Farmer H Might Need A Whacking Stick

As I type this on Monday afternoon, I am anticipating GRILLED BBQ PORK STEAKS for supper! The temperature is supposed to reach the 70s today, and since Daylight Savings Time just went into effect on the weekend, we'll have sunlight until 7:00. Farmer H is a good griller!

This will be the first time he's attempted grilling since Pupsie came to live here. We'll see how that goes. Pupsie shies away from Farmer H, ever since that ONE TIME he cornered her and caught her as a wee pup. Still, Pupsie is quite agile, and has now grown taller than even Scarlett. It is not beyond the scope of possibility that Pupsie could jump up and grab a pork steak off the grill, and run away with it. Farmer H will have to be on his toes while he's sitting on his rumpus at Gassy G Jr.

Farmer H wanted potatoes to go with the pork steaks. He used to slice and wrap them in foil and cook them on the grill, but now I make them in the oven. Usually just layers of potatoes alternated with slices of onion, a dab of butter, and let them bake. They turn out like potatoes fried in a skillet, though they usually don't get a crispy portion except along the edge.

This time, I put them in my small roaster pan. Layered, with some vegetable oil to keep them from sticking, and some ground black pepper. I'm not sure how Farmer H will like this version, though it would seem to me that they'll be the same as the foil and oven versions. Of course I'll offer him a small salad to go with his meat and potatoes, but I already know his answer...

Mrs. HM Serves Up A Cold Dish Of Revenge

I was dismayed on Sunday to see the white F250 pickup parked at 10Box. I know who drives it. That RumpusHole who always parks in the handicap space at the Gas Station Chicken Store. I knew it was not another white F250. It was running! That RumpusHole always leaves his truck running. I don't know why. At least he was not parked in one of the six handicap spaces at 10Box.

When I entered, I saw that RumpusHole at the checkout. I know his face, and his gray goatee. I proceeded to the right-side lottery machine. Dang it! That machine was on the fritz again. It would not take cash! I SEEMS like it will take cash. But then makes several clicky-spazzy sounds, and spits the bill back out. No matter if you try a different bill, or a different denomination. I suppose it might be too full of cash. 

Anyhoo... I had a six dollar winner and a three dollar winner to scan. So I got my $3 tickets out of it. While I was doing that, RumpusHole pulled his cart up to the left-side machine. I didn't notice what tickets he was buying. When I've been behind him at the Gas Station Chicken Store, he  buys draw tickets and $10 tickets. He wheeled his cart away, so I moved over to the left-side machine.

As I was making my purchases, I realized that RumpusHole was back, standing at the right-side machine. I suppose he noticed that it was not taking cash. Because he just stood there, with his body turned my way. Well. I usually try to hurry up if somebody is waiting. But this time, I was careful about choosing my tickets. Contemplation, you know. I even put in more money. The money which had been spit out at the right-side machine. Then I made sure to take care when picking up my selections from the tray. You know, because sometimes a ticket will get stuck and not fall down. So I arranged them in price order, making sure I'd gotten out all my purchases.

As I was walking away, my peripheral vision saw RumpusHole move over to that machine. I really hope he bought one of the newest $10 tickets. Because it would have been the one after my $27 winner.

Pupsie Keeps On Pupsin'

Our newest dog Pupsie seems to be getting over her loss of Scarlett. She and Jack are fast friends. Pupsie has grown larger than Jack. Larger, even, than Scarlett, I think. She looks like a black German Pointer. She tries to play with Jack by slinging herself at his legs. Kind of in a submissive position, her back to him, crouching. Sometimes he plays along, sometimes he snarls and makes her yip with a snap. Pupsie grows anxious if Jack runs to the woods with Copper Jack, chasing squirrels they'll never catch, when I come home from town. She runs around barking for him, and won't come to the door for a treat until Jack is back to accompany her.

For a dog who seems to detest us and fear us, Pupsie sure does spend a lot of time barking to defend our homestead. AND she likes to lie on the porch outside the kitchen door while I'm at HIPPIE. She will take proffered food from our hands. On Saturday, I tossed out two old hard-boiled eggs. They weren't bad. Didn't stink. But I did not feel comfortable putting them in my big salad.

Jack turned up his nose at his egg. Pupsie was curious. Sniffed and then walked away. But she came back. Picked one up and went around the corner. Then came back for the other egg. She laid down with it between her paws. Nibbled a bit. Then ate that boiled egg. She is, after all, a dog who came here with no sign of regular feeding, as a pup, probably stolen somewhere by Scarlett. Pupsie likes her food.

That mentality is going to get her in trouble. Pupsie is fed morning and night by Farmer H putting dry dog food in the self-feeder. But any time I give out treats, Pupsie eats hers, and rushes Jack for any crumbs, or food he has been eating too slowly. 

Saturday afternoon, Farmer H was once again conveniently late getting home. So I had to carry in five bags of groceries. The bags of slaw mix, five pounds of potatoes, three pounds of onions, two pounds of lemons, two heads of lettuce, and two cans of biscuits, were not a problem. The tray of four large pork steaks for future grilling WERE! I kept them on my arm, and set the other bags on the metal chair on the side porch before walking up the steps.

Pupsie has not learned her manners. Every time I put groceries on that chair, she thinks she's entitled to them. She comes to sniff and nip at the bags. Numerous times, I've scolded her. She does not seem to get the message. This time, Pupsie was on my side of the chair. Trying to get the edge of a bag in her teeth. 

"PUPSIE! NO!"

Huh. It was like I was talking to Farmer H. Pupsie acted like she didn't hear. So I tapped her on the head with my fingers. 

"PUPSIE! NO!"

It took two taps. Two NOs. But Pupsie retreated to the top of the steps. Sat there puzzled. Her expression said, "What's this, then?" Her expressions take on a British accent.

We are careful not to spook Pupsie. We REALLY need to be able to catch her, to take her to the vet for her very special operation. But I cannot have a dog that gets into the groceries while I am climbing the steps. The NOs and the head-tapping seem to have made an impression on Pupsie. I sweet-talked her some more after she left the grocery bags alone.

Pupsie is a work in progress. Next, we will try to stop her from dismantling the Mansion piece by piece. She's a chewer, that Pupsie.

A Miracle Between 4:00 And Midnight

Ever since FRIG II's icemaker went on the fritz at the beginning of November last year, I have been buying ice in bags from 10Box. You may recall this saga from back then. I'm sure I had several posts about it, because Farmer H was so frustrating in his response. Yes. I realize that must be quite a shock for you to hear, heh, heh. He basically just gave up, after repeated reminders from me, and said that he couldn't find a replacement icemaker to fit FRIG II. I call poppycock! How many different dimensions can there be in a side-by-side freezer? 

Anyhoo... Farmer H's solution was to just buy a new refrigerator/freezer. I was not keen on that idea. I don't like adjusting to new things, and I don't like shelling out $1000 randomly (or more!) to get a new refrigerator when everything works just fine except the part that makes ice. So I have been schlepping in those heavy bags of ice every few days. I would get the large bag, but that's too hard for me to carry. So the small one has to do. I put half in the bin, and the rest of the bag in the mini chest freezer in the laundry room until we need it.

A couple times, I told Farmer H to stop and bring home ice. He uses it too, if he has a Wild Turkey in the evenings. Otherwise, he doesn't care, because he always drinks Diet Mountain Dew out of the bottle. I am the one who likes my ice, putting it in my metal water bottle every day. Farmer H is not the best ice-bringer. I always wrap a coat around the bag on the way home, then bring it in, drop it on the cutting block to loosen the cubes apart, then put it in the mini chest freezer. Farmer H tosses it on the floor of SilverRedO, then brings it directly to the mini chest freezer, in one solid semi-melting block. So when I break it up for putting in the bin, I don't really get cubes, but more like assorted sizes of shards and crumbs.

Anyhoo... on Thursday afternoon, I was excited, because the bag I'd had stored in the mini chest freezer was the GOOD ICE. The little hollow cylinders, not the flat squares. When I had bought this bag, 10Box had just gotten a recent shipment. So I got a bag that had been near the top of the two big stacks in the outdoor freezer. That meant the hollow cylinders had not been melted by the pressure of being on the bottom. They retained their shape, and broke apart as actual little cylinders. Not crumbs or shards.

I happily poured half that bag of cylinders in the bin. That requires sliding out the whole bin, and setting it on the cutting block. It's pretty heavy lifting it back in, but nobody else is going to do it for me! I had chopped loose some of the remaining shards on the bottom of the bin, and saved two big ones for my soda. They don't fit in the top of my water bottle. I put that little lever back down. It's the one that senses too much ice in the bin, and stops the making of ice. Heh, heh! AS IF FRIG II was still making ice. The bin won't slide in and out unless that lever is clicked up and out of the way. When put back down, the lever rested on one of my large shards, but I knew it would click back down in a few minutes when I took out the shard. Not a big deal anyway. No action in there.

Next, I squeezed a lemon into my red Solo cup. Poured in my Diet Shasta Cola. Did you know that if a lemon seed gets through the squeezer, that carbonation brings it right to the surface, easy to be picked out with a spoon? You're welcome for that new knowledge. I've really been enjoying lemon juice in my soda for the past month or so. Maybe it's because of winter. Or that I got a good deal on a bag of lemons at 10Box.

The rest of my evening went as normal. Farmer H came home and did some fiddling with T-Hoe's tire. He was on his own for supper, warming up the noodles/chicken/peas/ mushrooms for himself, with a couple Hawaiian rolls. I had mine later. Farmer H watched Swamp People then went to bed. I shut down HIPPIE shortly after 11:30, and went to FRIG II to add some of those ice cylinders to my water bottle for overnight.

I reached into the bin and pulled out a few cylinders. As I was putting them in the water bottle, I saw A CRESCENT ICE CUBE in my hand.

WHAT IN THE NOT-HEAVEN???

I looked into the bin, and saw a couple more. AND the prongy section that spits out the completed ice cubes was moving! How did FRIG II start working "suddenly," on his own, FOUR MONTHS after breaking?

The next morning, I told Farmer H. He did not have the common decency to appear surprised. He looked in, and said, "It definitely made some ice."

"HOW does that happen, after four months, without us doing anything? You tried all that stuff that didn't work. And now it just starts again? Randomly?"

"HM. There could have been a clog in there that worked its way out."

Sure. After four months. Something is definitely weird around here. I don't know if FRIG II will continue making ice. With the made ice on top of those hollow cylinders of store-bought ice, the lever is up, signaling not to make any ice right now. I guess I'll find out tonight, when the level goes down and the lever goes back into place...

Has Mrs. HM's Faith In Humanity Been Restored?

The Magic 8 Ball needs a new plastic triangle to display on its liquidy screen. "Signs Point To MAYBE." The jury is still out on Mrs. HM's humanity faith. Thursday was a good day for eternal optimists.

I was heading into the main post office to mail a letter to Genius, three water bills for the flip houses, and an annual payment to Sirius XM for music in A-Cad and The Pony's Rogue. I'd parked in the lone handicap space, and hobbled up the ramp, bracing myself on the metal handrail. 

An older woman with a gray pixie haircut started out the door, and saw me on my way across the sidewalk. She backed inside, holding the door open for me.

At the very same time, a 40-something gal with dyed black hair, looking like a once-upon-a-time rock band groupie, was approaching from the other end of the sidewalk. 

 

"Hang on a minute! I'll get the door for you!"

"Two people helping me at once! That's okay, this lady has the other door for me."

I started inside the open door, nodded at Gray Pixie. "Thank you so much!"

"You're very welcome."

Rock Groupie was now inside the lobby, headed to the double glass doors of the inner sanctum and clerk counter. "Are you coming in here?"

"No, thank you. I'm just going to the drop box here. But thanks anyway!"

Not only those two gals, but a gray-bearded man at the Gas Station Chicken Store on my next stop waited to hold the door for me as he was coming out. Of course I thanked him. 

AND, when I started in to Country Mart before I visited the post office, a late-20s guy in a trench coat, wearing a backpack, moved down the narrow sidewalk to let me pass. He was on his phone, I assume waiting to be picked up by a friend or Uber, when he noticed me. The sidewalk there is taken up by displays out front, this time pallets of firewood, and he moved down past the main entrance so I didn't have to step out on the slanting blacktop of the roadway between the store and main parking area.

Let the record show that Mrs. HM does not expect people to cater to her. Only to show common courtesy as one would to any other equal human. Just because I am lame does not make me special. These folks deserve good karma for their consideration. Even Steven, please take note!

Enough Of The Lion Already! Where's The Lamb?

Mrs. HM is in self-imposed exile again. Not snow this time. WIND! I hate the wind. I know it's only March 5 as I type this, but I'm tired of March roaring in like a lion. 

We have sustained winds of 31 mph all day, with gusts up to 50+. I'm not getting out in that. Aside from the temperature of 30 feeling like 17 degrees, I'm leery of falling. Not that I'm so flimsy that a gust of wind could topple me. I'm no dandelion fluff. It's my balance. One little zephyr can stagger me. I'd hate to think of being surprised by a 50 mph gust. I have no desire to be picking my teeth out of the asphalt of the Gas Station Chicken Store's parking lot.

I'm glad this was The Pony's day off. He even decided to do an appointment online, rather than drive over to Bill-Paying Town in person.

"Just because I don't particularly trust other drivers on the road with 50 mph wind gusts!"

"I worry about trees blowing over on me. And that I'll fall over because of my balance."

"Yeah. Even yesterday I was dodging trash cans and the occasional small limb."

Indeed. Good thing The Pony is not working today. I think my parental helicopter should be grounded in this weather.

Unless, Perhaps, You Count The Mental Deficiency Of ENTITLEDNESS

Let's revisit the Gas Station Chicken Store, the place where only 1 percent of the people using the lone handicap parking space actually have a different-abledness. It's not their choice. It's due to the other 99 percent of the people who park there showing no regard for the people who actually NEED that space.

Tuesday, during a lull in the rain, but still with high winds, I pulled onto the parking lot of the Gas Station Chicken Store to see a tiny pickup truck parked in the handicap space. Of course there was no handicap license plate. No placard hanging from the mirror. A not-quite-tubby guy, with a red beard, stood beside the truck, smiling and chewing the fat with a guy parked in the FREE AIR space, putting air in the tires of his red pickup truck.

Well. No way was I going to park across the lot at the moat. No use waiting on these yayhoos to finish up their chat and make either of those two spaces available. I proceeded to 10Box and its lottery machines.

Once again, somebody figured their needs came before those of the handicapped. Why not park in that handicap space, rather than behind the red pickup, beside the dumpster and alley, to wait to use that FREE AIR hose? After all, the handicapped would surely be staying home rather than come out in the rain and wind to buy something at a convenience store, right?

If only I was as brave as Blog Buddy Kathy! Then I would have pulled up alongside Redbeard, and put down T-Hoe's window, and asked, "Do you need this handicap space? Or are you just waiting for the air hose?" Nothing too confrontational. But Mrs. HM is a chicken. Blog Buddy Kathy would have made the point much more clear, I'm sure!

Hopefully, It Can Be Like A Semi-Open Adoption

Every Thursday, I mail a letter to Genius in Pittsburgh. Some of them have been taking two weeks to arrive. Like he got a January 29 letter alongside a February 13 letter. He got one on Saturday. The letter I wrote him the Thursday morning after Scarlett left us on Sunday. I couldn't bring myself to write it earlier, and I had trouble seeing through the tears as I wrote it. Genius sent me a text Saturday afternoon.

"Sorry to hear about Scarlett. That's very sad."

"Yes. I'm finally starting to get over it." It has been two weeks now, you know.

A few minutes later, I got a text from Farmer H: 

"Now I'm the bad guy with Genius about the dog."

"I didn't say anything bad in my letter. Just told how she was given away."

"Okay. He just can't believe I gave your dog away."

"Me either! The letter I just mailed this week tells how the guy is keeping Scarlett. I hope that's true!"

"He is here right now."

"Find out how she's doing!"

"They said she's doing great."

When he got home, Farmer H read me the text from Genius: "How could you give away Mom's dog? How incredibly cruel."

"You even told me we might have to give her away!"

"Yes. Because I didn't know what else we could do. I didn't want her tied up or in a pen. How often could I walk over and pet her like that? She'd just be a prisoner. That's not fair. But it's the WAY you got rid of her. Less than 24 hours. You didn't even tell me when you were loading her up. I didn't think it would be so soon. I didn't even get to say goodbye, or give her extra treats."

"Well. I DID do that, so fast and not giving you time. I'm sorry."

I couldn't say much more, because once again I was crying over that darn dog, who wouldn't give me the time of day if the object of her ADORATION was around. But Farmer H went on.

"The guy said Scarlett seems happy, and they're happy with her. She's in the house with them except at night, and when they leave. They're feeding her Blue Diamond dog food. He let her go this week, and she ran off. He called her. This time it took 20 minutes, but she came back. They got rid of their other dog."

Hopefully, the guy will be a regular shopper at Farmer H's SUS2.5, and can give him updates on Scarlett. She is very fond of people, and has never really believed she's a dog, I think. So being in the house with them, getting all the attention, will make her happy.

My Wish Was Not A DeSIGHer

When the broken-down car of the Gas Station Chicken Store rumpushole handicap parker FORCED me to take my scratcher business elsewhere, I went across the road to the Liquor Store. There was a new worker behind the counter. A middle-aged woman I hadn't seen there before. When I walked up to the counter, she SIGHED!

Ain't that a fine how-do-you-do? Well. It's not like I was the only customer in the place. A woman was playing one of the three or four fake slot machines they have against the wall. Don't get me started on those right now!

"I'm just here to get some lottery tickets."

"SIGH."

"A number 10 and a number 11..."

"SIGH." 

Put-Upon Gal tore each off. As I was getting ready to name my crosswords, she stepped to the register to scan those two tickets. Okay. Sometimes clerks do this. Some can remember a string of numbers, others have to ask again after just one. I try to gauge the response of each clerk, and time my requests to their advantage. So I let Put-Upon Gal scan these two without interrupting before she was ready again with her attention. Let the record show this happens A LOT in the Liquor Store, where they also sell a lot of vaping supplies, and have T-shirts for sale with logos like "The Devil's Lettuce," which is now legal in our state.

"And also two number 19s..."

Put-Upon Gal just stood there. Didn't make a move. I looked at her, my left eyebrow raised, a teacher technique for nonverbally asking, "What's the deal?"

"SIGH. I'm just waiting for you to be done. I'm not bending down there more than once."

"Oh. I thought maybe you were out of them. Two number 19s, and three number 26s."

"SIGH."

Put-Upon Gal tore off my tickets, scanned them, and rang them up. I paid cash. Got a dollar back in change, thanks to my three $3 tickets. I stuffed it in the tip jar on the counter. Not because she especially deserved it, but because I almost always leave that dollar change at the Liquor Store, because the usual clerks are polite and appreciative.

I'm thinking maybe Put-Upon Gal has some kind of respiratory illness. Maybe that's just how she breathes. She didn't seem unfriendly. Just reluctant to expend any extra energy, like stooping, or making small talk.

Another RumpusHole Handicap Parker Rant

On a rare day that I managed to avoid the RumpusHole in the White F250 who takes up the lone handicap parking space at the Gas Station Chicken Store... I found someone else ensconced in that space.

It was a white sedan with no handicap plate, no handicap placard. It was NOT the lady who parks there and sits for so long. This gal was younger than me, but not young. She was parked nose-down in that space, standing by the driver's door of her car. From under the front end, I could see a pair of jeans-clad man-legs. Mind you, the car was not jacked up. Some guy had just volunteered to scoot himself on his back up under the front end. I assume it was his truck (white, ironically, but not an F250) parked behind her in the FREE AIR space.

Well. There went my plans for buying scratchers. I was not willing to brave the strong wind by parking over by the moat. Too long a distance to hobble while being buffeted with bad balance. I went to 10Box, and then to the Liquor Store across the road. When leaving the Liquor Store, I have to make a right, then left by Casey's, to come up the back alley past the rear of the Gas Station Chicken Store. 

The white sedan was still there. With a different pair of man-legs sticking out from under it. A duffle bag of supposed equipment sitting by the tire. And a white van with an obscure business name on the side. I guess that lady had called an actual repair service. It was now 45 minutes from when I'd first driven by.

Here's the thing with RumpusHoles who take up handicap parking spaces for which they have no certified need... They THINK they are entitled. They'll only be inside a minute. Surely no handicapped person will want to park there during that time. So might as well use it, you know, because they don't want to walk farther. But if their junky car won't start up again, that space is out of commission for hours. Way to go, RumpusHole!

I didn't wish for that woman to have a hefty repair bill, or be "inconvenienced" for hours. But her lack of sensitivity (and law obeyance!) seriously inconvenienced ME. I'm pretty sure she's the reason I had a bad day of losing with my substitute scratchers...

The Medium

I needed to buy stamps on my errand day Thursday. Normally, I get the young post office clerk that knows who The Pony is, and recognizes me as Pony's Mom. He's a polite young fellow, with a son about a year old. Always cheerful and helpful to all the customers in line. This time, he wasn't there.

The clerk was a woman. I always try to think of ways to describe fellow workers to The Pony, to see if he knows them, or might have an anecdote about them. This one was hard.

"Hey, I was getting stamps yesterday around 3:30, but [REDACTED] wasn't working. It was some lady. I don't really know how to describe her. She was older than you, but younger than me. Her hair wasn't really blond, or brown. Just in-between. She wasn't fat or thin. Not tall or short. She was really nice. I can't think of any way to describe her, other than MEDIUM."

"Did she have a snaggletooth?"

"Um. I don't know. I didn't really look THAT close. I was trying to decide on stamps. I knew I wanted a book of flags, but the selection of others wasn't that great. I didn't want hearts. One of them was Christmasy/wintery. I don't remember the other. So I took the Mississippi River. I've had them before, but they are pretty, and the best of those choices. So I was looking at them, not the clerk's teeth."

"That's the only way I know to describe her that would make her stand out. It was probably the one I'm thinking of. She usually fills in there for days off."

"I knew the amount for two books of stamps would be just under $30. So I was prepared. I had a twenty and a ten. She said, 'Now why did I ring that up as credit?' I said probably because nobody wants to use cash anymore, and she agreed. Now I have 80 cents in coins that I forgot to take out of my town pants that will be falling out when I unfold them to put on."

"Oh. I thought you were going to say the coins would get in the washer."

"No. I don't wash my town pants after every wearing. I'm only in them for an hour a day. Besides, they get the dried mud off the side of T-Hoe's running board when I slide out. So I'd be putting on clean pants, knowing that by the time I got out in town, they'd have dirt all over one leg again. I just dust it off when I fold them up. Still knowing that when I get out in town, they'll have dirt on one leg again. I can't see washing pants all the time, when they're not worn long, and just get dirty right back. It uses a lot of resources, and wears out the pants."

"Fair enough." Said The Pony, who wears pants all day long to walk 10-11 miles in all kinds of weather. We have different laundry needs.

Anyhoo... we both agree that I bought my stamps from a Medium.

The Pony Puzzles Mrs. HM

I got a text from The Pony on Thursday afternoon. I was not sure what to make of it.

Why was The Pony sending me this picture of mail? He has talked about moving to another state, but Utah is NOT the one. Why would I care about mail from Utah? Is it that unusual around here? I sent back a response:

"?"

"Ladybug. Or, well, the fake kind like Grandma had."

"Oh! Just hot out of the shower..no glasses . Thought it was part of the logo!"

Yes. As you can discern by my text, I am not the best without my glasses.

Clearly (to vision-corrected eyes), there is a ladybug on that piece of mail. Somebody is looking out for The Pony. The recent bad luck could have been worse.

The Planned Disappearance Of Fave

NOOOO! What is going to happen to my luck? Will Even Steven be confused? A turn of events last week is throwing me for a loop. FAVE is being relegated to different hours at the Gas Station Chicken Store! It seemed a bit sudden. Last Sunday, as I was leaving the GSCS, Fave said,

"Oh. I'll be working different hours next week! I'll be here Tuesday and Wednesday instead of Thursday and Friday."

"WHAT? I might not see you, because with this cold weather coming, I won't be getting out."

And that's how it went. We got a little snow, and temperatures dropped into the singles and teens. I sat at home on my ample rumpus, waiting for the thaw. When I went to town Friday, it was Other Cashier working. That's not a bad thing. She's nice enough to me. Just not as lucky. OC was also there on Saturday/Sunday/Monday. I thought maybe the schedule would reset itself on Thursday.

Imagine my surprise when I drove up Tuesday afternoon, and saw (yes, along with that white F250 rumpushole in the handicap space) Fave's car on the parking lot.

"Oh, you're back!"

"Well. For now. I'll be here today and Wednesday. Then again on Saturday and Sunday, but it will be in the mornings, until 2:00."

"NO! I don't think I can make it by 2:00. Is this permanent?"

"Well, according to Woman Owner, NOTHING is permanent. I hope not. Because I'm not a morning person!"

So now, I might only have half the luck I've been experiencing! I'll only be buying my scratchers from Fave two days a week, rather than four. I hope I don't have to change my routine and go to town earlier.

I'm hoping this is just temporary. They've had signs seeking a part-time cashier. Best case scenario, this is just for training purposes, and then things will get back to (my) normal.

I'm Pretty Sure Farmer H Is Trying To Kill Me AND T-Hoe

Farmer H has known for at least two weeks that T-Hoe has a burned-out headlight. He pretended not to know until I told him a week after that, even though The Pony acknowledged that Farmer H knew after our casino trip on February 11. Farmer H DID buy a new bulb, but said he was not going to change it during the frigid temperatures last week.

Yesterday as I left for town, I met Farmer H in SilverRedO on the gravel road in front of the BARn field. Of course he stopped to talk. Which meant that the 3:30 p.m. setting sun reflected off SilverRedO's rear passenger window, blinding me.

"You're killing me! I can't see a thing!"

 

"Huh. I don't know how that is."

"You can't see this reflection on my face? From the sun coming off your back window?"

"I see it." Farmer H backed up. "Is that better?"

"No! It's worse! Now there are TWO reflections! Off the window, and off the metal part between the windows."

Farmer H pulled forward again, and put down the back window. "How's that?"

"Just the one now. What do you want?"

"Nothing. I've got to get something out of the BARn."

"Okay. I'm going to town. With my one headlight..."

When I returned, Farmer H came out to the garage. He lurked in front of T-Hoe in the garage. I thought he was there to carry in a box of salsa and stuff from Save A Lot. I motioned him to get it before I opened my door. But no. He said he was there to fix T-Hoe's light, and to pop the hood.

Of course Farmer H started rassenfrassen about the light. Because T-Hoe needs some dismantling to access that headlight. AS IF T-Hoe isn't 17 years old, being a 2008 model, and Farmer H hasn't had time to familiarize himself with T-Hoe's workings.

Farmer H declared that he needed to get some tools. He carried in the Save A Lot box. Then went back to the garage to fix T-Hoe's light. But then returned to the kitchen to announce:

"I'm going to town for oil. There was none on the stick when I checked."

SWEET GUMMI MARY! Farmer H is the one in charge of the automobiles! Surely he could vaguely remember the last time he had T-Hoe's oil changed, or put some in. Now I will make sure to check the oil life for T-Hoe, rather than let him DIE of oil thirst. No gauges were showing a deficiency. Then again, T-Hoe has many problems with his electronics, so that's not saying much.

The Handicapped Can Be RumpusHoles

I still can't figure out why some people think they are entitled to park wherever they want. At the Sis-Town Casey's on Monday, a driver with handicap plates took up the whole area in front of the handicap ramp.

The car was not there when I went inside to pay for T-Hoe's gas. Nor when I came out to walk back to the gas pumps. Good thing! I would not have hesitated to put my hand on their car to assist myself in stepping down from the curb. Too bad if it would have set off their alarm.

You can't really see the diagonal yellow stripes that designate the area in front of the ramp. Maybe if you zoom in. There were NO cars parked in all these spaces when I went in and came out. That whole half of the parking area was empty. There's no excuse for this blockage! There was room for this car to park in the actual handicap space.

People piss me off!

An Update On My Little Heartbreaker

Saturday evening, Farmer H said, 

"Oh, the guy I gave Scarlett to came by my shop today."

"No! Don't tell me if it's something bad. I can't take it. I'm going to cry already."

"It ain't bad. He said he's decided to keep Scarlett. Said they like her better than their other dog. That it was a male, and kept humping Scarlett, and she'd snap at him."

"Well. She's fixed. But that's how she treated Jack, and he'd stop. So what about their other dog? What kind was it. Are they keeping them separate?"

"I don't know what kind, but he gave the other dog away, I think!"

"NO! More sadness. But I guess it's good for Scarlett. How old is the boy?"

"About five, I think."

"I hope she doesn't knock him down. Are they keeping her in the house?"

"When they're home. At night she sleeps under the porch on a heated dog mat."

"She would be wild in the house, but she was an inside dog before she came here. So she won't poop or pee inside."

"Yeah. Even when she got trapped in the garage [Hick said, as if he wasn't the one responsible for that, numerous times] she would wait until I let her out to pee."

"Does his wife work?"

"There ain't no wife. He had a girlfriend, and he has full custody of the boy. The boy goes to school. This guy and his twin brother are living there."

"Where is it? In town? Or in the country?"

"I don't know."

"YOU TOOK SCARLETT THERE TO HIM, and you don't know?"

"I actually took her to the brother's house."

"I thought you said they live together!"

"No. His brother has his own house. But they work different shifts, and he helps take care of the boy. This guy works at Lowe's, and his brother works for some kind of state agency."

"Okay. Your stories change a lot. At first you said the boy was ten when you dropped off Scarlett. Do they keep her tied up when she's outside?"

"Yeah. But he said she was gone the other day. He stood in the front yard, cussing her and calling her. And then in about five minutes she showed up."

"That's lucky! You had to drive around and look for her."

"Heh, heh! She was probably afraid she'd get taken for another ride somewhere else if she didn't come back! He said she went with his other dog down the road."

"I hope everything works out for them. Scarlett really does like her people. She'll crawl into your lap and not get up if you let her. Even that day I was sitting outside to watch the eclipse, she kept her front paws in my lap the whole time."

"Well, he seems to really like her. He could still end up giving her to his sister at the farm, but it sounds like right now he wants her at his house."

WHEW! Such good news that was. I need to call The Pony and share.

The Not-Yet-Spring Thaw Just Arrived

FINALLY! Almost. There's still snow all over the porch and the ground and our road. But as I type this, a steady drip is coming off the roof by the kitchen. Might need to have the gutters checked! The snow on the rail by the laundry room has been shrinking for the past hour. It's down to about an inch deep. Still about four on the kitchen rail. It's all choppy from birds perching on it and sinking in. A cardinal is taking a snow bath right now on the porch boards. Bright red! His brownish mate is sitting on Farmer H's solar lights on the corner.

Anyhoo... it is 12:43 on Saturday afternoon. When I checked about an hour ago, the temp was 30 degrees. Supposed to get into the 40s today, and then 50s Sunday, and 60s next week. Jack and Pupsie are scuffling under the kitchen window, probably on their way to get a drink at the heated water bowl. Earlier, there was a kerfuffle on the front porch, as Copper Jack invited himself up to lie at the end by Farmer H's carport. He never would have done that with Scarlett here (sniffle).

Pupsie was having a heyday barking at Copper Jack. Then turned her attention to destroying the rest of the 2/3 of a blue tote lid. Pieces litter the front porch by the door. At least she's not eating most of it. My little Jack came to the door when I peeped out, for a petting session. He's such a good boy. Pupsie came over and sniffed the back of my hand, but still won't let me pet her.

I will be going to town later for scratchers. Yesterday was fine, though our county blacktop road only has space for 1 and 1/2 cars to pass comfortable. Good thing I left the 4WD on until I got to town, because several times I had to put two tires on the plowed ridge of remaining snow along the edge.

The worst part was actually when I left home. The porch was clear enough that I had boards to walk on. The steps had a few icy patches, but Farmer H had sprinkled salt. It was the very bottom that got me, as I stepped onto the sidewalk. A bit of snow lingered. I was careful. Didn't slip. Patted Jack, then opened the garage door.

As I stepped over the threshold, I nearly did the splits!!! That was scary! The snow had compacted into the tread of my shoe, and the smooth concrete floor was a virtual skating rink for it. Poor Pony. That's a 10-11 mile challenge for him in this weather, tromping through snow, and up and down steps.

Anyhoo... I grabbed the door frame, then balanced myself so I could reach over and hold onto T-Hoe as I worked my way to the driver's door. I had my long window scraper brush in case snow/ice built up on the running board during my travels, but it was only an issue when I returned to park in the garage.

I'm hoping this afternoon will be less fraught with danger.

Farmer H Plays Dumb

When I was in town last Friday, I parked at the main post office to go in and mail some bills and Genius's weekly letter. The parking area has a roof over it, next to the building. I noticed that on the brick wall, only one of my headlights was shining. Since I'm not outside of T-Hoe when he's running, I can't observe these things. T-Hoe is from 2008, when daytime running lights were a thing. So they shine all the time when I'm driving.

When I got home Monday, I didn't have any groceries to carry in. No dogs came into the garage. So I just got out and walked in front of T-Hoe to the people door. The headlights stay on for a couple minutes before shutting themselves off. I saw that the right headlight was shining, but the left headlight was not.

I forgot to tell Farmer H. But I sent him a text Tuesday morning:

"My left headlight is out."

"Ok when did you see that"

"On the post office wall Friday. And yesterday as I walked out of the garage."

"Ok just thought you might of got out this morning I'll get one for it"

"No. I'm not going anywhere. The snow. And it's too cold!"

"That's good roads were a little slick this morning"

Aww. Isn't that sweet? Farmer H was worried about me! Or so I thought at the time. Sweet Gummi Mary! Were my instincts wrong on this one!

Farmer H got a new light bulb for T-Hoe. When he got home, he said he wasn't putting it in during this below-zero cold. Fine with me. I wasn't planning to get out for a few days.

Yesterday morning, on my call to The Pony, I mentioned T-Hoe's light.

"Is Dad still there?"

"No. He just left."

"Don't mention this to Dad. It's not worth a fight. But he KNEW you had a light out on T-Hoe. Remember when we got back from the casino last Tuesday? And I was driving Dad to get SilverRedO from getting worked on? And you followed us to town, to get your scratchers? Well, I wanted to text you to tell you that you had a headlight out, but Dad told me not to. 'She don't drive after dark. It'll be fine until I fix it. She don't need to know.'"

"WHAT? That's what he said when I told him I didn't want to get arrested for having a headlight out! He said, 'You ain't gonna get arrested, HM. You don't drive after dark.'"

"Don't say anything. But he really did know all this time."

"He NEVER takes care of my car!"

"I know. And he really should."

"At least he has the bulb to put in. It's going to be above freezing over the weekend, and next week. So I'll push for him to put it in. I wondered why he asked me when I noticed. I bet he was fishing for information to see if you told me!!!"

Dang Farmer H! He really needs to take better care of T-Hoe. And MEEEEEEE!

Heartbreak In 3 Acts: Finale, The Actual Breaking Of The Heart

Of course I was beside myself when Farmer H came into the Mansion for keys to the Acadia, saying Scarlett was all loaded and ready to go.

"NOW? Right now? I never even got to say goodbye. She's not a bad dog. She'll be frantic without Pupsie! She thinks that's her puppy. They are always together. Pupsie won't know what to do without Scarlett. Jack and Pupsie will keep looking for her! But she's never coming back. Unless she gets away and tries to come here..."

"She won't be able to see out the back of the Acadia."

"That's not how they find their way back! I think they navigate with magnetic fields, like animals that migrate. She kept trying to go back to her apartment in town every time she got loose here! That's the direction she always ran."

"She'll be fine. It's a big farm, between here and the city. I don't know when my guy is taking her there. I'm taking her to his house right now. He has a garage she can stay in tonight."

"What kind of garage? Like ours? With a concrete floor? She'll be cold! How will she pee and poop? Does he have anything to feed her?"

"He has pets. I'm sure he has food."

"Scarlett might not like it!"

Off went Farmer H, taking a little piece of my heart with him. It's SO not fair! You don't throw away something you love, just because it's a problem. I don't know what else we could have done. But I feel SO BAD. I called The Pony just to talk. I'm not over it. It's going to take a while. 

Just writing about it has torn me up all over again. Thinking of how Scarlett willingly hopped into that pet carrier, probably thrilled that Farmer H, whom she ADORES, was taking her for a ride. Every day, I have to leave and come home without seeing Scarlett leaping around to greet me. Jack and Pupsie know I'm sad. They wander around. Pupsie peers past me into the garage, looking for Scarlett. At least they are sticking together, sleeping in the haybales.

Scarlett literally went to a big farm upstate! Thankfully it is a 200-acre farm, and though a bridge may have been crossed, it was not of the rainbow variety.

I have to believe that this guy's sister wanted a dog. And that she knows someone who can train a dog such as Scarlett to work with livestock on the farm. That Scarlett will have doggie companions, and will be kept in a sheltered place where she can't escape for a while, to search for the object of her ADORATION. Yes. I know that's an idyllic scenario. But I have to believe it. I have to.

Meanwhile, I've got a partition in my heart. I've walled off that little section reserved for Scarlett's love. It's too painful right now to feel.

Heartbreak In 3 Acts: Act 3, The Literal Act

Within two hours of his "I know someone" text, Farmer H sent another.

"I have a guy going to take Scarlett to his sister's farm."

"That's good. But she might run livestock."

When Farmer H got home, I pressed for more information. Of course Scarlett was nowhere to be found.

"Does this guy's sister even WANT a dog?"

"I don't know. He didn't say."

"Do they have other dogs?"

"I don't know. He said there's animals on the farm. It's 200 acres. But there's no other houses around. No roads where she would run on."

"If there's no roads, how do they get to their farm?"

"Well. There's a road that goes past their driveway..."

"She could run down that road! You know how she was when we first got her! Did you tell him they need to keep her penned or tied up for a while? And that she's fixed, but isn't up to date on her shots?"

"I did tell him she'll run. And that she's not had any shots since we got her a year and a half ago. I've got to call him tomorrow to see if he's home. And make sure Scarlett is here."

"This is not a good week to do it! There's a foot of snow coming on Tuesday! Temperatures in single digits! At least here she knows where to go out of the weather, and has Jack and Pupsie to snuggle with in the hay hole. And knows where to get her food and water."

"First I'll have to find her. I'm going to the BARn to get the pet carrier and put it in the back of my truck."

So... I had hope that it might be a few days until this drastic measure was put into motion. Time to say my goodbyes. Time for the weather to be more settled.

NOPE!

Sunday afternoon, Farmer H came home around 1:00, and had Scarlett in the pet carrier and loaded up in the garage before I had a chance to see her! At least Farmer H succumbed to my wish to transport Scarlett in the back of A-Cad, rather than freeze her to death on the highway in the back of SilverRedO from wind chill at 60 mph and temps in the teens.

To be continued...

Heartbreak In 3 Acts: Act 2, The Pack

Some days, our dogs are not here when I leave for town. Sometimes I see them down the gravel road, by Farmer H and Buddy's Badly Blacktopped Hill. They take off running alongside T-Hoe. Scarlett can get ahead of me. Jack can't quite keep up once I get on the flat part. He often cuts through the fields rather than sticking to road and driveway. Pupsie sneaks off into the field and rejoins Scarlett at the garage.

I've told Farmer H that I don't like the dogs ranging so far. I know they probably did it before now, but they'd make their morning rounds like when my Sweet, Sweet Juno was here with Jack and Poor Dumb Ann, the black german shepherd. Gone about an hour, then lounging around here all day, and chasing rabbits in the evening as a trio.

 

"Yeah. It's getting to be a problem. I've gotten stuff on Facebook about them. Neighbor sent me a picture asking if Scarlett was my dog. Had a picture of Scarlett walking across her deck. She just said okay when I answered. Then a guy up the road seen it, and left a comment saying "That's bullshit! They're a pack!" I guess he meant because Scarlett and Jack and Pupsie were together."

The next week, the Up-Road Guy sent Farmer H a message that he saw our dogs out on the blacktop county road. Farmer H blamed The Pony who had come out Thursday to set up my TurboTax download.

"You might have lost your dogs. U-R Guy said they're all the way down by the guy we bought our old rental duplex from. It was about 12:45. I guess they followed The Pony."

"No. Because The Pony got here around 11:30, and didn't leave until after 2:00. In fact, I kept hinting that I usually went to town around 2:00, but I wasn't trying to rush him off."

"Oh. Well. They're not here now."

The dogs returned around midnight:30. I could tell by their barking and scuffling on the front porch. On Saturday, Farmer H sent me a text from his Storage Unit Store 2.5.

"HM, I guess we are going to have to do something with the dogs they are becoming a problem with the neighbors"

"I don't know what to do. Shock collar maybe. I won't tie them up. We could give Scarlett to somebody, and get Jack fixed. What are they doing that's so bad? They haven't killed 39 chickens like Neighbor's dog did to ours."

 

"Here's the text I just got: 'Hey Farmer H just wanted to let you know I've seen your dogs as far as [County Blacktop Highway] also the brown one was being bred. If u bring her asap to a vet they will give you medicine to abort the pups. They have also been down here in my front yard shitting and eating cat food.' That was from Neighbor."

"Well, Scarlett's fixed, so there's not going to be a pup issue. I don't know what to do. I shoot at problem dogs with my old BB gun if they are close enough to the porch. Scarlett is the main leader of our three."

"Yes she is I know someone who might take her ill check"

To be continued...

Heartbreak In 3 Acts: Act 1, The Facts

Not sure how much I've told you about our newest dog, Pupsie. I'm pretty sure Scarlett stole Pupsie somewhere. Pupsie shies away from humans, but follows Scarlett everywhere. They are virtually inseparable. Scarlett will come into the garage to greet me when I return from town, and out the people door. Pupsie is reluctant to pass by me while I wait on the sidewalk to close the people door. So Scarlett runs back into the garage, to herd Pupsie out. 

That dang Farmer H has sworn for months that Pupsie is a HE. Shows how much attention Farmer H pays to detail. Pupsie is a SHE. That's not good! We can't catch her. We will gladly get her to the vet for a checkup and schedule her very special operation. That's difficult since we can't catch her.

Anyhoo... Scarlett, Jack, and Pupsie have become a unit. They now shun Copper Jack, the neighbor dog. I feel bad for him. They bark every time he comes into the yard. They chase him off the porch so he can't get a treat when I get home. It's like they are a gang who won't accept him. 

Farmer H is concerned because Scarlett has now taken to chasing the UPS truck. It comes up the gravel road regularly, though not often to our Mansion. 

"We need to break her of that. She never used to chase them. AND she also chases people on their side-by-sides."

"I've noticed that. I guess a shock collar is the only way. It stopped Jack from chasing the neighbor's horses. But it's winter. You'd have to be here, and catch her when the UPS truck goes by. I don't know if she'd even feel it with all her fur."

"Yeah. I know."

To be continued...

Mrs. HM Hates To Be THAT Gal

There were no handicap parking spaces available at 10Box on Sunday. We'd had a few snow flurries overnight. The temperature was 31 when I left home. We had snow on our deck and steps. Most of the town parking lots were clear. I parked on the end of a regular aisle, and hoofed it past the handicap spaces and into the store.

As I came out, gingerly stepping over a would-be puddle that was covered with salt, I stopped to wait for a car that was kind of sideways on the driving lane in front of the store. Imagine my surprise when the driver put her window down.

"Are you okay? Are you able to walk?"

"Yes. I'm fine. I just have stiff knees."

"Where are you parked?"

"Just right over there. I'm okay. But thank you SO MUCH for asking!"

"Okay. You're welcome."

As much as I try to tell myself I'm getting around okay, it seems not to be the case. I am mortified that people notice my lack of mobility. But on the other hand, my faith in (most of) humanity has been restored.

I don't like being a noticeable gimp. If people who want to help me notice, so do the ne'er-do-wells who might see me as an easy target for purse-snatching. Thank the Gummi Mary, I don't carry my purse on my arm. I don't take it in at all, unless I'm shopping. In which case I put it in the cart child seat, and keep a hand on it.

Oh Pony, You Sweet Summer Foal

The Pony took a week off in celebration of our birthdays. We had planned two casino trips, but only made one, due to the weather forecast. Of course those dastardly TV meteorologists hyped up a storm that turned out to be nothing. Cheating us out of the second trip.

The Pony had told his office that he might be able to help out some of the days he had scheduled off. Once we saw the forecast, and knew Farmer H's plans, The Pony indeed went in to work.

"I felt really bad. They gave me my own route. I was only planning to work until 1:00. So I had to drive over to Backroads, then back to the post office to meet the person who was relieving me, and transfer the mail. Then that person had to drive to Backroads to deliver it. I felt bad for getting paid just to drive there and back. I had thought they would give me one of the Sis-Town routes."

Oh, Pony. You sweet summer child. You are still ON THE CLOCK while you are driving to where you can start delivering the mail. That should not be free labor for the post office.

The Pony is a good egg. So unusual for one of his generation, worrying about getting paid for actual time on the job!

Oh, No! Fave Is Missing!

When I parked in my rightful handicap space at the Gas Station Chicken Store on Friday, I noticed that Fave's vehicle was not on the parking lot. I also noticed the RumpusHole who likes to usurp my handicap space pull in. Heh, heh! You snooze, you lose! He parked by the moat, but as I was gimping along in front of T-Hoe toward the door, RumpusHole left! Guess he didn't want to walk too far.

Anyhoo... I went in and waited behind a guy talking about how times have changed. How he used to ride around town with his dad, who was always enjoying a brewski. As Genius and his generation term it, a ROAD BEER. "It was normal back then. I'm surprised so many of us survived!"

I noticed a sign on each side of the plexiglass sneeze guard. "PART TIME CASHIER WANTED."

What in the Not-Heaven??? I was really hoping that it wasn't because FAVE had been separated from employment there. Man Owner and Woman Owner were both working. Woman Owner waited on me. She was nice and friendly. Farmer H went to school with her. I didn't ask about FAVE, in case there had been an issue. 

There was definitely an issue with my transaction, but that's a story for another day, and perhaps another place. Or not. But the gist of it was, FAVE had simply called out.

"Our cashier that usually works this shift couldn't come in today. Her dog bit her."

"Oh, no! FAVE?"

"Yes."

"Her own dog?"

Man Owner said with concern: "A pit bull."

"I know she mentioned having a dog that was part pit bull..."

"I'm not so sure it was due to the severity of the injury. She said she will be in tomorrow. I think maybe it was because she was up all night in the ER getting the bite treated."

"That's understandable!"

At least I know FAVE will be back. Maybe I'll get more of the story.

Transgressions Are Farmer H's Bread And Butter

Every evening when I prepare Farmer H's supper, I do everything but chew the food for him. I set out his plate and utensils and a paper towel. If he's having bread, that goes on the cutting block. If he wants margarine for his bread, I also set it out of FRIG II so it can become softer for spreading.

Tuesday night, Farmer H's supper was leftover BBQ Little Smokies from our Super Bowl feast. Along with mashed potatoes and bread/butter. Let the record show that I offered him a salad, but he refused.

Anyhoo... I called Farmer H into the kitchen to get his food. He reached into the upper cabinet to get his Hawaiian Bread, which I had been too busy to set out, having been on the phone with Genius while warming the other dishes.

"The date might show that it's past, but I know it's only a couple days. That bread stays good for at least two weeks past the date."

"Huh. This says it's good until the 27th!"

"Um. Yeah. That's the wheat sandwich bread I buy for the dogs, because it's the cheapest. But you can eat it. It's really good, if you want wheat bread."

"No. I'll have the Hawaiian."

"That's what you always want, so I don't know why you were looking at the wheat bread. I guess that's what happens when I don't set it out for you. You don't know how to get your own bread."

Farmer H had the Hawaiian Bread at the cutting block. I was moving his mashed potatoes off the hot burner, and stirring his warmed-up Little Smokies. I heard the door of FRIG II close.

"Wait! What are you putting in the fridge?"

"The butter, HM. I put it away."

"WHAT butter? The Kerrygold is on the cutting block. Isn't that what you used?"

"No. I got the tub out to put on my bread."

"The MARGARINE? We have the real butter from when The Pony was here for Super Bowl, and put it on his rolls. WHY would you get out the margarine?"

"Because I thought that's what I was supposed to put on my bread."

"I always set it out on th ecutting block for you, when that's what you're using. There's Kerrygold to use up. I can't believe you would get out the margarine."

"It's fine. I already put it on my bread."

"I bet it was hard to spread, compared to that room temperature Kerrygold."

"It's okay."

"The more I try to get everything ready for you, the more it's a waste of time. You don't have a clue how to feed yourself!"

It's not like Farmer H's bread and butter faux pas affected me directly. It's just that he doesn't have common sense. Doesn't apply all the past routines to how the current feeding should go. He's clueless. He drives me crazy.

We Begin The Latest Series Of Farmer H's Transgressions: CREDIT

You may recall that when T-Hoe has an issue, it is basically ignored for a year or two, until Farmer H grows tired of Mrs. HM's nagging reminders of her fear that T-Hoe is not safe. Only recently did T-Hoe's stabilizer bar get fixed, which required a short amount of time, and minimal cost. Now Mrs. HM can drive without worrying that she will veer off the road due to steering unresponsiveness/over responsiveness.

SilverRedO had an issue last week. I don't recall the nature, because 1) I am not a gearhead, and 2) I don't really listen to Farmer H when he starts droning on about mechanical things. Anyhoo... Farmer H made an appointment with Mick the Mechanic to work on SilverRedO on Tuesday morning. The Pony was coming out for a casino trip, and was tasked with picking up Farmer H at Mick's. Then dropping Farmer H off again on the way home after the casino. It was not a hardship for The Pony. Mick's shop is on the direct route The Pony takes to get to the Mansion.

Anyhoo... when Farmer H got back with SilverRedO, I asked how much it had cost. $904 and change. That's an inconvenience, but nothing that would send us to the poorhouse.

"I have the receipt out in the truck."

"How did you pay?"

"I put it on the credit card."

"NOOOO! Why would you do that??? You could have asked for a check. Or used the debit card. I don't want a giant credit card bill! You know how the mail is lately. IF the check doesn't get there on time, we will have to pay INTEREST on the credit card! It's crazy high interest! That's why we pay it off every month."

"Well. I didn't know how I should pay."

"We always use the debit card to pay Mick."

"I wasn't thinking..."

Yeah. Farmer H will be thinking plenty if we get stuck paying interest on a credit card! Because I will be sure to mention it every single day! That's one bill we haven't had an issue with. The check usually processes in three days. Still, you never know. The electric bill for Bargain House proved that this month.

Mrs. HM Is Unrecognizable

We went to the casino on Tuesday, to celebrate the week of birthdays for The Pony and me. As with any time we go to the casino, part of the visit requires handwashing in the bathroom. Casinos have those automatic faucets and soap dispensers. They have the sensor thingy that detects the motion of hands in front of it, and turns the water on, and gives a squirt of liquid soap from the dispenser.

That's how the sink works for most people. Or probably all people besides Mrs. HM. For some reason, no matter which sink I use, the water and soap do not cooperate! It's like I'm invisible. I can move my hand back and forth in front of that sensor, and get nothing! Close, far, wild gesticulations. Nothing works! 

The Pony thinks this is funny. I do not find it amusing. Even if I get the water flowing, by the time I reach my hands under the stream, it stops! I know they're on a timer, but I cannot get an adequate handwash at a casino! This time, I managed to wet my hands, and catch a bit of soap. But then I couldn't rinse! I ended up just drying the soap off my hands.

I have this same problem with my cell phone. Like when I tap it to light up the screen. It takes many tries. Genius said my fingers must be like those of a corpse! He's not one to mince words, that Genius.

Good Eatin' On Those Cold Days In Hillmomba

Last week when the weather turned cold again after the brief thaw... I made a big pot of cabbage, potatoes, and sausage. I first learned of this dish when my sister the ex-mayor's wife made it while they were camping. That's how they do things. Get a fancy camper, and then cook just like at home. I personally don't see the point, but to each her own.

Anyhoo... this was back when HOS (Farmer H's Oldest Son), and The (Little Future) Veteran were in their young teenage years. We took them to a local state park where Sis and family were camping, for a day of swimming and fishing and sitting around in lawn chairs. When Sis told me what she was serving for supper, it did not sound very appetizing to me. I was wrong! (Pretty sure I marked a calendar for that amazing feat.)

It may not look tasty to you, but it is delicious! The flavors go together just right. Especially with a corn muffin on the side. Or even crumbled up in the juice.

This is so easy to make. Just put a layer of potatoes on the bottom of the pan. Add water to the top of the potatoes. Put the cut-up sausage or Little Smokies (I have both here) on top of the potatoes. Then cut the cabbage into sections and set on top of the sausage to steam as you simmer the pot (with the lid open a crack) for a couple hours. Don't forget to check the water every 15 minutes or so!

Sadly, this time my water boiled out between checkings, and the potatoes started burning to the bottom of the pan. Farmer H had just come in, and I said, "Do you smell something burning?" He took the pot off the hot burner, and tried to stir the bottom with a long spoon. Unfortunately, that tore the tops off the soft potatoes, which then gummed up on the bottom of the hot pan and charred! Had I dipped the cabbage and sausage off the top to see what was going on, some of the potatoes might have been salvaged. I had placed them skin side down, and those skins were still intact, with just a dime-sized char spot where they touched the pan. The soft insides, though, burned immediately upon contact with the sizzling metal.

I managed to dip the cabbage and sausages out. Then I had to work on that pot with a 1/4 inch of "charcoal" potatoes stuck to it. Boiling water with dish detergent in it brought up that charred mess over time.

Luckily I had other potatoes, so I just boiled some alone, and we added the cabbage and sausage over them. The quick action had kept the cabbage and sausage from getting a charred taste. It was just a normal meal, which we ate over four days. Mmm!

Mrs. HM Cannot Escape The RumpusHole

The RumpusHole who keeps parking in the handicap space at the Gas Station Chicken Store was there again on Saturday. I parked in the FREE AIR space behind him, waiting. And waiting. For 10 minutes. The RumpusHole was sitting in his truck. Finally, he started it and drove a few feet to park under the roof, by the gas pumps.

I pulled T-Hoe forward, into my rightful parking space. Once inside, I let Fave know that I was not amused. That RumpusHole is there ALL THE FREAKIN' TIME, between 2:00 and 5:00, taking up a handicap space that he does not appear to need, without benefit of a handicap plate or placard. 

"Oh. HIM? Now he's blocking the pumps."

"I know! I waited ten minutes, and then he drove around to park there!"

"I've told him before not to block the pumps. He's here all the time. I'm surprised Man Owner hasn't said something to him. Especially about blocking the pumps."

As I was leaving, The RumpusHole came back in for more scratchers. I heard Fave telling him that he was blocking the pumps. I doubt it did any good.

On Sunday, I stopped by 10Box on my way to pick up The Pony for our Super Bowl festivities. It was 11:15. You'll never guess who was in 10Box. Oh. Yes you will. It was The RumpusHole.

I was getting a ticket for The Pony out of the left machine. I wanted crosswords, but that machine was out. So I had to get them from the right machine. Except some guy had just walked up to use it. Yep. It was RumpusHole. He set down a case of beer and stepped up to get a ticket. Couldn't be bothered with a cart. Just put that case of beer on the floor.

I stepped up behind The RumpusHole to wait for that machine, because another guy had come up and acted like he was wanting to use the left machine. Indeed, he moved forward and put his money in. He must have known The RumpusHole, because they started talking. 

RumpusHole got his ticket out of the machine. I was relieved. But then he STOOD THERE SCRATCHING HIS TICKET! Right in front of the machine. Blocking it from use. What kind of psycho does that??? Heh, heh. At least it was a loser. The RumpusHole picked up his case of beer and left. I got my crosswords. 

As I returned to T-Hoe, I saw RumpusHole getting into his big white Ford F250. He was NOT parked in a handicap space at 10Box. Probably because they were all taken when he got there.

Mrs. HM Is Definitely Having Better Luck Than The Pony

I've been on a mini winning spree with my lottery tickets for the past week. On Friday, I picked up this winner out of the left machine at 10Box when I stopped in to get desserts for our Super Bowl festivities.

That's a $100 winner on a $3 ticket! Thanks, Even Steven. I also had a $50 winner on a $10 ticket that I bought at the same time from the same machine. I've also had two other $50 winners this week. 

We have been planning a casino trip for The Pony and me to celebrate our birthdays, but the weather shows SNOW on the very two days we have available. Oh, well. The celebration can be delayed if necessary. The Pony says The Universe is setting me up with a casino bankroll.

Meanwhile... today as I type this, The Pony has been sitting at the mechanic's shop to get a tire changed on his Metris before he can continue his route.

The Pony's day is surely coming...

The Pony Pulls Through

The Pony seems to be recovering from his malady of Thursday/Wednesday. After leaving the doctor's office, he picked up lunch and went home. The doctor had called in a different antibiotic, but The Pony's pharmacy closes from 1:00 to 2:00. It's over in Bill-Paying Town. His insurance requires the use of that pharmacy. So The Pony was waiting until 1:45 to start over.

"I'm still not feeling the greatest. My heart is still fluttery, but some of the feeling is back in my hands."

"Dad can drive you over to pick up your medicine. Oh! He just came in."

"No. I don't want Dad to make a trip back to town just for me. I can do it. I will take the back roads. Less traffic. Less to worry about."

"If you're sure. I'm getting ready to come to town, but I don't know if I could hold my pee for as long as that extra trip might take!"

"Oh, I don't want you to drive me. I was just updating you on my plan."

"Okay. Text me when you're back home, so I can stop worrying! I might be driving and can't respond. But I'll see it."

Off I went to town at 2:15. I did my regular Thursday errands. No text from The Pony. After leaving Country Mart, the shortcut I took had me one street behind The Pony's house. I could see his car in the driveway. It was 3:45. I figured he was back, and had forgotten to text me. I went on home and carried in my groceries, since Farmer H said he was "resting" in the recliner. While putting the groceries away, I heard a text.

"Agh! Ended up taking a nap instead of going for the medicine!"

"Well. How will you get it?"

"...by driving to get it? The pharmacy is open until eight."

"Oh. Mine closes earlier. You've still got a little daylight left."

"Just letting you know not to worry that I haven't said I was home yet! Puttering around to wake myself up now before getting it."

By 5:10, The Pony was home with the new medicine. And pizza.

"Took first dose. Feeling mostly better from this morning already, just that little not-quite-numb bit left in my ring and pinkie fingers and a little tightness in my chest."

"That's good. That other med is wearing off, now that you missed the evening dose."

Anyhoo... Friday morning, The Pony said only a bit of numbness was left in his fingertips, and that his heart had settled down and was beating normally, no chest tightness.

My chest is breathing easier, too.

Poor Pony, And Poor Mrs. HM

Not to make this all about ME... but after all, it IS my blog, and the world revolves around me. Thursday morning, my heart skipped several beats when I got a text from The Pony. We had just talked at 6:00 a.m., and a random text during the workday worries me. Rightfully so this time.

"Hands and face went numb while I was casing. Management is letting me try to get my breathing and heart under control in one of their offices, and okayed me leaving early to go to my doctor."

"Okay. Call Dad if you need him. He's working at Bargain House, so not far away."

Here's the thing. The Pony has been taking a new antibiotic for a recent ailment. He had an episode of heart palpitations the day before, when he was off, but had volunteered to case and deliver mail for half a day. I asked if he thought it might be the medicine.

"Yes. Panic attacks are one of the listed side effects, so it's definitely related to the antibiotic. In the directions, it says not to have caffeine, because that will increase the chance of a panic attack. But I haven't had any caffeine."

"Sounds like you need to get off that antibiotic, if it's affecting your work."

The Pony drove himself to the doctor. They were going to get him a referral to a specialist, but that won't be immediate. Said to discontinue that antibiotic. They were calling in a different medicine.

I hope everything gets remedied for The Pony. I also hope it for my own selfish reasons! 

I don't like to worry about The Pony.

It's A Wonder That Mrs. HM Is Not In Debtor's Prison With The Key Thrown Away

Here we go again. Farmer H got an email from the electric company last week, telling him that the electric bill had not been paid for the Bargain House, our newest flip.

"I sent that payment on January 22nd. It was $11.09. I have the check number. It is due on February 5."

"Well, I've never gotten an email like this before."

"You are the one who set up that account. I don't know why you're getting a notice when it's not even time for the payment yet."

Still, I kept my eye out for that account. I monitored the automated system with our bank. As of February 4, they had no record of that check being paid. So, as with other problematic payments, I went online to make a one-time payment. When and if my $11.09 check gets there, we will get a credit.

Spare me your glowing recommendations for automatic withdrawals from your accounts, paying your bills before they are even posted. That's not for me. I am not giving a third party access to my bank account. Several times a year, we get notices from assorted entities that their records have been hacked, and our information was among the accounts accessed. So here's a free check of the three major credit agencies, to see if our credit rating has been compromised. No way am I going to pay my bills online with all my services, to allow even more chances for hacking.

Right now we are receiving 7 electric bills! Mansion, BARn, two for the Double Hovel, two for Farmer H's SUS2s, and now the Bargain House. I mailed, in a separate envelope, the Bargain House payment and the Double Hovel payments on the SAME DAY. At the same post office. The two Double Hovel checks were processed on January 27. But the Bargain House payment never arrived. How is THAT possible?

I don't know where the breakdown occurs. If it's the post office, or the processing process at the electric company. SOMETHING is wrong. Of course I think it's a conspiracy to make people allow access to automatic withdrawals from their accounts. If the electric company isn't getting their payments through the mail, then why are they offering that as an option?

So far, since buying Bargain House and turning on utilities, we have had a problem with billing from the gas company AND the electric company. At least the water bill from the city was delivered along with the Double Hovel water bills.

One out of three ain't good.