A Valiant Attempt

Maybe, just maybe, someone is feeling guilty for inflicting me with the never-ending sickness. Not that Farmer H deliberately infected me with his not-pneumonia. But he had it so long (still coughing a bit) and is not careful with keeping his virus-y excretions off common property like the remote.

My own sickness is over as far as I'm concerned. Except the smell and taste absence. My cough is virtually nonexistent now. I feel fine. But I was bemoaning my tastelessness as Farmer H rushed back to town Tuesday night to the elderly apartments.

"I guess I'll fix your supper when you get back, then. Just grilled cheese. I can't make anything that needs tasting. I might never taste again. That's how I feel. It's been so long."

Farmer H had barely left when I got a phone call.

"Do you want some Hot & Sour Soup? I can go by and get Chinese."

"I can't taste anything anyway. But that USED to open up my head. I only like it from the one behind Dairy Queen. Not the good one where we've been getting our Chinese lately."

"Well. I can go there..."

"Yeah. You can get yourself something, so I don't have to cook. Just get me a small soup."

My hero, Farmer H, brought home my small Hot & Sour Soup. It looked really hot. All orange-y and oily. Usually, it's more brown. But it still had the mushrooms and tofu and scraggly stuff that I don't know what it is. I heated it up on the stove, to boiling, around 8:30. 

I suppose the soup was delicious. I couldn't taste it. The texture was good. The spice level was excessive. Good thing I had a bottle of Sprite Zero Sugar to sip through a straw. I literally CHOKE when that spice hits the back of my throat wrong. It takes carbonation to get rid of it, and I didn't need any more caffeine. 

Despite all the sputtering and snorting and eye-watering and coughing from the Not-Heavenish heat of that soup, my taste did not return!!!

I appreciate Farmer H's effort. I guess I'll just have to hurry up and wait some more.

Farmer H Is NFI

As I type this, my appointment about the leg issue that precludes a knee replacement is tomorrow. Farmer H is NFI. That means Not Flippin' Invited! Oh, he will drive me there. He can wait in A-Cad and play with his phone. Or he can come inside and sit in their chairs. But he is NOT coming into the actual exam/evaluation with me.

It's not like I'm cognitively challenged. I don't need his input. Or output. He insisted on coming it with me to see the orthopedist at the initial knee replacement consultation. Farmer H can't keep his mouth shut. A couple times, the ortho ignored him, and focused on ME. As it should be! Here's an example of Farmer H's shenanigans. Which he considers "helping" me.

The orthopedist said, "I can give you a shot. This is good for about three months. I could give it again in four months if it's helping."

Farmer H: "I had a shot in MY knee. It lasted for six months."

Ortho: "Well, you were very lucky if it lasted that long."

Cut to Saturday, in the Mansion kitchen, after I returned from town.

"I think my knee shot might be wearing off. It really hurts sometimes. Like right now, after shopping, and coming up the steps. It's been right at two months since I got the shot."

"Yeah, I don't think mine lasted THAT long!"

"What in the NOT-HEAVEN! You sat right there at my knee doctor appointment, and told him that yours lasted SIX MONTHS!"

"Well. I KNOW it didn't last that long."

I depend on Farmer H for a lot of things. Having him in my life is much more of an advantage than a disadvantage. But sometimes I can't decide if he's a gaslighter, a would-be murderer, a raging narcissist, a bumbling idiot, or simply an unreliable narrator.

Thank the Gummi Mary, I have this avenue to vent...

What Have You Done With My Fave?

Saturday dropped a puzzle on Mrs. HM. Hopefully it's one of those giant-piece puzzles with only four interlocking parts, used for toddlers. And not one of those 2000 piece sea and sky puzzles like my grandma used to bring home from the mental hospital. Not that Grandma was IN the mental hospital. She worked at it, as a nurse's aide, the overnight 11:00 to 7:00 shift at State Hospital #4. Which was handy to babysit us if we were too sick for school. And the puzzles were also handy to keep us occupied so Grandma could catch a nap. She always took the puzzles back after completing them. 

Anyhoo... the puzzle here was that behind the counter of the Gas Station Chicken Store on Saturday was NOT FAVE! It was Woman Owner running the register, with Man Owner puttering around stocking shelves. This was quite unusual for a Saturday. 

They did not seem disgruntled. So I'm not worried that Fave might have been given the boot. You'd think if that was the case, both owners would have exhibited an attitude over working her shift. I hope it wasn't another dog fight. Fave lost the end of her thumb in the last one. She hasn't been sniffly or sick. She didn't mention that she would be gone. Then again, on Friday she didn't say, "See you tomorrow!" But that might be because a line had formed.

It's almost time now to leave for town on Sunday afternoon. We'll see if Fave is working, and what her excuse is! I hope she's back. 

Woman Owner only sold me $11 of winners. Five on a $5 new bingo ticket, and six dollars on a $3 crossword. I can't count on her to sell me luck.

This Is What I Mean

It was time to buy more dog food for Pepper and Jack. Farmer H gets it at the Devil's Playground. Sometimes he asks if there's anything I need from there, sometimes not. I haven't shopped there for over three years now, so it's usually a no. I vaguely remember him saying he needed to get dogfood a few days ago. He went on Friday.

Can Farmer H give me, the bill-payer and money-handler, a receipt in a timely manner? Like when he walks through the door and I'm sitting at the kitchen table where I do the bookkeeping? You already know the answer to that. Farmer H is like a sneak thief, waiting until the early morning hours, when I am sitting on the short couch, sometimes asleep, when he leaves the Mansion. He puts the receipt on HIPPIE where I will find it after he is long gone.

At first I thought Farmer H was just doing this to irritate me. It's not so farfetched! Now I'm pretty sure he does it because he doesn't want to be confronted with what he bought. Farmer H is allowed to buy things for the household. Even allowed to buy himself treats, as if the ones I bring him aren't enough! But I'm not happy with his latest purchases. I suspect he might be buying things that he "gives away" at his SUS2.5. You know, the business that provides him with HIS money.

The last three items on this receipt appear to be dog food. The rest are SNACKS! Not only snacks, but snacks which I never see. They do not come into the Mansion. What can Farmer H possibly be doing with so many snacks? I'm used to him buying a candy bar and soda wherever he goes. But this is too much for one guy for one day!

I'm guessing the Dr P/7UP and the CANDY BAR were snacks for him on Friday. Kind of expensive, when you can buy a multi pack and have one of each a day. But like I said, I never see such a multi pack of any snacks around here. Except for all the Diet Mountain Dew that I buy for Farmer H.

Where is the COKE and OREO 10CT and MILKY WAY? Even Farmer H couldn't consume all of that in a single day. 

I've got an interrogation on my agenda...

A Shocking Phone Call

Has anybody checked the temperature in Not-Heaven lately? I'm thinking they might be undergoing a cold snap. The most shocking thing just happened!

I was on the phone with The Pony, about Farmer H and his plans to pursue the problem flip house that has been on hold for about a year now. A tale which will be told elsewhere, when there's something to tell. My phone started beeping.

"Pony. I think that's my phone. It must be a call or some texts coming in. They'll leave a message if it's important. I'm almost done anyway." [That was regarding another tale of Farmer H, which will also be told elsewhere.]

When I concluded our call, I checked my phone. It showed a missed call, and a voicemail. The number was nothing I recognized, other than it seeming to originate in the local area, most likely Bill-Paying Town, where my doctor and hospital are. Or it could also come from Sis-Town, where a couple of people had contacted me recently about our upcoming high school reunion planned for September. I listened to the voicemail.

IT WAS ABOUT MY LEG APPOINTMENT!!!

I called back, and got the gal who left the message. 

"We had an order a while back about seeing you to help with your leg swelling. I was calling to see if you would like to make an appointment."

"Yes, I would like to do that."

Leg Gal was very polite. I took the first appointment she offered (maybe it would have been the only one!) for early next week. I don't know how much good it will do, since only one week later, I have the follow-up appointment with my NP to see how much this therapy has been helping me. As I understood it before, the first appointment is basically an evaluation.

Anyhoo... Leg Gal made sure I knew where their facility was located. It's occupational therapy, which doesn't adjoin the hospital itself, but is within a half mile or so. I made sure I was expected to wear clothing that allows access to my legs/knees. And bring my insurance card and photo ID.

My chauffeur, Farmer H, has verified that he is available that day.

Sweet Gummi Mary! 

It's only been TWO MONTHS since the order for this therapy was issued...

The Ta-a-sting Is The Hardest Part

My recovery from the not-pneumonia spread by Farmer H to me last week has taken a turn for the better. I didn't realize I had it until Thursday, when the cough started, and my chest felt the burning/wheezing. It slowly progressed into my head. Saturday evening, I started losing my taste. It happens with every cold. When I get nasal congestion, the smell and taste say "Bye, bye. See you later. Don't try to entice us to stay. We're taking a brief vacation."

I was scratching my lottery tickets when the realization hit me. Huh. My Shasta Zero Sugar Cola tastes funny. I haven't even added any lime to it. Straight out of the can. But it has an aftertaste like Pine Sol. Not that I ever drank Pine Sol. But it sure tastes like that cleaner smells. My slice of sharp cheddar just seemed not-so-sharp. And the dill pickle not as sour.

By later that night, I could not taste my mini Drumstick at all. I knew I was in for a disappointing few days. I couldn't remember how long this usually takes. Besides, I wasn't feeling my best, with the wheezing and coughing, and burning eyes. I didn't want much to eat, but I DID resent my sickness for preventing me from tasting it.

I had a leftover hot dog Sunday, that Farmer H had grilled on Thursday. Plenty of mustard. No taste. On Monday, I didn't go to town. I was wanting some chicken soup. I found a can of generic Chunky Chicken Noodle in the pantry. It's BEST BY date was May 2025. I figured it probably wouldn't kill me. Tasted just fine, heh, heh! I also had a can of sardines in mustard sauce. They were not as delicious as usual. And of course my mini Drumstick. Because I'm a creature of habit. I want my usual treats, even if I can't taste them.

Tuesday I bought some unexpired chicken soup. I had that and sardines and some Ritz crackers. In the mornings, I'd still been having my banana and Maple Brown Sugar Oatmeal.

Wednesday, I felt about 70% better. The cough had slowed. The nose didn't run. Eyes didn't water. Wheezing was gone. Yet I still had no taste. I was hopeful all through the day. Maybe by scratcher time. Maybe by soup time. Maybe by ice cream time. Nope. In fact, with the soup, I got out the sardines I'd bought by mistake. One can left. The Louisiana Hot Sauce. Which was just HOT, and not flavorful. Maybe that would clean out my sinus congestion. Nope. But they didn't taste bad. Just burned.

Thursday now, and I'm still more hopeful as each hour goes by. I even had a generic Halls MenthoLyptus Honey Lemon Cough Drop, as I have been doing a couple times a day since Tuesday. No result. 

Here's the thing. I couldn't taste, but at least I had different textures. Hot liquid soup. Crunchy crackers. Meaty sardines. Cool smooth ice cream with a crunchy cone. I can sense a bit of salty or sweet, but that's it. I still have to eat. I figured I was having about 1200 calories. Not starving. You're supposed to feed a cold, right? Or is that starve a cold... I can never remember.

I'll be buying more soup on my errands today.

In His Typical Unpredictable Fashion

A while back, we got a new water heater when Farmer H bought a big order of stuff at Lowe's for the elderly apartments. He paid our share, but it gave him enough for the discount, to save money for the apartments as well.

That water heater has been sitting in our basement, next to the old water heater. Which has been working fine in my opinion, but I don't go down in the basement workshop. Farmer H said it has been leaking. Thus the need for a new one. And the fact that this one is probably 15-20 years old, and has been cleaned out numerous times due to mineral deposits that clog up in the bottom.

Anyhoo... Farmer H had planned to get the new water heater installed shortly after buying it. But he was busy with the apartments, then Old Buddy got sick, then we had a bunch of rain that made driving SilverRedO through the yard not a good idea for removing the old water heater.

Tuesday morning, Farmer H said he would be bringing HOS home with him in the afternoon, to help install the new water heater. He didn't say as much, but I figured that meant the water would be turned off for a while, and then there would be a lag for hot water while the icy well water was heated in the new water heater. Accordingly, I took my shower three hours early, and left for town.

When I got home, Farmer H was out on his blue tractor in front of the neighbors' house. The blue tractor now with new hydraulics and two new front tires. He was trying to fill in some dirt along the edge of the gravel road where a deep ditch has washed out. Somebody has to do it!

Anyhoo... Farmer H barely got his tractor off the other side of the road so I could pass by. I almost had to get off in that still-deep ditch. Farmer H said that he could not pick up HOS, because HOS had another chore. That meant my early shower was in vain.

Wednesday around 1:00, Farmer H called me.

"I'm bringing home HOS so we can put in the water heater. What time do you take your shower?"

"I took it early yesterday! Because I thought you were putting in the water heater. I usually have it around 2:00 or 3:00. I can skip it today. I doubt the water will be ready. And you won't want to wait that long to put it in."

Exactly. Farmer H didn't want to wait. If he had revealed this new plan at 6:00 a.m. before going to town, I could have again taken an early shower. But no. Why would he do THAT?

Farmer H was here at 1:30. He left at 3:00 to take HOS back home. I am unshowered, but since I don't get all that dirty sitting on the couch and innernetting at the kitchen table, I don't think I will offend anybody by missing a shower. It's not worth rearranging my regular schedule to have one later. I am a creature of routine.

Hopefully, the water will be nice and hot later when I want to rinse out the supper dishes.

Pepper Teaches Himself A Trick

At four months old, puppy Pepper is developing a personality. He's rambunctious in the way of the young, always excited and happy to see us when we go outside. He leaps and prances, then tucks in behind us as we walk. It must be the heeler part of him. I don't recall our other pups doing this, though Jack and Juno (the lab/border collie mix) did this in adulthood, each of them sometimes poking my leg with a nose to steer me.

Anyhoo... Pepper is good about not jumping ON us. He learned that quickly with just a sharp NO! He will hop on his hind legs, but not make contact. 

Pepper knows that I bring a little treat as I leave for town. Lately it has been a bite-size piece of stale English Muffin dipped in the juices left from the Easter roasted vegetables with bacon. I'm sure Pepper can smell it. But he also looks at my hands, to see if I am carrying his treat.

Jack knows to go stand on the side porch and wait. That's where I distribute the leaving treats. Pepper seems to hope I'll drop it early. Even though I give him a (soothing) Farmer H style lecture on the way. "Pepper. You know you don't get a treat until I'm at the top of the steps. Just wait."

Today, Pepper was hopping on his hind legs, in front of me as I reached the steps and turned to toss the treats. He BARKED at me! Just once. As when you teach a dog to wait for a treat, and say, "Speak." It was coincidental timing.

Heh, heh. Pepper has taught himself a trick. He might be a genius. I'm sure he thinks he has ME trained to drop a treat when he barks.

A Round Of Good Luck At The GSCS

You may recall that I buy lottery tickets every day at the Gas Station Chicken Store. It's always been pretty lucky for me, though I do go through losing streaks, no matter where I buy tickets. 

My favorite cashier, Fave, works Thursday-Sunday. I think she's luckier for me than the others. As a token of appreciation, I give her a few scratchers every week, bought elsewhere, in an envelope. I don't expect any special "favors" from Fave. Just her handing me my tickets, infused with her luck. If I have a good week there, I give extra tickets. 

On Friday, I came in waiting to hear if Fave had won anything on those tickets I had given the day before.

"Oh, I FORGOT my tickets!"

"What? Oh, no! Were they still here?"

"Oh, I didn't forget them here. They were in a pouch in my car. I called and had my son go see if they were in there, and they were. So I'll scratch them tonight."

"That's a relief! I hope you win something this week!" Because last week, Fave won nothing! Even though I had put in a couple extra.

On Saturday, Fave was excited to tell me...

"I had a $75 winner on my crossword ticket! The back of it had SL on it. And I won $5 on another one, and $3 on the three-dollar crossword. So I won $83 this week! Also, I gave two tickets to my son to scratch. So I'll know about them tomorrow."

Which turned out to be a couple winners, so Fave won $91 this week! I was really happy for her. That's why I give her the tickets. I don't expect to be giving her losers, heh, heh.

"Well, I've been having a decent week wherever I buy. That SL means it was from Save A Lot over here, from their machine. I'm happy you got some of MY luck!"

When I bought my scratchers from Fave on Sunday, I saw that the two crosswords were 054 and 055. Not my favorite numbers on the roll, which only goes up to 059. But I won't go without crosswords just because I think the good tickets have probably already been bought out of the roll. Any number can win. Which I found out Sunday evening:

I didn't win anything at the top. I only had two words, which win nothing. But at the bottom, on the bonus words, I had a winner. That's $250!!! Not at all what I was expecting. Usually I get $5 down there, or maybe $10/15/25. I was totally surprised! Farmer H had already gone to bed, so I couldn't even gloat until the next morning!

I'll wait and cash that in on Thursday, so Fave can do it, and see what she sold me. She'll get a couple extra tickets this week.

In Sickness And In Wealth

This past week was good for Mrs. HM in the financial department. We sold the Bargain House flip (competely!), and scratcher luck was good. I'm at three consecutive days with winnings over $100. There are no BIG winners, except the $100 on a $3 crossword. But I've had a couple $50s and $25s and $15s. They all add up!

I should be dancing a jig with excitement. I'm not. I don't feel well. I blame it on Farmer H (you knew that was coming, right?), who has been waltzing around the Mansion for three weeks now, spewing his coughed and sneezed germs like Johnny Appleseed on a mission.

Wednesday, the day we had our closing on Bargain House, I was not really sick, but not really normal. My joints were extra hurty. On Monday and Tuesday, I'd had bad bouts of dizziness. Lying on my back in the master bedroom, I felt like I was in Willy Wonka's factory, spinning faster and faster, but without the delicious sugary ingredients. I figured it was just water in my ear from the shower the other day. That it was shifting around, depending on how I held my head. Or something with my sinuses, since I also had a dull headache at the back of my skull.

Thursday, I woke up with some hoarseness and throat-clearing. Through the day, my nose dripped a little bit. That's when I realized I'd caught FarmerHitis. You wouldn't think he'd still be contagious after so long having not-pneumonia. Which he'd had for a couple days, when his NP called on April 6 about his x-rays where she suspected early pneumonia. Which it turned out not to be.

Anyhoo... everything is going great, but I don't feel well enough to gloat! I have that burning feeling down between my throat and chest. You know, how it burns when you cough. It's getting a little better, but today my eyes don't want to stay open. I think they're dry because I'm dehydrated, or haven't been sleeping enough. They're not gunky or red to suggest conjunctivitis. I'm not enjoying innernetting, and the thought of going to town if the day remains sunny is off-putting.

I MUST get to town today, though. Because on Monday, supposedly we're getting the worst storm of the year, with risk of tornadoes between 5:00 and 7:00, starting around 3:00. The TV meteorologist gal said that she's usually home in her slippers then, but she plans to wear her SHOES! Doesn't that strike fear into the listeners??? Of course, she's just the Sunday morning meteorologist. Anyhoo... I need to get scratchers for today AND tomorrow. I don't want to risk my streak cooling off. That happens soon enough.

I told The Pony to be ready to run sit in the furnace closet if the weather gets bad. Not to just fall asleep early and be oblivious when lifted up in a twister! There's room in that closet to put a kitchen chair. So no hardship. It's the most interior sturdy room in The Pony's house. I know I can't make it to the basement of the Mansion, to our safe room. I guess I'll depend on the laundry room if the storm tracks from the west, as shown on simulations. Or the boys' bathroom, if it comes from the southwest.

I hope we don't lose electricity. But if we do, you'll know why I'm not around.

To Pay Or Not To Pay

Mrs. HM is faced with a conundrum. Something that should be so simple, yet requires reflection. Even Farmer H was stumped.

We received the first water bill for our newest flip, Lap House. We bought it March 19. Farmer H went by the city offices to turn on the water, and was told there would be a $150 deposit. Not a problem. The other city where the previous flip houses were located also charged a $150 deposit. After they sold, we've (eventually) gotten that deposit back.

A water bill is usually simple to pay. Your statement has a return stub. You see your meter reading and the itemized charges. Then the amount due, and the due date.

This bill is wonky.

Oh, it seems easy enough. We owe $19.45 for water usage. Then it showed a credit balance. That seems to be the $150 deposit, minus the current charges. I can't show the return stub, because it has a barcode, and our identifying information on it. But it does not show the $19.45. In a space labeled Credit Balance, it shows $130.55-. Then there's a blank to write in Amount Paid.

I assume I should just mail a check for $19.45. OR SHOULD I? Will they just subtract what's due each month until the credit for the deposit is used up? That seems like it would be more of a thing for the FINAL BILL. To take out the current charges, then return the balance. That way, the city has their money, no worries about somebody skipping out on the bill.

The Pony lives in this town. And was no help during my consultation. 

"I pay mine online. I have it automatically deducted. I DO know the city recently updated their billing software. Mine even looks different online now. Let me look it up. I don't have any credit balance on mine. I don't remember if I ever paid a deposit to get started. Dad might have done that the month I moved in, getting the water turned on at the last minute, after he'd re-done the plumbing."

I don't remember paying a deposit there. I think when Hick called me after turning on the water at Lap House, he was kind of mad about paying a deposit. Which must mean he didn't have to pay one before.

The Pony thinks since it only says I have a credit on the return stub, that I don't need to pay it until after the deposit is used up. I think I should pay it each month as it's due, and it will continue to have the $150 deposit credit on our account. Otherwise, on the month it runs out of the deposit money, it will look like we're in arrears on our payment. The city might cut service, and charge another deposit or fee to turn on the water again.

I'm leaning towards just sending that $19.45 check. It's the easiest way for my records.

Rules For He, But Not For Me

Have I ever mentioned that a certain person living here in the Mansion cannot follow a simple instruction? Or exhibit common sense? I'm NOT talking about myself!

CASE 1 

Last week when Farmer H got home, I told him as he entered the kitchen door:

"There are a few bags on the back seat to carry in. And you need to bring in a couple of your sodas, because you're out."

Farmer H dutifully went out to the garage to fetch the items. It seemed to be taking a long time, just to pick up bags off the back seat of T-Hoe, and soda from the floor in front of the seat. He finally came in, but I was innernetting on HIPPIE, and didn't question the timing. He had all the bags, and put two six-packs of Diet Mountain Dew under the chair by the kitchen door where he keeps it until it goes in FRIG II.

A couple days later I went to 10Box. I got a couple 12-packs of my Shasta Zero Sugar Cola, and put them in T-Hoe's rear. It looked like Farmer H was running out of his soda again. Only four packs, when I thought there was more. I put my cold groceries on the back seat, so I could grab them to carry inside. And there were FOUR six-packs of Diet Mountain Dew on the floor by the back seat! Taking up room where I could put bags of canned goods, or heavier stuff that would crush my other items on the seat.

This meant that when Farmer H went out to get my groceries off the back seat, he had taken time to open the garage door, go to open T-Hoe's rear, get out his soda, close T-Hoe's rear, close the garage door, and get the bags off the back seat. No wonder it took him so long!

CASE 2

At Easter, we used Kerrygold butter in stick form, on my mom's crystal butter dish. We let it set out at room temperature on the cutting block until we finish that stick, so it's soft. Farmer H had been buttering Hawaiian Rolls to have with his chicken and dumplings this week. I set out his plate and utensils and the rolls, and move the butter dish out beside them. He butters, then puts the lid back on the butter dish and moves it over to the edge out of the way.

Thursday morning, I stood at the cutting block putting ice cubes in my water bottle, and saw the butter dish looking empty! It WAS! Yet Farmer H had put it right back where we keep the warm butter, as if it was still usable, rather than putting the empty butter dish beside the sink. ONLY A STEP AWAY!

CASE 3

This morning at 5:50, Farmer H asked if I had laid out the check he needs for Mick the Mechanic, to pay for two tractor tires.

"Oh! No, I forgot. Bring my purse from the chair by the kitchen table."

Farmer H brought my purse. I got out a check for him.

"Just set it on the table. I'll put it back on the chair when I come in."

That's because I kind of balance it on the corner of a box on that chair, which holds the paid bills and statements for the flip houses. I didn't want my purse to fall off and dump everything.

When I came to the kitchen table later, I saw my purse balanced precariously on one edge of that box, and smashing down the flip house paperwork. It was turned around backwards as well, not where I can reach into it to get the checkbook register, or my winning scratchers to see what I might cash in that day.

I don't know why Farmer H seems to deliberately make everything harder than it needs to be. I flat-out tell him how to do something, and he ignores it. He ignores me when I try to help him, and he makes more work for me when he "thinks" he's helping.

Oh, and that check he wanted? Farmer H had told me the evening before, when he came home. But I am fighting a cold that I'm sure I got from his presumed pneumonia sickness that he is just now about to get over. I can't be expected to remember to tear out a check after he's gone to bed, when I'm busy blowing my nose and coughing up phlegm. So I'm excused for that little oversight...

Four Month Old Puppy Bests Valedictorian

I'm not proud. It seems that puppy Pepper has more smarts than Mrs. HM. 

Wednesday, I was coming home after our real estate closing on Bargain House. I had stopped by 10Box to pick up some big fat hot dogs that Farmer H wanted for grilling. Hot dogs, buns, waffle fries, bananas, baked beans, and some Drumsticks. Farmer H was in town moving furniture, so I had to carry the groceries in myself. 

The hot dogs were in a 20-pack, the only way I could buy the big fat kind, unless I wanted to pay $15.99 for 12 all-beef, rather than the 20 of questionable ingredients for $10.99. This pack weighed five pounds. The ten bananas felt of equal weight. Anyhoo... I had several bags draped on my arm, plus my purse, and the metal water bottle clutched in my fingers by the loop in the plastic top.

You might not think that sounds like a lot of weight to carry, but my knees let me know. I set the bananas and hot dogs on the metal chair on the side porch. No need to climb the steps with that extra weight. I also set down my water bottle right in front of me, to get the bags off my arm.

Pepper was frolicking on the side porch. He's learned not to nip at the grocery bags. He's allowed a sniff, but no mouthing. I don't think he was ever trying to eat the groceries. They were just something new to chew on, which could have turned into a surprise treat. After several trips and admonishments of "PEPPER! NO!" he has learned to leave the groceries alone.

I have not taken my water bottle with me since we got Pepper. My trips are usually short. But the signing for the house was over in Bill-Paying Town, and I knew I'd be going in the store and getting scratchers later, so I took it. I only meant to set it down momentarily while juggling the grocery bags, then pick it up again to ascend the steps.

Pepper ran over and was right away interested in that water bottle.

"PEPPER! NO!"

He'd shy away, then come back. In all, I commanded Pepper five times! On the last one, he got his mouth on my water spout. Which earned him a swat on his hip/rumpus. He darted away, looking surprised. I picked up my water bottle, giving Pepper a lecture in the style of Farmer H, reminding myself to wash the spout when I got inside. I know my words did not enlighten Pepper at all, but the tone had him looking at me quizzically. I could see his little mind working.

Once inside, I put Farmer H's drumsticks in the mini freezer in the laundry room, and the waffle fries in FRIG II's freezer. Got the buns put away, and the beans and bananas. It was a hot day, and I was thirsty. Before putting my water bottle in FRIG II to cool off before I started my ticket-scratching session, I took a swig.

Immediately, I remembered that Pepper's butt-licking tongue had been on it!

YUCK!!!

I unscrewed the top and washed it, but it was too late to put that germy genie back in the bottle. I don't know if I'll catch some horrible disease, but by evening I was coming down with something. I suspect it's Farmer H's once-presumed pneumonia cold. Not a dog malady.

When I went out the next day, I taunted the frolicking Pepper with:

"You're getting your balls cut off next month!"

Pepper did not reply.

MAYBE I Have Solved The Security Alert Mystery

It's been about a week now since I started getting security alerts from Google when I sign in to both of my blogs. I couldn't find a solution online that I thought I was capable of trying. I just resigned myself to expect the emails, delete them, and click on the security notice I got on my android phone to reply that IT WAS ME. Still, it was tiresome to do this, because I log in at least twice to both blogs every day. Sometimes more.

Anyhoo... after a couple days, I stopped getting the notice on THIS blog. Which is the one I started first, MANY years ago. The notices on my not-so-secret blog continued. Every time. Except one evening. I thought perhaps that one had stopped as well, but the next day it was happening again.

The more I thought about what was different that one night, I devised a plan. I had noticed the morning after I didn't get the security alert that I'd left my phone's email account for that blog open. Usually I toggle back and forth between the two emails, as I send my pictures from one to the other. I'm always keeping my main email as the default, since I get almost all my emails in that account. Both emails are signed into, though. I don't sign out and in each time on my phone. Just on my laptop.

Anyhoo... I decided to have the email for my not-so-secret blog open on my phone as I signed into that blog on my laptop. And I DID NOT GET A NOTICE! I've done that several times now, and I don't get the notice.

I am not brave enough to try it the opposite way, and risk getting notices when I open THIS blog again. I just make sure to have the email open on my phone for the blog I'm about to log into on my laptop. That's easier than deleting two security emails, and responding to security alerts on my phone.

Maybe in a week or so, I'll go back to only having my regular email open on my phone, and try signing into both blogs on my laptop. It could be a problem that gets repaired by Google/Blogger. Or something with the android platform that gets fixed with an update.

The Non-Malicious Honker

Let the record show that Mrs. HM is not shy about using T-Hoe's horn to exhibit her displeasure with other drivers. To let them know that they are NOT fooling Mrs. HM, though they may indeed be breaking the law without legal consequences.

That was not the case on Monday. I was not beset with road rage. I was worried about safety. A possibly a bit about avoiding an inconvenience.

First I must give you a visual. It's an old picture, with old traffic. But it shows the scene of the loosely-defined crime. It's the intersection I travel daily. In this view, I am coming from 10Box. On the right is the Liquor Store parking lot entrance. On the left is Dairy Queen's mowed lawn. And straight across, on the right with the red trim, is the Gas Station Chicken Store.

On Monday, I was driving in the right lane here, coming from 10Box. I was going through the intersection, to get to the Gas Station Chicken Store. All three lights were green: the left turn arrow, the straight across arrow, and the right turn arrow. I was cruising along, but something was in my way.

There was a maroon SUV in the middle of the intersection. Stopped. It was straddling what would have been this white line in the picture. About where that red truck is, but not all the way in my lane. I assume it was planning to make a left turn. I had no idea what it was waiting for. I wanted to get past it, rather than get stuck when the light turned red, and sit for two minutes.

I honked, and went around the red SUV, straight across. I honked so the driver would know I was passing by, and not to start driving across and sideswipe me. Horns can be used for that too, you know! As a safety warning.

I could see in my mirror that it kept sitting there. It was blocking traffic trying to make a left turn, and would be blocking the traffic wanting to go straight across in front of the gas station chicken store when their light turned green.

The red SUV was still sitting there when I went into the GSCS. But not when I came out. I got in T-Hoe and wrote on the back of my scratchers. Then went out the back alley, and came down to the intersection again, to make a right turn and go home.

As I turned right, I saw that same red SUV coming out of the side road by Dairy Queen. Traffic was held up by somebody letting her out. It was a gray-haired woman driver. This put her in the traffic lane that had to make a right turn, heading back towards 10Box, the way she had come from when she stopped in the middle of the intersection.

I was driving, so I couldn't watch. I have a sneaking suspicion she went straight through, cutting off cars that were in the straight-through lane. I wonder if she was not a local person, and lost. Or if she was just suddenly confused about where she was.

Roll On, Sharp Two-Wheeler, Roll On

The Pony got out Wednesday morning and put that new old-fashioned lawnmower to use. Starting with the front yard. It was a warm day, even at 7:00 a.m. There were several water breaks. A blister was formed in what The Pony called, "My thumb crotch."

I'm sure the neighbors will come to appreciate the rolling mower, what with the 7:00 a.m. mowing time. That will be better than waiting until later in the day, especially as summer comes along with its high humidity and higher temps.

Farmer H won't mind giving up this lawn. Though he will be mowing two houses away for the new flip house anyway. He says The Pony's back yard is not bad, because it's a big square until you get down by the house. But the front yard is difficult to maneuver his riding mower. Sometimes he assigns this (paid) task to Old Buddy, his helper with flip projects. Not sure if Old Buddy uses the rider, or a push mower.

If the sidebar stuff doesn't cover it up, you can see the difference in the mowed section, and the upper unmowed section.

This is the front corner, where the city finally cut that little tree out of the ditch in front, which was by that electric pole.

The Pony also mowed along the front sidewalk:

That fluffy section was saved for later. It's hard to mow with the rolling push mower, because the ground is uneven, with little depressions where the wheels get stuck. 

The Pony says the mower is everything that was hoped for. The back yard will have to wait until after the next day's forecast of rain.

I'll Tell You What Else Is Annoying

Since Wednesday, I have been getting emails and alerts from Google every time I sign into my not-so-secret blog! That is uncalled-for! I do not need a security alert telling me I have signed in. I am allowed to have more than one account, you know. I'm accessing it on the same laptop I have used for over five years. Yet it says my Windows account has been signed into from a new device.

What can I blame for this? 

HIPPIE has a glitch sometimes that stops my internet. It still works for my phone. But not for HIPPIE, nor for my new laptop that I used for preparing my taxes last month. It hadn't happened in a while, but I believe it was Wednesday when it did again, and lasted more than the usual one exact hour. But it was less than two hours.

I always shut down HIPPIE before my town trip. Then turn him on again later in the evening. This time, HIPPIE went through the blue screen thing wanting me to set up my laptop. Like it does when you have a new device. He's done this on occasion over the past several years. I never know why. It hasn't caused these notices before.

MY PHONE wouldn't work on Wednesday morning at 6:00 when I tried to call The Pony. It looked like it was working. It let me go into the contacts and make the call. But there was no sound of ringing. And when I tried to send a text, it wouldn't go. So I did a re-start, which took about 10 minutes. Then I received a text from The Pony. And was able to call. The phone had said it was updating apps as it was coming back on.

Now I don't know which device is the culprit for these alerts. They come from Google, the no-reply emails, so I suppose they're legitimate and not phishing. They come to both this blog's email address, and the one for my not-so-secret blog. I do NOT get notices when I sign into THIS blog. 

Oh, and I get that little hourglass kind of symbol on my phone, telling me it's a Google Security Alert, and to click if the sign-in was me. Which I do. Or to click another button if I do not recognize the sign-in, and want to lock my account. Which I do not. I do not go into anything else to give any info or change any settings.

It's not that big a deal to delete two emails, and click on one button. Just annoying.

Very annoying.

___________________________________________________________________

NOW, seven hours after I wrote that, I'm getting security notices when I sign in to THIS blog, too. I hope this new pain in my rumpus goes away soon!

___________________________________________________________________

The Pony Gets Charged

The Pony's car battery was dead. Deader than dead. Not merely dead. Really most sincerely dead. It was probably several days that the passenger door had been incompletely closed from when The Pony last carried in groceries.

Farmer H left home in a fit of pique to drive to town and jump the battery. Muttering that he'd have to find some jumper cables. AS IF he doesn't carry them in SilverRedO, as he's carried jumper cables in his vehicle ever since I met him 39 years ago. Of course I warned The Pony of his mood.

When Farmer H wasn't back within 90 minutes, I called The Pony to see if there was an issue.

"Dad left about 10 minutes ago. He was mad when he got here, but just kind of grumpy when he left. We got it jumped, and drove it around for a while. It would have been fine if he'd listened to me. I TOLD him it was all the way dead. But he jumped it, and then said it was okay and I could turn it off. But it was dead again. After he let it go longer, then we drove around for it to charge up. He was trying to say it was the alternator gone bad at first, not the battery. I'm supposed to let it run for a half hour in the driveway. I have a timer so I remember to shut it off."

Farmer H came home and went to bed.

The next morning, Farmer H acted like nothing happened. Like he was not a big ol' meany for NO REASON, and so begrudging to assist his own blood family when a need arises.

"The Pony is going to the pharmacy over in Sis-Town around 9:00 when they open. Then getting gas on the way home, hoping the car will still start after gas."

"If it starts at all this morning. If the battery was all the way dead, I'll have to get a new one. I guess I could do that on my way home tonight. Better not shut it off at the pharmacy! And it's okay to leave the car running when pumping gas."

"WHAT? It won't explode? I was always taught to turn off the engine when getting gas. I'm pretty sure there used to be signs saying so!"

"People used to let their cars idle all the time when they got gas. It'll be fine."

I passed that info on to The Pony during a wake-up call at 7:00. Turns out The Pony decided not to get gas, but went on home after picking up meds at the drive-thru. It seems like the battery is charged now. Thanks to a hateful begrudging Farmer H!

Apparently, The Nice-Guy Do-Gooder Act Is Only For Strangers And Buddies

If you need any favors or rescuing, you are out of luck if you're related to Farmer H. His cheery helpfulness is not available for family members.

Friday evening, I was concluding a call with The Pony about our flip house, when The Pony said, 

"Oh, could Dad come by in the morning and jump my car? The battery is dead. I got in to go pick up prescriptions, and it wouldn't start. I guess it happened when you dropped me off that one day, and I walked by my car and shut the door that hadn't been closed all the way. I haven't been in it since then. I guess the light drained the battery. Can you give me a call when he leaves, so I'll be up and ready to start the car?"

"Yes, if my phone works. But he usually leaves here around 6:00."

I called to Farmer H, who had just carried his own laundry from the dryer to the living room.

"No wonder it's dead. He don't ever drive that car. It's not at all convenient in the morning."

"I'll call back and see."

"NO IT AIN'T ALL ABOUT ME!"

"Why are you yelling at me! That's not even what I said! "I'LL CALL BACK AND SEE."

"DON'T YOU YELL AT ME!"

"I'm yelling because you can't hear me if I don't! You make things up, and then get mad at me for no reason. The Pony was going to pick up medicine. I don't know if it should wait until you have time on Monday."

"I'll go now!"

Farmer H stormed out the door as I was waiting for The Pony to answer the phone.

"Dad just left. He's coming to do it now. He said tomorrow morning is not at all convenient for him."

"Ask if-- oh, you said he already left. I was going to say he could do it on his way home tomorrow, instead of in the morning."

"Well. He's on his way now. And he's not in a good mood. Just so you know."

"Okay. Now I feel bad."

The Pony's not the only one. 

That stupid SUS2.5 and making HIS money seems to be the only thing Farmer H cares about lately.

It's Maddening, I Tell You!

I just can't deal with this guy lately! You know full well the guy I'm talking about! Farmer H! Hoarder of all knowledge! But willing to share, to enlighten the people who cain't understand nothin'!

I hardly know where to begin. Perhaps with his latest treat, a package of strawberry wafer cookies. He opened them Wednesday evening after supper. A couple hours later, I saw them on the cutting block, the end of the wrapper tucked under, wedged up against the unopened package of generic iced oatmeal cookies.

"You're welcome! I closed up your cookies for you. I can't believe you were so lazy that you couldn't take ONE STEP to get a rubber band to close up that pack of cookies!"

"Oh. Thank you."

Then I opened FRIG II, and saw that after getting his slaw for supper, Farmer H had put the giant container on the only empty space, on the bottom shelf, that I had cleared to put his chicken and dumplings that I will make for him tomorrow.

"Can you not put anything back where you got it?"

"What did I not put back?"

"The slaw!"

"I put away the slaw!"

"What's so hard about putting something back where you got it??? Sitting right on top of the butter. For two nights in a row. But tonight you had to take up the space I cleared out on the shelf below it."

"I don't know what you want from me! I put it up!"

Then there was the discussion of our ongoing neverending sale of Bargain House, and the info we got from our Realtor Guy that came from The Buyer's realtor guy. Farmer H kept referring to the "buyer's agent."

"Who is that? What are you talking about. You keep saying AGENT! Does he have somebody else representing him?"

"The guy who's handling the sale. Who showed him the house. Like our guy."

"Why do you call him an AGENT? That's confusing me."

"What am I supposed to call him?"

"Realtor? Like ours? A person who buys and sells houses for a client."

"They ARE agents, HM. That's their name: Realtor State Agents."

SWEET GUMMI MARY! I could picture The Pony pounding a hoof against his forelock when I related this tale over the phone.

"Um. That's NOT what they're called!"

"I know! I guess maybe he was getting at Real Estate Agent?"

"You better HOPE that's what he meant. Because that's just... no."

THEN Farmer H told me that he was leaving early on Thursday morning because he had things to do before his two doctor appointments.

"I'm stopping by the motel."

"MOTEL? What in the Not-Heaven are you doing at a motel?"

"I mean hotel... you know... the apartments."

"Apartments are a lot different than a motel! I don't know what you've been up to lately!"

"Oh, HM. The apartment building used to be the National Hotel."

"I thought that was up the street, in the next block. It was the National Hotel, then the Y Apartments, and now it has that coffee shop downstairs."

"No. You're wrong. It was always where my apartments are."

Well. Who am I to question anything Farmer H decrees as true, anyway?

Farmer H makes my brain hurt. 

Which Nobody Can Deny (Except This One Guy)

Did you ever know somebody who is so stubborn they will NEVER admit to the obvious? That's kind of a rhetorical question. Of course you do. He lives right here at the Mansion!

Tuesday evening, Farmer H had fired up GassyG Jr to grill some sausages. He came in to wash his hands. Whoopsie! Didn't mean to make you faint. He was actually washing off his BBQ tongs that hang on the grill. Not that they're any use for turning sausage patties, but he was washing them just the same. Said his spatula "wasn't dirty." Despite hanging on the side of the grill all this time with the tongs.

Anyhoo... it was quite a production. Rather than running some water in the sink, or just squirting dish detergent on those tongs to wash them... Farmer H used my Bath and Body Works soap that sits on the kitchen sink. Not the FREE detergent that he brought home a case of a couple years ago. He might as well have been a surgeon scrubbing up for surgery. He lathered up his forearms, hands, and the tongs. Then rinsed them under the stream of water he'd left running. Then shook them over the sink, and reached for a paper towel from the holder on the cutting block.

Farmer H walked to FRIG II to get out the sausage patties.

SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK

"Well. Now you've got water on the floor, tracking it across the kitchen. So dirty spots will start to show up as you traipse around."

"I didn't get no water on the floor."

"Those squeaks say different."

Farmer H came back to the sink. SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK. He ran his hands around the edge. 

"See? There ain't no water. I didn't splash nothin'."

"Then why do your shoes make that noise every time you take a step?"

"I don't know. Maybe my shoes just squeak."

Let the record show that Farmer H made no move to look at the floor, or drop a paper towel down to wipe up the water. Which you KNOW was there. He took the sausages outside, not looking back.

Who you gonna believe, Farmer H, or your lyin' ears?

The Helper Is Sometimes Not So Helpful

Farmer H has been better about carrying in groceries lately. Or maybe he's just informed me of his absenteeism better. A few times, I've known he wouldn't be home, and thus left some nonperishable items in T-Hoe for later, and only carried in what was necessary. After that shot of Kenalog in my right knee, it has not been as painful. That's not to say I'm ready to dance Swan Lake. But it's easier to walk on a flat surface without thinking that knee might collapse on any step.

Sometimes Farmer H carries things in, and sets all the bags on the cutting block, then disappears to his recliner. Other times, he will put some items away. Oh, not where they really go, of course. And usually it just makes more work for me. But I've seen it as a goodwill effort. I think that it's not what I assumed.

Farmer H is FORAGING! Looking for treats in those bags or boxes of groceries! I often bring him treats. Last week, he was taking his little pies with him to his SUS2.5 for lunches! He even took the last Party Cake pie, of which I had asked for a single bite when he opened it. Also, he took a bag of cookies that I'd just bought a couple days previous.

Friday, he was standing at the cutting block, setting groceries on it, and digging back into the bags.

"Huh. I thought you might be putting away those mini drumsticks. They've got to get into the freezer. I couldn't find your kind. Two stores were out. I didn't get you anything today."

With that, Farmer H took the mini drums to the mini freezer in the laundry room. Then he went to his recliner!

"Oh. I guess you're done putting stuff away!"

"I put the bananas in the bowl. And them drumsticks."

"You quit because you found out there's nothing here for you! I thought about bringing you something, but there wasn't a display of anything, and I didn't go to the cookie aisle."

"I need treats, too!"

I put away the sour cream that Farmer H couldn't turn to set in FRIG II. And the four cans of white meat chicken, two cans of chicken broth, and two cans of cream of chicken soup that I had bought to make him chicken and dumplings later. Then the bread. I saw that Farmer H had left the 12-pack of toilet paper on a kitchen chair.

I'm used to putting things away. I don't have to have Farmer H's help. It's just that I had mistaken his previous behavior as contributing to household chores, not digging for culinary treasures!

I still can't find the box of tall kitchen trash bags that I KNOW I bought that day...

A Surprise Feast

I was planning to have some chicken chunks and BBQ slaw for my supper on Sunday. Farmer H was going to have bacon sandwiches with the bacon left that I didn't use for the 7 layer salad at Easter. But Farmer H is a tricky one. He brought home some pulled pork and smoked brisket from a dinner at our credit union on Saturday night. So he had some of that, and I used some to make myself...

SUPER NACHOS

I didn't want just a pulled pork sandwich, with BBQ sauce added. I wanted to use it for something I haven't had in a while.

Isn't that beautiful? It was even better to eat than it was to look at. You can't see all my ingredients. They were laid down in this order:

12 tortilla chips

half a bag of shredded lettuce

1 oz of shredded cheddar cheese

a small handful of pulled pork (I don't know how else to describe the measurement!)

seven tablespoons of salsa

one diced Vidalia onion

six tablespoons of sour cream

half a mini can of sliced black olives

It's not a diet meal, heh, heh! I estimate it at 800 calories. Not a big deal to me, since I only had a banana and oatmeal for my other meal of the day.

I plan on having it again Monday night. This time, I will add some Franks Original Red Hot Sauce in the layer between the pulled pork and salsa. It needs a little kick.

I Whined Because I Had No Feet, And Then I Met A Man Who Tried To Kill Me With New Feet

One day last week, I was grousing about my seat at the kitchen table. You know, because I'm a grouser by nature. When something displeases me, it is known! I do it all the time, whether Farmer H is here or not. It usually concerns something he has done (shocking, I know).

Anyhoo... our kitchen table is my mom's old kitchen table. It's wood, with wooden chairs. The chairs have metal feet, which can leave marks on the linoleum with repeated use. Farmer H had put pads on the metal feet. Which work fine, except that they don't STAY on the metal feet. Well. All but one of them do. 

For months, there's been the right front foot on my chair that comes loose. So every time I get up and move the chair out of the walking area, that foot pad is off. When I come back to the table, I have to pick up the chair and set it back down on the foot pad, then maneuver it carefully into the position where I want to sit. This becomes tedious after doing it many times a day, week after week, month after month.

"I am SO tired of lifting this chair to put it back on its foot!"

Nothing I haven't said before. Farmer H was in his recliner in the living room. I didn't expect that he heard me. Not that it would matter. I've told him to his face at least five times, as he walks in the kitchen door, that his chair feet pads are not working for me.

Imagine my surprise when he came in the next week saying,

"I've got feet for your chair whenever you get up off it."

Ah, the language of love. Such a wonderful way to say he's thinking of me. I went on about my business later that afternoon. Had my 20 minute nap, showered, went to town. After fixing Farmer H's supper, I went back to the table with my scratchers. I pulled the chair out, expecting to have to search for that wayward foot pad. But the chair slid easily!

TOO EASILY!

My kitchen chair (as well as Farmer H's, I saw) now had white plastic foot pads. They slid like a puck across a hockey rink! I was afraid to sit down! Because, you know, chairs like to slide out from under me, and I don't have a fast reaction time to recover. In fact, The Pony stands behind the chair to brace it when I sit down at the grill in the casino, or on a wheely chair at a property closing. It's because my knees barely bend to 90 degrees. I get mostly into sitting position, but then I have to plop the rest of the way down.

I suspect this might be another of Farmer H's attempts to kill me! Who would ever suspect such a plot? It was merely a husband upgrading his wife's chair feet...

I positioned the chair just right. Put my left hand on the chair back, and my right hand on the kitchen table. I tried to be ready to abort the mission at the last minute, should I sense a slide before my rumpus reached the seat. Thankfully, there was minimum slide-age. But then I realized I had to get up!

The getting up was actually scarier than the sitting down. Because that chair could scoot backwards as I had my left hand on the back, and throw me off balance before I was standing. I sat there about five minutes, dreading, planning. I made it! At least the chair seems more stable when getting up than sitting down.

Of course I discussed my concerns with Farmer H. Who replied: "Huh." Not sure if that was his typical response for not giving a fat rat's patootie, or an expression of disappointment for his failed plot.

Chinese Easter

When The Pony came out last Thursday to help with pre-preparations for our Easter Dinner on Good Friday, we didn't want to deal with making regular food for our lunch (or Farmer H's supper). The plan was to pick up Chinese food on the way back to the Mansion. It's on our route, and opens at 10:30. So it was easy to get my banking and T-Hoe gassing errands done, and grab lunch at 11:00.

I put mine and Farmer H's in FRIG II for later. The Pony ate a regular lunch (which I don't) around 1:00. Well. That's when The Pony set up lunch on the marred coffee table in the living room. The eating was done intermittently, while coming to the kitchen to fetch things for me. It's a big help.

The Pony had Orange Chicken, with white rice and crab rangoons. I believe the drink is rum and sparkling apple juice.

I had the Chicken and Broccoli. It came with white rice, which I gave to The Pony. It smelled FANTASTIC! I wished I had time to eat it right then, but one quick bite, and I saved it for supper after I took The Pony back home at 4:00. I don't know why they put carrots in my Chicken and Broccoli. Maybe that's a thing? I don't really like carrots this way. But I ate them. I wish the picture wasn't out of focus.

Farmer H got the lunch special, which came in a bigger container, with fried rice, and a crab rangoon. It was Hunan Chicken, and smelled every bit as delicious as mine, even though I don't like spicy food.

It almost makes me want to spend two days preparing a big dinner again, just to get Chinese, heh, heh! Although we could get it any time. 

The Pony Is My Conscience

Well. Apparently Mrs. HM is a lowlife scumbag these days. Through a faux-pas not of her making, and unbeknownst to her in the moment. So kind of The Pony to point it out...

We were checking out at Country Mart on Thursday. The Pony always goes first, paying and putting bagged items back in the cart while I set mine on the conveyor. 

I didn't have much. A pair of fake CROCS that cost $8.98. A box of microwave popcorn, some cherry tomatoes, a jar of green olives, a can of black olives, a bottle of Ken's Blue Cheese Salad Dressing, and four 6-packs of Farmer H's Diet Mountain Dew. Which was on sale, 2-for-$9.00. Three of the 6-packs were down in the cart, with one perched on the side of the cart, for easy scanning.

The cashier was a young man, maybe 21. He rang up wine for The Pony, so at least he was legal age to do that, though he looked younger. He offered The Pony a receipt (refused), and turned to greet me.

"I have four of the sodas."

"Okay." Cashier Boy used the gun to scan the barcode of the perched 6-pack. I heard it. Beep, beep, beep, beep. Then he scanned my other items by dragging them over the thingy, and bagged them. I took my receipt, The Pony commenting to Cashier Boy how I was one of those people who still balanced their checkbook.

"I just did that this morning! That's what old people do!"

I wheeled the cart out of the way while stuffing the receipt in my pocket. Cashier Boy was greeting the next customer as The Pony and I walked past the two lottery machines, which we had already partaken of as we came in.

"Let me see your receipt."

"Okay. But I need it to write in my checkbook, so don't lose it."

We walked on. Almost to the door.

"Uh huh. Just as I thought. You only paid for three sodas."

"WHAT? I heard the scanner! It beeped four times!"

"I heard it too. It DID beep four times. But you only paid for three."

"Oh, no! That means I got charged full price. Because they're 2-for-$9.00. And they always have that sign with 'OR $5.69 EACH.'"

"No. They each rang up as $4.50."

"Let me see!"

Indeed, that was on the receipt. 3 @ 2/9.00. 13.50 as their total.

"Well. It's too late now. He's ringing up other people. There's a line. If I had heard it, or if you had told me while we were standing there, I would have paid for the other one. But now I'm not going back. He won't be in any trouble. Nobody will know. It's not like a gas drive-off, or the lottery count coming up wrong."

The Pony shook his head in disappointment. I agree that I SHOULD have gone back. I have done that so many times, and rescued so many clerks from their lottery errors. This was too much inconvenience. I know it's wrong. But overall, I feel like I'm still in the plus column for doing the right thing...

The Pony begs to differ.

Another Attempt Thwarted?

I was at the kitchen table Thursday morning, on the phone with The Pony about our Errand Day, when I saw a WASP buzz past my face!

"I've gotta go! I need the flyswatter. A wasp is sitting on the window trim over my shoulder. I'm sure Dad let it in this morning to kill me! Talk to you later!"

That dang wasp was HUGE. At least two inches long. It clung to the window trim, probably rubbing its hands in glee, while I went to the cutting block to retrieve a flyswatter that hangs on a hook from its metal frame. I crept back and 

WHAP!

One quick, forceful swat, and that wasp fell to the flat top of a little container I have sitting under the window. I grabbed half a Puffs With Lotion (already torn in half, because I am miserly and don't use a whole tissue when a half works just fine) and scooped up the wasp, squishing as I did so. Then I took him to the toilet and flushed him.

CRUSHED and FLUSHED!

That's the only way to get rid of such an unwelcome guest! I don't trust them. Many a time (before I gained some sense) I have swatted a wasp, and put it in the wastebasket, only to see it later buzzing around the Mansion again! Or my $17,000 house. They don't stay dead! It's like you can crunch them, folded upon themselves like origami, and still they come back to life. 

I really hope this one doesn't miraculously reanimate, and swim up from the toilet at a time when I am... um... indisposed!

Cutting Remarks

Since last summer, The Pony has been asking for a lawnmower. Not a riding mower or a push mower, but an old-fashioned mower with a revolving cylinder of blades. Like from the 1950s, such as you might see on Leave it to Beaver, or The Andy Griffith Show, just before a housewife brings out a pitcher of lemonade for the kid mowing her yard. The Pony isn't wanting any lemonade. Just a silent mower that could be used any time of early morning or late evening, and not bother the neighbors.

Farmer H said he has several of those mowers. He's been meaning to get one to The Pony. But hasn't. Winter came and went. Now it's mowing season again. The Pony reminds me each week on Errand Day that Farmer H still hasn't provided such a mower.

We both emphasized this need when we were all together at Easter Dinner. On Tuesday, Farmer H said he was going down to his Creekside Cabin to get a mower for The Pony. I guess he has it with a bunch of his other junk collectibles down there. Yet he came back without a mower.

"It ain't good enough. The blades are too dull on the best one I have. You'd be wore out trying to mow with it, and the grass wouldn't be any shorter."

On Wednesday, Farmer H went to a local hardware store and ordered an old-fashioned push mower for The Pony. He picks it up on Tuesday. It cost $152.38, which was the price of $139.99, plus 12.39 tax. The Pony knows, and is okay with paying that.

It won't take too long for that new old mower to earn its keep. Farmer H charges The Pony $35 for lawnmowing. Sometimes it's $45, and a couple times it was $50. I don't know if that's because he's paying Old Buddy by the hour to do it, or if sometimes there's weed-eating as well. In the summer, Farmer H mows twice a week.

I hope that mower is everything The Pony hopes it will be.

A Delayed Reveal

When I left the Gas Station Chicken Store on Thursday, I informed Fave that I wouldn't be seeing her on Friday, because we were having an early Easter Dinner. As usual, I had given her a couple of scratchers in an envelope. Just a little token of good will for her cheerful clerking. I don't expect any favors for it. It's always fun to hear on Friday if she won anything.

When I returned on Saturday, Fave was glad to see me.

"I couldn't wait to tell you yesterday, but then I remembered you wouldn't be here. I won $100 on my tickets! Actually, I won $106, but I had a $100 winner on a $5 crossword."

"Ooh! That's great!"

"Yeah. The back had [REDACTED] on it, so I figured it was from over in Sis-Town."

"Yes, from the Casey's. When I buy yours, I always get two. I take the first one, and then the second is yours. That way I don't have to try and choose a lucky number, or guess which one I think is a winner. So it seems that I was only one ticket away from a $100 winner, heh, heh. Good to know. I bet you were surprised."

"I thought I was going to win $50. I had the four bonus words at the bottom, and they each won $10. Then I scratched off the prize from the top, because I had three words up there. And under that prize was $60. I'm pretty sure I hollered!"

Heh, heh! It always makes me happy when Fave has a good winner. I don't ask what she plans to do with it, and this time she didn't volunteer. Not my business, but it's interesting to hear if she wants to share.

Here's hoping to more future jackpots for Fave. And for me too, of course!