Flashback PTSD To Old Baby Blue

When Farmer H rushed in from POOLIO because the sudden rain was getting him WET, he said he was going to finish drying off.

"Finish? I thought you just sit on the porch until you're dry."

"I do. But since the rain was cold, I dried off some in the laundry room."

"Wait! What did you use?"

"A towel that was folded up there."

"Was it blue?"

"Yeah. I dried off, and tossed it in the dryer with my clothes that's runnin'."

"NOOO! That's my butt-towel! The towel I put on the kitchen chair as a cushion! I just washed it the other day!"

"I didn't hurt it none."

"But you used it, then threw it in the dryer!"

Let the record show that we don't mind using towels a couple times before washing. We're clean after a shower, and no need to use extra electric and detergent for washing a mostly-clean towel. And it's OUR SEPARATE towels.

But Farmer H was all sweaty from working under Bargain House, and had just gotten in POOLIO with NO CLOTHES. There's no soap in POOLIO. I don't know how well the pool chemicals are at cleaning PEOPLE. So the thought of Farmer H drying his private area with my butt-towel was horrifying. Even though I am fully clothed when I sit upon it, and it really only touches my clothed rumpus.

I can always wash it again, now that I know. Which I wouldn't have, except for the interrogation. Or if Farmer H didn't put it back exactly like it had been, before he tossed it in the dryer. Still, it made me think of my precious sweatshirt, Old Baby Blue, during a previous incident.

RIP, Old Baby Blue.

Farmer H Gets Soaked In POOLIO

Monday afternoon, Farmer H came home a bit early and announced he was getting in POOLIO. We've been in the middle of a heat wave, with temps in the upper 90s, and the heat index hovering around 110 to 115. It's brutal. You open the door to go out, and a wall of moist heat almost knocks you down. Farmer H had spent a couple hours that morning under Bargain House working on the plumbing. So he deserved a dip.

I saw Farmer H bobbing around in POOLIO on his two short pool noodles. He was wearing his orange cap, soaking up the sun on his shoulders, the only part of him really exposed out of the water. I went to lie down for my nap before shower and town. I'd only been in bed about 10 minutes when I heard RAIN pounding on the roof.

What in the Not-Heaven? I didn't even know rain was in the forecast, though it is common for thunderstorms to kick off in the afternoon heat. In fact, I heard a couple faint rumbles of thunder. I wasn't worried about Farmer H, because there were no cracks of lightning, and I knew he was in POOLIO. It wasn't long before Farmer H came into the bedroom.

"I didn't even know rain was in the forecast."

"Me neither! It came on fast. I had to get out of the pool. I got soaked trying to climb the ladder!"

"YOU WERE ALREADY WET!"

"Yeah. But the rain was cold!"

I suppose he could have just lowered his shoulders into the water. Then he would have been in the warm pool water, with his hat protecting his head. But that's Farmer H for you, getting out of POOLIO because the rain was soaking him.

Maybe You Can Figure Out How Farmer H's Mind Works

Maybe that's just clickbait! I'm not sure anybody can figure out how Farmer H's mind works. It's his world, and other people are just living in it, waiting for him to annoy them.

Farmer H does not hear well. Not his fault, he spent many, many years working on a factory floor, with machines constantly running. Plus, he's old. When he watches TV, the volume setting is on 30. That's not a big deal. I can hear it in the kitchen. I can turn up my music to drown it out. In fact, when I'm here alone, I set it on 30 so I can hear TV shows from the kitchen. Farmer H knows this. When he gets home, the TV is on 30.

Here's the deal. When Farmer H goes to bed, he cranks the volume down to 24. WHYYYY??? Asks Mrs. HM, and Nancy Kerrigan. Farmer H goes into the bedroom and closes the door and puts on his breather. He sleeps through everything. Dogs barking, thunderstorms, and the smoke detector going off in the kitchen. It's not like he can even hear that TV on 30 in the bedroom.

This is an issue for me. There are shows I like to listen to in the evening after Farmer H has gone to bed. He even puts the channel on the shows I like (except on Saturdays, when he has specific instructions, but then says he forgot). So WHYYYY does he turn down the volume? What's the point of what channel it's on, if I can't even hear it? Might as well leave it on Gunsmoke!

I will try to get an answer from Farmer H, when I have the time to devote to deciphering one of his convoluted explanations.

Not A Fluffy Bunny Tail

I got a call from Genius on Sunday, while he was out running errands again. I fear I took up too much of his time telling him about a how-to-murder-your-wife show that I had seen the night before, that featured HILLMOMBA! I thought he might have heard about it, even though the actual events occurred the year before he was born. One of the murderers was death-penaltied right here at the local prison. Anyhoo... Genius had to cut our conversation short, as he was back home, and didn't particularly want to sit in the car talking, now that his errand was over. But luckily he had already told me a story about moving things into his new house.

It's a beautiful house! I don't know what you'd call it, but it was renovated in 2016, and has a basement, two full stories, and a gabled room on the third floor. The basement was used as a wood shop, which Genius plans to continue. There's a garage out back, and a nice back yard.

"We were walking along the driveway to the garage, and something ran out in front of us. It came from right down by my feet, and darted across the driveway and into the back yard. I said, 'Oh, look! A little bunny!' But as I watched it go across the yard and disappear into a hole, I realized that it was NOT a little bunny, but a big rat! I was horrified!"

"You need to call an exterminator. Or get a cat."

"I'm not going to spend hundreds on an exterminator. I'll trap it. The neighbors have FOUR cats, and they come into our yard all the time. Those lazy things should take care of that rat!"

"Are they outside cats? Don't you have ordinances there in the city?"

"I don't know. That's a gray area. They're in the house a lot. They're chipped, and have their shots. The neighbor said that they found them about 10 years ago, and to them to the pound. They were told, 'These are wild cats. We will put them down, or you can have them neutered and chipped and get their shots, and take them home.' They didn't have the heart to leave those cats to die, so they took them home. They're okay cats. They don't shun us, but they're aloof. They're cats."

Anyhoo... at least it's an outside rat!

Now It's Come To THIS!

I went to Save A Lot on Saturday, to get some dill pickles, spaghetti sauce, and paper plates. Of course I also found some cheese and a pork loin and some snacks. As I was perusing the aisles, I saw a lady on a beeper cart. She was in line ahead of me when I was ready to check out. 

Two lanes were open, each with two customers, and they called another checker to the front. One lady already in line told me to go ahead, because she said her order was going to be complicated. I thanked her and went to the new guy. He asked if I was using cash or card, and I said card. He replied that was good, because his drawer contained no cash!

Anyhoo... while I was checking out, I saw Beeper Lady motor over to the counter in front of the windows, to box up her groceries. There were only a few boxes. I thought I would offer to help her if she wanted. You know, like bring her a box, or set the stuff in and put it in the basket of her beeper cart. By the time I got over to the counter, Beeper Lady was driving on out. I could see that she was parked in the OTHER handicap space, facing out, in a maroon minivan.

I got my groceries boxed, and took my cart/walker outside. I waited for a car to pass, then let a differently-gendered person walk back across behind T-Hoe before remotely opening the hatch and proceeding. As I was getting my box out of the cart/walker, Beeper Lady put down the window of her minivan.

"Can I help you with that?"

"Oh, no. I've got it. But thank you!"

I stowed the box in T-Hoe's rear, then pushed the cart to the return corral that was between our vehicles. I had a bag to put on the back seat. Beeper Lady was still watching me.

"I actually was planning to ask YOU if I could help you put stuff in a box!"

"Oh, I got a box as soon as I went in, and had it in my basket to put the groceries in. So I didn't need help. But I also have my Buckee's bag." 

She opened her door, and motioned to an insulated soft-side bag with the logo of a chain of convenience stores that we don't have in this area. I suppose she had been putting her cold stuff in there.

"I just need a couple of new knees!"

"I have new knees!" 

Beeper Lady moved one of her legs, to show me the scar down her kneecap.

"Did everything go okay?"

"YES! I can't believe how fast they had me up and walking."

"Everybody I know who's had it says the same thing. I'm just afraid of the surgery."

"I was too, but it went great. The worst thing is, they found out I have an embolism behind my left eye, and I'm always squinting to see. I'm really worried about that."

"At least they found it! And now they can monitor it."

"Yes, that's true. You have a blessed day!"

"You too!"

So now even beeper cart ladies are offering to help me. I might need to reconsider the knee replacement situation...

Farmer H's Mouth Has Been Busy Writing Checks

His rumpus better rest up, because Farmer H's mouth has been writing checks all over Sis-Town! Somebody in the city seems to have a grudge. 

We don't need to rehash it here, but Farmer H's confidant at the senior center had mentioned a couple of people didn't want him to have that job at the apartments. Then he got into it with them about who was paying for the lawn maintenance there, and about the inspections that the building should not have passed in its current condition. He was told to stop taking rent in cash, because they didn't want to deal with it in the office. It's like they're looking for something to gripe about or trap him in.

Let the record show that I am often not the biggest fan of how Farmer H deals with things, but he is not lazy, and not a scofflaw. I told him early on that somebody was out to make his life miserable (besides me, heh, heh!), and I hoped they didn't take it out on The Pony, whose house is in that town.

Now they have! Farmer H got a letter that his property was a nuisance! The Pony also got one, as the occupant. It had pictures of the front area by the sidewalk at The Pony's house. The letter said grass and weeds were overgrown.

The letter was dated July 16. Farmer H checked his list where he puts down the days and jobs he does, for billing purposes on the flip houses and The Pony's house. He pays cash and we reimburse him for that, and for labor, and for Old Buddy's wages. Farmer H had mowed The Pony's yard on July 16.

"It must have been that afternoon, after he took them pictures. There's houses all around there with weeds higher than that. I called the guy, and he said I have to maintain the part out front, too. I told him I ain't cuttin' down the tree that's growin' in the ditch. 

They wouldn't let me cut through the sidewalk to tie into the water line when I was working on The Pony's house. They told me I had to be licensed and bonded. So I did it on the other side of the sidewalk, the yard side. Now they want me to cut a tree out of their ditch! No way am I going to do that, and have them tell me I messed up their city drains! I said he can send me a letter every day, and fine me every day, but I ain't cuttin' down that tree! He said he'd call the street department. I called the councilman to complain. He never called me back. So I went to city hall the next day, and they said to go talk to the street department myself, and I said that was just a waste my time!"

We'll see what comes of this. Farmer H is in a tizzy, incensed that he maintains his properties, while others are overgrown. Oh, and one of his friends from the senior center said SHE got a letter that she's supposed to maintain the property on the other side of her fence, to the center of the alley. "I've lived here 32 years, and this is the first time I've ever heard anything about taking care of the property over my fence." Funny how she's a friend of Farmer H, and that happens now...

The Fine Line Between Do-Gooding And Stalking

I went to town as usual on Thursday, my errand day for bank, T-Hoe's gas, post office, and Country Mart. I was actually optimistic. My very painful "good" knee that had kept me at the Mansion for several days has been feeling better. I was able to walk in Casey's to pre-pay for gas. 

The bank had ONLY ME as a customer at the drive-thru, and my service was quick. No semi trucks were blocking the roads around the drive-thru mailbox. No cart was available outside by the handicap spaces at Country Mart. Just an old man on a bench. I didn't think he would appreciate me leaning on him and pushing him into the store. So I just walked. Slowly, but I was able to walk to get a cart/walker at the entrance. I was soon to find out that it had a bad front left wheel, but too late to go back for another. It was like a chocolate that I wanted to spit out, but overall, things were going well for me.

Across the back aisle, a blond gal worker darted across. Not a problem. I rarely see workers in this store moving that fast, heh, heh. At least she was doing her job. In fact, when I got up front to head toward the checkout, Blondie darted out again. This time I was really close to that aisle. I guess she couldn't hear my squeaky wheel. I managed to stop.

"Oh! Sorry! Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. It just takes me a minute to get stopped, and start up again."

Blondie went out the front door, and I proceeded to the checkout. Where a 20-something dude at the register was telling a 20-something gal standing next to him about seeing some guy explode out of a boat, legs flying. He was really fishing her in with that story, but stopped and greeted me politely. He rang up my items, and she stuffed them all in two bags. TWO BAGS! Both quite heavy. And she made no move to walk through the little gate and set them in the cart for me, like most do when two are working together. Well. They were 20-somethings. Quite self-absorbed, but not rude.

While squeaking my way out the front entrance, Blondie and another worker gal burst through the self-opening double doors. We played a brief game of chicken as the other gal was trying to control a line of three short carts. The "old people" carts, with a bin at the bottom, and a smaller one up top, but no child seat.

"Oh, sorry for that!" said Blondie. "Can I take your groceries to your car for you?"

"Thank you, but no, I'm fine. I can lean on the cart as I walk out."

On I went. Actually feeling better than the last couple shopping trips, despite a headache I had developed mid-morning. I opened up T-Hoe's rear to stow away three 6-packs of Diet Mountain Dew (still on sale), and two 12-packs of Shasta Zero Sugar Cola. I was shoving them to and fro, to prevent sliding around, intending to put the two heavy bags on the seat behind me, in case Farmer H wasn't home to help carry.

"Here. I'll take your cart back in for you when you're done." Blondie had materialized out of thin air! I guess she had been trailing me. Probably wanted to make sure her cart duties remained finished.

"Actually, I was planning to put these two bags on the back seat."

Blondie snatched them up and took them to the passenger seat. I held the cart for her to grab.

"Do you want help with that?"

"What...?"

"To close the hatch."

"Oh, no. I have my clicker. I was just distracted from my routine. But thank you so much."

"You be careful on the way home."

Okay. I got it. Blondie REALLY wanted to help me. I appreciate it. She was doing her job, and more. Maybe she just started. Maybe there's a contest with a prize to be Employee of the Month. I know she meant well.

It's just that sometimes, to get better, you have to push yourself a bit. The less I do for myself now, the less I will be able to do in the future. Just offer, then let the elderlies proceed on their own if they decline help.

Heh, heh! It reminds me of the old cartoon where a kid insists on helping an old lady across the street, and she didn't even WANT to cross the street!

The Pupsing Continues

That Dang Pupsie! It's her full name now. Every day is a new adventure. We might as well have named her Box Of Chocolates. The only certain thing we know we are going to get is TROUBLE.

I saw the problem right away as I left for town, but didn't get the photos until I got back home. Please excuse the hoarderish porch. Farmer H cannot be controlled. I'm surprised he doesn't build an extension onto the wraparound porch, so he can store even more junk there. Anyhoo...

There's Pupsie herself, waiting to greet me. She wags her tail and seems elated. I'm sure it's the anticipation of a treat. She scurries away when I climb the steps. You may not see the problem right away. As I started taking pictures, Pupsie distanced herself a bit.

Maybe she thought I couldn't see her on the other side of the porch support. There's Farmer H's griddle that needs seasoning, and the non-working generator. Not sure why we have to keep it. That thing needs a rebuilt carburetor, which Farmer H started doing, twice, and never finished.

Here's the problem. Pupsie chewed up Farmer H's Scottie dog! I've never liked his little resin/ceramic statues, but they don't deserve this treatment! I suppose the Irish Setter is next. It sits beside the steps rail. There used to be a basset hound on the front porch, but Jack was blamed for that, since it was before Pupsie arrived.

Who's a good boy now?

My little Jack! Such a good boy that perhaps I've been over-treating him. I'd rather blame the self-feeder that allows him access to food all the live-long day. Jack has a good appetite, and it shows. 

Meanwhile, there's Pupsie, showing absolutely no remorse.

And Scottie, screaming a silent Nancy Kerrigan "WHYYYY?"

When You Send A Farmer To Do A Mom's Job

I went to 10Box on Monday, because we were out of bananas. So was 10Box! I can't ever remember which days are bad for produce and bread. They are different days, and I guess I have them confused, because I had no trouble finding some rolls that day.

Anyhoo... Farmer H was gone to a dinner and ceremony for The Veteran. I sent him a text. Here are the exact words:

"No bananas in 10Box. I won't buy them at Save A Lot. Maybe you could get some at Country Mart, or I'll do it tomorrow. We need eight."

See? I didn't want to command Farmer H to vary a bit off his route on the way home, to get bananas at Country Mart. But if the timing was right, he could ensure that he had a banana for the next morning. The only place to get bananas in Hillmomba is 10Box or Save A Lot. You may recall that I've had problems with bananas at the Hillmomba Save A Lot, with them having a SOLID WOOD texture. That's happened two or three times. At least the bananas there don't seem to have fruit flies. That's their onions...

Anyhoo... when Farmer H got home, he was carrying a bunch of bananas. In his hand. No bag. Just bananas.

"This is all they had."

"Are there eight?"

"No. Six."

Well. That was better than NO bananas.

"Did you get them at Country Mart?"

"No. Save A Lot. They was about to close. I barely got there in time!"

"I don't get them at Save A Lot. I could have stopped there myself. You know how they're like wood. And the onions gave us fruit flies!"

"These looked pretty good."

I must admit, they DID look okay. Firm, with a tinge of green. In fact, when I ate one on Tuesday morning, it was pretty good. Still, I was curious why they were the only bananas in Save A Lot. Usually, the last bananas are not nice and greenish, but brown and spotted. So some interrogation was necessary. When Farmer H got home, I asked.

"So that one bunch of six bananas were the only ones left in Save A Lot?"

"Well. There was a couple more..."

"Bunches?"

"No. They was single bananas."

"You know they sell them, too."

"Yeah. I just didn't want to mess with them. They didn't look very good."

So he says. I think he just didn't want to pick up two loose bananas. It was probably two bunches, and he didn't think about tearing off two of them. You never know with Farmer H. All you know is that he will not follow instructions, and make up an excuse when questioned.

10Box Is Like A Box Of Chocolates

You never know what you're going to get when you shop at 10Box. Most of the time, the experience is pleasant enough, or neutral. Sometimes not. Monday was fairly pleasant, aside from several whiny kids below school age, and a cranky cashier.

I was there later than usual, around 5:45. So the kids were probably just tired out from a day of kidding, perhaps without a nap. The cashier is always pleasant to me, but there seemed to be a kerfuffle with the scheduling. She was curt and agitated, and had snapped on her name badge as I was putting my stuff on the conveyor. I only had the child seat full, and a big pack of toilet paper and a large box of fake honey nut cheerios in the bottom. I heard the lady behind me commiserating with her, and Cashier said she was supposed to be off at 6:00. I don't know if she was told to work later, or if they're supposed to have time to count out their drawer. Anyhoo... it was quite busy, with three lanes open.

When I first entered, I went straight to the lottery machines. Big dark clouds were building up, and I wanted to try the left side machine while the sun was shining. It worked! As I pushed my cart/walker over there, a guy was coming to the right side machine from the checkout. I lifted up the back wheels of my cart/walker to turn it and give him and his cart room. There's a dang greeting card rack there, by a support pole for the ceiling. I have no idea why they put the cards there. Who wants to pick out a card and go back through the line to pay? Most people enter the store, and have to go right a fair distance to grab a cart. They don't want to backtrack to peruse the cards before going back to shop!

Anyhoo, lottery guy said, "Oh, sorry. Am I in your way?"

"No. I'm in YOUR way! I was just moving my cart." Two people can be polite, you know.

In fact, as I later rounded the back aisle to get some rolls, there was a guy with a little girl in a cart. I don't think she was walking age yet. I waited, because he was standing there looking at the bread. Once he picked out a loaf, he started towards me.

"Excuse me. Sorry."

"No problem. I'm not in a hurry."

He pushed out of that aisle, and as he made the turn toward me on the back aisle, he rammed his cart into the open freezer!

"Oh no!"

"I don't know how to drive this thing, heh, heh!"

Once I was back outside, I unloaded my stuff into T-Hoe's back seat, because I knew Farmer H would not be home to carry groceries. Then I pushed the cart/walker over to ram into a line that was near the garage door cart area.

"Oh, Sweetie! You don't have to do that. I'm going to pull them all out anyway." 

It was the really nice manager lady who often brings a cart over to T-Hoe's door when I am parking. We talked about how hot it was. She pulled all the carts back, into the striped area, so the sidewalk was clear, and the carts orderly in four lines.

Not a bad outing, except they were out of BANANAS! 

I Never Thought Genius Would Resist A Garget

Ever since Genius was a child, he had a love for "gargets." Heh, heh! That's a family joke, from the time when Genius was barely school age, and was trying to persuade me to buy him a phone that he found online. It was from China, and advertised with words like "Hope you have a happy sunshine buying experience," and talking about what a great invention this "garget" was. I figured they meant gadget.

Anyhoo... Genius did NOT get this item, but always wanted the newest "garget" on the market.

Genius and Friend recently bought a beautiful house in Pittsburgh. I will not share details, because Genius is not too keen on being the subject of my rantings anymore. He called me Sunday, from the car, of course, not on an actual phone, while returning from the hardware store with supplies. 

"Now you'll have a yard to mow!"

"Yes. That's going to be Friend's duty!"

"Hey, don't they have those ROOMBA thingies that can mow a yard? I'm surprised you don't want one of those. It's a fenced yard."

"Well, they have them, and I looked into them, but they're not that great. Like, they have been known to run over people's cats!"

"You don't have a cat!"

"No, but we're thinking of getting one. But it would be an inside cat."

"Wow. I never thought I'd hear you turn down a garget. You LOVE gargets!"

"I DO love gargets. I just don't trust this kind."

Of course I wouldn't trust such a garget, and it would never work out here with the size of our unfenced acreage. At least Farmer H won't mow over a cat. Then again, how lazy does a cat have to be to lie around and not get up when a mower comes after it?

Oh, The Lengths Farmer H Will Go To In His Attempts To Kill Me!

Well, here's a new one, that would probably be labeled an accident.

First, let's talk about my stove. It's electric, with four coil burners. I mainly cook on the two right-side burners, because they're next to the counter where I use my cutting board, and the cabinets with the plates, and the drawer with the silverware, and closest to the sink.

The back left burner has three pans stacked on it. Two pizza pans, and a rectangular pan. They're handy to grab when I want to warm something in the oven, or for Farmer H to use as a tray to carry his meal to the living room. The front left burner is open. I use these two left burners as needed, when making something that requires several pots.

You'd think Farmer H realizes which burners I use most for cooking. We've lived here over 25 years. He has been called to the kitchen to get his food. He has been lectured MANY (infinity) times for dipping his food out of a pan, then setting it back on the hot burner. Which burns food to the pan, and makes cleanup harder for a person with no dishwasher... Farmer H should know that once the food comes out, the pan is moved to a cool burner. Especially when it's only food for Farmer H, then remnants that need to be wiped out or rinsed off.  

Friday evening, I warmed Farmer H's supper on the back right burner. It heats up the fastest. This was the last of some kielbasa/cabbage/potato concoction that Farmer H loves. As with the two previous nights, I had filled his bowl, and set it on a paper plate on the counter, along with a fork, and the pepper grinder right beside it for him to add. After spooning it into his bowl, I set the open saucepan on the front right burner.

The only thing different this time was a chicken tender that I also warmed for Farmer H, in the microwave on a paper plate.

"Your food is ready! You can come get it."

Farmer H did. I moved over to the sink, rinsing off the spoon and the container that had held the food. 

"Your chicken tender is in the microwave. It should fit on the plate with your bowl."

I heard Farmer H open the microwave. Then I heard the pepper grinder. He was going back to the living room with his meal as I turned back to get the pan to rinse out.

THE MICROWAVE  PAPER PLATE WAS ON THE BACK RIGHT BURNER!!!

That was the hot burner! The one I had just turned off from warming the food!

Why in the NOT-HEAVEN would Farmer H put that paper plate there??? It's true that I use paper plates more than once. This one could be used for slicing an onion, or putting on top of a bowl of something in the microwave. OR FOR STARTING A FIRE TO KILL ME! I have no idea why Farmer H could not set that paper plate on the middle of the stove, or on the trays on the back left burner. WHY would he set a PAPER PLATE on a hot burner???

I'm pretty sure we know...

Nope! I Still Don't Trust It!

You know Mrs. HM and her mistrust of the innernets for financial purposes. I just can't trust it. You might THINK everything is fine, but it's not.

On the 17th, we got the gas bill for Bargain House. It's due on the 24th. There's a weekend in between. I don't have confidence in the bill getting through the mail and being recorded in time. So on the 18th, I paid it online, through the Guest Pay portal. I've done it a few times before, with no problem.

I did everything exactly the same. Used the same card for paying. Got the THANK YOU message, with a confirmation number, which I did not write down, because they always send it in an email. The email that comes within a minute of the confirmation.

Well. No email. I've been waiting for over an hour. I KNOW I read the thank you and the confirmation number. I checked my email online, too, in case my phone was just being laggy. No email. So now I'm in a tizzy, wondering if that payment got there over the invisible innernets.

I guess I can check with my bank over the automated phone system on Monday, because it won't show up until then on their system. 

We need to go back to the barter system. Farmer H can hitch up the dogs to a wagon, and haul me to an office, where we will offer some handyman work from Farmer H, or trade some winning scratchers for payment!

_____________________________________________________________

Welp! Now the invisible innernets have ruined my post! The confirmation email just showed up. Over an hour late. At least that ordeal is over.

_____________________________________________________________

Got It!

While in town on Wednesday, I went in 10Box for bananas, lemons, and lettuce, and also my REFUND from that darn left-side lottery machine. I knew they would have to call somebody up front to the service desk, so I figured I'd tell the cashier after checking out.

It was my lucky day, so to speak. While selecting from the few bananas that were left, I heard the PA system calling a manager to the service desk! I grabbed a bag of lemons, and a sheaf of romaine hearts, and was cart/walkering to the front as the manager crossed behind the checkout. I skipped the two open lines, and went straight to the service desk. I didn't want her to get away!

A man was standing there waiting. I was a respectful distance behind, and couldn't hear exactly what he was saying. Seems he had bought a watermelon there last week, and when he got it home, it was rotten inside. Manager asked if he had the receipt. No. But really, who keeps a grocery receipt? Most people don't even want it when asked as they check out.

"I'm not trying to make a scene. But it was rotten. It could make people sick!"

Well, only people dumb enough to eat a rotten watermelon...

Anyhoo... Manager told him she was not authorized to give a refund for something like that. But she leaned over and quietly told him, "Here's what you can do." I guess she told him to call somebody higher up and complain. I understand how the guy was upset, but this is the store where I have the best luck with the produce. So I don't think they have questionable practices there like Save A Lot with their fly-infested bananas.

Anyhoo... once that guy was done, I told Manager that I had lost money in the lottery machine a couple days ago, and they said they had printed a ticket, and were keeping my refund at the service desk. She asked my name, and went into the back room, returning with an envelope.

Yep! I got my $20 refund. I put it in the right-side machine, and won $10 on a $10 ticket, but nothing on two crosswords. I resisted the urge to put any money into the left-side machine, even though the OUT OF ORDER sign was taped to the side and not the front. It was kind of cloudy that day.

No Shortage Of Options

IF, and I don't mean when, I sincerely and legally mean IF, I ever wanted to do away with Farmer H, he leaves me no shortage of options. The latest method was brought to my attention on Wednesday afternoon, when Farmer H brought home a meatloaf dinner from the Senior Center. He said he brought it home for ME, but since I hate meatloaf unless I am the one who makes it, that meant Farmer H had that meatloaf all to himself.

"Well, I can slice it and take sandwiches for my lunch at my store."

"This is Wednesday, but if you think you want to eat that meatloaf on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, then go ahead. I don't want it."

Yeah. Farmer H COULD be poisoning himself. But this is not actually about meatloaf. Food poisoning is not a new option.

"I'm going down to my shop to sort through some things. Is there a jug here for water?"

Farmer H started rummaging around UNDER THE SINK! That's where chemicals are kept, you know. Caustic chemicals for scrubbing sinks, cleaning drains, not recommended for plastic surfaces or ESOPHAGUSES!

"No! Not there! We don't have anything like that. We do have one water jug in the little pantry, but I'm using it to store pasta. Macaroni noodles. Don't ask. It was The Pony's idea."

"Oh. Well. I guess I can buy a bottle of water."

I'm sure he can. Since he buys bottles of soda, and donuts, and candy bars. Last I heard, Farmer H had been buying cases of bottled water, for himself and Old Buddy when working on the flip houses, and for taking down to his SUS2.5.

Not sure why the "sudden" request for a water jug. But I saved Farmer H from himself this time. I deserve a medal.

The Downfall Of Society Takes A Brief Hiatus

Monday, I dashed into 10Box for the lottery machines. By dashed, I mean that I hobbled at maximum speed, because it looked like a big storm was brewing, with dark clouds to the north, which had little tails dipping down.

"When will she ever learn?" As my 2nd best old teaching buddy Karen used to say, after winning all my pretzel sticks in a weekend game of poker. I stopped at the left machine and put in a twenty. Pushed my selection. Heard a long TEARING noise, and got nothing! Dang it! An exact repeat of my previous misfortune!

I stepped over to the right side machine, hoping that left side machine would come to its senses, and dispense my ticket. But no. I got crosswords out of that right side machine, and moved back over in front of the cheater.

A woman came to the right side lottery machine, and put in money while talking to her whiny son. They were waiting for the husband to pay for their groceries. I waited. Waited. And gave up. My knees were extra-hurty, with the overcast weather. No way did I want to call a manager up front and stand there 30 minutes to be told there was nothing they could do. I gave up and hobbled out.

As I was buckling up, that family came out the door. They seemed to be looking at somebody down the parking row. But wait! They were looking at ME! I put my window down.

"I know I left a credit on that machine. It has done this to me before, and I just can't stand that long to wait."

"Oh. We thought that was you! The machine started working again. That ticket went off the screen. The cashier came over and got a ticket for the credit. She said she's going to look at the surveillance tape to see who it belongs to."

"OH! I guess I'll go back in while I'm here. Thank you SO MUCH!"

"You're welcome. We just wanted you to know that they have a ticket for your credit."

"You're so nice! THANK YOU!"

Off I went. I lurked creepily at the end of the checkout, waiting until the cashier was done with her customer.

"I was just here, and the lottery machine locked up, and another customer said you got a credit ticket from it."

"Oh, that was you! I have the ticket."

"I guess I just go over to the service desk?"

"Well, unfortunately, our manager is on her lunch break. She should be back within 30 minutes, and can give you the money."

"I can't hang around that long..."

"Just write down your name and phone number, and you can come back another time. Thing is, it has to be cashed out by tonight. But she can save it for you to pick up later."

I wrote down my name and number. Since I was already back inside, I decided to get two more crosswords out of the right side machine, rather than make a stop at Casey's. I noticed a woman at the left side machine, waiting, with a ticket showing and the machine locked up.

"It just did that to me! I should have known not to use it! They say when it's cloudy, that machine doesn't work."

"It's done this to me before, too, but I waited and it finally worked."

The cashier came over. "It's acting up today. I can get a ticket for your money, but it will be about a half hour before our manager is back to give it to you."

"My husband is waiting in the car, so I can't stay."

"Let me get your name and phone number, and we can let you pick it up later." She grabbed the OUT OF ORDER sign that was taped to the side of the machine. "We put this on here, but people keep moving it to the side!"

When I got home, I got a phone call from the manager. She said she had my money for when I wanted to come pick it up. I told her I'd be there in the next couple of days.

It's my own fault. I swore I wouldn't use that left side machine on cloudy days. But it HAS been two weeks since that last time it cheated me. I thought perhaps they might have gotten it fixed. It never used to do that. It's a pretty recent thing. Like in the last couple of months.

Let the record show that my extra crosswords did not win.

A Curious Luau

On my way to town Saturday afternoon, I saw about 10 vehicles down at our neighbor's house. The neighbor who hosted that horse-jumping show a while back. I was kind of curious, because he had a 4th of July party last weekend. He's not a big party-thrower.

When I got to the bottom of Hick and Buddy's Badly Blacktopped Hill, there was a sign made of poster board on a stick, with a couple of limp balloons dangling. I couldn't quite read what it said. It looked like a bunch of initials. I figured maybe it was that horse-jumping club.

Down by the mailboxes was another sign just like it. The poster board had curved in, but again, I couldn't see all the letters. A couple miles farther, where the blacktop county road comes to the lettered county highway, there was another sign with limp balloons. This one I could read. LUAU.

Well. That's curious. I always thought a luau involved a pig buried on coals to roast all day. I had not seen anything that looked like a pit. Not even many people around outside. Usually, people hang around having beers and riding 4-wheelers or side-by-sides. 

I sent Farmer H a text warning him to look out for reckless drivers when he came home. Guests out here don't always use common sense when flying around on motorized toys.

When Hick got home, he said there were hardly any cars down at the neighbor's house. Again, that seemed odd. I guess maybe they could have eaten their luau inside, at noon. None of the details lent themselves to what I consider a luau.

Discount Pizza Cannot Be Denied

When I was at Casey's for scratchers early last week, before my unfortunate lameness, I saw a sign on the front of the building that their pizza was 40% off. That's a big deal. Casey's Pizza is expensive, but at least you get a lot of cheese and toppings. Still, too expensive to justify for me, even though we can eat it for 3 or 4 days. Also, you have to be careful on the toppings, because they charge $2.00 per added topping. I guess that's okay for the meat, but I don't think a sprinkle of onions or olives is worth that amount.

Anyhoo... of course we got two pizzas. Farmer H likes the Meatsa version, or whatever they call it. I don't like pepperoni. He's tried ordering it with all the pepperoni on one side, but we couldn't tell where it was, because the cheese was on top. I got a sausage/beef/mushroom pizza.

I didn't get a picture of Farmer H's version, because he ate it and took some for lunch at his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5). But here's mine:

That's not a very flattering picture. It's right out of FRIG II, while I was heating up the oven to warm it. I love their crust. It's nice and chewy and crusty-tasting. This time it was done just right. As Farmer H said, "Not greasy." And the crust was not undercooked and doughy. My only complaint is that I ordered it online, and marked the MILD sausage box, but it seems like they gave me the Italian sausage, which is a bit spicy for me. 

Still, it was all 40% off. I saw a commercial that Domino's is having a limited time special. I need to check into that. We are willing to eat pizza any time, as long as it's a bargain.

A Partial Success

My trip to town on Friday was okay. I was able to get in and out of the shower without incident. I chose not to sit on the low toilet in the master bathroom, lest the extra degrees required for bending my sore knee be too much for its current progress in healing.

The drive to the bank was roundabout, because of the new roundabout construction. I took a circuitous route and got there. The drive-thru was open. I skipped the stop for gas. T-Hoe has half a tank still to guzzle before I HAVE to feed him.

At the Save A Lot over in Sis-Town, there was a cart in the return corral by the handicap space. So I had that for help walking in. I only wanted the scratcher machine, and bananas. No need to do the longer walk at Country Mart, just for that. I got my scratchers. But not bananas.

Here's the thing. I don't like the produce at this store. I'll buy their meat. No issues with that. But the produce seems neglected. I've brought home WOODY BANANAS two or three times from there! So I was extra-cautious. I knew not to choose the green ones. I reached out. Picked up a couple bunches. But put them back. I turned to leave. But turned back. I really needed bananas, and didn't want to go to another store. But I could not force myself to get them.

There were flies buzzing around the bananas!

Let the record show that I've also brought home onions from there that had fruit flies. That's the only source I could pin them down to. When I picked up a bunch of bananas, considering them, fruit flies flew out. I'm pretty sure that if there are live adult houseflies buzzing around the bananas while I'm standing there, they also have already laid some eggs on those bananas. What would result from them would be even worse than fruit flies!

No thank you! 

I wheeled that cart back outside without making a purchase. Other than scratchers, of course! I had a $40 winner on a $5 ticket. So it was worth the stop. I'll have to get my bananas at 10Box. Their fruit is flyless.

Mrs. HM Ventures Out

I'm giving my knee a trial run today (Friday). Heh, heh! RUN! As if...

We'll see how it goes. It's feeling better until I stand on it for five or ten minutes. My plan is to survive a shower, get myself to T-Hoe, drive through at the bank, maybe venture into Save A Lot with the help of a cart/walker, and make a final stop at the Gas Station Chicken Store. Not for me, you know. But because I give FAVE a couple scratchers each week, and I missed the regular day of Thursday.

Hopefully, all goes well. I deliberately chose not to go on Thursday, my regular errand day, because Farmer H and The Pony went to the city to cash in some scratcher winners. I didn't want to be stranded if something went wrong. T-Hoe STILL has not gotten an oil change, you know.

I'm not planning on gas today. T-Hoe won't starve. I don't want to push my luck with the extra walking. At least if feels like it's getting better. Or it could be the ibuprofen and acetaminophen that I alternate every six hours...

Anyhoo... I'm hoping most goes well. Farmer H is picking up Casey's Pizza for supper, since they had a 40% off deal. So there's that to look forward to.

Pupsie Pupses Some More

That dang Pupsie! She has continued to dig the water out of the water bowl every day, at least once. And Farmer H has continued to not put a jagged rock in there like I suggested. Something she won't pick up with her mouth to chew on, which might break up the reflection if that's why she's digging. Meanwhile, we still put water in the old bowl beside it, which she doesn't dig in. But three dogs drink a lot. Especially big ol' Copper Jack.

Anyhoo... on Thursday, Farmer H came home and got in POOLIO with two new pool noodles. He had just descended the ladder, and was mounting his noodles, when I saw a tail-wagging Pupsie go around the porch to the water dishes. 

SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH!

"HEEEYYY! YOU GET AWAY FROM THERE! Hollered Farmer H in a gruff voice.

"PUPSIE! NO!" Hollered me from inside the house.

Pupsie slunk away, back to the back porch by the kitchen. At least she looked a bit ashamed. I have a feeling that she was confused by Farmer H's dog-talk, but responded to mine. I've hollered at her before, catching her in the act just outside the laundry room.

About a half hour later, Pupsie went back around to the water bowls. No scratching. I saw her peeking through the porch rails at Farmer H on his noodles, tongue dripping. Like she actually cares about him, and what he's doing. She was rewareded when Farmer H turned around, saw her, and gruffed, "GET OUT OF HERE!"

Farmer H needs to be more consistent with his messaging. 

Mrs. HM Is Grounded

No town trip for Mrs. HM on Wednesday. Such a punishment! The Universe might even feel a bit of sympathy, with no way to lure her into devious schemes that could be chortle-inducing.

Not sure what's going on, but my better knee is acting up. It started around 6:30 a.m. I was sitting on the short couch, Farmer H having just left for town. When I'd try to move my left leg, there was pain. It didn't want to move. Something was amiss with the top of the kneecap area. Let the record show that I had done nothing to provoke it!

I'd been up at 4:00 a.m., putting some clothes in the dryer, getting water in my metal bottle. I settled back on the short couch to watch TV. Dozed off. Woke and talked to Farmer H. Watched TV. Dozed another 30 minutes. When I tried to stand up, that knee was SO PAINFUL! No redness. Maybe a little swelling.

I could hardly walk, even clinging onto furniture and stair railing and door jambs and piano/bench on the way to the bathroom and kitchen. I balanced myself to wash dishes. The knee might have started to feel a little better. I went back to the couch, watched TV, called The Pony, played Wordle. When I got up again to move to the kitchen table and HIPPIE, the knee was very hurty again.

Lucky I had a bag of ice already in the door of FRIG II's freezer. I put that on for 30 minutes. It seemed to help a bit. But you can't leave ice on a knee forever.

As I type this, it's 1:25. I'm an aspirin and an ibuprofen in for pain relief. It's not much of a relief. Town is not a priority, even though those scratchers aren't going to purchase themselves and come find me.

GassyG Jr Is In The Doghouse

Figuratively. Not literally. You can't put a gas grill inside a doghouse, unless you want to burn up your Mansion. Not to mention the doghouse. 

We've had GassyG Jr for several years, ever since the original GassyG stopped working/rusted out/fell out of favor with Farmer H. Much delicious food has been grilled on GassyG Jr, from burgers to pork steaks to hot dogs to regular steaks to bratwursts to chicken to sausage patties. Never a problem. Farmer H enjoys grilling, sitting in the metal mesh chair on the side porch, sipping an adult beverage, talking to the dogs.

NOW there's a problem. At least according to Farmer H. He brought in the hamburgers and sausage patties on Sunday, proclaiming

"That grill is so hot! It burned the hair off my arms! That's crazy! Next time, I'm gonna get my griddle working, and I can just put stuff on there."

Of course. Because it's a new (to him) gadget, so Farmer H must use it. He brought it home a while back, and put it on the porch, against the house, on the garage side. He has not yet tried it. Has not yet seasoned his griddle. He assumes it will work, once he hooks up the propane tank to it.

Farmer H said the problem was that there were so many sausage patties, and the fat flamed up. Obviously GassyG Jr's fault, heh, heh! So now he'll experiment with the griddle.

I'm pretty sure Farmer H has one of every gadget imaginable. Or is still actively looking for the handful he might be missing.

Blame Has Been Shifted

Everything bad that happens around the Mansion grounds has lately been the fault of Pupsie. According to Farmer H. When I questioned why some of the porch boards look skinned up, "Pupsie." Or why part of the hand rail at the side porch has been chewed, "Pupsie." Then there's the issue of the lawnmower seat and the Gator seat. "Pupsie." And just the other day: "That darn Pupsie has chewed the head off my duck that I had in the fish pond!"

I know Pupsie is no angel. She's the age where chewing is a priority. I believed she was doing all the chewing. After all, the evidence is all over the driveway and yard. The cow skull, the cow pelvis, assorted plastic soda bottles that are not the brand Farmer H drinks. Sections of plastic pipe. It's hard to refute circumstantial evidence.

Monday afternoon, Farmer H entered the kitchen all in a tizzy.

"We gotta kill some squirrels!"

"Okay. Why now? I've been telling you they're a problem for years."

"LOOK at this! I took a picture when I parked my truck."

"Um. I'm not sure what I'm looking at..."

"Up there! The siding! Up at the top of the garage wall! Them squirrels have eat the boards!"

"Well, I'm pretty sure you can't blame this on Pupsie."

"The Veteran said he'll come out, and we can pop them with 22s."

"I don't care. I just don't want to get shot."

People shoot squirrels all the time. People eat squirrels. I watched my dad skin many a squirrel after a hunting session. My mom fried up a mean squirrel. Tastes like chicken! Not that I plan on cooking any. But I have no objection to getting rid of squirrels. There will be plenty to take their place. Maybe it will thin their herd for a little while.

"I told you, it's the dog food. You leave it there, and the squirrels come to eat it. They're thriving."

"I only give the dogs enough for them to eat!"

"You have that SELF FEEDER! There's always food."

"No. I put some in every morning. Just enough for the two of them dogs."

I beg to differ. Why use a self feeder when you only put out food EVERY MORNING, just enough for two dogs? It's not logical.

Anyhoo... at least my little Jack is not getting blamed for everything these days. I remember way back,when he was just a pup, and Farmer H's whipping boy. Like the Olds Toronado pooping incident...

The Clueless Is Still Without A Clue

I came out of the garage on Saturday evening, three bags of groceries on my arm, and was shocked to see Farmer H sitting in the chair on the side porch.

"I didn't know you were here! You can at least take these bags in for me."

"I'm just drying off. Your dog has been going crazy running around looking for you."

Farmer H got up and took the bags towards the kitchen. He was wearing his Spongebob Squarepants boxers, which he uses for swimming. He got POOLIO ready this week, and had apparently taken his first dip.

"She's not looking for me! She's looking for Jack. She won't come get her treat until Jack is there."

In fact, Pupsie ran up the steps as I was trying to climb them.

"Look at you! Your feet are all wet."

"MY feet? I've been in the pool!"

"I'm not talking to you! I know your feet are wet. I'm talking to Pupsie. Probably been splashing all the water out of the drinking bowl again."

Really. Why would I bother to tell Farmer H that his feet were wet? And surely he knows that Pupsie doesn't give an obese rat's patootie where I am. She is needy, and wants Jack for companionship.

Once Again, The Actions Belie The Sentiment

The Pony and I went on a shopping trip for a 4th of July BBQ. Except we're having it on the 6th of July, because Farmer H must have his SUS2.5 open on the 4th. 

Anyhoo... as we were leaving Country Mart, I suggested we go out the pharmacy door, since it is closer to the handicap space where I was parked. The Pony held open the door for me. A lady had just parked there in one of the other four handicap spaces, and was starting in. She had a handicap placard. She was perhaps late 50s, graying hair, walking along okay.

I know it takes me a long time to walk out pushing a cart. I was not yet in front of the door. The Pony motioned for her to go in. I told her, "Go ahead."

"No. You go ahead."

"I'm fine. You'll be faster."

"No. Go ahead."

"No. It takes me a while to get over the threshold."

That woman sighed. She came in the door, acting all pissy. How is it a hardship for her to walk through a held-open door ahead of me? I TOLD her to go ahead, as did The Pony. If she really wanted to be nice and helpful, she would have just DONE IT. Not stood outside arguing, while I stood waiting longer than if she'd just strode on in.

 

I guess she was only wanting to SEEM NICE by trying to make me go first. If she really cared, she would have just come through the door and said thanks for letting her go ahead. Not played a game of chicken with me, then acted exasperated when I didn't want to try and rush just to appease her do-goodedness.

I really do appreciate people being polite, trying to help me. REALLY. But sometimes, it would be easier if they just left me to my own devices.

The 'Splainin' That Was Actually Insulting

Oh, how short-lived was my happiness at T-Hoe's oil change! I should have known better. Farmer H is a crafty one. Pretending that I don't know nothin' and can't understand his words. He knew exactly what he was doing. I guess he didn't count on my interrogation skills.

After changing into my comfy clothes after the town trip, I walked past Farmer H in his recliner.

"So you got my oil changed at the Devil's Playground, just like A-Cad? They didn't reset the CHANGE OIL thingy. So we'll have to do that."

"No. I put two quarts of oil in. It only needed 1.5."

"Then why did I have two identical receipts? The exact same amount, on two consecutive days, both including an oil filter?"

"I got the oil changed in my truck. I just added oil to yours. I already had the oil."

"I've been asking you to change my oil for over a month! And then you did A-Cad on Tuesday, and SilverRedO on Wednesday!!!"

"Well, the CHANGE OIL message came up when I started to town in the Acadia. So I had to get it done."

"Mine has been on for over a month! You knew that! And then you took your truck the very next day???"

"It said it needed oil."

"For over a month???"

"Probably."

"Huh. Why don't you just take your Olds Toronado that hasn't been driven in 15 years? And maybe the engine out of that Chevy truck that you've been going to rebuild for 25 years. Because, you know, my car can surely wait as long as you want for an oil change."

"I'll have to see when I have time. Maybe next week."

This is just not right! Should I stop buying groceries and feeding Farmer H for over a month? It's not like I feed everyone else but him. Surely he can find room in his busy schedule to take care of projects at home. LIKE MAKING SURE MY CAR DOESN'T BREAK DOWN!

A Tricky Bit Of 'Splainin' By Farmer H

I had just typed up yesterday's post about Farmer H and his oil-changing proclivities when Farmer H himself walked through the kitchen door on Wednesday afternoon. He gave me a receipt from the Devil's Playground, a receipt from the pool chemical store, and said:

"I put oil in your car."

Sweet Gummi Mary! All I had to do was put a criticism of Farmer H on hold to post the next day, and he got an oil change for T-Hoe!!! I felt a little bit bad. Considered adding an update to the bottom of that post. But then I figured I could do a whole separate apology for my Sweet Baboo. So I let that post stand, to hit the innernets without an update.

I recorded those receipts in my checkbook ledger. Couldn't believe my precious T-Hoe had been serviced with only a month of nagging. Took a nap. Took a shower. Such a joyous occasion.

I went out to the garage for my town trip. Happy with the knowledge that T-Hoe would be fine, now that he'd had an oil change that the warning system had been clamoring for. More kudos for Farmer H! He had parked where my door would open fully, and not hit a 2x4 stud on the garage wall. Nor had he moved my seat! It was exactly how I like it. And the radio station was unchanged. Could the day get any better?

No. It could not. In fact, it could only get worse...

Farmer H Has Some 'Splainin' To Do

Farmer H might as well start renovating my Sweet, Sweet Juno's old doghouse. He'll want to be comfortable in there, you know. Because that's where he's headed. I don't have a curb to kick him to, and my knees aren't up to kicking. So a sojourn in that doghouse will have to suffice.

Tuesday, Farmer H made a trip to Illinois to get merchandise for his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5). He left home a bit later than usual, which was okay. I was watching one of those how to murder your wife shows, as I call them. The true crime re-enactment shows that tell how people almost got away with their crimes. Farmer H stayed to watch until the end of the episode. Which is probably NOT a good thing!

Anyhoo... he had asked if there was anything I needed from the Devil's Playground. 

"No. Nothing I can think of right now. Are you going there for something?"

"No. I just figured I could kill a little time there before I go to my doctor's appointment, and head to Illinois."

I did not suggest that maybe he could have stayed in bed a little longer. Because that involves logic, a concept as foreign to Farmer H as comedy is to a man born without a funny bone.

When Farmer H returned home that evening, he put a receipt on the kitchen table. It was from the Devil's Playground. The purchase?

AN OIL CHANGE FOR A-CAD!

"I thought you weren't going to the store! And what's this OIL CHANGE? I've been telling you for a month that T-Hoe needs an oil change! And now you do it for A-Cad?"

"I'm glad I did. I got in the car, and the CHANGE OIL light came on. So it was time I did it. I didn't want to break down over in Illinois."

"Mine has been on for over a month now! I don't want to break down in town. You never answer your phone. I don't want to get stranded in this heat."

"HM. I can't help it if my phone don't get reception in my unit, or in the house. I can usually get a text."

"Yes, but sometimes the text doesn't come in until the next day. I'd rather just be sure that T-Hoe has oil so I don't need to be rescued."

"I'll have to see when I can do that. I don't want you to burn up the engine."

So here we go again. Mrs. HM is last on the to-do list.

The River In Egypt. Not Long Enough For Farmer H.

I'm pretty sure I've complained about mentioned this issue before. Farmer H cannot seem to tear off a paper towel without contaminating the entire roll. He finds it necessary to hold onto the top with a filthy finger. As if he can't tear off a paper towel without doing so. Funny how I manage to do it all the time. You just start at the top, by the perforation, and yank a little at a time. I usually have something else in my other hand, so I know this is possible.

Well. The paper towel roll was fine on Monday night. Fine, even, on Tuesday morning. Yet when I returned from town Tuesday evening, that paper towel roll was NOT fine.

Can you see it? Farmer H pretended not to, when I called him in to complain about show him this contamination.

"I didn't do that. I haven't gotten a paper towel in I don't know how long. I used my old one last night for supper."

"I don't know how this dirty fingerprint got here, unless you were the one getting a paper towel. I sure don't leave dirt on the paper towel roll."

"That ain't nothin'." Farmer H then proceeded to RUB THE DIRT DOWN INTO THE ROLL with his thumb.

"You're just making it worse! Now it's even deeper."

"It don't affect nothin'."

Sure. I guess. If you don't mind filth on the end of a paper towel you might be using to wipe the kitchen counter, or wipe your mouth, or dry your clean hands...

Good thing the roll is about half used already. So there's only half the chance I will be poisoned from whatever was on Farmer H's hands.

Some Kind Of A Magician

It's no secret that Mrs. HM and Farmer H keep separate hours. He's an early riser, leaving the Mansion around 6:00 a.m. Mrs. HM has not been an early riser since college, when she had to have the desk clerk unlock the dormitory doors to let her out for a 5-mile run at 6:00 a.m. 

I've always been more of a night owl, even when living at home during high school. Everyone else would be snoozing upstairs, while I was wide awake, watching The Avengers on PBS around midnight. That's the original series, with Diana Rigg as Emma Peel, and Patrick Macnee as John Steed. I loved that show!

Anyhoo... Farmer H goes to bed around 8:00. Mrs. HM doesn't even sit down on the short couch to watch TV until about midnight. She often dozes off there, then interacts with Farmer H before he leaves the next morning. She doesn't hit the sack until afternoon, before her town trip.

Farmer H must be some kind of magician. Like one who can pull the tablecloth off, leaving the dishes intact. Only Farmer H uses the sheets and blankets on the bed, rather than a tablecloth. I have never liked a top sheet. It seems superfluous. Just give me a blanket or comforter, and I'm good. My dislike is probably due to so many years of Farmer H pulling that sheet up over his face. 

Yes. Isn't that an odd habit? Farmer H uses a breather at night. So it's like he's daring The Universe to knock him off. As in, "I have this breathing machine to keep me alive, but I'm going to cover my face and thwart the atmospheric oxygen, just to show that I can."

Let the record show that Farmer H even did this BEFORE the breather. No matter what the weather. It's not like we were trying to survive in sub-zero temperatures on the tundra.

Anyhoo... somehow Farmer H gets the top sheet pulled all the way over on his side of the bed. But the blanket is all the way over on my side of the bed. How is that possible? Sure, it gives me my wish of only having a blanket on top of me. But that sheet is annoying. Just enough of it on my side to cling to me, while trying to pull up the blanket.

Farmer H is a man of many talents.

It Was A LOTastrophe, I Tell You!

Mrs. HM was not in the best of moods after the entitled pizza-eaters usurped her rightful handicap parking space at the Hillmomba Casey's on Saturday. She proceeded to 10Box, with a purpose of buying two $5 crossword scratchers, a $10 ticket, and a $3 crossword, which was destined for Fave next Thursday.

I was only buying from the left side machine, because I had won $20 on a crossword from the right side machine the day before. I scanned in a $3 winner. Then inserted a twenty-dollar bill. The machine showed a credit of $23. I touched the screen for my $5 crosswords. Selected the TWO option. They were ripped off and deposited in the tray. I touched the screen for my $10 ticket. Selected the ONE option. I heard the ticket tearing, but it was an extra-long tear sound. Then the machine froze. 

I waited. My credit in the machine showed $3. I was just waiting on that $10 ticket to fall into the tray. But it didn't! I figured it might be stuck. When the screen returned to normal, I selected the $3 crossword, and chose the ONE option. It showed on the screen, but I heard no tearing. IT FROZE. After waiting about five minutes, because these machines often start working again after freezing, I turned to the cashiers, and said,

"This machine is acting up again."

One of them said that yeah, they do that, you just have to wait. But another said, "She's already been waiting a while." They called for a manager. Not one I was familiar with. She heard my description of what happened. Then tried to open the machine. She was not exactly friendly. She tried every key, and finally made the front cover open. She was having a lot of trouble figuring out what to do, and called over the lady who is so nice, and always gives me a cart when she sees my drive up.

Cart Gal talked her through the steps. But still, they couldn't solve the problem. That dang machine would not show my credit for the $10 ticket I never got. New Gal acted like I might be lying. She didn't know how to see the record of what that machine had just done, like the last time it happened and the manager could tell exactly what happened.

"I can't give you a ticket out of here. And I can't give you a refund, because it only shows a $3 credit. I CAN give you the $3. But for the rest, you'll have to come in on Monday and talk to a manager."

"That's a little far off. They won't have any idea what I'm talking about."

"We can leave a note."

"That will take a long time. It's not worth it to me to stand around for 30 minutes. Somebody else might as well use my $10."

I was not trying to be a smart-rumpus. I had already been standing there for 30 minutes while this was going on. I knew it would take at least that long to try and explain and get resolution TWO DAYS LATER! I took my $3 she refunded, and got my two crosswords out of the tray. Then I put a twenty into the right-side machine, and got a ten, and two five dollar tickets that I would send to Genius this week.

I'm not mad at the workers. I told Cart Gal, "Anywhere else, I would just walk away and forget it, but everybody here is so nice, I don't mind imposing on you with a problem!"

She said, "Oh, it's no problem! This machine acts up all the time, especially when the weather is cloudy."

Which seems right, because it was rainy the last time this machine betrayed me! Still, I don't hold it against the workers. The New Gal even started acting really nice once I mentioned how nice everyone (but her!) are in this store. I figure these things happen for a reason, and if somebody can get a win off my $10, then they needed it more than I do.

The Universe rewarded me for my trouble. After barely being able to hobble out to T-Hoe, and getting home 30 minutes late to make Farmer H's supper, I scratched those tickets. One of my crosswords won $25. And the $10 ticket won $30.

Aside from making my knees hurt extra more... it was not such a LOTastrophe after all.

The Action Does Not Belie The Sentiment

Imagine Mrs. HM's dismay fit of pique on Saturday afternoon, when she pulled onto the lot of the Hillmomba Casey's to buy her scratchers, and found a minivan with two kayaks on the top in her rightful handicap parking space. No plate, no placard signifying handicap status for this vehicle.

I parked on the other side of it, even farther from the door, and began my slow hobble along the sidewalk. A woman came out, walking towards me, carrying a pizza. It smelled delicious.

"You have a blessed day, Ma'am," she said as she opened the door of the minivan.

"Thank you." I'm pretty sure my face showed more of a grimace than a smile.

HOW DARE SHE wish me a blessed day, while parked ILLEGALLY in my rightful handicap space!!! Is that supposed to relieve her conscience? Does she even have a conscience? Would she have wished me a blessed day if I was standing there taking a picture of her van in front of the HANDICAP sign that proclaims a $500 fine for parking there without verification?

When I came out, the van was still parked in the handicap space. The two women inside were eating their pizza. You know, because there is nowhere else to park to eat pizza, other than the single handicap space that other differently-abled people such as Mrs. HM might need to park in, to satisfy their gambling addiction.