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.

If They Can't Beat You, They Join You

When I came out of the Gas Station Chicken Store on Monday afternoon, I saw that T-Hoe had company. An unwelcome visitor, at that!

Let the record show this is NOT a parking space. That white truck is blocking the driving lane, while T-Hoe is safely ensconced in Mrs. HM's rightful handicap parking space.

You can see how the parking lot is not marked off with stripes for parking. The diesel gas pumps are on the other side of that white truck. Nobody can park there for gas while it's blocking the drive-thru lane. They MIGHT possibly be able to squeeze in, but it's usually dump trucks and fire trucks that use it, and they take up a lot of room. There's the alley in front of the mailbox, where I cut through to get to Casey's.

If somebody had been parked in the FREE AIR space in front of T-Hoe, I would have needed to back way up across the three regular gas pump lanes to get around that white truck and find my way out. I don't like backing, since T-Hoe's backup beeper doesn't work. I don't want to run over anybody, no matter how much people piss me off!

As I wrote on the back of my scratchers, the driver of that white truck came out. A thin blond 30-something guy. No visible disability, no plates or placard for his truck, carrying a six-pack of beer. I'm pretty sure he begrudged me my rightful handicap space!

A Pretty Good Mother's Day

Sunday was Mother's Day, and Farmer H went off to his SUS2.5 as usual. He did verbally wish me a happy Mother's Day before leaving at 6:00 a.m.

Around 7:45 I had a text from Genius, asking if I was too busy for a phone call. Nope. We chatted about 45 minutes. Genius was hoping I was having a special lunch or a casino trip. No, not on that specific day, because I do not like crowds. I had gotten Genius's card in the mail the day before, so he was pleased that "The post office is finally doing its work!" Sometimes his letters get to Pittsburgh a week or two after I mail them! It was a nice conversation. I don't get to talk to Genius much, he's so busy with work.

A couple hours later I had a text from The Veteran wishing me a happy Mother's Day, even though he is not required to do so, heh, heh! I've been part of his life since he was five, and always got on well with him and HOS (Farmer H's Oldest Son). I did not hear from HOS, which is fine. Farmer H himself rarely hears from him these days.

Later in the afternoon, The Pony sent a brief text. We talk so often that I did not expect a call from The Pony. We made plans a few days earlier to go out to eat later this week, when all the other mothers are home cooking again. 

Farmer H picked up Captain D's for supper, so I'm actually getting TWO Mother's Day meals! It was delicious for fast food. I don't think I've had Captain D's for over a year. Also, he gave me a card and a box of Ghirardelli chocolates.

AND, my scratchers had a $50 winner and a $25 winner. So it was one of my better Mother's Days over the years. The worst being the time my only gift was a $3 change purse. Not that I became a mother just for the gifts, of course...

Farmer H Needs A Rescue Pony

Farmer H had to rely on The Pony to rescue him this weekend at his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5). He could not access some of his merchandise. The most expensive/ dangerous/regulated merchandise that he sells, which is stored in safes for safety. They have a code on an electric keypad to gain entry. Farmer H said the keypads were not working. He's not sure if it's a battery issue with the keypad, or if he will have to call the safe manufacturer for repairs.

Anyhoo... these safes also work with good old-fashioned KEYS, so Farmer H called The Pony to come out and find two sets of keys to drive down to the SUS2.5. That was around 11:30. The Pony had to shower, and was still out here by noon, rounded up the sets of keys, and delivered them to Farmer H before noon:30. That was a nice thing for The Pony to do. I never would have found those keys, one set having been in the basement, where my knees don't allow me to go safely. Nor would I have likely been able to hobble across gravel to get to Farmer H's SUS2.5.

Anyhoo... I suppose the customer grew tired of waiting, because Farmer H said he bought a different model of such merchandise, but cheaper, which was in a locked case that was available at that moment. You never know with these customers. He will probably be back. When they find something they like, they usually return to buy it. It's a collector kind of issue. 

Poor Pony! Didn't even get a thank-you from Farmer H! Who was on the phone with the regulating agency when The Pony dropped off the keys, finding out if another customer was approved for such a purchase. That's okay. The Pony knows Farmer H appreciates the effort, even though he might not say it in so many words.

Things That Go HUM In The Night

It's no secret that Mrs. HM is a night owl, and Farmer H is an early bird. He's often in bed by 7:30, while Mrs. HM watches TV through the early morning hours.

Friday night, I sat down on the short couch around 11:30. Nothing much caught my interest on TV. Nothing good on the cooking channels. I switched between King of Queens and The Goldbergs, most episodes of which I've already seen several times. 

Around 11:50, I noticed an odd sound. A humming noise. What in the Not-Heaven? It seemed to be in the area of the master bathroom. Did Farmer H run a bath in the big triangle tub? Was that the jets? Sometimes he does that if he can't sleep, or if his legs are hurting. It was quite possible, even though I hadn't been in the living room to hear the initial running of the bathwater. I made a mental note to check in a half hour or so.

My lackluster viewing options betrayed me. I nodded off to sleep, and woke at 3:00 a.m. The noise was still going. Time to worry. What if Farmer H fell asleep and slipped under the water??? Or maybe it was just the light over the toilet, which has a built-in fan. You'd think Farmer H would not go to sleep with a light on in the master bathroom. Of course I had to get up to investigate.

I muted the sound on the TV. Opened the bedroom door. No light was showing in the bathroom. In fact, there was no sound from the jets of the big triangle tub. Farmer H started stirring in the bed, thrashing against his breather hose.

"Sorry. But there's a noise. A humming. I thought maybe you were having a bath. Do you hear it?"

"Not now. But I guess I better check it out."

Farmer H came out to the living room.

"I hear it now. It sounds like the well! I'll go down in the basement and check. I had the water off this afternoon to fix the connector on the water heater."

Indeed, I had passed Farmer H headed home when I went to town. He didn't stop for his Friday afternoon bull-shooting session with his cronies. Now he headed down the 13 rail-less steps to the basement. Halfway down, he made a discovery.

"Oh. I found out what it is. The fan in the NASCAR bathroom!"

"So it's been running for about 12 hours now?"

"I guess so. I used it when I was down there working on the connector."

Farmer H turned off the light in the NASCAR bathroom, and the humming stopped. 

I suppose it might still be going, if I'd found more appealing fare on TV. 

Such A Fine Line Between Kindness And Rudeness

Mrs. HM likes to consider herself a reasonably polite member of society. Even though people piss her off on a regular basis, she strives to treat others as she would like to be treated. Like Thursday, in Country Mart...

I was on the soda aisle. The deal this week was to buy two bottled six-packs of Coca Cola products, and get a third one free. Famer H likes Diet Coke. He brings one home a couple times a week, having bought it at Casey's (I'm sure accompanied by a donut), and finishing it before supper is ready. Then he gets a Diet Mountain Dew from FRIG II. 

I got two of the Diet Coke, and then a regular Coke six-pack for when The Pony comes out to the Mansion.

Anyhoo... I heard a cart coming up behind me. The aisles are okay there, but I lifted the wheels of my cart to set it parallel to the soda side. It had been at an angle while I was loading my six-packs. I glanced over my shoulder and saw a lady about my age. I waited for her to proceed past me. She stopped.

"Um. I'm sorry. But that's RIGHT WHERE I need to get something."

"Ha ha ha! You're kidding! And I was SO careful to move over out of your way! Here I am congratulating myself, and I've actually put myself IN your way!"

"Yes, you did!" The lady chuckled as I moved forward to allow her access.

"Oh, well. It's the thought that counts."

Mrs. HM. The well-meaning gal who disrupts your shopping trip!

Is It So Wrong?

It's no secret that Mrs. HM is not a fan of the UTVs (Utility Terrain Vehicles) that seem to be the latest trend in Hillmomba. They are sometimes called side-by-sides. They have two seats, sometimes four. Usually a roof. They are a minimal step up from 4-wheelers, which have no roof, and carry two passengers, and are used for riding in rough terrain. 

These UTVs don't require the licensing of a car. They don't carry the same insurance requirements. They are cheaper than actual cars. I don't know the safety requirements in their construction, but they do not have roll bars, or reinforced doors. Most of them don't even have doors. They might come with seatbelts. I don't know. I have not observed people in them wearing seatbelts.

Anyhoo... I do not like these UTVs on the road. I think they are a safety hazard for the people in them, and for people on the road with them.

Since the last flooding, the main low-water bridge has been quite rough. The sign proclaiming BUMP was washed away. The most recent repair where the pavement is gone has made this bridge even rougher than before the current application of blacktop. A couple times, I have almost knocked myself senseless, while daydreaming about my scratcher plan, or how The Pony was getting along in bad weather on his route. The section of the bridge that meets the blacktop county road must be approached slowly, to ease all four tires of the vehicle over the rough "steps" that formed when blacktop washed away.

On the way home from town this week, clueless people had parked a car next to the area that requires easing. Two of those people were sitting on the edge of the bridge, dangling their feet over the side, fishing with poles. Another gal was walking from the car to them, using prime center real estate on that bridge for her path. Of course I slowed down. I knew that drop-off was there, and I didn't want T-Hoe bouncing along with clueless people so near.

I looked in T-Hoe's mirror, and saw a UTV that had not been there at last glance. I have no idea where this UTV came from. I had not seen one in any driveway, waiting to pull out. It must have been following me from the county lettered highway. Which means it was going WAY too fast for the county blacktop road. Mrs. HM herself drives quite quickly there. She knows the road.

Anyhoo... as I eased T-Hoe off that step-ledge, the UTV was almost on top of me. I went across the bridge, still watching in the mirror. That UTV did not slow down! It hit the step-ledge way too fast. 

Is it so wrong that this observation gave me great pleasure? I'm pretty sure the driver of that UTV had his head rattled, and his teeth knocked together from the impact. I figure this was not a local person. That UTV blazed past T-Hoe when I turned onto our gravel road about a half mile past the bridge. I hope a lesson was learned about speeding in a UTV, but it doesn't seem that was the case.

Prognosis, Negative!

Looks like Pupsie will not be getting her very special operation. In fact, it was scheduled for this morning. Farmer H's efforts to trap her were futile. He came home at 1:30 on Wednesday to make the attempt. The very incident he's known would have to happen since six weeks ago when he made Pupsie's appointment. The vet said to let her know by 2:30 if Pupsie wouldn't be able to go under the knife on Thursday morning.

Farmer H went out to the side porch, armed with a baggie of hot dogs. He hollered for Jack. That's to throw Pupsie off, you know. Make her less suspicious, heh, heh. Jack is a good dog. He's always there for a petting, wagging his tail and squirming with happiness. Pupsie, not so much. She won't even follow me to the kitchen door for a treat unless Jack is up on the porch.

Anyhoo... Farmer H said he tossed pieces of hot dog into the pet carrier. And that Pupsie would only go inside to eat them when Farmer H was way over by the Gator under the carport. Any closer, and Pupsie would not go in.

Farmer H came into the kitchen to report this news to me, then headed back out to go to town. "Just watch. I bet they've eaten those hot dogs now that I'm in the house."

Of course they did. 

I suppose another appointment will be made, and Farmer H will perhaps concentrate more on the taming. He says Pupsie will come up and eat out of his hand, but the minute he tries to pet, she jumps away. No amount of (assorted) drugging has done anything to calm Pupsie's anxiety.

The Big Day Is Approaching

As I type this, it's the evening before Farmer H must capture Pupsie for her very special operation. Sorry to say, I am not optimistic. The vet wants Pupsie to stop eating at 3:00 p.m. for her appointment the next morning. That means Farmer H must somehow catch Pupsie and leave her in a pet carrier overnight.

At least Farmer H finally brought the pet carrier over to the side porch. It has been there for three days. Pupsie is suspicious. Farmer H said he put food in the carrier. He was mowing the front yard/field on Monday. He said Pupsie kept an eye on him, but DID go into the carrier to eat the food. Silly me. I figured Farmer H had baited the carrier with a delectable treat. But no. When I went to town on Tuesday, I saw that Farmer H had merely scattered some of the dry dogfood in the back of the carrier. What in the Not-Heaven? The same food is available four inches away in the self-feeder!

Anyhoo... Farmer H must have help loading Pupsie in the back of SilverRedO. He can't carry a carrier full of a 30-40 pound dog. The Veteran said he'd come out to help. But I don't like the thought of Pupsie being closed up in the carrier, sitting in the back of a truck all night. I would like Farmer H to leave her on the side porch, where Jack can come up and sniff at her, and she can see out into the yard, and knows where she is. Of course, if Copper Jack comes up on the porch, Pupsie will go ballistic. Copper Jack has been tied up at his own house for over a week, due to turkey season, and his human dad not wanting Copper Jack to be shot, or follow him into the woods. Since his release, Pupsie has been quite vocal in her opinion of him being in our yard.

Farmer H said he plans to give Pupsie some of the melatonin so maybe she will sleep and not be so nervous while trapped in the carrier. Maybe that will work. I hope he at least uses hot dogs to lure Pupsie into the carrier.

I suggested that maybe Old Buddy could come out and help Farmer H to load Pupsie into SilverRedO on Thursday morning. That way, she won't have to be in the back of SilverRedO all night. The Veteran won't have to come out so early in the morning. We'll see. I am still not confident of Pupsie's capture on the previous afternoon.

NIce Gals Finish Later

On my way to pick up The Pony Sunday, for our cookout, I stopped by the School-Turn Casey's for scratchers. The only cashier working was a Mature Lady who waited on me a couple weeks ago. She's not very fast. 

I was the only customer at the counter. A man had just left, and Mature Lady was counting a stack of bills before placing them in her register. I handed her two winners to cash in, and started telling her my selections.

A Young Woman customer had walked up behind me. She held a big blue bottle in her hand. She was waiting her turn with patience. Calmly. Not tapping her foot or sighing. 

Mature Lady paused in tearing off my scratchers, and addressed Young Woman:

"Is that all you have? Just a water?" [Sometimes at this store, the cashiers wave people off without paying if they just have a fountain drink. Although this beverage was clearly bottled.]

"No. I need to pay for gas, too. It's okay. I'm fine."

"Step over here to this other register, and I'll ring that up. How much gas do you need?"

Well. This rankled me a bit, me being the current customer, there first, in the middle of my transaction. Of course I didn't say anything. Young Woman stepped over. Mature Lady rang her up. Then Young Woman started COUTING OUT COINS! She was paying for her gas with $10.50 in coins.

Mature Lady came back to tearing off my tickets. Then she started scanning them into the register, saying out the side of her mouth, "Every time I try to move the line by ringing somebody up on the other register, they pay with COINS!"

Well. I think Mature Lady knows how to prevent that problem in the future. It was not Young Woman's problem, nor my problem. Young Woman had clearly said she was content to wait her turn.

Anyhoo... Mature Lady turned to deduct my winners and tell me my total, and saw that there was no transaction. She had neglected to bypass the prompt for AGE that comes up on lottery transactions. I suppose she was too disctracted by jumping Young Woman ahead of me.

For all this annoyance, I only won $3 there. As I told The Pony, Mature Lady is perfectly nice, and probably needs the job, but I'd prefer not to have her wait on me again.

It Once Was Lost, But Now It's Found

Thank you, Pony!

Remember the clear cap that I lost off the bottle of glasses cleaner that my mom gave me? It has been missing for weeks now! Four weeks, to be exact. No matter how much I looked, at different times of day, in different lighting, from different angles, I could not find that lid.

The Pony came out Sunday to partake of grilled sausages. I asked The Pony to look. Perhaps to get down on the floor, and look from that angle, since I cannot. Within one minute, The Pony discovered my precious missing bottle cap. 

"Here it is."

"What? WHERE? Show me! I need to know!"

"Right here. Under this leg on the pedestal."

The pedestal table came from my mom's house. There are four curved supports that branch off from the main pedestal. This was not the support in front of my feet, nor the support to the right of my feet. It was the support that points to the windows. My view of the underneath part was blocked by the other supports, or the pedestal itself. A broom did not reach under that pedestal. Unless I could have laid down on the floor between the pedestal and the windows, I would not have seen that clear cap.

Mystery solved! And I have the cap back, so my glasses cleaner fluid won't evaporate.

The Pony is quite handy to have around.

An Unusual Day In Hillmomba

On the way to town Saturday, I passed a small white SUV parked beside the creek, down by Mailbox Row. It was on our road. Facing the way that takes you into our enclave. Saturday is not a school day! Why was there an older lady sitting in a car down by the mailboxes? It's not like she was waiting for a kid to get off the bus. She was alone. Not sight-seeing with a companion. The temperature was 54 degrees, with rain and wind. Not a day to be wading in the creek.

In town, I was in line behind a young couple at the Gas Station Chicken Store. They were asking if the GSCS sold worms. No. And did they sell fishing licenses? No. Fave referred them to Orb K. "I know they used to sell worms. I'm not sure of the license. They just remodeled, but I don't know if that would affect what they sell. The Farm and Home Store used to sell them, but I think they closed at 4:00." So off went the couple, looking for a fishing license and worms in cool windy weather. Maybe they wanted them for the next day. They could probably buy the license online these days, from the conservation department website.

Back home, the lady in the small white SUV was still parked by the creek. That had been 45 minutes that I was gone. I still don't know why she was hanging around, but she was gone when Farmer H came home 30 minutes later. 

Up the gravel road a couple hundred yards, there was a small brown SUV parked in the road on a curve. Not the sharpest tool in the shed, that driver! He was out of his car, at the edge of the creek, dipping his hands in the water. Let the record show that the water is not clear right now, the mussy creek full of rainwater run-off all week. I hope this dude wasn't washing up after a crime!

That's Hillmomba. You never know what you might find when you venture out.

Customer Service Is Alive!

The Pony has planned a BBQ at the Mansion for Sunday, having invited The Veteran to join us when they had lunch earlier in the week. I asked Farmer H what he wants to grill, since he is the one who will be preparing the main course. Farmer H said he likes sausages. So I was off to Save A Lot on Friday, hoping to find our preferred bratwursts, made in-store.

The Universe smiled on me that day, my friends! Plenty of bratwursts, including the PINEAPPLE variety!!! We love them! They are hard to find. Farmer H also wanted the sausage variety that comes in patty shape, like a hamburger. The only choice of that style was the CHEDDAR type. You can see chunks of cheddar cheese embedded in the patty. Not our favorite, but they'll do. The sausages were on the 5 for $25 deal. I needed six packages. That's because The Veteran is joining us, and we want leftovers, and we send at least a whole package, sometimes more, home with The Pony. It's easy to freeze a pack or two for Farmer H to grill later, just for us.

 

Anyhoo... I picked up three packs of the bratwursts, and three packs of the patties. At Country Mart, once you have five of THEIR 5 for $25 special, each additional package is also $5. Not at Save A Lot. Still, I wanted six packages. 

When I got to the checkout, I told the old lady checker that I had trouble getting all my items out of the bottom of the cart. Their lanes are quite narrow. I have to stand in front of the cart and set out those items, then push it back to get behind it and set out all the items in the child seat. So awkward.

Old Lady Checker said, "Don't bother, I'll get them." She came around and looked at my stack of meat packages. "Oh, you have six?"

"Yes. I need three of each."

She proceeded to ring up all my items. Then started looking through my meats already in the cart. "I'm seeing what the lowest priced one is, so I can use it to ring up for the extra one."

"Oh, thank you so much! You're so helpful! You deserve an award."

While she had been processing my order, a manager-type guy came over and interrupted. Asked her how to use the intercom to make an announcement. She showed him. Twice, because he didn't get it. Then he said over the intercom: "Bridget? Why aren't the carts brought in? Bridget! Why haven't the carts been brought in?"

That doesn't seem like something a manager should be saying over the intercom. Perhaps just a directive to Bridget to bring in the carts. Anyhoo... Old Lady Checker said, snickering, "She hasn't come up to relieve me. So I'm pretty sure she's not going to be bringing in carts."

Manager Guy went out and brought in the carts himself. Old Lady Checker said, "I've been waiting 20 minutes to get off. I have to get to the GARAGE SALE! I've waited all year for this. I don't want to miss the GARAGE SALE!"

I don't know where it was, or if it was a special yearly garage sale, but I felt bad for Old Lady Checker. The rain had been coming off and on. I didn't want her garage sale to get rained out. As I was boxing and bagging my groceries at the front counter, I heard Old Lady Checker talking to the next customer.

"Don't you worry about it. Take your time. Nobody is in that damn much of a hurry!"

Heh, heh. I really like that Old Lady Checker. I hope she got to her garage sale.

The Sense Of Entitledness Boggles Mrs. HM's Mind

After hobbling across the parking lot of the Sis-Town Casey's on Thursday, to pre-pay for T-Hoe's gas, I was happy to see only one customer ahead of me at the counter. Only the right-side register was open. A balding 30-something guy was wrapping up his transaction. He had bought a scratcher. Looked to be a $10 or $20 ticket, but I didn't have a good view.

As I patiently waited for Dude to step aside, Dude started scratching his ticket! Not leaning on the counter. Just standing there after paying, holding it in his hands, scratching with a quarter. He had glanced over his shoulder. He knew I was there. In line. Behind him. Whose turn was over. But no. He stood in the same place, scratching his lottery ticket, as if it was his right.

THEN Dude handed the ticket to the clerk, a young guy who is personable enough, just doing his job. "Oh. Did you have a winner?" Dude shook his head. "I don't think so. Check it." So Clerk scanned it, and affirmed that it was a loser.

"Give me a number 13 and number 14," said Dude. Because, you know, he's entitled to never-ending transactions while he stands in front of the counter with three people now waiting behind him.

Lucky for me, the older lady clerk, who looks like Linda Hunt the small actress, came to open up the left-side register, and said she could help me. She WAS quite helpful! Sold me $46 worth of winnings. 

Take THAT, you entitled Dude!

At Least There Was Break Time

Scary weather here in Hillmomba on Tuesday! At 12:45 I was sitting at the kitchen table at HIPPIE, and the skies went black. BLACK, I tell you! So black that Farmer H's solar lights on the porch rail came on. Black as night. Blacker than during the solar eclipse. I sent The Pony a text:

"Wow! You need a headlamp!"

"Yeah. So much for it briefly saying the storm was gonna miss us. Taking my 10 minute break now."

Good thing! The rain started whipping sideways, pounding against the kitchen window it never hits. Like it started normally from the west/northwest, then swirled in from the northeast. Terrible wind. I was actually feeling anxious. It lasted for about 45 minutes. 

The Pony knew bad weather was on the way, and that it would arrive around 12:30-1:30. In fact, The Pony went into work an hour early. They've been mandated to start at 8:30 now, because the Amazon trucks have been arriving later. The Pony figured that if the trucks came on time, he could get the walking part of his route done just before the storm. I don't know how that worked out. Only that I was worried about The Pony in that weather.

By 3:30, the rain had stopped. I had to take the alternate route to town because of the bridge flooding. The Pony got off work around 5:00. Picked up some tortellini to treat himself for supper:

The Pony added sausage to the tortellini. I'm hoping it was some of the grilled bratwursts from the freezer, sent home with love after our cookout several weeks ago! No garlic toast. Just the tortellini with sausage. It looked filling.

The next morning I saw on the news that the next town over from Newmentia had experienced a tornado AND flooding. Also, a tornado hit Pittsburgh! Genius was texting me about another matter, and I asked if he was okay. He said there were trees down all over the city. That the roof was torn off a commercial building a mile away from his (3rd Floor!) apartment, but that it was "just" due to the 80 mph straight-line winds, and not the actual tornado.

Mother Nature is a harsh taskmistress.