The Main Purpose Was Probably To Annoy Me

Farmer H sent me a text on Monday that a guy would be over in the BARn field cutting down a couple of dead trees. Not actually the BARn field, but the one next to it, I figured it out when I came home from town and saw the stump. Which was three feet tall, with two surfaces.

"That dead tree you told me about doesn't look very dead."

"It was dead, HM! In a couple of places. I thought it might fall on the power line."

"If you burn all that wood I see on your burn pile, you'll burn down the woods and your BARn."

"I'm not going to burn it all at once. I have a section behind it that I burn."

"As if the whole thing won't catch on fire. It's a DEAD tree, remember?"

"It won't catch anything on fire."

"Did you pay that guy to cut down trees?"

"Yes. Well. No. He owed me money, so I had him work. You saw the tree. Did you see the fire hydrant at the end of the driveway?"

"What? No. A fire hydrant? What's the deal with that? Who put that in? Surely it's not hooked up to anything."

"I bought it. It's out by the carport."

"Why would it be there?"

"That's okay. The Pony didn't see it, either."

"I guess I'm too busy watching the driveway so I don't run over a cow pelvis or a hammer."

"Well, okay, I can see that. I just saw a fire hydrant for sale and I wanted it. I figured maybe Jack will pee on it."

"Jack has the whole 20 acres to pee on. He doesn't need a fire hydrant. I'm shocked that it's not on the porch with the 2000 other things that don't belong there."

No answer to that. I guess the Master Hoarder didn't have an excuse.

Farmer H, The Perpetual Blamer

Farmer H came home early on Monday, because he was planning to go to the auction around 3:30. He said he was going out to work on SilverRedO, to re-glue the side trim.

"Your car has the trim just sticking out. But mine flaps in the wind when I'm driving! I think Old Buddy must have hit it when he was getting in the other day."

Here's the thing. SilverRedO is a 2012 model. T-Hoe is from 2008. Vehicles age! They both have trim along the side. It's black, about 3 inches wide. Nothing really has to "happen" to that trim to make it start bending away. I imagine the adhesive gets weaker after all the years in the sun and the freezing temperatures. Not sure why Farmer H feels the need to blame Old Buddy.

I'm pretty sure that's not the correct scenario. Old Buddy is such a hypochondriac that if he'd brushed up against that trim, he would have needed the week off, and a couple visits to the ER. That's his physician(s) of choice. Old Buddy receives government health care and never has to pay a penny. So rather than go to a doctor's office, he goes straight to the ER, where a multitude of tests are performed, at nary a cost for him. There's no way Old Buddy could have bumped that trim on SilverRedO without getting checked out at the ER. Such an injury might have progressed from a bruise to blood clots to a soft tissue injury that could become necrotic and result in an amputation!

Farmer H needs to realize that everything is not about assigning blame. Sometimes, things just happen.

Pupsie Keeps On Pupsing

That dang dog! By 9:00 a.m. she had dug all the water out of both water dishes. And when I left for town at 10:30 to pick up The Pony for a Father's Day cookout, there was a new item in the driveway.

A HAMMER!

It was a full-size hammer, not some dainty lady-tool. A hammer with a metal head, wooden handle, and rubber grip. Except part of the grip was chewed off. I had just climbed into T-Hoe, and was in no mood to dismount and re-enter. I left the hammer. 

When we got home, it was still there. The Pony jumped out and got it. We left it on the floor of T-Hoe, and told Farmer H, fearing he would be quite displeased.

"I don't know where that hammer come from. It's not mine."

So much for that. I suppose if Pupsie was trainable, Farmer H could acquire a whole new set of tools. Farmer H is not happy with Pupsie, even though he gained a hammer.

My Sweet Baboo Clears The Path

Thank the Gummi Mary I looked up the driveway as I backed T-Hoe out of the garage on Saturday evening. Otherwise, I might have run over an obstacle and punctured a tire. Or flipped it up under T-Hoe's undercarriage, and caused a leak in some vital accessory.

Being forewarned, I drove through part of the yard to avoid hitting this object. I knew exactly what it was, having seen it in the yard over the course of several days.

I assume this skeletal artifact is a COW PELVIS. The latest chewtoy that Pupsie had dragged home. Of course Farmer H gives it a toss, thinking he will make it disappear. He overestimates his throwing arm. 

When I came home, the driveway was clear. My Sweet Baboo had gotten out of SilverRedO and picked up the pelvis from the driveway. Farmer H says he hung it up. I don't dare ask where! So Pupsie shouldn't be able to drag it into the driveway again.

Steven Has Been Evening

Mrs. HM had a good day scratching on Thursday. After doing the banking, she took herself to the Sis-Town Save A Lot. That's because she had just shopped at Country Mart on Tuesday, after picking up The Pony to deposit checks from the sale of the Double Hovel flip house(s). The items she wanted to purchase were available at Save A Lot, and the lottery machine was fresh.

Let the record show that Mrs. HM got a $100 winner on a $5 crossword from the Save A Lot machine. In fact, she had other winners that totaled $142. So sorry for Fave at the Gas Station Chicken Store, and Genius in Pittsburgh, for whom she also purchased tickets there. Sure, they MIGHT have won something. But the odds are against it.

Anyhoo... on Friday, Mrs. HM was a bit late in leaving for town. A surprise thunderstorm sparked up during her naptime, and the creeks were overflowing. THAT GUY who always takes her rightful handicap parking space was once again parked there. Mrs. HM hobbled through the rain, and almost fell twice when her right knee objected to the extra distance. The Gas Station Chicken Store was out of crossword scratchers! The old lady who bought 10 of the crosswords in front of Mrs. HM on Thursday had come back and bought the rest of the roll on Friday! 

Casey's had a fire engine on the lot with flashing lights. It was gone when Mrs. HM went back after a trip to 10Box, but there was a smell of gasoline in the air. At least the parking had cleared out, with the handicap space now available.

After scratching at home, Mrs. HM won a total of $10. On a $10 ticket. That's way off from her regular win percentage. Hopefully, the six tickets she bought for Farmer H to have on Father's Day will provide some winners...

Mrs. HM, Now More Careful What She Wishes For

The drive-thru at my bank has been open for several weeks now. I must say, it has been a long time coming. Since last October! I was virtually drunk with excitement upon learning this new development at the end of May. I have been utilizing that drive-thru since then.

Well. The novelty has worn off!

Thursday, I turned into the bank's entrance, and noticed a black SUV sitting behind the bank, in the area just before the three drive-thru lanes. I suppose it saw me coming, because it pulled into the lane nearest the windows. The first lane after the lane that allows cars from the ATM in the back wall of the building to pull through to the exit.

I chose the middle of the three lanes, because it's the easiest to leave and make a turn into the back alley to make my escape. I had my withdrawal slip ready. I took the canister, and put in the withdrawal slip and my driver's license. I don't know whose canister made it inside first, but the black SUV was technically there before I was.

I heard the teller greet someone. It didn't come out of my speaker. That was a few minutes later. "How would you like... oh, I see you've written how you want your bills. I'll have it in just a minute."

I thanked the teller, and waited. I heard her finish up with the black SUV. Heard the canister going through the tube. BUT WAIT! There was some problem. The black SUV lady had questions. The teller had answers. The tube made sucking and shooting sounds. The black SUV lady had thought something was sent, but wasn't. She had thought it was returned, but wasn't. I couldn't figure out what was going on. I only knew that it was taking up my time. We were the only two cars in the drive-thru.

FINALLY, after 20 minutes, the black SUV left. The teller thanked me for being so patient "...while I assisted that customer with her problem." She sent my cash and driver's license through the tube.

I would be incensed at the long wait, except that for 8 months I have been hobbling inside the lobby to stand and wait for my turn. I can sit for 20 minutes on my ample rumpus, listening to the radio. No bone fragments off my knees! The thought of standing in line waiting on this gal was enough make me tranquil though my drive-thru wait.

It's POOLIO Season

Farmer H is getting a late start on POOLIO this year. He normally starts the draining and refilling and spending billions of dollars on chemicals at the end of May. I guess he forgot to ask for help with the cover. Sometimes The Veteran comes out, sometimes it's The Pony, and I think Old Buddy has also assisted. 

I came home from town on Tuesday to find Farmer H out back on his tractor, using the scoop to lift off the cover. It was not a simple process. Looked like he was doing it in short segments. He had the black plastic cover strapped to the lift somehow, and he'd raise it a bit just over the edge, and then manipulate it a bit while standing there, so water drained out.

Farmer H had been pumping a lot of water off that cover for a week, a bit at a time in the evenings. It's an odd task that involves a big orange extension cord that is plugged in by the dogs' water bowls, with the other end down at ground level by POOLIO. I think this keeps Farmer H from having to go down through the basement and out the door every evening. Maybe he can just control it from the porch this way.

Anyhoo... as Farmer H was coming in from his tractoring of POOLIO, I heard Pupsie and little Jack scuffling under the kitchen window. It sounded like they had something, perhaps a cow skull. Then I saw Pupsie come around, as if to get a drink, and PICK UP THE ORANGE EXTENSION CORD. She stood with it in her  mouth, looking back for Jack.

PUPSIE! NO!!!

That made Pupsie drop the cord, and go back to wrestling with Jack. But then she went to the cord again, and picked it up.

PUPSIE! NO!!! 

She looked surprised, but again dropped the extension cord. By then, Farmer H was coming up the basement steps.

"Your dog is trying to eat your big orange extension cord."

"That stupid dog! I'll fix THAT."

Farmer H went out on the porch, and started pulling up the extension cord, coiling it around his elbow. I guess he got to the end where it was plugged into something, because it came loose, and he brough it into the house.

"There. Now she cain't get it. She's gonna electrocute herself."

"Well. That would solve the problem of Pupsie..."

"She's so stupid. I bet she'll jump right in the pool. She ain't like Jack. He loves the water, but he won't even come down the steps to the deck."

That's why Farmer H has a gate to block the steps to the deck. So our pets were never at risk. My Sweet, Sweet Juno used to go down and lie on the deck watching Farmer H "swim." But Jack would not.

I can't help thinking what a show it might be, if Pupsie jumps in, and tries to avoid Farmer H catching her in the water. They might start a whirlpool.

I Swear, They're Multiplying!

Once again, Mrs. HM's attempt to have an unremarkable scratcher-buying experience was thwarted by a ne'er-do-well usurper of her rightful handicap parking space at the Gas Station Chicken Store.

It was Monday afternoon, after a hard day of selling the Double Hovel flip house(s), and I wanted nothing more than a peaceful visit to my regular scratcher provider. Yet here was this car in my space. I looped around and pulled into the FREE AIR parking space. I thought this driver might be leaving. After all, her tail lights were lit up from her foot on the brake.

But no. I waited five minutes, running the air conditioning in T-Hoe. Despite looking like an overcast day in this photo, the temperature was low 80s. Maybe this gal was waiting on a passenger to return. There were only about 5 cars on the lot. It shouldn't take long. But it DID. 

Pay no attention to this gentleman striding in front of the car. He appeared while I was trying to get a picture of the license plate for shaming purposes. I first thought maybe he was her passenger, and that she'd be moving on. But no. I finally got out to start my painful trek inside.

I suppose it was considerate of this lady to be such a bad parker. I had room to cut between her car and the building, hobbling right over the handicap stencil on the pavement. As I did so, I peered inside her car. I may or may not have given her my former-teacher stinkeye. It was a white-haired old woman. Still, that did not excuse her. She had no handicap plate, nor placard, and she was JUST SITTING. Not on her phone, not doing anything. Just sitting in my rightful handicap space, with her foot on the brake.

As I rounded the corner of the building, SHE DROVE AWAY! Dagnabit! I could have had that space if I had waited indefinitely for her to leave. But wait! All she did was drive into one of the gas pump lanes! She got out with no noticeable handicap, before I even made it to the door.

I guess some people think those stencils on the pavement mean the space is a designated waiting area for those who are looking for access to a gas pump. It's not as if she had the whole entirety of the parking lot to sit in her car and wait... She didn't even have a view of all the pumps around the corner.

How Curious Is THIS?

"Let me answer for you," as I used to tell my students, who would look at me cluelessly when I asked a question about their lesson. 

A miracle must have happened! When I got home from town on Sunday evening, having passed Farmer H on his way home, the BEEP of the smoke detector had stopped. Yet I saw no sign of a ladder or stepladder! Also, Farmer H told me he didn't have a battery, but had taken down the smoke detector and turned it off.

"You already knew you didn't have a battery! You said you were going to get batteries today!"

"Oh. Well. I don't have no batteries."

We also didn't have batteries on Monday. Farmer H did not buy any. We had our closing on the Double Hovel flip house(s). So I was with Farmer H all afternoon. No mention of batteries. I looked for some at 10Box, but all they had were the regular round batteries, in size AA and AAA. No 9-volt, no C, no D. At least I was actively seeking a solution to the smoke detector issue. 

Oh, and Farmer H had the nerve to say,

"There's one in the basement going bad, too."

"I TOLD YOU THAT! I SAID I HEARD ANOTHER ONE!"

"Huh. Well. I didn't hear it. Until I was down in the basement."

I suppose Farmer H went to the basement to get the stepladder. Or else it was in Genius's room all along. Which is where it likely resides now, since the smoke detector is off the ceiling, and I know Farmer H can't reach it without a ladder.

I don't know why Farmer H can't just honestly respond to a situation.

That BEEPING Farmer H

Sunday morning, Farmer H opened up the bedroom door at 5:50 a.m., on his way to water the dogs and get his lunch packed for a day at his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5). As he entered the laundry room to get the water, I heard an unwelcome noise from the master bedroom.

BEEP!

You know what that means. Battery going dead in a smoke detector. There it was again.

BEEP!

That's the problem with a chirping smoke detector. You know there's gonna be another BEEP comin'. It's like waiting for the other shoe to drop. All day. Waiting for the entire inventory of a combat-boot-manufacturing factory to release one boot at a time from the top floor.

"Hey! Do you hear that? The smoke detector needs a battery."

"Oh, yeah. I don't have any batteries."

"Can you turn it off?"

"I ain't got no ladder in the house."

Pardon my almost-French, but that is one Not-Heaven of a lie! We always have a little stepladder thingy in the Mansion. My mom gave it to us. Kind of a cross between a stool and a ladder. I think it has three steps. It's metal, and folds out, with black rubber on the steps.

Farmer H must have known by my sigh and look of displeasure that I was onto him.

"Let me look in Genius's room. Maybe it's in there."

He walked over and opened the door.

"Nope. Maybe it's downstairs."

Farmer H took a half-hearted step towards the basement.

"Just forget it!"

"I'll get batteries, and do it when I get home."

"Sure. Can you at least close the door so I don't have to hear it so loud?"

"Yeah. I can do that."

I'm pretty sure Farmer H will "forget" to pick up batteries today. I'm also pretty sure he will find that little stepladder downstairs in his workshop.

Mrs. HM Can't Help But Feel Guilty

Farmer H grilled pork steaks on Friday evening. They were GREAT! Well, the half of one I had was great. And the Fred-Flintstone-sized slab that Farmer H had was great, according to him. It lapped over the big rectangle section of our yellow lunchroom tray, into the round section beside it. There's another one left for Farmer H to eat Saturday night, and three more halves for me!

Along with the pork steaks, we had hash brown potato casserole that I had frozen during our last holiday meal. It thawed out well. I added fresh cornflakes on top for crispiness when I warmed it in the oven. Also, I made garlic cheese bread.

THIS IS WHY I FEEL GUILTY!

We did not invite The Pony to come out. It was just an evening thing when Farmer H got home from his SUS2.5 and Friday evening bull-shooting session with his cronies. No desserts. No salad. Just pork steak, potatoes, and bread. The Pony only likes the bread. But The Pony REALLY, REALLY likes the bread.

I made the confession when talking to The Pony on Saturday.

"Was the bread good? I bet it was really good!"

"Yes, Pony. But I feel so bad that we didn't invite you. You don't like pork steaks, and you don't like the potatoes. So it was just us. But I still have half the loaf of French bread left! I plan to use it. I might make more of the garlic cheese bread on Sunday. I could bring you some when we pick you up to go to the closing on Monday for the flip house. You could run it in your house before we go."

"OR... I could just eat it on the way!"

Heh, heh! I suppose that's an option. To show up to the closing with garlic breath! I figure The Pony can put most of it in the house, and eat one slice on the way. I made six slices from the other half. Not sure how many of the new ones will survive Farmer H's appetite. At least The Pony will get a taste.

The Embitterment Of The Falsely Accused

Here we go again. Thursday morning, Farmer H reminded me that he hasn't been paid the cash he put out from "his own" stash of money that he used for payment on items for the flip houses. You may recall that there was a kerfuffle over this topic in March, when Farmer H claimed that I "lost" the piece of paper he gave me with his billing. Back then, it was discovered that such bill was NOT where Farmer H claimed to have put it. And that it was discovered by The Pony in another location.

Anyhoo... once again, I told Farmer H that I did NOT have that bill.

"I know you don't have the one for May. It's out in the truck. But I gave you the bill for April. You even told The Pony when he was out here for the BBQ."

"No. I told The Pony that I didn't have the bill yet for April. It was not yet the end of May, so of course I didn't have the bill for May. You NEVER GAVE ME the bill for April. I don't have it."

Farmer H gave his little chuckle. The one that means I am an idiot, and he is SO superior to me.

"I gave it to you. You just cain't remember nothin'!"

"I guess I'll look for it today. But I know I don't have it. That's why I told The Pony it wasn't ready. I wasn't talking about May, because it wasn't yet the end of May."

"I gave it to you!"

"We'll see..."

Farmer H left for town around 6:00 a.m. At 6:08 I got a text:

"Ok I was wrong I have April and May in my book I'll give them to you this evening"

"But I'M always wrong."

"I said I was wrong"

"I can read. Once again you don't see the pattern of the way you treat me."

Funny how I didn't get a response. But I DID get the bills for April and May. On my laptop Friday morning, the coward not daring to hand them to me or mention them, just dropping them there on his way out the door at 6:00 a.m.

A Slip Of The Lip, Or A True Confession?

Farmer H said he would be gone all day on Wednesday, to Illinois to buy merchandise for his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5). That he would be eating lunch there around 2:00 at his favorite restaurant, so wouldn't need any supper. Well. You know how THAT goes. Farmer H was home by 4:00, and said he would find something to eat for himself.

I DID ask Farmer H later if he had eaten lunch, and he said, "No." When I asked why not, he suddenly remembered that he DID have lunch, at a Chinese buffet. Such a selective memory, until interrogated...

Anyhoo... I was just leaving for town, and told Farmer H that there were hot dogs in FRIG II if he wanted them for supper. He said that yeah, he would have a hot dog later. Let the record show that he usually eats supper around 6:00 or 6:30.

I was home from town by 5:00. Getting a snack to have with my Shasta Zero Sugar and lemon. I offered some to Farmer H.

"I'm slicing some of your Oberle Cheese that is six months old now. I can get some for you if you want."

Heh, heh. Gracious Mrs. HM, offering to cut the cheese for Farmer H!

"No. That's okay. I ate while you were gone."

Well. That is curious. He ate at a Chinese buffet around 2:00, but needed two hot dogs and chips for supper between 4:00 and 5:00. Farmer H is unpredictable.

Anyhoo... on Thursday, Farmer H was having hot dogs again, because he said he didn't want me to get him a big salad from Country Mart. He got home late, around 6:30, and put his hot dogs in the microwave. While he was getting chips, I heard those hot dogs sizzling and popping.

"I don't think hot dogs should sound like that!"

"They're fine, HM. I'm cooking them just like I did yesterday while you were gone. For an hour and 15 minutes. Um--"

"THAT explains it!"

"No. I meant to say for a minute and 15 seconds."

"I really wouldn't be surprised if you actually cooked them for an hour and 15 minutes."

Farmer H acted like it was a joke. I suppose he just misspoke. I was only gone for an hour that day, so I guess the evidence points to a slip of the tongue.

Mrs. HM Is Envious

We haven't been to the casino in a while. Not since February, to celebrate birthdays for The Pony and me. We've just been busy doing other things. Well. Not so much ME. I pretty much do the bare minimum every day, heh, heh. And the weather has been stormy, or floody. But The Pony went to a casino yesterday, with cousin Niecy. They have been trying to coordinate such a trip for a year or more.

Anyhoo... The Pony was quite disappointed to find that the slot machine which paid out a $16,633.47 jackpot on Christmas Eve morning had been removed!!! The Pony looked all over the casino, but it was gone. I guess maybe it was paying out too much! Too bad. It was version of Huff 'n' Puff, with pigs and a wolf.

The Pony found a new piggy kind of game to play.

It looks like fun to me. The Pony was not impressed, saying it ate a $20 bill right away. Still, if they have this machine next time I get to a casino, I will give it a try.

Here's another new machine. I don't know what this one is called, since I can't see the name.

Looks like The Pony won $283.75 on a 75-cent bet. Of course I would also try this game! The Pony and Niecy had a good time. The Pony left a minimal loser. I don't know about Niecy. Surely I would have heard if she hit a big jackpot. They had lunch out, but The Pony forgot to take pictures.

At least I got a little taste of the casino...

Farmer H, The One-Man Kitchen-Wrecking Crew

Have I ever mentioned that occasionally, I get a little bit annoyed with Farmer H? 

I think perhaps I have...

Monday evening, Farmer H came in from mowing the yard. He stopped by the kitchen sink to wash his hands. Not that there's anything wrong with being clean. For once.

"Hey! I just cleaned off the faucet neck. It had black dirt all over it from you washing your hands."

"I ain't washed my hands in a long time!"

"Isn't THAT something to be proud of!"

"I don't know how it got dirty, but it wasn't me."

After washing, Farmer H shook his hands at the sink. Then turned to the cutting block, where the roll of paper towels sits on a metal holder.

"Do NOT put your hand on top of the paper towel roll! You always do that, and leave a black handprint, and ruin every paper towel! If I can tear one off using only one hand, I know you can."

But no. Farmer H could not. So he put his left elbow/forearm on top of the roll while using his right hand to tear off a paper towel. He must not have washed up that far, because I did not notice a black print on top. I DID see that half the top edge of the roll is now smashed down. 

But wait. We're not done. Farmer H got out his container of Chinese food that I spent 2 hours making and cleaning up. It was just frozen stuff, but I add scrambled eggs, mushrooms, fried onions, and green onions to the rice. Then there was the chicken to cook, and the orange sauce to add, and portioning it into five containers, and then the washing of the dishes. By hand.

"I don't care if you use a glass plate, or a plastic plate, or eat it out of that container after you warm it."

Farmer H took a paper plate. A single paper plate. Dumped his food on there, put another paper plate on top, and shoved it in the microwave.

"If you think that one plate is going to hold it, you better think again."

When Farmer H took that plate out of the microwave, he grabbed a tray from the stove to set it on. Which would have been fine if it was the rectangular tray I had washed, or the pizza pan I had washed. But no. Farmer H chose the pizza pan that still had foil on it, from the cooking of the chicken pieces at 400 degrees for 23 minutes. Since it was battered chicken, it left a bit of grease on the foil. I use such a pan over again for a few days. No need to waste foil. I usually swipe the dogs' treat bread across the grease. But this time I had not.

"WHY are you using that pan with the foil?"

"FINE!" Farmer H picked up his single paper plate, now with grease on the bottom, and put it on the pizza pan I had just washed.

It really would take less effort to sit him in a high chair and feed him with a baby spoon.

History Repeats

As my second-best old ex-teaching buddy Karen used to chant sing-songily... "When will she EVER learn?" That was on weekends when we played poker with fellow teacher Jim, and they soundly tromped my rumpus every time, raking in the pile of pretzel sticks that we gambled with, while chomping on Rold Gold Pretzel Rods like they were cigars. That's what teachers did for recreation, you know.

Anyhoo, after my fright at almost losing (technically, I DID lose it, to no winners) $20 in the left machine at 10Box on Saturday... I gave that lottery machine another try on Sunday. Mrs. HM, always the forgiver. This time, I only put in $5. I wanted a Monopoly ticket. Can you believe that darn machine did the same thing again??? Took my money. Showed me the ticket I poked, so I could make a selection. Then just did nothing. No sound. Kept showing that Monopoly ticket on the screen.

I waited. And waited. Waited some more. THEN IT TORE OFF MY TICKET AND DROPPED IT IN THE TRAY! That was a relief. Still, it was a loser.

I went back in 10Box on Monday, with a fistful of draw tickets to redeem. I bought them from The Pony's stack of winners, since The Pony wanted the cash for a casino trip with his cousin, Niecy. My mind was made up that I would NOT patronize the wonky left-side lottery machine. As luck would have it, a man was there in front of it anyway.

I went to the right-side machine and started scanning four draw tickets that added up to $11, and also a $5 and $10 winner. The Man kept turning around, looking perturbed. Then a supervisor, the one who always brings a cart over to T-Hoe for me when she's outside, came out of the back room with the key. She told him it would be a minute.

As they were waiting, she nodded her head at me. "Look at her. She's like: 'No problem over here.'"

"I know! The same thing happened to me at that machine two days ago. It tried to do it again yesterday. So I'm NOT going to try it for a while!"

The Man said, "So you're getting all the winners out of that one!"

"More like I'm clearing out the losers so you can win, heh, heh!"

The supervisor was just getting that left machine working as I left. I fanned out my selections. "Here's what I got. Just in case you don't want to buy the same thing!" Another guy was waiting behind me to use the right-side machine. He got a look at my tickets, too. 

Mrs. HM. So selfless. Always trying to help other gamblers in the way she would like to be helped.

WHY???

No, Mrs. HM was not whacked on the knee by a thug wielding a police baton. But she WAS attacked by The Universe on Friday.

I went into 10Box to buy scratchers out of the machines. I put a $20 bill in the left machine. It has been cantankerous, and not scanning winners. The machine showed my $20 credit. I selected a $10 ticket. The picture of it popped up, and I selected the "1" option to purchase one ticket. At that moment, the selection option disappeared as usual. I waited to hear the RIP of my ticket being torn off inside the roll in the machine. But no. There was no RIP. And that ticket turned gray! That's how it looks when they are out. 

Huh. What to do, what to do? These machines sometimes have a lag, like they need to catch up, or reset themselves. One of them in Country Mart does that often. If I wait 3-5 minutes, the machine starts functioning again where it left off. The 10Box machines have each done that as well. I waited. And waited. Waited some more. But there was nothing changing. I stepped over to the right machine and scanned a couple of winners, and made my selections without a hitch. I stepped back to the left machine. Still the same. Showing that I had $10 in credit. But I had no ticket.

I turned to the cashiers, who were talking to each other without customers.

"Is this machine just being slow today? I've waited, but it won't give me a ticket or any options."

"It HAS been slow. It will probably start up again."

"But she's been over there a LONG time. I'll call."

She got on the PA and called up a supervisor by name. I was back at the machine, so nobody would walk up and think they hit a jackpot with money in there. YIKES! That manager came up behind me like Dracula in the Winona Rider movie gliding silently without moving! She doesn't look like Dracula. More like a scarecrow, or somebody related to the Addams family. She's perfectly nice. But scary if she appears behind you out of nowhere. I explained my situation.

"It did the same thing to ME today! I'll see if Manager is still here."

Off she went, to the other end of the store. I waited. What else could I do? My knees were achy and shaky, but I wasn't walking away from $20! Finally, Scarecrow came back with Manager. I explained what happened with the machine. 

"It's been acting up today. I think it's because they run on a satellite signal. Let's see if I have the right key."

She did. She opened up the machine, and punched in a code on a number pad inside.

"I'll look away. I'm not stealing your code."

"It's the same one for all the machines, " said Scarecrow.

Manager pointed out that the machine showed my twenty was "stacked." And that no ticket had been dispensed. She asked which one I tried to get, then tore it off the roll and adjusted the rest of them.

"Here's your ticket. What do you want to do about your $10 left? You can pick your tickets after I close it, or take credit."

"I don't want to wait while the machine resets. I'll take credit, and put it in this other machine."

I thought she might print out a credit slip for me to scan, but she just took a $10 bill out of the machine and handed it to me.

"Thank you so much! This is really good customer service! Everyone here is always so nice."

They ARE so nice in that store. Never make you feel like you're a bother. Always polite and friendly.

Let the record show that my tickets from there won NOTHING. Yes. That sound you hear is The Universe snickering, sniggering, chuckling, chortling, and wheezily laughing like Muttley.

More Danging Of The Doggie

That dang Pupsie! She continues to plague Farmer H with her penchant for chewing. She ate a bit more of his lawnmower seat. A 4-foot long curved piece of white plastic guttering has appeared in the front yard. The cow skull reappears every day, despite Farmer H declaring he "got rid of it."

"I threw that skull down in the woods."

"Well, it was in my way again in the driveway when I came home."

"I threw that skull over on Neighbor's property!"

"And yet it's back on the carport today."

Silly Farmer H. I don't know how he thinks the distance he can throw a cow skull while standing in the front yard will keep Pupsie from finding it and bringing it back. She probably thinks it's a game.

When I left for town on Thursday, Farmer H was coming in. He had some white plastic 5-gallon buckets stacked together, and set them on the side porch. Then went in the house, saying he was going to work on fixing his WAGON WHEELS on the front porch, that the dogs had knocked loose. Dogs? I'm pretty sure my little Jack has not been knocking down big iron wagon wheels...

I saw the buckets as I went down the porch steps. Inside were two drills. I got in T-Hoe with those buckets on my mind. I called Farmer H on my way down the gravel road.

"You need to bring in your buckets. That's just the sort of thing Pupsie would love to chew on."

"Yeah. I'm going out right now to work on my wheels."

When I got home, there was a black piece of woven material that looked like a basketball net on the carport. It had been there when I left. But now it was joined by a long stick with no bark. It might have been a chewed piece of lumber. Or some type of rail from a porch. I don't think either came from our Mansion.

"I see your dog has some new chew toys out by the garage."

"That dang dog! I was screwing that wagon wheel back on the porch, and she came right up to my buckets and put her head in. She was gonna take my other drill! Right out of the bucket, with me standing there! She looked at me when I yelled at her, like 'What are YOU gonna do about it?' She's into everything!"

Yes. Pupsie is into everything. Farmer H knows this. He really needs to be more careful with his stuff. You know, like daring to leave a seat attached to his lawnmower.

Solving Hillmomba's Sudden Drought Mystery

Three days this week, I've had to put water in the dogs' bowl on the back porch outside the laundry room. That is Farmer H's job every morning. I hear him go into the laundry room. So why is there no water at noon? Does he look out and assume there's enough for the day? Have Jack and Pupsie suddenly developed diabetes? It's not been hot enough for a thirst so great to empty that water bowl in six hours. I told Farmer H that I had been filling the water bowl.

"I don't know how that could be. I fill it every morning!"

"Then where is the water going?"

"I don't know, unless that stupid dog is turning it over."

"The bowl is always sitting just like it's supposed to be. I know Copper Jack comes around and drinks out of it, too. But there's always been water through the day. You don't think little Jack is trying to swim in it, do you? You know how he likes water. And sometimes he's wet. I just figured he jumped in the fake fish pond. He's never messed with the water bowl before."

"I don't know. It's not cracked, so the water's not leaking out."

Well. Mrs. HM discovered the reason for the disappearing water on Wednesday.

"It's that dang Pupsie! I was sitting at the kitchen table, and saw her walk around to the laundry room area. Then I heard DIGGING! Scratching! I hollered "STOP THAT!" And the noise quit. But then started up again. So I hollered "PUPSIE! NOOO!" And it quit, and Pupsie came back around the porch with her tail down. I went to look, and the bowl was empty, with the porch boards in front of it wet. She's digging in the water bowl! I refused to put more water in. Just to show her, heh, heh! I figured Jack could drink out of the fake fish pond if he was thirsty."

"That would explain it."

"I don't know why Pupsie would do that, but I suspect she wants to carry that bowl out into the front yard and chew on it. And it's too heavy with the water in it."

Nothing that dog does would surprise me...

Mrs. HM's Travel Is Limited By The Universe

Mrs. HM has been extra cranky this week. Yes. It IS possible.

First I read that a ROUNDABOUT is being installed on my regular route to the bank and The Pony's house and the flip house(s). Okay. I've known for two years that this process was in motion. But it wasn't immediate. Just something to put in the back of my mind and not worry about just yet. Well. NOW is the time to worry! Construction starts on June 9th.

I can't imagine this being a success. We are NOT ENGLAND! Hillmomba is not even an island! We don't need roundabouts! We have plenty of land for highway entrance and exit ramps, and we are trained to sit at stoplights and wait our turn. Some are trained better than others...

Anyhoo... construction will last until MID-DECEMBER!!! I will have to take the alternate route through Backroads, past the lake, on the winding blacktop road. It's not THAT bad, but will take longer. The worst part will be other traffic taking that road, including big trucks that see the center line as only a suggestion.

Not only was reading that news depressing, but the very next day, another article appeared, letting us know that there will be construction at the intersection in front of the Sis-Town Casey's!!! That's where I get T-Hoe's gas every Thursday! So now I will have to take an alternate route in that area as well. This project will start on June 23rd, and last six to eight weeks.

Mrs. HM can't catch a break.

An Unexpected Discovery

It is a rare night that Farmer H doesn't end his evening meal with something sweet. Heh, heh, just like he starts his day with something sweet, that being clandestine Casey's donuts! Anyhoo... there were a couple of nights where Farmer H ate his supper, brought back his plate, and went back to his recliner. On the second night, I had to ask.

"Aren't you having any dessert?"

"Oh. Well. I'm not really hungry tonight."

Am I so wrong to take Farmer H's word for it? Does that make me an idiot? I'm starting to think so. I must not have been my usually-suspicious self. Maybe I was coming down with that headache/sinus thing even then.

Some afternoons/evenings, I hear strange sounds in the living room where Farmer H is watching TV. I'll call out to him, "What are you eating NOW?" Not to shame him, but because I'm curious when I hear rustling/crackling sounds in there. After all, I've found an occasional candy bar stuffed into the end of Farmer H's Little Debbie Fudge Rounds box in the bottom of FRIG II. I don't know why he does this. It's not like I'm going to eat it. He must feel guilty. Or be tired of me pointing out how that's really not good for him.

Anyhoo... on Tuesday, I was straightening some of the stuff stacked on the TV table between the recliner and the short couch. Namely, two tins that once held Genius's Christmas cookies, and the other that held Chex Mix. They don't really belong on the table, but they make a convenient little tower where I can put my phone and reach it, and where we put the TV remote so the other can reach it.

It seems like I have to straighten them often, because they are different sizes, and get off-center. As I was rearranging the top one, it was HEAVY! Huh. That was not what I expected. I lifted it. Yeah. Heavy. I took off the top, and saw that the container was full of COOKIES! When did THAT happen??? I'd say within the past day or two.

Inside were Christmas cookies. The cheap kind. Like shortbread cookies in the shape of bells and Santa heads and wreaths. They are often sprinkled with colored sugar, thought I didn't see much on this version. Not really a surprise, because it is MAY, and not December!

When Farmer H got home, I asked.

"What's in the container?"

His head jerked, and he looked RIGHT AT that container. And said...

"What container?"

"RIGHT THERE! Where you just looked!"

You could see Farmer H's brain working. I'm surprised steam didn't rise from his head.

"Oh. Um. My cookies I brung up from the basement."

"Why are you hiding them?"

"I ain't hidin' 'em. I don't hide food."

"Funny. I don't remember you saying, 'I put some cookies in here if you want some.'"

"You can have some. I just brought 'em up."

Farmer H would make a terrible criminal. Not even a good naught schoolboy. Or else Mrs. HM is a fantastic interrogator.

That's Not How Things Are Supposed To Work

Mrs. HM did not make her daily trip to town for scratchers on Tuesday. Even more tragic is the fact that it was MO MONEY TUESDAY, due to the Memorial Day holiday on Monday. There are not many things that will keep Mrs. HM from her daily scratchers. Usually, it's really bad weather. This time, it was malaise.

My knees were hurting a lot, for whatever reason. Might have been the dreary cloudy weather for two days, or maybe being on those knees more than usual, getting stuff ready for the BBQ on Monday. Also, my head hurt between the eyes, and along the back, by my neck. With a stuffy head, I assume it is related to some kind of pollen exposure. I didn't even wash the picnic trays from our feast, which I usually do as Farmer H is driving The Pony back home.

Nor was I particularly motivated to buy more scratchers when I only had ONE winner the day before, for $10. I had bought some tickets at the Gas Station Chicken Store on my way to pick up The Pony on Monday. And The Pony got a couple for me out of the machine while looking for French bread. Then two crosswords as we passed the School-Turn Casey's on the way home. It was one of those crosswords that won.

Here's the deal. I had given The Pony some winners to use in the machines in Country Mart. I had a $20 winner that I said The Pony could use for whatever he wanted. Which was a $20 ticket. Sitting in T-Hoe while I wrote in my checkbook register, The Pony uncovered a $20 winner. So when we stopped at Casey's, The Pony cashed it in and bought a different $20 ticket. Which won $40! Which is being kept by The Pony as future casino money.

Anyhoo... that's not how things are supposed to work! I don't begrudge giving The Pony that winner to play on. But you'd think, due to my generosity, that The Universe and Even Steven could toss more than just a single $10 winner my way.

Farmer H's Toddler Tooth

We all know Farmer H has an affinity for sweets. The worst thing in the world for his health. Yet he continues to indulge, whether monitored or not. 

For our BBQ on Monday, I picked up desserts at 10Box and Save A Lot. Not specifically for Farmer H, but for The Pony to have some to take home. I got cake donuts with chocolate frosting and sprinkles, mini vanilla cupcakes with chocolate or vanilla icing, and cookies made with M&Ms.

I bought the desserts on Sunday, and set them on the counter for Monday. 

After Farmer H finished his supper on Sunday evening, he brought his plate to the kitchen. I asked if he was having dessert. 

"Oh, yeah. What do I have, DONUTS?"

"NO! Get away from there! That's for the BBQ and The Pony! You can have your Little Debbie Fudge Rounds that are in the refrigerator."

Farmer H must be watched every moment, like a toddler. He KNEW we were having a BBQ, and that I don't buy him a selection of desserts and put them on the counter.

Housewifing Is A Dangerous Profession

Sunday evening, Mrs. HM had several irons in the fire. Or several pots on the burner. I had to get Farmer H's supper ready, and also things to prepare for Monday's BBQ feast with The Pony. I was leaving patting out the hamburgers, the cooking of the baked beans, making the potato salad, and preparing the garlic cheese bread for Monday, when The Pony would be here to assist in fetching ingredients from FRIG II. Still, I needed to boil four eggs, and a bag of potatoes to have ready for the potato salad.

I figured I could do the boiling while getting Farmer H's supper ready. He was having chicken tenders on hot dog buns, adorned with pickles, onions, and pepper jack cheese, plus two frozen hash browns. What could possibly go wrong?

I put the four eggs in a small pan on the back burner, and the potatoes in a pot on the front burner. I put the chicken tenders in the oven at 425 degrees. Microwaved the hash browns for 45 seconds on each side, to give them a shorter cooking time in the oven. I got out the pickle slices from FRIG II, to drain on a paper towel. I set out Farmer H's plate, the buns, and the ketchup he would want for the hash browns. I selected a small onion for slicing. 

The eggs were done, so I put them in the sink with cold water. I took out the pan of chicken tenders to turn them over and add the hash browns. 

YOUCH! On the crowded counter, I touched the hot pan with the side/heel of my right hand. That really smarted! I was hoping my injury would not affect the evening's scratching of my lottery tickets!

I gave the boiled eggs a crack, to facilitate easier peeling the next day, and set them on the sink drainer to drip dry before putting them in FRIG II. Then set out two pieces of cheese alongside the pickles. I sliced Farmer H's onion. Then called him in to construct his sandwiches. Everything was running on schedule, despite my burned hand.

Farmer H surprisingly was able to make his own sandwiches. As he carried them to the living room, I peered into the boiling pot at the potatoes. 

YOUCH! Drops of boiling water shot out and landed on my OTHER hand!

Taking care of Farmer H certainly exposes Mrs. HM to hazardous conditions!

Mrs. HM, The Buyer, Is Always Beware

We are grilling on Monday, Memorial Day. I was buying our supplies in town on Saturday. We are having hamburgers and chicken this time. The Pony, as with most of his generation, does not like bones in his chicken. Even Genius, as a toddler, demanded indignantly upon having his first chicken leg: "Who put the BONE in my chicken???" They prefer nuggets, I assume. Even though I'm not sure they are really chicken.

Anyhoo... I was looking for a bag of boneless skinless chicken breasts in Save A Lot. I buy them there all the time. Usually, they are in the glass-doored freezer case. This time, they were in the long freezer bins that run the length of the store, from back to front. Not a big deal. I buy frozen fries, and frozen vegetables like broccoli and peas out of those bins. While it seems inefficient to me, those bins do their job.

Anyhoo... I found the bags of frozen boneless skinless chicken breasts. The top one I picked up had LIQUID in the bottom of the bag. No thank you. I am not buying thawed-out chicken! I looked at a couple bags beneath that one. They were frozen, but with a solid block of liquid down in the bottom corner. Nope! It was obvious those bags had once been thawed, and refrozen. You don't know how LONG they were thawed. Might have been 30 minutes. Might have been three days. I'm not taking a chance on chicken!

Next to those bags of boneless skinless chicken breasts were bags of chicken tenders. They are the same thing, only smaller. I chose a bag that had frosty ice particles around the chicken tenders. Not solid liquid, and not liquid liquid. These tenders had remained frozen. They will take less time to grill. We might need two or three to equal a chicken breast. But I'll know they are safe.

Rules For Thee, But Not For Me

On Thursday, we headed to the local catfish restaurant for my belated Mother's Day dinner. I chose 2:00, because I didn't think it would be crowded. Also, they have a lunch special from 11:00 to 4:00, which is $3 per person cheaper than going at supper time.

Farmer H was meeting us at 2:00. I went by to pick up The Pony. When we arrived, the parking lot was almost full! What in the Not-Heaven? Why would so many people be there at 2:00 on a Thursday? Farmer H was parked in the last space at the end of the second (of two) rows of parking spaces. It would have been the ideal space for me (aside from being so far from the door) because nobody could park next to me, obstructing T-Hoe's door from opening all the way. 

Anyhoo... I parked on the other side of SilverRedO. Farmer H kept motioning for me to pull forward more. AS IF I don't know how to park. When we got out, The Pony pointed out that Farmer H was over the front line of his parking space, while T-Hoe was just right. Thanks, Pony, for my VALidation!

As I started in, using my cane that I had brought just in case, I mentioned that I might just as well have parked out on the highway. So much for having a handicap placard. The two handicap spaces were taken. Along with a space next to them, and TWO CARS PARKED IN FRONT OF THE DOOR, which were not even parking spaces! I guess parking lots are just a free-for-all these days. 

But wait! When we were halfway there, people got into one of the cars in the handicap space. 

"Oh! One of you can park T-Hoe there, for when we come out!"

The Pony was willing, but I suggested Farmer H, because that would put him closer to the door to walk in. The Pony agreed. So Farmer H turned back, and piloted T-Hoe up front next to the building. He kept waiting, and The Pony said it looked like Farmer H was waiting for the end space, and not the actual handicap space. Yes. Though both were leaving, Farmer H took the farthest space. Oh, well. It was still closer than the one I had.

The Pony and I went inside, and got a table, with the waitress assuring us that she would show Farmer H where we were. It's not that hard, really. We are easy to pick out of a crowd. 

Anyhoo... we enjoyed our meal. On the way out, I said I would stop by the bathroom. I reached in my pocket to give The Pony my keys, and discovered my pocket was empty! Farmer H still had my keys!

"Hey! I need my keys! What if you drove off, and The Pony and I were stranded here? I don't want to stand outside and wait for you to bring my keys, and I don't want to walk back in and find a place to sit while I wait!"

Farmer H coughed up my keys. He's not very responsible sometimes. At least this good deed of parking T-Hoe went unpunished, since I thought to reach for my keys before he left.

The Gooning

I arrived at 10Box on Thursday afternoon to find all the handicap spaces occupied. There are four. Two on the left side of the door, and two on the right side. On the right side, the two official marked spaces are separated by the cart return area. It has diagonal stripes, and signs on the building itself that declare NO PARKING. If the carts haven't been taken in, they usually fill up this striped space, in two long rows.

Anyhoo... I was just getting scratchers, not shopping. So I didn't use a cart/walker to help me get inside and back out. I just hobbled, after parking in the regular parking space that was down past the first handicap, the cart return, and the second handicap. I DID notice that the car in the second handicap actually had a placard. I can't speak for the others, because I was concentrating on walking without falling, and didn't turn my head.

As I proceeded inside, I saw an apple-head woman watching me. That's okay. People often stare at me. I went on inside. Got my tickets. Came back out. Still, that woman was sitting on the passenger side of a small maroon pickup truck, WATCHING me. I also saw that it had a handicap placard.

Once inside T-Hoe, I wrote on the back of my tickets. Checked my phone for texts. Then put on my seatbelt. Glancing out my window, I noticed Apple Head STILL staring at me. That's what my students at Newmentia used to call GOONING. Staring. Being a goon. Not respecting privacy. Rudely holding their gaze, as if judging.

THAT'S when I noticed that her small maroon pickup truck was parked in the striped cart return area marked NO PARKING. You'd think that she could have gone in if the driver was handicapped. Or if SHE was handicapped, the driver had no need to park there. Anyhoo... they were parked illegally in that space marked as the cart return. 

People who are breaking the law shouldn't be GOONING at people who are hobbling because they had to park too far away. So sayeth Mrs. HM.

Some people are more entitled than other people, I suppose. I had just come from another business where this was evident as well. Oh, you're sure to hear that tale from Mrs. HM!

Mrs. HM, The Sneaky Shoplifter

I was in the Sis-Town Country Mart on Wednesday, a day early from my usual schedule, to facilitate our delayed Mother's Day dinner that would take place on Thursday. When I got to the register, I set out my items in a logical manner. I started with the soda. I had my Shasta Diet Cola, which is now packaged as Shasta Zero Sugar. And I had three 6-packs of Farmer H's Diet Mountain Dew, because it was on sale 3-for-$12, when it is usually $5.19 each.

I put the 12-pack of Shasta on the conveyor. "I have one of these..." And then a 6-pack of the Diet Mountain Dew. "And three of these."

The gal had trouble finding the barcode on the Shasta. That's because it's on the BOTTOM of the box, if you use the pop-out handle on the top. I think it's meant to slide across a scanner on the checkout counter. The cashier said, "I can scan this, and give it back to put in your cart." Fair enough. Some of them will reach over the counter with their hand-held scanner, and do it with the soda still in the cart. But I had set it on the conveyor. I took it back, and put it in the cart after scanning.

While this was going on, another cashier came to that register. She stood behind to bag. When she got the Diet Mountain Dew, she told the cashier, "She has THREE of these!" Yes. I did. Which I had plainly declared upon setting that 6-pack on the conveyor. The other cashier had not been there then. I suppose she was just helping the main cashier, but it seemed to me as if she was suggesting that I was TRYING TO STEAL TWO 6-PACKS OF SODA!!!

"Yes. I DO have three. Which I just told you when I set it out."

MRS. HM IS NOT A THIEF!!! It is not her fault that the original cashier was distracted by the other cashier coming over and butting in during the process of Mrs. HM's checkout!

When Farmer H Is Away, Mrs. HM Says OLE!

Farmer H went to the auction Monday night. That meant I didn't have to prepare supper for him. I was free to have whatever I wanted. Given this opportunity, I feast on meals that Farmer H is not crazy about. Oh, he'll eat them if it's the only option, but when given a list of choices, some never get chosen. Like my Super Nachos!

It's a thing of beauty, don't you think??? The Pony said it reminded him of a pizza.

The bottom layer is the nacho chips. Then some shredded cheddar, shredded lettuce, more shredded cheddar, white meat chicken, salsa, sour cream, and black olives. I'm hungry again just remembering it! Very tasty. 

I think I had 15 chips under there. It might be a lot to you, but it was just right for me. Nothing heavy in it like refried beans. It was 2 oz of cheese total. A handful of diced chicken. I DID go wild with the sour cream and olives. In retrospect, I might have added some Frank's Original Red Hot Sauce if I'd thought about it.

Farmer H knows what he's missing. And he doesn't care.

The Day Mrs. HM Hoped For A Loser

I buy scratchers every day. Usually, I'm hoping for a winner every time I scratch. But on Monday, I actually hoped for a loser!

I bought tickets out of the machine at the Sis-Town Save A Lot. I don't go there very often. Maybe once a month, or less. I knew that I wanted my favorite ticket, the crossword. And a couple of the $3 picture tickets. When I scanned my winners, I had enough for another $5 ticket. I chose the Monopoly. Not because I've had much success with it. But because it has the potential for a $200 winner. Like when in the game, you pass GO, and collect $200 in fake money.

When I got back to T-Hoe, and was writing on the back so I'd know where I got the tickets, I noticed something odd about my Monopoly.

It was not a whole ticket! It was not torn on the perforation. In the machines at 10Box, you can hear your ticket being torn from the roll when you touch the screen and make your selection. At the Save A Lot, the machine is different. You push a little bar, and the ticket comes out into the tray. As if they are pre-torn on the perforation, and stacked in the machine. You can't select a certain number of tickets. You have to push the bar for each one.

Anyhoo... whether it was actual machine error, or employee error, the predicament remained the same. I would not have a bar code to scan at the bottom of my ticket! Nor the code on the back that a retailer can use if the other bar code is not readable.  That's the one at the top of my ticket back, though it is usually on the bottom of the ticket if it's NOT TORN INCORRECTLY!

Also, the person who got the previous ticket did not have THEIR bar code, because that section of their ticket was attached to mine.

I've had an issue before, a few years ago, where the Christmas ticket was so gummy that I did not have the full bar code to scan, because in trying to clear it with my coin, part of the bar code was obliterated. The Woman Owner at the Gas Station Chicken Store told me she could not redeem my $5 winner back then, because she didn't have a bar code to scan. I mailed that ticket to the lottery office in the state capitol, and in six weeks, I had my $5 winnings. It was a hassle.

Welp. No need to worry. My Monopoly ticket was a loser. I was not particularly disappointed with this result. Oh, and the person with the ticket before mine also had a loser, according to their bar code that I scanned with my phone app.

Pupsona Non Grata

I backed T-Hoe out of the garage on Sunday, and noticed something in the way of my turn to go up the driveway.

What in the Not-Heaven WAS that??? I made a three-point turn so as not to drive over it, and saw what it was. It had been in the yard the day before, but because it was sitting on end, I couldn't reconize it this time.

It's a SKULL! This is not a good angle. Of course I knew who was responsible...

There she is, returning to the scene of the crime. She can't help herself.

For a dog who won't let us pet her, Pupsie sure spends a lot of time running to where we are, and making sure she's on the porch in the vicinity of where we are in the Mansion, and barking to defend our homestead!

When Farmer H got home, the skull had been moved out of the driveway. I didn't notice where.

"What kind of skull has Pupsie drug in?"

"That dang dog! I threw that skull down in the woods a couple days ago, and she brought it back! It's a cow skull, and she ate one of the antlers off of it!"

"An antler? On a cow?"

"It's a cow skull. She eat one of the horns!"

If only a cow horn could have a sedative effect on Pupsie...

The Cricketeer

Mrs. HM does not like crickets. It's not like she has a phobia. Just a healthy dislike for the hairy-legged insects that hide themselves away and make noises at intervals that are quite annoying, and have the nerve to JUMP when capture is attempted. Oh, who are we kidding. Capture is not the objective. Obliteration is the objective!

Last week, a cricket made itself known during the hour that Mrs. HM takes her afternoon nap before town. It was in the master bathroom, chirping away, disturbing the ZZZZZs Mrs. HM could have enjoyed during her regular relaxation time. Of course there was no sign of the cricket when Mrs. HM entered the master bathroom for her daily shower. I can only assume that it was somewhere in the pipes of the big triangle tub. I don't know how it would have gotten there. The only thing different from the usual non-cricket days was the act of Farmer H shutting off the water, to work on a connection on the water heater.

Anyhoo... for days that cricket chirped at nap time. One day I saw it! Perched on the top of one of the round fixtures that might be jets for the big triangle tub. As The Universe would have it, that fixture was on the back side of the tub. No way could Mrs. HM balance herself to reach back there for vengeance. Nor did she want to step inside to chase it.

But wait! It was not that single cricket. Upon return from town later in the week, Mrs. HM spied a cricket invading the Mansion! It was on the back porch. When Mrs. HM unlocked the kitchen door and pushed it open, that cricket JUMPED OVER THE THRESHOLD!!! 

Oh, no, NO! Not on Mrs. HM's watch! She stepped in and squashed that invader forthwith! 

I do not randomly kill insects in their natural habitat. But once they invade MY SPACE, they are fair game for hunting (and KILLING!). No way is an invader going to hide away in my Mansion and infest the place with offspring. No siree, Bob!

For two days, I have not heard the bathroom cricket. Doesn't mean it's gone. Only that it is not chirping during my naptime. That's a wise move.

The Gals Are Outraged

Friday was a slow day at 10Box. The forecast was for severe storms between 1:00 and 7:00. I checked the futurecast, and went early, around 2:30. The schools had let out early at 2:00. Not many people were in the store.

As I made my selections at the lottery machines up front, I heard the cashiers talking amongst themselves. It seems that they were perturbed about a customer who films them on her phone. She's apparently the friend of one of the workers. I've seen them together at the lottery machines before. I won't use that gal's real name. She's always been nice to me.

"It's Sadie's friend."

"Lottery Sadie?"

"Yeah. That friend of hers who's always in here buying tickets. Now when she goes through the line, she turns and says, 'Bye, guys!' And she takes video of it! Like this!" The cashier with the multi-colored hair acted it out.

"I don't like that! I don't agree to be on your live-stream! Whatever she uses it for. Some people do that, you know. They're on the internet all day long!"

"I never signed anything saying I agreed to be on her livestream!"

"I know! Has anybody mentioned it to Sadie?"

"Sadie knows!"

"I'm going to have to say something. I don't consent!"

Well. It's clear how they feel about it. I don't think they have any recourse. They are in a public place. I don't think they have a right to privacy there. I can understand how it makes them uncomfortable. But it's not like they are secretly being recorded in their own home.

Let's Hope Farmer H's Rumpus Revolts

Farmer H's mouth has written another check that his rumpus can't cash. All because of his King of the World fixation. Farmer H fancies himself to be more important than anyone he encounters, and assumes they need (and want) his opinion foisted upon them.

Mrs. HM, of course, is a total angel, spending her days ministering to the downtrodden, uplifting spirits in everyone she encounters. Just so we have that clear...

Tuesday evening, I was minding my very own personal beeswax while sitting at the kitchen table with my scratchers. They were disappointing me, so I had to give them a piece of my mind. Farmer H was in his recliner, having already enjoyed his supper of a fried chicken breast and leg, and a crispy hash brown that I warmed up for him, after my hard day at the bank and running errands.

Let the record show that when I have questions for Farmer H while we are both in our respective locations, I have to holler, "Hey!" And then he will turn off the TV sound, and listen to my question that I yell to him, and then ask me twice to repeat it. This time, I was not talking to Farmer H. I did not holler to get his attention. Gunsmoke was playing at a high volume. I was disparaging my scratchers in a normal tone.

Well! You would have thought I was standing on the front porch with a bullhorn, trying to incite a riot to eject Farmer H from his recliner! Farmer H bellowed at me to shut my mouth, that I was ridiculous. As you might suspect, Mrs. HM does not react kindly to being told to shut up. Especially when she has no quarrel with Farmer H, but only her tickets. In no way was my voice loud enough to interfere with Farmer H hearing his 60-year-old Gunsmoke rerun.

"I'm an adult, and can say what I like. It has nothing to do with you."

Yet Farmer H had to continue, criticizing me for my choice of language, which again had nothing to do with him, and his deaf ears would normally not even have heard. When Farmer H's commands are not being heeded, he escalates every situation. He won't stop. He gets louder and louder, and berates me for parts of my life during college days, before I even knew he existed!

Mrs. HM will not be bullied into submission. I have no desire to speak with Farmer H until he can keep a civil tongue in his head. It is now 1:00 on Thursday, and that civil tongue has not made an appearance. I let The Pony know on Wednesday night that I did not feel very festive, and did not want to go out to eat to celebrate Mother's Day on Thursday. The Pony understood.

Farmer H and his uncivil tongue and his check-writing mouth did not. Farmer H's uncivil fingers sent a "passive-aggressive" text to The Pony about it. Farmer H will be finding his own supper for a few nights. He has been informed, lest he accuse me of trying to starve him to death.

So Nice He Should Work At 10Box

You may recall that 10Box used to be a Country Mart. I really loved the store in Hillmomba when it had the deli section. Then it was remodeled into a 10Box without a deli. Some of the workers got re-assigned to the Sis-Town Country Mart during the remodel. They were all SO NICE at the Hillmomba location, and also when I'd see one in Sis-Town. However... the regular employees of the Sis-Town store are not great with their customer service.

They are a fairly young crowd, so not really into serving the customers. At the deli especially. After the first couple of efforts, I stopped using it. I only buy the pre-packed stuff in that section. It's not that the employees there are rude. Just that they don't really try to be friendly or helpful. Funny how even the new employees at 10Box are SO NICE. I guess it's the older ones taking the new ones under their wing, to break them in right.

Anyhoo... I got the first handicap space at Country Mart on Tuesday. There was no cart left behind, so I resigned myself to walk along the front street to the main entrance. All the spring plants are there on the sidewalk, on racks. They'd just been watered, so I made note to be extra sure-footed so I didn't slip. 

As I was getting out of T-Hoe, a grocery boy came across the front with the big garbage can on wheels. He was dumping their outside trash receptacles. He's a husky fellow I've seen there before. A young guy with strawberry-blondish hair, probably pretty low in the pecking order, since he's usually dumping the trash or bringing in carts. A man driving by called him over, talking about a mutual acquaintance he was worried about. Then Grocery Boy came back to his garbage can as I was limbering up my knees.

"Ma'am? Would you like me to get you a riding cart?"

"Oh, no. I just use a regular cart, but thank you."

"I can go get you a regular cart."

"No, I'll be fine. Just slow. You are so nice. Thank you very much."

That boy's momma raised him right. I don't think this store promotes such kindness to customers. That kid would fit right in at 10Box.