quite noticeably.

I don't think the cough is solely from the smoke. Farmer H's head seemed a little stuffy as well on Monday morning.

Anyhoo... it's back to double vitamins for Farmer H (regular morning, and an extra at night). They actually say to take two a day, but we get by on one each. Or at least I do!

When I go to town for bananas later, I will also pick up some lemons and a bottle of Wild Turkey for Farmer H. To make him a hot toddy if he wants one. We already have the honey. It seems to soothe his chest, and suppress the cough. At the very least, it makes him not care about it for a little while!

A Calendar-Markable Moment

Quick, go to your calendar and circle the date of January 26, 2025! On this day in very-recent history, Farmer H was heard to utter the words: "I was wrong." Strangely enough, the world did not stop spinning on its axis.

This was Farmer H's response to my sadness over spilled Diet Shasta Cola. It was 5:45 a.m., with Farmer H walking through the living room to give the dogs water, and gather up his mini frozen cheeseburgers for lunch at his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5). I told him to look at what I'd left on the kitchen counter. Here it is later on the table, for your viewing pleasure:

That WAS a can of Diet Shasta Cola. As you can see, it is empty. That's because it froze to death in T-Hoe's rear under the misbegotten advice from Farmer H. The whole top popped off! Not just the opening flip top. I discovered it after carrying in my own 12-pack, and noticing a small leak in the cardboard. Upon opening the case, I discovered most cans spotted with some leaked cola, and this one with its lid popped off and full of frozen cola. I rinsed it with hot water until the cola-sicle was able to pour out of the opening.

The bottom had tried to be the hero, expanding, expanding, expanding... until it could expand no more, and the top took the pressure.

The remaining 11 sodas are perfectly safe to drink. But do I want to? The carbonation will be gone. I don't particularly want to drink flat soda. It's different for cola than for Farmer H's Diet Mountain Dew. That is a more smooth taste. You don't notice the bubbly carbonation in it like you do in a cola.

Meanwhile, Farmer H looked over that mutilated can, heard my tale of cleaning up the soon-to-be mess, and said: "I was wrong."

Wish I had a recording of that!

Is The Pony The New PigPen?

Remember Charlie Brown's friend PigPen? With the cloud of dust/dirt surrounding him? I fear The Pony is becoming the new PigPen. Only The Pony's cloud is invisible, and it is misfortune! 

The Pony has been having a string of not-so-good luck lately. Wednesday, his day off, was no better. He had an appointment and errands over in Bill-Paying Town in the afternoon. I got a text:

"I wore a thermal shirt, and just realized I forgot deodorant. Whoo! It stinks! As I would put it to my friend in high school, it's like feet Doritos!"

Poor Pony! At least there was a solution if that happened while we were at school. I kept some deodorant in my classroom cabinet. Mainly it was for ME, but I also made it available to any students who were in need. Not that I would walk around randomly spraying them with it, heh, heh!

It was Secret. The brand "made for a woman, strong enough for a man," as the commercial went. If a student mentioned that they forgot their deodorant, I'd offer them a chance to use it. Some preferred to be discreet, and wait until after class, and spray in the empty classroom while I was in the hall, monitoring traffic. Others would take it to the bathroom to apply. Some would announce their problem to the whole class while waiting for the tardy bell, then spritz their armpits standing by the cabinet, and sigh with relief. It depended on the kid, and their personality. Still, it was a welcome relief to the stinker, and to the stinker's classmates.

I wonder if The Pony might start keeping some stick deodorant in his bag of work-related supplies. He probably already does.

No Shaming, Just The Facts

We have always called The Pony a "Butterton," after a family in a butter commercials long ago. The Pony loves butter. In fact, took a butter-and-jelly sandwich to school for lunch several years. That was after his 3rd grade teacher took it upon herself to describe in detail to the class the ingredients in hot dogs, The Pony's former favorite lunch. Anyhoo... The Pony survived, and lives to enjoy butter to this day.

Farmer H would be a "Sugarton." If there's anything Farmer H likes better than meat, it's sugar! He knows he's not supposed to have it. That probably makes it more desirable. The forbidden non-fruit!

Thursday evening, I saw that Farmer H had set out his bag of taffy (to take to his customers, you know, at his SUS2.5) from the concealing plastic bag. The colorful little wax-paper-wrapped blobs were in full view on the kitchen chair by the door. I thought maybe he had been eating some, but then again, maybe he just wanted to notice them on his way out the next morning.

Anyhoo... before taking supper to his recliner, Farmer H walked over to the kitchen table.

"Gotta get my dessert."

"Oh. Your little cherry pie?" [Let the record show that I had bought Farmer H several little individual cherry pies on sale at Save A Lot. He loves cherry pie, and he didn't get it at Christmas because we had other desserts.]

"No. I got me some cookies."

Farmer H reached over to an area behind HIPPIE'S screen, and picked up a pack of cookies, taking out four.

"Where did THOSE come from?"

"I bought 'em when I was in 10Box to get your lottery tickets on Monday."

"And you've been hiding them?"

"No. They was in my truck. I just brought 'em in."

So you see, I'm NOT trying to kill Farmer H when I bring him a treat. I do it hoping he will show some moderation. This isn't the first time such a tactic hasn't worked. Whether I buy him individual treats or not, he's going to get himself sugary treats that I may or may not find out about.

Farmer H is a grown man. He wants to live his life pleasurably, which seems to include vast amounts of forbidden sugar. I suppose he figures a longer life eating kale and fish is just not worth the extra time.

Steered Wrong Again By Farmer H

When I knew the forecast was for several days of single-digit temperatures, I asked Farmer H about our flip houses.

"Should you go over there and turn on the faucet to drip? To keep the water from freezing?"

"Nah. You would have to do that for every faucet. Not just one."

I believed him. That's his area of expertise, not mine. Although I've always heard that leaving a faucet with a trickle of water can keep your pipes from freezing. I've never had a frozen pipe.

Then the water at the Beauty Shop half of our Double Hovel flip property FROZE! Farmer H says now that if he knew how the previous owner had run the water into the house, he would have let the faucet drip. Um. I'm pretty sure that's what I suggested! Besides, having torn that building down to the sub-floor, and built a whole new house out of it, you'd think Farmer H was well aware of how the water came into the building.

Next, I asked Farmer H to bring in the soda from T-Hoe's rear. 

"It's going to be so cold. I don't want the soda to freeze. It could get all over the carpet as it thaws."

"That soda is not going to freeze. It's in the garage! Inside your car. It won't get that cold."

Let the record show that our garage is NOT attached to the Mansion. It's only connected by a sidewalk and a roof. No heat is going to leak through a wall of the Mansion and seep into the garage.

Welp. I'm sure you've surmised by now that the soda in T-Hoe's rear DID in fact, freeze. I had seven 6-packs of bottled Diet Mountain Dew in there, and one 12-pack of Shasta Diet Cola in cans. When Farmer H came out to help with groceries on Tuesday, I pointed that out.

"Your soda froze."

"Huh. It's not all of them."

"Do you want me to carry some to the porch?"

"Yeah. They'll thaw out inside."

So there I was, carrying two of Farmer H's 6-packs to the porch. I set them on the chair, so as not to struggle with them while getting up the steps. Farmer H never came out! I had to carry them all the way into the Mansion.

"Huh. If I knew you weren't coming to get them, I wouldn't have brought your soda! The groceries were lighter to carry than those sodas!"

"Oh. I thought you were bringing them."

My Shasta Diet Cola remains in T-Hoe's rear. I'm sure they're frozen. Cans freeze faster than plastic bottles. I'll wait until I need them. Maybe they won't go flat if they thaw before I crack them open.

Farmer H is not so reliable on the subject of freezing temperatures.

Sometimes, A Thump Is Just A Thump. Sometimes It's Not.

The frozen weather for the past three weeks has been driving me crazy. Trapped in the Mansion! Whether by ice or frigid temperatures, even though it's of my own doing, home confinement makes me antsy. 

The dogs go about their usual routines, barking their fool heads off about a half hour after Farmer H leaves the Mansion. Mostly at neighbor dog Copper Jack, who comes over to spend the day in our yard. The sun has been out most days, good for dog napping where it shines on the porch. Good for melting off the snow, and then parts of the ice layered on the porch rails and roof.

Since I've been here constantly, without my town respite, I have noticed lots of THUMPING. I figured it was just Scarlett and Pupsie, romping around on the front porch, slamming into the wall, knocking over some of Farmer H's ceramic doodads. That's usually where I hear the thumping. Front of the house. And when I'm having my nap, I hear it on the BARn end of the porch, right outside my bedroom.

I mentioned the noise to Farmer H Tuesday evening. He agree that he had also been hearing those thumps. I said maybe it might be ice breaking up on the roof? Or the house settling as the temperature drops, contracting the materials? He agreed that it might be. 

"It might have something to do with my big metal wagon wheel [Yikes! Just heard a thump as I typed that!] that I put on the front porch last week."

Anyhoo... I hear those thumps throughout the day. They're just a little startling. I don't want to think that the Mansion is falling apart.

Even though I haven't been to town since Sunday, I still take my afternoon shower. Farmer H said what's the point, since I'm not going anywhere. I could understand skipping a day here or there, but I don't like putting clean socks on dirty feet, or clean underwear on a less-than-fresh ample rumpus. I AM perfectly willing to wear my same comfy sweatpants and sweatshirt day after day.

Anyhoo... let's discuss my shower routine. Our master bathroom has kind of an "L" shape. Entering, there's the sink and mirrored cabinet on the right, and a walk-in closet on the left. Straight ahead is the big triangle tub. A 45-degree left turn takes you to the toilet and shower corner. Imagine yourself sitting upon my throne. Your back is to the front porch. Shower on your right. Triangle tub on your left. It's a nice roomy bathroom. 

Sitting on the edge of the tub is a roll of toilet paper. There's a holder on the wall straight ahead of the toilet, but Farmer H never puts the paper on there. He's the one who mostly uses this bathroom, while I use the one between the boys' rooms. When I'm getting ready for a shower, I lay my clothes over the front edge of the tub. My socks on the edge with the TP, though not near it, but over by the faucets for the tub water. 

My routine is to take a shower, dry off on the rug halfway between shower and sink, in front of the big triangle tub. Then hang up my towel on the wall rack, go to the sink, comb my hair while looking in the mirror, then go back to sit on the throne while putting lotion on my legs, socks on my feet, then pulling on my pants before standing, so I don't have to try and balance on my knees one at a time.

Here's the deal. While I was in the shower Tuesday evening around 4:30, I heard a thump. Sounded like it was right outside on the front porch. In the area of the pew that sits under the octagon window over the toilet, but also in the area of the metal wagon wheel Farmer H just attached to that corner of the front porch. It still sounded like it could be dogs thumping to me. I thought nothing of it.

Shower done, I went about my routine. I was at the sink combing my not-so-lovely lady-mullet when I heard another thump. It seemed louder, and startled me. It was in the same area as the other one. Not a big deal. I turned to approach the throne for lotioning and dressing purposes, and saw

THE ROLL OF TOILET PAPER IN THE MIDDLE OF THE BIG TRIANGLE TUB!

What in the Not-Heaven?

How can a roll of toilet paper jump off the side of the tub? It was in the normal place when I got out of the shower. I wasn't near it while drying off. We didn't have an earthquake. A roll of toilet paper should not make a loud thump.

I haven't told The Pony yet. The Pony, who several times saw items shoot across the room while soaking in the big triangle tub. Farmer H pooh-poohs my tale, saying that's impossible. I agree. It IS impossible. With the regular laws of physics in our 3-D world.

A Small Technicality

The charade continues. Farmer H is still spouting his creative excuses. He came in Tuesday afternoon, took off his coat, and reached into a plastic bag sitting on his chair at the kitchen table. I saw a handful of taffy pieces grasped in his soon-to-be sticky fingers.

"Huh. How are your customers enjoying that taffy you bought to hand out?"

"I don't know. I ain't took it down there to give out yet."

"I know. You keep eating it."

"No. HERE'S the taffy I bought for them." He lifted a plastic bag sitting on the kitchen chair by the door. Put it down. Motioned to the bag on HIS kitchen chair. "This is the taffy I bought for ME yesterday. Because I like it."

Okay. Let the record show that Farmer H is not (now) eating the taffy he bought for his customers. He's eating his own taffy. I'm pretty sure its effect on his health will be the same.

Hamming It Up At The Mansion

Monday, I carved the Christmas ham. Our second Christmas ham. I had bought two, and we only used the big one due to the limited time Genius and The Pony had to spend eating with us.

Farmer H said he wants a ham and cheese sandwich for supper tonight, with chips on the side. His future meals will be fried eggs and ham, with biscuits. Ham in green beans. Ham in baked beans. Ham with macaroni and cheese. Ham with mashed potatoes. And probably a repeat. Hot and cold sandwiches. Probably some ham with Great Northern Beans and cornbread, after a short hiatus from ham, from the left over slices I will freeze.

I am planning on a big salad tonight, with diced ham, boiled egg, tomatoes, shredded cheddar, peas, and french fried onions on top for a crunch. Not sure if I will use mayo (like in my 7 Layer Salad) or Blue Cheese dressing. Mmm... it's going to be good. I'll try to get a picture before I devour it.

There it is, before the Blue Cheese dressing and crispy fried onions. And then with the final touches:

Mmm. It was delicious and filling. Better than a sandwich! I used one of the containers I had saved from a Country Mart big salad. I might have one again on Tuesday. That's when Farmer H says he's going to fry eggs for his supper.

Don't Beat A Sad Pony

I mentioned a few days ago how Farmer H took The Pony out to lunch on his day off. It stemmed from guilt at putting his foot in his mouth while "helping." The Pony was having a very bad day on Tuesday. Delivering mail with a deeply-bruised rumpus from falling on the ice. Expecting to work 3-4 hours overtime, which would mean the last 2-3 hours in the dark. AND he had a flat tire on his car, which was parked at work. So he'd either need to fix it or walk home.

The redeeming part of Farmer H's behavior was that he went to check on The Pony's tire. His spare key was out here at the Mansion. So Farmer H texted The Pony to find where he was on his route, then went to get the keys, then back to the post office to look at the tire. 

Farmer H determined that it was just VERY LOW, with 7 pounds of air in it. He used The Pony's gadget that hooks up to the cigarette lighter to air up the tire enough to drive. Then went to Casey's and aired up all 4 tires to the right inflation. THEN Farmer H took The Pony's keys back to him on another leg of the route. Let the record show that it was about 7 miles one-way from post office to Pony. So Farmer H spent a considerable amount of time just driving to and fro. AND the temps were below freezing, so uncomfortable working on a tire in the wind.

Anyhoo... I applaud Farmer H for being a caring dad who would go to this trouble to help The Pony. A Pony who was very sad about having extra issues to deal with while walking an 11-mile route on ice in the cold and upcoming dark.

"I told Pony last week that his tire looked low. That he ought to put some air in it. He had those days off. I don't know why he didn't do it then. When I gave back the keys, I mentioned it. 'I TOLD you that tire was low. You should have aired it up.'"

"NO! You didn't say that, did you?"

"Yeah. Because I told him."

"WHY would you do that? He's having such a bad day! That's the last thing he needed to hear, an I TOLD YOU SO from you!"

"Well. I was just sayin'. I don't think he took it bad."

"You don't think. Of course he wouldn't say anything back, after you'd just fixed his tire. I bet he was afraid that's what you'd say, because when I sent him a text saying I'd tell you about the tire, he said back: 'Don't bother. I'll deal with it.' Which is so unlike The Pony. Just so defeated. But by that time, I'd already called you."

"I didn't mean nothin' by it..."

"You just don't think how your words affect other people."

I went on about my business of getting Farmer H's supper. I heard his phone making noises.

"Who are you texting now?"

"Just Pony. To see if he wants to go eat steak tomorrow. I've got a gift card to use."

Some people extend an olive branch. Farmer H offers steak. Anyhoo... as the pictures showed, they had a nice lunch at a local steakhouse. I'm guessing that even a badly-bruised rumpus feels a little better while being sat upon to eat steak.

More Of The Same

I'm planning to stay home for another three days, since the forecast is for single-digit temps overnight, and highs in the teens. I can't stand the cold anymore. Part of that is my lack of a thyroid, save that little scrap they left after surgery. It helps you regulate (or deal with) cold and heat. It's not worth it to me to bulk up in layers and a puffy coat to brave the wind chill just for scratchers. 

The gravel road is a skating rink! The hills are okay now, thanks to whoever plowed them. But the flat parts are treacherous. I don't want to meet a car and slide into it and have to deal with repairs and insurance. Of course, Farmer H will still be getting out every day. He who put two of our vehicles in a ditch, within a couple-hour span, on the day he was supposed to pick me up from the hospital after my unfortunate HospitVALzation.

Anyhoo... I'll be right here in the Mansion, doing nothing, with my heater cranked up under the kitchen table while fiddling about on HIPPIE. The Pony has Sunday and Monday off, so I don't have to worry about his safety.

Friday night, we had a lot of rain. Temps were in the 30s. They started dropping through the day on Saturday. That rain melted some of the snow (but not ice), and made the creek overflow the low water bridge that's on the way to town. Farmer H sent me a text mid-morning, to say that the bridge had water over it, and tree limbs on it. So I took the other route when I left for town late afternoon. The status of our lower road made me certain that I was not getting out until this newest freeze is over.

We have plenty of food, so I shouldn't have to send Farmer H to the store. A small ham we didn't open at Christmas. Extra bananas that I bought on Thursday. Romaine lettuce for salads, slaw mix, macaroni and cheese, green beans, bread, eggs, biscuits. Enough options for ham meals to get us past the freeze.

It's great weather to be a working teacher, but not so much for a retired one.

Young Winter Is Leaving A Mark

Winter is not even a month old yet, but certainly making a name for itself. Not a good name. We seem to be between arctic vortexes right now. Temps in the 40s with sun Thursday and Friday, with a new cold front moving in with single-digit temperatures coming up for three days. I may not get out. I'm stockpiling scratchers to have on hand, plus Farmer H can grab me an extra crossword or two with his clandestine morning donut(s).

The water main break in Sis-Town Thursday left The Pony with a boil order, and ban on using "non-essential" water like use for "showering, dish-washing, laundry." Not a good deal for the school district, which was only on their second day back since the Christmas holiday. When a school has no water, they have to bring in bottled water and set it out for free for the students. I don't know how they got away with serving meals. The Casey's was not allowed to have their deli open, nor sell fountain drinks. Farmer H could not eat at the Senior Center, because they couldn't serve lunch.

At the Gas Station Chicken Store (in Hillmomba, so no water restrictions), Fave (my favorite cashier) said that her dad's garage had collapsed.

"It's just canvas [kind of like a big safari tent], but it was fine until yesterday. I went over to try to help. He doesn't park his car in it, but has a lot of stuff stored in there. I got under it, and I could lift it with my back, but we couldn't get all the ice off. He'll just have to wait for it all to melt before we can set it back up."

A resident of our enclave has plowed some snow off the two hills. With the sun, they both got a tiny strip down to bare gravel/mud in the middle. So at least a vehicle can get two tires on solid ground to prevent getting stuck. The problem is if two cars try to pass. The upper road in front of the Mansion is a slushy mess that makes T-Hoe slide from side to side, but it's level, and I won't get stuck. The lower road by the creed and Mailbox Row is solid ice. Still, it's level, and you can generally slow-roll your tires enough to move along if you start spinning.

I'll be venturing to town Friday, and probably Saturday. After that, I might hibernate until temps get back into the 30s.

Denial, Yet There's No One Else To Blame

I'm sure you will not be surprised by the following tale. Denial is strong in Farmer H. Maybe HE believes his excuses. I, myself, do not.

When I returned home on Thursday, having discovered that the big blue mailbox behind the main post office was once again upright and ready to ingest envelopes, and having braved the snow-surrounded handicap parking spaces at both Save A Lot and Country Mart in Sis-Town... Farmer H came out to carry in groceries. Of course once inside, he busied himself with ripping bananas off the bunch, rather than putting the frozen items in the freezer. Still, I offered him my usual hospitality.

"Do you want anything before I change clothes and scratch my tickets? It looks like you've already had a snack. I saw the Oreos package in the wastebasket."

"I was gonna have some Oreos when I got home. But the pack was EMPTY!"

"YOU are the only one eating the Oreos. How did you not know it was empty? Why did you just leave the trash on the table last time you ate them?"

"I guess I must have forgot."

Seriously???? WHO does this? Only Farmer H! How can he eat the rest of his Oreos one evening, and leave the empty pack on the table, and then go back the next day to get Oreos???

Anyhoo... Farmer H didn't want a drink or a snack. He was probably full from refreshments he didn't remember having.

Farmer H And The Pony Do Lunch

The Pony had a really, really bad day at work on Tuesday. We won't go into it now, but perhaps later, here or there. Farmer H made a bit of a faux pas in his unintentional way (as he is wont to do), and felt bad when I harangued informed him about it... so immediately shot off a text asking The Pony to lunch on Wednesday, his day off.

Farmer H had a gift card for Texas Roadhouse, a steak restaurant. There's not one in Hillmomba. The closest is about 30 miles north. Farmer H planned to pick up The Pony, drive to lunch, do some minor business he had in that town, then return The Pony in time for Farmer H to get to his city commission meeting about our Flip House(s).

The Pony had an appointment in the afternoon, a few hours before Farmer H's meeting. Farmer H declared that they could easily eat lunch at 11:00, and be back in time. Until The Pony looked up that restaurant, and texted back that it didn't open until 3:00 p.m. I suppose that's understandable on a weekday.

Anyhoo... Farmer H hated to disappoint The Pony when it seemed that a good steak could cheer him up. He said they could go in the evening, but I didn't want them out after dark in these freezing temperatures. Sunday was also not an option, with Farmer H being at his SUS2.5 all day selling his wares. The Pony has to work the other days. So they decided to go to a LOCAL steakhouse over in Bill-Paying town, which opens at 10:30 a.m. Don't go thinking how early this is for a lunch. At school, we ate at 10:53. We're used to such a schedule.

All went well for the rescheduled lunch. The Pony almost forgot to text me pictures.

"Belated food pictures:"

"Dad's. Chicken breast with bacon, mushrooms, and green onions. He had two, but one was eaten before I remembered pictures. A paired breast thing, honey mustard dip, rolls, and we both got Caesar Salads."

Looks like The Pony also strapped on the old feedbag before remembering to take pictures! I'm glad they got their lunch together. I don't know how long Farmer H's gift card lasts. They can hopefully use it on a day when darkness and weather are not an issue.

A Curious Casualty Of The Frozen Streets

When I made it to town on Sunday, in the brief window between below-freezing temps, I had planned to mail a bill at the main post office. I know mail doesn't go out on Sundays, but the pick-up time is 11:00 a.m., so it would be there Monday, ready to process.

After my slip-sliding at Save A Lot, I decided that I'd rather just drive through and drop that bill in the big blue outside mailbox on the back parking lot of the main post office, saving my knees for my walk through Country Mart. I was approaching the street where I needed to turn, and saw that it was mostly ice-covered. Not a big deal, because it's a level street with rarely any traffic, other than the postal vehicles at their end of shift. Very few work on Sundays, delivering packages only.

I put on T-Hoe's right-turn signal, and looked up the street to see if any traffic was coming. Nope. But what I saw chilled me to the bone! 

THE BIG BLUE MAILBOX WAS ON ITS SIDE, DENTED, IN THE PARKING LOT!

Well! I did NOT make that turn. I drove down the street, made a turn, and parked in the customer parking lot that is under the roof of the post office. In the handicap space, of course, that has a little ramp. I mailed my bill, noting that I couldn't wait to mention this to The Pony. Which I promptly forgot, until our Tuesday morning call.

"Hey! I went to mail my bill on Sunday, and your big blue mailbox was destroyed!"

"Oh! I meant to warn you about that. It was down when I got there on Saturday."

"I wonder if the snowplow got it, or if a car went out of control and hit it."

"OR maybe a semi truck delivering the mail to us took a bad angle on the turn."

"Maybe. That IS a narrow street."

"Yeah. So I guess you can use the mailbox over by the School-Turn Casey's. Or the one by the dead mouse smelling post office, but I know you don't like that one."

"For some reason, it seems to add about 5 days onto my mail delivery! So I only use it for things that have plenty of time. I don't guess you've heard when the main one will be fixed?"

"No. They haven't said anything. And it's still laying there."

I really hope they got the mail out of it...

It's Good To Get Out

I am so glad I took the opportunity to escape the Mansion on Sunday, before two more days of below-freezing daytime highs and single-digit nighttime temps re-froze all the slick precip on our gravel road. While I was out, I had the opportunity to cash in some winning scratchers.

Farmer H will pick up a few tickets for me, but I don't expect him to redeem my winners. I give him cash, with instructions to buy me the $5 crossword tickets, and the newest $3 tickets. However, while on my own, I can use my winnings to get a $10 ticket. I like to look at them, and see which one gives me the best vibe. That plan worked fine on Sunday.

Here's a $100 winner! On the newest $10 ticket. I picked it out of the machine at Country Mart. Good thing I braved the piled snow to go inside!

No need to scratch all those numbers. I hit the WIN ALL on the second space. It was the $5 minimum prize that comes on that ticket, but I'm not complaining! Twenty $5 prizes means a $100 winner for me!

A little excitement here in my confinement. Now I have to wait for the next thaw to cash it in. Meanwhile, Farmer H will supply me with tickets.

The Sad State Of Shopping In Hillmomba

The ice/sleet/snow over the past week has not only wreaked havoc with schools starting up after Christmas break, but also with people trying to lay in supplies for sustenance. Snow removal services can only do so much. Some do much more than others.

On my second day out during these majorly inconvenient shenanigans from Mother Nature, I encountered difficulties. I went over to Sis-Town to mail my health insurance premium at the main post office. My knees were complaining, so I had decided to use the drive-thru mailbox on the back parking lot. Au contraire! Something had destroyed that mailbox! It was on its back or side. I couldn't tell which, because it was so mutilated. I'm guessing a snowplow got too close. Or maybe a car went out of control on the ice and hit it. Anyhoo... I had to drive around front and go inside. At least the parking lot is covered, so no snow or ice to tread upon.

The Save A Lot in Sis-Town was not handicap friendly! I risked life and limb to get inside. No cart was in the return, and the pavement was NOT clear!

That's a picture after I returned to T-Hoe, and put my groceries in the hatch. A truck was parked in that space by the building when I arrived. I had to walk out and around all that slushy stuff to get to a cart and go inside.

Another lady parked down to my right was trying to take her cart back when I was. They got stuck! I said, "That's good enough!" And she said, "Somebody else will want a cart, and take them in." So true. I wish I had one when I arrived.

I would have skipped this stop, but I really needed some salsa. I LOVE salsa. But only the medium kind that's the Save A Lot brand. I bought 8 jars! Along with some frozen curly fries for Farmer H, and two half-loaves of bread, and romaine lettuce.

From there I went to the post office, and then Country Mart. Another adventure in accessibility.

Again, this is after I returned to T-Hoe with my groceries. When I arrived, there was a car parked in the closest handicap space. And a cart jammed into the snowbank. I took the cart, and had to wheel it along the edge of the driving lane past the stop sign.

That's where I parked my cart when I was ready to leave. I didn't have the knee strength to wheel it all the way back inside. And there was no getting it through that snowbank. Besides, some other handicapped person might have been glad to have a cart available when they parked.

As I said, I know these businesses hire private contractors to clear their parking lots. I think they should stipulate that walkways should be cleared as well. Especially areas where the handicap people must park and walk! Back in the olden days, a proprietor would hand a stockboy a shovel, and perhaps some salt pellets to spread around. I guess such a chore is beneath the teen workforce of today.

Biding Time Until The Melt

Nothing happening here at the Mansion. Just the day-to-day cooking and dishwashing. Farmer H has been getting out into civilization, but I've only made one trip. A little bit of snow melted down today, from what I can tell on the porch rail. I'm guessing that the streets might fare better, with plowing and the chemicals reacting to the sun and the mid-30s temperatures. Our gravel road is probably in sad SLICK shape.

Anyhoo, I don't have a story. Not unless Farmer H does something outrageous, which is highly possible, so you can keep your hopes up. Today he's been the good guy, veering from regular routine to take The Pony to work and then go by to haul him home after work. That cut 2 hours off Farmer H's start time at his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5), and had him leaving an hour early. I doubt there was much business to be had there anyway. Unless Farmer H's shoppers are as nutty as he is about getting out in the snow.

Right now I've been getting Farmer H's business sales tax form filled out. He has an appointment Tuesday with his tax man. I'm also getting our car insurance bill ready for Farmer H to take by the insurance office on Monday. I normally mail it, but we have not received any mail since last Friday, and The Pony says their mail trucks haven't been getting through. I figure it's better not to take a chance, and just pay it at the local office. You know, since Farmer H is itching to get out in this mess anyway.

I'll be glad when the roads are clear, and I can resume my regular activities!

Farmer H's World

Despite falling on the ice when trying to get to his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5) a few days previous, Farmer H returned on Thursday. He said it was worth it, because he made a $900 sale. Except that he had to hold the item like lay-a-way, with a portion paid down on it. So what did he gain, really? A partial payment that he will give back within a reasonable time if the buyer can't scrape together the rest. I think he could just have easily done that business over the phone, agreeing to hold that item until a certain date, and get the down payment on a more weather-friendly day. It's a repeat customer. Not like people were just browsing Farmer H's shop during the gloomy icy day.

Anyhoo... Farmer H has gone BACK to his SUS2.5 today (Friday) on his usual schedule. In spite of snow falling since 3:00 a.m., due to stop around noon. Again, I don't think there will be shoppers. Or even other sellers down at the storage units in such weather. I've had a couple texts from Farmer H, which signifies his boredom. I'm sure he will be moving things around and improving the ambiance of his shop. He does have heat, and a microwave to warm the mini chicken sandwiches he took with a small bag of chips. Plus he has all those treats he was going to hand out to customers, heh, heh!

That's how things go in Farmer H's world. His logic is not the same as other, shall we say, LOGICAL people! Another example would be his dining habits. 

A couple nights ago, I had his supper all ready for him to scoop up. Had the bowl set out for his beans, with the serving spoon he likes to eat with. Also a knife to spread the Kerrygold on his corn muffins. Farmer H picked up a paper plate to set his bowl and muffins on. A small plate.

"Are you sure you want that plate?"

"It's all I need."

"Do you think it will hold that bowl AND your muffins?"

"Oh. Maybe not." He got a bigger plate.

Once Farmer H had left the kitchen to take his food to the living room to the marred coffee table in front of the long couch, I noticed that the paper towel I had laid out for him was still on the cutting block.

"I see you didn't pick up your paper towel."

"I DON'T NEED NO PAPER TOWEL! I have one over by my TV chair, and I'll use it if I need to before I touch the remote!"

He was downright hateful about it! Because I was being unreasonable, I suppose. Because why would anybody need a napkin or paper towel while eating corn muffins slathered with butter? 

Farmer H's world. Sometimes it's not big enough for the both of us.

Farmer H Draws The Line At Good-Deeding

Thursday, Farmer H thought it was safe enough for me to venture to town. There may be more on this story another day. For now, we're here to gasp at Farmer H's lack of help to a not-quite stranger.

"I was over at my storage unit, making a sale, when I got a call from Tommy. I haven't heard anything from him in a year or two. But around 11:30, he called me and said, 'I'm stuck here on the hill and need somebody to pull me out.' I told him I wasn't at home. That I'm over in Bill-Paying town. [25 minutes away] He said, 'But I need somebody to pull me out.' I just said I couldn't help him today. I guess he thinks I should be on call for whenever he needs something."

Don't think Farmer H was being callous. We have helped Tommy plenty. Farmer H would do it if he was home or even nearby. But he can't drop everything to respond when Tommy gets in a bind.

The Pony Initiates A Discourse On The Merits Of Kerrygold And Margarine

I felt a little sad for The Pony when we talked on Tuesday morning. I was telling him of the pot of beans and ham (which he does not like) and the corn muffins (which he loves) that I had planned for supper.

"Ohhh! There's something I just love about those corn muffins. It's a texture thing. The graininess of the muffin, and the melted warm butter. It's delicious."

"I know how you love Kerrygold. I like it too, on most things. But on a corn muffin, I prefer Country Crock. I've TRIED to like the Kerrygold on it, but something just tastes off to me."

"I can understand that. Again, it's the texture. I can see how having that cold slab of Country Crock melting on a hot muffin might be something you like."

"It's not even that. By the time I can sit down to eat my muffin, it's not hot anymore. I like that Country Crock spread on it cold, not melted in. I understand how Kerrygold has to sit out, to be able to get a knife through it. But it's a taste thing with me. Maybe I'm just used to the taste of margarine on a corn muffin all these years, and can't appreciate real butter."

"Maybe."

"Do you have food in the house? You could get some corn muffin mix and have your own!"

"I have food, Mother. In fact, when I got off early yesterday, I made pasta. Twice! Once in the afternoon, and again at 8:00. Because I had too much sauce. So I just made more pasta."

"Good to know that you're not going to starve!"

I still feel sad that The Pony missed my corn muffins. It's not like they're anything special. Just the Jiffy box mix. When The Pony was living here, I swear he liked the corn muffins more than the blueberry or strawberry muffins. Perhaps he just likes Jiffy more than Martha White.

Farmer H Contemplates Reeling In A Fine Kettle Of Fish

Are you ready for this? Farmer H's latest folly proposed venture? Sit down, and hold onto your hat. Farmer H wants to get a job! Because, you know, running two storage unit stores Friday thru Sunday, and working on a new Bargain House flip, and remodeling cronies' homes for money doesn't keep him busy enough.

Monday evening, Farmer H returned home from a day of galivanting about town(s) in the aftermath of the ice/snow storm, and revealed that the man who was the (for-all-intents-and-purposes) superintendent of the building where Farmer H eats his lunches amongst the elderlies... is no longer able to do that job.

"He basically rented out the apartments, and had the keys if anybody got locked out, and repaired anything that went wrong. I can do that. I'm really thinking about it. They'd asked me before to fix some things for them, but I didn't want to get involved then."

"Won't that affect your Social Security money? Like you'd get less because of a job?"

"No. Now I'm so old that I can work at any job I want, and make whatever, and it won't affect it."

"How would you have time?"

"From what I heard, the old guy didn't work at all on Fridays. So I'd still have that, and my weekends, for my store. If they had a problem, I could run over there."

"I don't know. You need to think it through. About how much time it will take."

Sweet Gummi Mary! You don't think Farmer H is trying to escape spending time at home with me, do you??? Nah. That would never enter his mind. I think maybe he's doing it more for recognition than for an actually paycheck. Farmer H really likes being needed. 

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

The Road To The Grocery Store Is Paved With Ice, Sleet, Snow, And Inattention

With slippery precipitation on the ground Monday, Farmer H decreed that I should not get out for my town trip. I agreed. We only had one banana left, so I asked him to stop by 10Box on the way home, and get seven bananas.

You know how that goes...

Farmer H returned home around 3:00, with a bag and a receipt. Among the contents of the bag were 10 bananas. As for the receipt:

"Huh. What's all this other stuff? Mint Oreo. Dr Pepper. Fruit Slices. Salt Water Taffy!"

"I got some snacks for my storage unit."

"Then why are you putting them on the table and not leaving them in the bag?"

"Well. I had to get out the bananas. There. I put it back."

"Not the Oreos."

"They're for here."

"You know you're going to eat those snacks at your storage unit, too."

"Maybe..."

"I'm sorry. For some reason I thought you were diabetic."

"I am. It's snacks I give out to customers."

"So I sent you to the store to buy a dollar's worth of bananas, and you spent $18?"

"Yeah."

That's what happens when you give a man instructions.

FAVE Is Back!

Remember the Sunday before Christmas, when I last saw Fave, my favorite cashier at the Gas Station Chicken Store? Probably not. I wouldn't have remembered it myself, because I did not expect her to go missing. She works Thursday thru Sunday. On Sundays, as I leave, we both say "See you Thursday." 

Well. On that Thursday, the day after Christmas, Fave was not there! Man Owner and Woman Owner were working in her place. I didn't want to ask where she was. No need to bring it up, in front of other customers, in case there was something unpleasant involved.

Fave was not there the rest of the week. Nor at the beginning of the next week, as I had imagined that she might swap shifts with the Other Cashier.

Nor was Fave there on Thursday. I was getting concerned. But the clouds parted, and a ray of light shone on the Gas Station Chicken Store Friday, when I noticed Fave's car on the parking lot! She had been missing for 10 days!

Granted, Other Cashier had mentioned one day that Fave had called in sick. So I assumed she was still employed there. Indeed, Fave told me she HAD been sick. And still sounded a little bit hoarsey.

"What time did you come in yesterday? I was here! But I only worked a few hours. I must have left before you got here. We were doing inventory."

"Yes, I was later than usual. So glad you're back!"

"Me too!"

On Saturday afternoon, I told Fave: "You probably won't see me tomorrow. I'm not getting out if we get all that snow and ice."

"I KNOW I won't see you! Because we're going to be closed tomorrow!"

That is unusual, but I suppose Man Owner and Woman Owner don't want to be driving to the Gas Station Chicken Store on ice. They live over in Sis-Town, around the bend, on the same road as my sister the ex-mayor's wife. Man Owner was on the lot as I left, pushing one of those salt-dispensing contraptions that looks kind of like a baby stroller. Better safe than sorry. I'm glad none of their workers have to get out in such bad (predicted) weather.

Fave has been selling me $50 winners. I'm REALLY glad she's back.

Punishment For Another Good Deed

I'd barely restored feeling to my arms after vigorously patting myself on the back for making a big pot of vegetable beef soup to hasten Farmer H's cold along... when the unthinkable happened!

Guess who got a sore throat around noon on Saturday. Yep. Mrs. HM! 

How is that possible??? Farmer H's symptoms started Thursday morning, after his casino visit on Tuesday morning. I had been avoiding his presence since he declared sickness. In fact, I even cautioned him not to breathe on me while he was getting some Oreos from his stash on the kitchen table while I was sitting there at HIPPIE.

I was SO careful not to touch my face, lest I had picked up Farmer H's germs from the kitchen faucet or FRIG II's door handle or the TV remote. I suppose I didn't count on transferring his germs from one item to another.

I'm thinking that maybe I had used the TV remote after Farmer H went to bed, and it was riddled with his cooties, and then later I used my same hand to flip open the spout on my metal water bottle.

Anyhoo... I've been dosing Farmer H with an extra vitamin at night, in an attempt to help him fight off his sickness. Saturday evening, he sounded fairly normal, and was not snotty, and said he felt better.

I've already set out an extra vitamin for myself. 

Catering To The Invalid

Aside from being cranky, Farmer H is dealing with his sickness in a stoic manner. No whining (yet), and he continues to go about his usual business. I offered him a can of Chunky Chicken Noodle Soup on Friday morning, for his supper on Friday night, but Farmer H turned up his stuffy nose at it.

The weather has turned chilly (high in the upper 30s) as winter should be. So I made a big pot of Vegetable Beef Soup. Don't go thinking it was all from scratch. I used a packet of soup mix, and added frozen carrots/peas, hash brown diced potatoes, a can of green beans, and some carrot medallions. Plus a couple pounds of browned ground beef, fried diced onion, fire-roasted tomatoes, and tomato sauce. For seasoning, there was ground black pepper, and dashes of ketchup, BBQ sauce, Worcestershire sauce, Heinz 57 sauce, and steak sauce.

Mmm. I must say, it was delicious! At least from the bites I tried to sample it and adjust the flavor. This it just a saucepan set out for supper. No need to heat the giant pot. I'm sure I will end up freezing some of this soup. It freezes well, and is a treat later without the preparation. 

Farmer H declared that the soup was fantastic, and even had a second bowl. Plenty more where that came from. We will be eating it for three more days! I don't think there will be any complaints.

No Joy In This Comeuppance

On our way home from the casino on Christmas Eve afternoon, I noticed Farmer H rubbing his eyes as he was driving A-Cad.

"That is NOT a smart thing to do! You just left a CASINO! Where you were touching slot machines that a million other people touched. You're going to catch something."

"No, HM, I'm not going to catch something. I was just rubbing my eye."

"How do you think germs get into your body? You are giving them an engraved invitation!"

The Pony in the back seat just shook his head. Probably for me berating Farmer H about his hand hygiene, but I would like to think, also in small part, as a realization of the risk Farmer H was taking.

Well, what do you know! Farmer H was fine. I guess he dodged the casino-virus bullet. THAT TIME!

On New Year's Eve morning, we went to the casino again. I did not directly observe Farmer H rubbing his eyes this time. But he must have done it. That was on Tuesday. By Wednesday evening, Farmer H said he didn't feel well. Like he was coming down with something. Went to bed at 6:55 p.m. Got up on Thursday morning at 5:15 sounding like his head was in a bucket.

I did NOT say "I told you so." Farmer H was a bit cranky. Now I have to avoid his germs. As always, Farmer H's antics lead to extra work for ME!

Mrs. HM, The False Accuser

I couldn't find my pen on Tuesday. The black pen on the kitchen counter, by the box of Puffs With Lotion and the container where I keep the stamps. The Pony was looking for it. We were in a hurry to leave for a casino trip. But no pen. I went to look for it myself. Gone, baby, gone.

Of course I blamed Farmer H. He's taken that pen before, and left it on the marred coffee table in front of the long couch. Once we returned home, I interrogated Farmer H about that pen while looking on the TV table next to his recliner.

"I didn't take your pen, HM."

"Well, you've taken it before, and now it's gone. It's just like this one here on the TV table."

"I didn't take it. I only have this one here."

"That's not anything like it. What's THIS one?"

"I don't know. I've never seen that one before."

"Sure you haven't. It's not the one I'm looking for. It's too heavy. But I sure didn't bring it in here. I've never seen it. I'm taking now, though. To put in the kitchen."

"Go ahead. I've never seen that pen in my life."

So I had a replacement pen, but not the kind I wanted. As luck (or that smirking Even Steven) would have it, my internet was down the next day. I sat down to write out the updated letter for dividing the Flip House property into two lots. 

As I reached for the black pen I keep on the kitchen table, my eye was drawn to the box sitting beside it that holds the paid bills and records for the flip house. On top of the papers was ANOTHER BLACK PEN! That's when I remembered that when moving my "office-y" stuff off the kitchen table for Christmas Dinner, I had placed my table pen in that box. 

I must have needed the other one in the kitchen, and asked The Pony to hand it to me to write on the back of winning scratchers after our feast. Then when the box was returned to the table, I didn't notice the pen in it, because I already had an identical pen there where I usually kept the other one.

Poor Farmer H. I meant to relay this info to him last night, but he went to bed before 7:00! It still doesn't explain that mysterious heavy black pen. I guess I'll put THAT one back on the TV table next to Farmer H's recliner. In case he's needing a pen, you know. So he'll leave mine alone.

There Are None So Deaf As He Who Will Not Hear

In A-Cad, on a car trip back from the city, I asked The Pony if there was anything he wanted to take home. Any snacks or foods from our pantry.

"Oreos? I have Oreos."

"No, Mom. Remember, I HAVE Oreos, that I bought to bake an Oreo Cake to take for Christmas Eve, but I ran out of time and couldn't make it."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot. But I still have those Oreos. A whole pack, and another half pack left over from the cakes I made."

"What? We have OREOS? I would eat Oreos."

"I told you all about them. After I gave you that baggie of halves left over from decorating the top and around the cakes."

"You didn't tell me!"

"Yes. I DID. Why would I want to keep Oreos secret? I hate Oreos. And I don't want to waste them. I always tell you about the leftovers. They're in the pantry, because I had to clean off the counter to set the Christmas Day food on there."

"I would have taken those Oreos to my store! To snack on them."

"You still can. If the mice don't get them first! Or maybe you can put them in your non-working mini-fridge."

"I put stuff like that in my microwave!"

Anyhoo... I guess I'll set out the Oreos so Farmer H can SEE them, and not forget about them, and accuse me of withholding Oreos.