A Little Too Much (More) Information?

You may recall that back on August 13, Farmer H had some minor surgery. What he referred to as "roto-rootering my prostate." Since then, he has not been pleased with the results. Not satisfied. Not even resigned. It did not turn out the way he was led to believe. He's been back a couple times with issues that couldn't wait for a follow-up appointment. Sometimes for pain and inability to pee, or for unexpected bleeding. He never got a good explanation or relief.

On Wednesday, Farmer H went back to see the traveling urological NP that he had last time, and really liked. Enough time had elapsed to use a scope to look inside and see what was causing his problems. According to Farmer H:

"I seen it right away. Even before he pointed it out. There's some scar tissue, and one piece has something attached to the end of it. The guy called it a crystal or something. It wiggled all around as he was moving the scope. He says the movement is irritating some blood vessels, and that's why I still pass little blood clots. And that this scar tissue thing flops down and blocks the opening. That would explain it. 

They pumped me full of saline to run the scope, and when I peed afterwards, I actually peed a stream. He said it might work out, and I might pass it. But that he's looking to go in and cut it out. Maybe Friday, or next Friday. And he'll burn the blood vessels so they'll quit bleeding. They're going to call me. I was hoping it might come out, after having the scope up in there. I went pee when I got home, and I had a stream going, but then it stopped all at once. Like that thing flopped over the hole again."

Hopefully this will solve the problem, and Farmer H can get back to "normal." The bad thing is (in my opinion, but he doesn't care) is that he'll have to be under general anesthesia again. He got the call, and it's scheduled for Friday. He has to be there at 5:00 a.m. The Pony is going to be his driver.

I'm not real happy that it's on Friday the 13th.

Skullduggery, Phantom, Or Nearsightedness?

Last Sunday, there was a tiny bit of panic in Hillmomba. It may or may not have been solely in Mrs. HM's noggin.

I came home from town like normal. The dogs ran to greet me. I took off Pepper's collar for charging, and gave them a treat of a cut-up cold hot dog. As I was putting away groceries, I heard them barking their fool heads off in the front yard. What in the Not-Heaven? I went to check on them. Both were facing Shackytown Boulevard.

I opened the front door and stepped out on the porch. They ran up the steps, wriggling with joy for an unscheduled petting. Then turned to look towards the BARn area, and bark some more. 

Nobody had been at the BARn as I passed on the gravel road. I always look, to see if Farmer H might be home, and have SilverRedO or the Gator parked over there. Even though I knew that today was Sunday, and he was at his SUS2.5, not coming home early. It was just the white truck that HOS is buying by working it out. Parked by Farmer H's burn pile, where they had moved it a couple weeks ago.

Now I saw a vehicle parked on the lower side of the burn pile, facing the Mansion. It was kind of coppery-silver, like the truck with the red door that Farmer H's junking buddy has. Only this vehicle was lower. Like a sedan, maybe. Or a mini van.

Of course I got on the phone to Farmer H.

"Is anybody supposed to be over at the BARn today? I see a car or something parked by your burn pile."

"No. There ain't nobody supposed to be there. My one buddy might deer hunt sometime, but he just left here a couple minutes ago. So it ain't him. Or my squirrel buddy, but he parks by the driveway, and comes in the mornings. So nobody should be there. I guess it could be HOS, if he came to work on the truck. I don't know what he'd be driving except his mom's car, but I don't know what she has now."

"The dogs are going crazy, looking over that way. Do you want me to drive over and check? Can I get through by your sheds?"

"No, I have my trailer parked there. You'll have to go around up by the sinkhole. But you don't have to. It should be okay."

"I don't mind. I haven't changed out of my town clothes. I'm just afraid Pepper might get into trouble following me. I'll put his collar back on, and drive over there."

I drove to check. There was nothing in the field except that bright white truck HOS has been working  on. The dogs followed and came back with me. I called Farmer H to report my findings. Of nothing! I looked out the front door again, and didn't see anything but that white truck.

Now I don't know if I was seeing things the first time. Or if somebody had been there and heard me hollering at the dogs, "WHAT are you barking at?" Then left while I was in the house calling Farmer H. I didn't notice any tire tracks in the grass. Maybe it was just a late Halloween phantom.

Errand Day Drama

Errand Day started off like normal. I picked up The Pony one minute early. We passed by Casey's because they looked busy, and went to the bank first. The only car at the only open drive-thru lane pulled away as soon as I put T-Hoe in line. The gal inside was prompt and polite in giving me my weekly withdrawal. 

We made a short stop at the Save A Lot, so The Pony could run in and get four scratchers out of the machine. Two for me, one for Genius, and one for Fave. There was a lady lurking at the side/front of the building, but she wasn't blocking my handicap space. She was waiting for an Uber, and was picked up before The Pony returned.

Back to Casey's, which now had my preferred Pump 4 open. Little did I know how exciting this visit would become. 

"Why are those people still standing in front? They were there when we went by the first time."

"It looks like that group who sets up a table to sell things or ask for donations."

"Dang it! Why are they RIGHT BY THE RAMP? Now I have to walk right up to them and get accosted."

"I don't know, Mom. They're usually down by the doors."

"Well, I'm not looking forard to this, but T-Hoe needs gas. What did we get last time? Was it $35? I think I'll get $40, because the gauge is a little lower."

Let the record show that this is less than half a tank, to top off T-Hoe every week. Maybe 3/8 of a tank. I don't measure the gallons, I just pay a round amount that I think T-Hoe will hold.

I went inside to pre-pay for T-Hoe's gas, and The Pony waited until the credit showed on the pump, to start filling T-Hoe while I used the bathroom inside. I thought I could skate by the beggars, since they were talking to a man who was buying something. I tried not to look, lest they wrongly assume interest and philanthropy. It looked like different t-shirts, and maybe some keychains or lanyards. Three women were stationed at the table.

"How are you today, Ma'am?"

"Good!" I kept walking. Several other people were passing by me, headed back to their cars.

Inside, only one register was open. It was the purple-haired lady, who is really nice. She had to get my tickets from a big box off to the side. She said they were getting a new ticket system. And that all the numbers were one off from the numbers on the display I was choosing from. She asked me if each ticket was right as she pulled it out. I helped by describing which one as I said the numbers. She was pretty efficient. I paid for $40 worth of gas, and my scratchers. Then I headed to the bathroom.

When I left the store, I knew I had to run the gauntlet of the beggars again. I steeled myself for the interaction and took two steps--

"Mom! Mom! Wait!"

It was The Pony, trotting across the parking lot to intercept me before I got to the beggars and the ramp. This scared me. Was something wrong with The Pony? A robber? Locked out of T-Hoe? Sick?

"I wanted to catch you before you walked all the way back! The pump shut off and said to see the cashier. I couldn't get any more gas in. I think there's about six dollars and something you should get back. Since YOU are the one who paid, I doubt they'd give the money to me."

"Yeah. Okay. That's a relief." We went inside and got in line for the $6.45 refund.

Coming out the door, the drama unfolded. A man on the sidewalk said, "Ma'am, it's not safe for you here. I'm calling 9-1-1." He wasn't talking to me. I think it was to one of the beggars. She was coming towards us, away from the table.

A stocky man stood in the empty parking space where The Pony had just come across a few minutes earlier. "Go ahead, then. CALL the police! Do you think I care? Come out here and do what you said you were going to do! You don't want none of this! Come on! Right now! Do it!"

The Pony and I continued unmolested. I passed the table without any begging. The Pony cut between a couple of cars. The stocky man was milling around in the empty spaces. He slammed his hat down on the pavement, still yelling, then picked it up and moved toward the slim guy with glasses who was calling 9-1-1. 

A man came out of Casey's, who I assume was some type of regional manager. He had been dealing with the register area, and had asked Purple Hair to sign something on his phone with her finger in the middle of my transaction. He was wearing black slacks and a red polo shirt with the Casey's logo. As I glanced back, he was telling Slim to go inside the store. Stocky continued to rant.

I wish I knew the outcome! We guessed that maybe Stocky had insulted the beggar-women, and Slim was going to be their hero. Slim didn't look like one to start something. 

Our business was done, and I left. No need to hang around and get in the middle of something "we didn't want none of!"

Such excitement on this Errand Day.

I'm Pretty Sure This Is Some Kind Of Irony

The Pony came out on Tuesday, courtesy of SilverRedO and Farmer H, to help move furniture. Farmer H wanted to take the short couch downstairs, and move a bed frame into Genius's old bedroom. Which first meant moving the other bed frame out of Genius's old bedroom. 

I'm not sure where Farmer H got the big wooden bed frame. Maybe out of Cheap House. He had HOS (Farmer H's Oldest Son) help him load it and unload it last week. It has been sitting on the porch by the steps to the garage, leaned up against the Mansion. Never mind that I told him this was a stupid idea. I would imagine Jack has peed on it several times by now...

Anyhoo... The Pony wanted to take the couch out the front door, and drive it around back to the basement door in SilverRedO. But Farmer H said it would be no problem getting it down the 13 rail-less basement steps. He said the legs screw off. They're round, about four inches high. Then it should fit right down the stairs.

The Pony figured, as did I, that they'd stand the short couch on end, at the landing at the top of the stairs, then tip it over in an inverted V, with one person at the bottom (Pony), and the other up top. That way they could get a grip on the couch and maneuver it down slowly.

Oh, no. Farmer H had The Pony standing midway down those steps, and was balancing that couch over the banister that lines the rectangular entrance down to the basement. I almost flipped out when I glanced toward the living room and saw him! He was ordering The Pony to step down another step. Then he heaved the couch. That meant The Pony was bearing the weight of the whole thing. It put a gouge in the wall above the steps, because The Pony couldn't grasp it right. Then Farmer H moved to the landing, and followed it down, telling The Pony to let it slide to the bottom.

Thankfully, nobody was injured. They got the short couch set up in the basement. The Pony came upstairs, grousing quietly about the change of "plans." Apologizing for the wall, which was entirely Farmer H's fault. 

Anyhoo... at that point, I heard Farmer H say, coming up the stairs:

"This is terrible. I need a handrail here."

To which I said, "If only I had asked for such a thing 28 years ago!"

Poison, Apple

Who knew that a single trip to the Devil's Playground could provide me with so much material to waste your time! I wish I had taken pictures of Farmer H's flatbread pizza, and the pasta. I guess I was just in a hurry to get his supper over with.

Once I had served him half of the Chicken Fettuccine Alfredo, I felt a stab of conscience. Wasn't there some kind of pasta recall at the Devil's Playground recently? Nationwide? With a possibility of DEATH due to listeria??? 

I recalled asking The Pony, a pasta aficionado, about it. And was assured that The Pony's favorite was bags of refrigerated Rana brand 5 Cheese Tortellini. Never fettuccine. Well, this was not good. Farmer H was already eating his supper. I consulted my estranged BFF Google.

Whew! That was a close one. I had bought Fresh Market Chicken Fettuccine Alfredo for Farmer H. It came from the refrigerated section of the deli, in a tray with a cellophane top. And the recall had been for Bettergoods Lemon Alfredo Fettuccine, which was frozen, in a bright yellow bag. Farmer H would live to berate me again!

Speaking (technically typing) of berating... When I arrived home that day, Farmer H came out to the garage to carry in the groceries.

"Be careful getting those bags out! I have apples again, and I don't want you letting one fall out like last time!" 

The week before, when I heard an apple hit the concrete garage floor, and saw Farmer H stoop to pick it up, I told him that was HIS apple! And made sure I sent it in his lunch for the SUS2.5. I didn't want a repeat. Those apples were kind pricey.

Farmer H carried in the bags without incident, then went about his business of doing who knows what outside (though I'm sure it was something to annoy me in the future).

While taking items out of the bags, I DROPPED AN APPLE ON THE KITCHEN FLOOR! It bounced and rolled. Dang it! I picked it up and set it on the counter. To become my nightly apple after supper. That was only fair. It didn't have time for the bruise to develop much.

I confess that the thought of making it Farmer H's lunch apple crossed my mind.

Pony Sandwich

While we're on the subject of sandwiches... Can you tell I've been watching my food intake for the past two years, heh, heh? We'll take a moment for The Pony's selection during our dalliance with the Devil.

The Pony usually prefers pasta meals, utilizing storebought pastas that come in a bag, then adding ingredients. However, sometimes a Pony just wants something simple, like a chicken sandwich off the hot bar at the Devil's Playground. I had tried the chicken strips from there, but was not impressed.

"I really like this chicken sandwich. I'm getting one for tonight if they have it."

That's the thing. You can't always find the same item twice at the Devil's Playground. Sometimes they run out, and sometimes they switch items. But The Pony was lucky on Thursday, and got the chicken sandwich. It comes wrapped in a foil packet.

"The sandwich. I still think breaded cutlet is the best description because it's not like a chicken patty. Decided to have a drink with it. The  "winter spiced cranberry" Sprite is...not exactly good? I mean I didn't try it outside of the drink, but the taste isn't something I'd have just to have it. It does I think mix fairly well with the rum."

The Pony was referring to a 2-liter bottle of Sprite that was on display up front. It was labeled as Winter Spiced Cranberry. I think it was Sprite Zero Sugar, because The Pony looked at the label, and mentioned how it didn't have calories. 

Anyhoo... at first I thought the chicken looked like it might have Buffalo Sauce on it, but I think it's just a fried chicken cutlet. I don't know what The Pony might have added to it. Looks pretty good to me. Though I would put on pickle and onion and some yellow mustard mixed with Chinese hot mustard. I don't think I'd like the Sprite.

Winner, Winner, Deli Sandwich Dinner

The Devil redeemed himself with my second sandwich. This one had taste. It had flavor. I would get it again. But still trim off some bread.

This sandwich is the New York Deli.

It contains Pastrami, Black Forest Ham, Hard Salami, and Baby Swiss Cheese on White French Bread. Maybe it's just the bread I'm not fond of. I still trimmed a bunch of it off. This time slicing down the length of the top and bottom sections. Then I heated this one in the oven.

The picture promised me this:

What I got was this:

Pretty close, don't you think? Plus, it came with a packet of yellow mustard, and Duke's mayonnaise. Farmer H can have the mustard to take to his SUS2.5 with his mini cheeseburgers. I used the Duke's mayo. Not all at once, just a little squirt on each bite. I find there's more flavor that way. And since I'm not eating in person at a fancy restaurant, I have no qualms about my manners. I also had a crunchy dill pickle on the side, and a few of Farmer H's Ruffles potato chips. The crumbs at the bottom of the bag that he shuns.

It's a bit disconcerting to see all the ingredients that are not actual food. But as for the nutrition, you can't go wrong with 30 grams of protein.

Yes, I would definitely have this New York Deli sandwich again. But the Chicken Bacon Ranch sandwich can go cross the road!

The Devil Disappoints

My shopping at the Devil's Playground was mostly convenience type foods. 

Chicken Bacon Ranch Sandwich

American Deli Sandwich

Mini Cheese Pizza

Flatbread Pizza

Chicken Alfredo Fettucine

Ham chunks

Honey Crisp Apples

Bananas

The sandwiches were for me, and the mini pizza. Farmer H was having the fettucine and flatbread pizza. Stuff that's quick, and so I don't have to eat what he's eating. Stuff we haven't had for a while, since I don't usually shop at the Devil's Playground

I told The Pony I was excited about the Chicken Bacon Ranch Sandwich. I was having it first. Oh, how disappointed I was! I didn't get a picture of the sandwich, because who does that? Once I started eating it, I knew the story had to be told. To shame The Devil! So I dug the label out of the wastebasket.

Of course my sandwich didn't look like this. At least their label warms you. And I could see through the plastic anyway. It was more like a mini loaf of bread with something painted inside. That would have been fine, if only my sandwich had TASTE. It did not! Not even a taste of bread. It was like eating bread, from the texture, but absolutely no taste. Unless I dabbed a bit of the Bacon Ranch dressing on it, which had come in a separate packet, like mustard.

I really expected some kind of flavor. My sandwich had Oven Roasted Chicken Breast, Provolone Cheese, Applewood Smoked Bacon, Bacon Ranch, and White French Bread. ALL devoid of flavor. Except the Bacon Ranch.

I even pulled off at least half of the bread, hoping for some meat or cheese taste. Nope.

The dogs liked the bread well enough. I'm not sure they are taste connoisseurs. After all, they lick their own butts.

Business With The Devil

Mrs. HM has a confession. She has been doing business with the Devil. In his Playground. 

You may recall that Mrs. HM had not set foot into the Devil's Playground for over four years. Ever since The Virus, when she took objection to being made to walk around the end of cattle chutes set up along the front of the store. Such a distance for one who needs a handicap parking space. Only to find that such a parking space doubled the distance she had to walk to get inside. The one-way arrows on alternate aisles was also a bone of contention.

Anyhoo... I think it was near the end of September when The Pony asked if I felt like making a sortie to the Devil's Playground.

"They have new carts now. I'm not sure you'll like them. The handle is way up high, like to your chest. But they do have more registers open now. About half. Not just the self-checkout, which I know you don't like."

Because my knees and legs have felt a bit better, I agreed to try. With the stipulation that The Pony could bring me a cart to push as I walked in. The plan was just to look around the deli department the first time. Because it's at the front of the store, by the doors. There was a dearth of handicap spaces available the first couple times we went, but I found one close to the end of a parking aisle. And the last time, we got a space next to the cart return. It was a longer walk, but there was a cart right there for me to push.

Anyhoo... we went back on Errand Day. I got an actual handicap space. And I agreed to walk unaided into the store to where the inside carts were. It was kind of a big step for me. Along with the deli, we made it halfway to the back of the store, where I was looking for some wafered ham for sandwiches and tearing up to put in a mini pizza I got from the deli.

Of course I was not happy about my shopping experience. Everywhere you turn these days are employees with tall racks of multiple bins, shopping for people who want their groceries delivered. They act all self-important. Good luck trying to squeeze in and get your own merchandise off a shelf.

Anyhoo... The Pony trotted to the other end of the store to get a couple items from the pharmacy area. Then rejoined me at the bananas, where I was trying to outmaneuver two employee-shoppers having a conversation while tending their racks of bins.

"I put my step-counter on my phone. So we can see how much we walk. Yours will probably be about half of mine, since I made that extra trip."

Once we got back to T-Hoe, The Pony checked the steps.

"I walked a half-mile. So yours was probably at least a quarter mile."

"Wow! That's a LOT for me! And I feel pretty good. It was just starting to hurt as we left, from standing in line. My bones on bones were complaining."

I know that a quarter-mile is nothing to rejoice about for a normal person. But for me, who has only been going in and out of stores for my sole exercise, this was a big deal. I imagine the running track. 440 yards around. Or for you metric people, 400 meters. I can't imagine walking that far, even pushing a cart. Yet I did. Sure, there were multiple stops along the way. But I'm impressed with myself.

The More Who Know

Our enclave is going to have to find a new whipping boy. Hopefully not literally. More of a figurative whipping boy. A shooing-away-and-complaining-about boy. Pepper is no longer an option. Even though we only had the one complaint, from our neighbor across the road. Farmer H made it pretty clear the last time she contacted him about "seeing Pepper" down at Mailbox Row, that it was NOT Pepper, who now wears a shock collar. The news left her discombobulated.

Anyhoo... on Tuesday, Farmer H was coming up our gravel road and saw the dog-walkers. They are a couple who walk two dogs apiece on leashes down the gravel road. I've seen them once. I guess they do it every day. Those dogs aren't going to walk themselves. They're captives!

"Pepper was in our yard by the trash dumpster, barking at them. I stopped and told the guy, 'He has a shock collar, and he knows he cain't come out in the road.' The guy said, 'I noticed that he's been staying about 10 feet back from the road.' So there's more people that know our dog ain't the one if anybody has trouble with a white dog."

"Was Pepper bothering them before?"

"He didn't say nothin' about it. I'm guessing he would run out and bother the dogs."

"With Pepper, I'm thinking it's more like he'd run out and try to get attention from the people."

"Maybe. He still acts like a pup. But them people know he ain't gettin' out."

Pepper seems quite happy with his new boundaries. It doesn't stop him from trying to go farther, but the trying stops when he gets that warning sound. He especially enjoys getting the collar taken off and on for charging, because he gets a treat.

I Cain't Have Nothin' Of My Own

Farmer H came home unexpectedly on Wednesday, around 1:45.

"What's that motor running?"

"The tractor."

"Why are you in here with it running?"

"I've gotta get HOS something to drink. He's dying." 

"How are you going to do that?"

Because, you see, FRIG II's ice maker is still not working. I buy a bag of ice in town. We're almost out right now. And we only have Solo cups to take water outside to the tractor. Farmer H opened up FRIG II.

"Here's a bottle of water right here."

FARMER H GRABBED MY BOTTLE OF WATER!

"Um. NO. That's MY water. It's half empty. I take it to town every day. I put more in when it's empty. I've had it for months."

"Huh. I ain't never seen you with it."

He held it in his hands, peering into it. The bottle was only half full.

"I had it with me YESTERDAY in the Acadia with you, on our way to vote!"

"Huh. I don't know what you're yelling at me for."

"Because I can't have anything of my own around here! Not even a months-old half-bottle of already-drank water!"

Farmer H reached right beside my water, and picked up two bottles. One Sprite, and one Diet Mountain Dew. They were makeshift water bottles that I'd been filling for him since his surgery. He took them outside for himself and HOS. I don't know why that wasn't his first choice. He drinks out of them regularly, and sets them on the kitchen counter when empty. Because he can't fill them himself, apparently. But I DO wash them out before refilling.

The nerve of that guy!

He left, complaining that I always yell at him. Forgetting that when I don't yell, he says he can't hear me. 

I Expected More For My $988.20

Is it wrong of me to expect T-Hoe to run well after paying $988.20 for repairs last week? As I used to say to my students when posing a question with an obvious response: "Let me answer for you..." NO! I am not wrong. The work was done. The bill was paid. Now things should be back to normal. Well. Except for our bank account.

Everything was fine on Errand Day with The Pony. The gas tank issue has been fixed. You can even put the nozzle in and clip the handle thingy so it pumps itself. Everything was fine on Thursday. And Friday. And Saturday. 

The only difference I noticed was that when backing out of the garage a couple times, T-Hoe was coughing. You know. Kind of sputtering a bit. I attributed that to Farmer H putting in some gas when testing T-Hoe to see if the gas tank worked. I know he put in over $6 worth on the day T-Hoe was supposed to be done. And then the next day, he put in a little more, to make sure the problem was solved. You never know when you might get some "bad" gas. T-Hoe doesn't get the gourmet stuff. Just plain old regular. It can vary at different gas stations.

One of the days, I was sitting at the stoplight by the Gas Station Chicken Store, headed over to 10Box, and T-Hoe coughed a little more. I just thought I'd be glad when I ran some of this gas out, and got T-Hoe's regular elixir at the Sis-Town Casey's again.

Sunday, I returned home and parked T-Hoe in the garage. When I turned off the engine, it kept running! Not for long. Maybe 5-10 seconds. Kind of coughing, then stopping.

Monday, the same thing happened when I parked T-Hoe in the garage. I hadn't noticed it in town, during my stops there. Maybe I was just preoccupied, or there was other noise. This time, I turned T-Hoe back on. Then off. Same thing.

I told Farmer H on Tuesday morning. He furrowed his brow.

"Huh. It shouldn't be doing that. I'll have to tell Mick. The timing mechanism might have to be reset. He had it off while he was working on it."

"We paid all that money, and now T-Hoe is running worse!"

"He can fix it."

"Will it hurt to drive? Is it going to sputter and stop while I'm at a stoplight, or waiting my turn at the roundabout?"

There was a pause. "No... it shouldn't."

I am not very confident in that reply!

Later on Tuesday, Farmer H changed his tune. When I asked about the timing mechanism, he said, no, it was spark jumping. That's something I never heard of. He had some cockamamie description. Anyhoo... he said he had talked to Mick the Mechanic, who said to bring it by sometime.

"Mick was surprised it was doing that."

"So was I! I thought maybe it was just the different gas you put in."

"I used Casey's gas. But I don't have no idea what THEY put in it."

"It's funny because it didn't do it in the beginning. Now it does, but not every time."

In fact, T-Hoe ran just fine all day on Tuesday. I told Farmer H. We agreed (!) to let it go a few more days and see what happens. Because it's an issue that can't be fixed if the issue isn't happening when Mick looks at it.

Now Fave's Shoe Is On The Other Foot, And In My Mouth

You may recall a story a while back, in June, when Fave at the Gas Station Chicken Store was afraid she had insulted me by saying, "You look thin today." Heh, heh. I took it as a compliment. I didn't even sass back and say, "Oh, I suppose all the other days I look like a big fat cow!" The thought had crossed my mind, but I knew Fave's blurted comment was coming from a good place.

Anyhoo... Fave has mentioned that interaction a couple times, regretting it. She felt like she put her foot in her mouth, and kept apologizing. Well. Fave's shoe jumped onto my foot on Friday, and quickly took a giant leap, then a sloppy swan dive into my own mouth.

"Did you win anything on your tickets?" 

I asked innocently, as always, concerning the lottery tickets I give her every Thursday, as a "tip" for being so nice and selling me lucky tickets.

"No! Well. I DID win $5. But... did you know you gave me a ticket that was already scratched?"

"NOOO! What? I didn't mean to! I can' believe I did that! I'm so embarrassed! I guess I stuck it down in the box with your tickets and the ones I buy for my son Genius, before I put them in their envelopes. I'm so sorry! But at least I gave you a winner!"

"Yeah. It's fine. I looked at it, and I thought, 'That's weird.' But it's the only thing I won."

"Oh my gosh. I can't believe I did that. I'll try not to let it happen again!"

I'm pretty sure I was red-faced when I left. That's like being caught re-gifting. Or wrapping up your trash to give somebody. I'm so relieved it was at least a winner. But wait. My Fave faux pas was not over. On Saturday, the other foot demanded equal mouth time. I asked

"Did you win anything this week?"

"You asked me that yesterday! And I said only on the ticket that was already scratched!"

"OH NO! I'm reliving it! Now I'm embarrassed all over again. Forget I said that."

Fave had a chuckle. I was mortified. Again. On my way out the door, I said,

"Gotta get home and scratch these so I can save one to give to you!"

I hope I can keep my mouth shut, and both feet out of it this week.

Mrs. HM Ranks Lower Than A Dog

I can't have anything for myself! Have I mentioned that? Not even if it belongs to someone else. No small kindness for Mrs. HM. She's an afterthought.

On Sunday, I bought a Save A Lot pizza for Farmer H to have for supper on Sunday and Monday. It's like a deli pizza from the Devil's Playground. Not frozen. You buy it and take it home to cook it. I dug through a stack five-high to get just the right pepperoni pizza for Farmer H. They had two of the three-meat kind, but they looked older. As did a couple of the pepperoni version. But I found the best one.

While Farmer H was driving The Pony home, I got his pizza ready to cook. I added more pepperoni (bought at the store, because he kept "forgetting" to bring home the ones he got for FREE from his Harem, and left at one of the flip houses). I drained a can of mushrooms to add. I sliced a little onion. And I tore up two slices of provolone cheese to add on top.

Farmer H said it was really good pizza. He ate half that night, and the other half on Monday night. In fact, he was full, because he'd had a full Salisbury Steak lunch at the Senior Center that day. I was scratching lottery tickets at the kitchen table when he came back to the kitchen for dessert. (He was not all THAT full, it seems!) 

Anyhoo... I noticed Farmer H throwing away his plate, after putting something on the kitchen counter.

"What's that? What are you doing?"

 

"Oh, I was putting what was left there for the dogs."

"Wait! You had PIZZA left? I might have wanted that!"

"Well, it was just a little piece. You usually say no. You can still have it. Here. It's fine."

"NO! I can't eat that! You put it on the DOG TRAY! That's been there for months! It has old grease and everything else on it."

"It'll be fine. Here, I'll get it."

"NO! I am not eating off the dog tray! All that trouble I went to, fixing up your pizza, and you can't even ask if I want to try it."

"I didn't even think of it. I'm sorry."

Well. There's that.

Mysteries A-Field

Have I mentioned that I prefer to be informed when Farmer H is expecting random associates to be showing up at the Mansion? He will be heading to the doghouse if he doesn't shape up!

Last week, I left for town and thought I saw SilverRedO and a pewter colored truck parked in front of the BARn. They were backed down in there, SilverRedO in front of the big door, and the pewter truck on the Mansion side of SilverRedO, next to some trees and junk. I asked Farmer H about what he was doing when I got home.

"I wasn't doin' nothin'. I just got home about 10 minutes ago."

"What? Then why were there two trucks parked in front of our BARn, facing out?"

"I don't know. One Buddy has been wanting to come out and use my burn pile to burn off some junking stuff. But I told him no, because it had been too dry. He didn't SAY he was coming out. But he might have, since it rained last night. He don't have a red truck, though."

"That's why I thought it was you! And the other truck was the color of your old Ford. Kind of a silver/copper mix."

"I'll have to ask One Buddy about it."

"You might want to check and see if anything is missing! They looked suspicious, how they were parked. Like they could have been loading something out of the BARn."

I don't know if Farmer H ever checked for missing treasures, or if he talked to One Buddy. But on Monday, I saw that pewter truck again on my way to town. This time, it was parked beside Farmer H's burn pile. Facing up towards the gravel road, with the driver's door open. The door was RED!

Huh. I'm sure I saw two whole trucks there before. But this was unusual, to have a red door on a pewter truck. It was about 1:00 then, on my way to our financial advisor appointment. Afterwards, we dropped off T-Hoe at Mick the Mechanic's shop, and Farmer H drove me home in SilverRedO. 

The pewter truck with the red door open was still sitting there when we drove by at 4:00.

"See? That's the truck I saw before, but with a red one next to it."

"That's One Buddy. I guess he's been burnin' stuff. He didn't tell me he was comin', though."

"He's been there for THREE HOURS! With his driver's door open! That's not normal."

"I'll go over and talk to him. He's been sleeping in his truck down at the lockers. Just goes out and goes to sleep. I don't know what's going on."

Sweet Gummi Mary! My mind switched from thieving to drug overdoses! Not that Farmer H has buddies who do such things. But I sure don't want either happening on our property.

Farmer H came back and said One Buddy had been over there working on a broken lawn mower. This might sound suspicious to normal people, but I just assumed that Farmer H had promised One Buddy the lawnmower if he could get it fixed. Or maybe was going to pay him to fix it.

You never know what might turn up in your field out here. At least One Buddy didn't stink like a dead armadillo or a skunk.

Screaming Mini

On Saturday when the overly-friendly (or just plain normal) guy annoyed me at the lottery machine, I had no inkling that he was not to be my only source of annoyance.

I moved on to the bananas. While I was picking out eight green-enough ones all on one bunch, a man and little girl wheeled past me. I noticed, because that little girl was loud. The kind of loud that makes it hard to keep a neutral look on your face. She was probably 3-4 years old. I assume the guy was her dad. I'm guessing late 20s for him.

Mini was whiny. She wanted things. Not necessarily items from the shelves. She wanted to walk around, independent of Daddy and the cart. He wanted her holding onto the side of the cart. I'm pretty sure he didn't plop her in the child seat because she wouldn't have it. Did I mention she was loud? And whiny.

As always happens when someone annoys me in a store, they were on the same path as I was. Up and down every aisle I needed. She'd range away, and he'd tell her to come back. He was calm and patient. And totally ineffective. I got weekend-dad vibes. It WAS the third weekend of the month. I know a thing or two about parental visitation. I don't think a full-time dad would have put up with Mini's shenanigans so calmly. And no mom is going to send Dad and an elderly toddler off to the store on a Saturday.

Mini probably was trying her dad, testing her limits. I'm not sure she ever REACHED a limit. I would have knelt down (on younger knees) and looked that little girl in the eye. "You need to do what I say, and stop screaming, or we will leave. Right now." I did it before with Genius. And left the store, cart in the middle of the aisle. It only took ONE TIME.

Anyhoo... I was really glad to get out of there and give my ears a rest. I'm pretty sure that Dad was exhausted by the time the weekend was over.

They're BOTH Stinkers

We charge Pepper's Halo 5 Collar every afternoon. It's usually between 4:00 and 5:00, depending on who gets home first. Pepper is good about coming to be de-collared and re-collared. That's because he gets a treat after both. 

We set the collar on an upside-down box on the chair by the kitchen door. The charger stays plugged in on that wall. There's a magnetic connection between the collar and the charger. You have to get it aligned just right. Sometimes that requires sliding the opening in the canvas collar-cover thingy. It wraps around the collar with several Velcro closures.

Anyhoo... charging takes about an hour. The collar has been working great lately, after having two bouts of the charge not holding for the 36 hours it's supposed to. 

On Wednesday, Farmer H was home first. As I came up the gravel road, I saw him on the lower 10 acres, mowing. I slowed down and pointed to the back seat. My sign that he was needed to carry in groceries. Farmer H drove over behind the garage. The dogs were romping around waiting for me to get inside and give a treat. Farmer H took the groceries in while I remained in T-Hoe, waiting to close the garage door after he walked back through to the mower

On my way in, I stopped at the side porch for petting.

"Huh. One of you smells like smoke. And the other... is that skunk?"

Funny how neither Jack nor Pepper admitted that they smelled a bit less than fresh.

When I stepped into the kitchen, the smell hit me immediately. SKUNK!!! That had to be from Pepper's charging collar. I leaned over. Yep! No way was I touching that. WHY would Farmer H put that stinking collar inside the kitchen? A mere five feet from where I sit at the table with HIPPIE, scratching my lottery tickets in the evening. Of course I sent him a text:

"The whole kitchen smells like skunk from Pepper's collar. The charging is done, but I'm not touching it."

Ten minutes later I got a reply:

"Ok i didn't smell it  ill put it on him"

I cry shenanigans! He DIDN'T SMELL IT my rumpus! Let's remember that Farmer H is the one who declares he has a very sensitive nose, and can smell mold on bread before it is visible. I mentioned that the next day when he was carrying in groceries from a different trip.

"Do you have Pepper's stinking collar in the house again? You have outlets on the porch where you could charge it."

"I'm sorry, HM. I didn't smell it. It's inside. I didn't notice it today."

"You say you can smell MOLD on stale bread! But you can't smell SKUNK?"

"I never said I can smell mold. I SEE the mold."

"That's bull! You have always said you can SMELL THE MOLD! Anybody can SEE mold! That's NORMAL! I sure wouldn't be serving you bread with mold on it. But you've told me you won't eat a sandwich because the bread smells moldy."

"No. I don't smell it. I see it."

Pepper and Farmer H are BOTH stinkers!

At least Pepper didn't get a full spray. It's noticeable, but not overpowering. Farmer H had the nerve to say that he had smelled a little bit of skunk in the back yard when he was mowing, but didn't think anything of it. The dogs HAVE been chasing something down behind the Mansion, barking a lot. I thought it was just the possum they like to torment.

It Did FINALLY Happen! I Think...

T-Hoe did not come home on Tuesday! He spent a second night away, on the parking lot of Mick the Mechanic. Of course I was devastated. We had PLANNED it, by cracky! So I wouldn't go a day without T-Hoe.

Farmer H felt bad. He came home at 2:45, and offered to drive me to town. Of course I agreed. We took A-Cad, easier for me to get in and out. And not so junky as SilverRedO. I got my scratchers. They were terrible losers! But what did I expect, with Farmer H involved? That man is like a walking jinx for lottery tickets.

Farmer H had planned to drive back by and see if T-Hoe was out of the garage, but decided against it.

"I'll go by tomorrow morning with HOS (Farmer H's Oldest Son) after we work on the apartment. We'll drive it home, and then I can drop him off. You won't have to do anything. You should have your car by 10:00 at the earliest, or by noon."

"IF it's done!"

"They'll have to fix it. He thought it was fixed, and gave me the keys and said take it to town and put gas in it. It wasn't fixed! I bet it took me 15 minutes to put $6 of gas in it at Casey's!"

"SEE! Welcome to MY world. Since JUNE!" 

[Actually, The Pony's world, except for a couple of weeks.]

"I just thought it might work better at a different pump. It didn't! They found out that the charcoal canister had exploded. That's not uncommon in a 16-year-old car. [T-Hoe is 18! From 2008] So there was a problem with a plug. [I thought like an actual drain plug, but I suppose he meant a blob of charcoal clogging up a line.] So once they can find that, it should work."

True to his this promise, Farmer H was home at 11:30 on Wednesday. He left my key and the folded-up bill on the kitchen table, and escaped while I was in the bathroom. How much did it cost to fix T-Hoe's little problem?

$988.20

I divided the picture, so it wasn't so long and thin and sticking into the sidebar.

We either got a "break," or Farmer H was talking out of his rumpus. He said he thought they had T-Hoe in the garage Monday evening, maybe for the oil change, because he wasn't sitting on the parking lot Tuesday morning. Then again, he said he thought they worked on T-Hoe all morning. But T-Hoe wasn't done by 2:30. The hours of labor don't jibe with Farmer H's reports.

I wonder if it would have been so much if Farmer H had taken T-Hoe for repairs the first week I noticed the problem? When pumping gas was just slow, but not yet virtually impossible. The line might not have been plugged yet, or might have been easier to find. It might have taken less than four hours of labor.

Anyhoo... I haven't driven T-Hoe yet. On Thursday, we'll see if T-Hoe is accepting gas. Farmer H escaped before I could ask him if he tried it this time.

It's Finally Happening! I Think...

After our meeting with the financial advisor on Monday, I took T-Hoe to Mick the Mechanic's shop. Farmer H was already there in SilverRedO. He took my key (!) because he forgot to bring the spare. Why are none of us surprised?

I rode home in SilverRedO. My knees did not like it! Getting up on that skinny pipe of a running board was fine, but contorting myself to get the first leg in was torture. Next time, I will face out towards the door, and not in towards the cab. That way, my left leg will already be the first one to put inside, and I won't have to cross it over the right leg while clinging to the grip handle and the door.

Anyhoo... there shouldn't be a next time. Farmer H is supposed to pick up T-Hoe and drive home. Then I will drop him off to get SilverRedo on my way to town. 

T-Hoe is supposed to have the gas tank issue fixed. AND get an oil change. AND get the tires aired up to 35 pounds each. Right now they're at 26, 27, 28, and 27. That even after warming up from the overnight chill on the trip to town. My warning light keeps coming on because of the 26 pounds in the left front tire.

Yes, it would have been cheaper, I imagine, for Farmer H to air up T-Hoe's tires himself. Either with his compressor over at the BARn, or at the FREE AIR hose at the Gas Station Chicken Store. However... we all know that this process could take six months or more. So if Mick wants to charge for doing that, so be it. You'd think he'd throw it in as a service, with the exhorbitant amount he's likely to charge for the other work.

I'm a bit concerned, because T-Hoe was at Mick's overnight, ready to start when they opened. And now it's 2:00 on Tuesday, and Farmer H is still there. He sent me a text:

"Im here car still got problem they are looking at"

At least with Farmer H there, I suspect any extra-work, over-charging shenanigans will be curtailed. We'll see. T-Hoe isn't out of the shop yet.

Sometimes, People Need To Be Less Friendly

Bah! Humbug! You know curmudgeonly Mrs. HM does not really like people. In fact, they piss her off. Sometimes through no fault of their own, other than existing within her immediate vicinity. Pity the poor person who tries to make polite small talk. Mrs. HM is not having it! Well... not having it cheerfully.

I was standing at the new lottery machine in Save A Lot on Saturday. With these new machines, you make all your selections first. Then you go to the "checkout" feature, and it shows your list, and accepts payment. You can use cash, winning tickets, or a debit card. I scanned in my winning tickets, and was trying to put in a twenty for the rest of the amount. The machine won't let out any tickets until full payment is complete.

Dang it! That machine wouldn't take cash! The little green slot would not light up. It wouldn't even suck in my twenty and spit it back, like it does then there's a wrinkle or something wrong with the bill. I'd had this problem at 10Box a couple weeks ago. I figure it's because the machine is too full of money.

The problem is, that machine won't let you delete a few tickets from your shopping list. You have to delete ALL of them! Which was a problem, because I had quite a few $5 and $3 tickets, plus a PowerBall football draw ticket, and two $10 crossword tickets. It would have been fine if I could have just deleted the crosswords. But no. I had to buy them all, or delete them all. No way was I using a debit card. Not going down THAT slippery slope! I only buy with winning scratchers, or cash from my weekly allowance.

I had just deleted my entire shopping list when a dude came up behind my right shoulder.

"Saving any winners for me?"

"Oh, I'm sure there will be some left for you! Right now I'm trying to remember what tickets I had selected, because this machine isn't taking my money! I had to delete my selections, and now I'm starting over."

"It won't take money? I'm hoping it will take my twenty..."

Yeah. Whatever. Not my problem. I just wanted to pick my tickets again, and get them out of the machine. Because it had all my credits in there from my winners. No refunds on a lottery machine! You can't print out a credit ticket. I don't know what happens when the machine times out. Probably MOLottery keeps that cashed-in ticket money. I'm pretty sure these new machines re-set after 30 seconds of inactivity. They've given me a countdown before while I was still picking tickets, but that was when I didn't have any money/credit in it yet.

Anyhoo... the guy was just trying to be friendly, I think. Not wanting me to view him as a stalker looking over my shoulder. Just so I'd understand he was actually waiting to buy his own tickets. He didn't do anything wrong. I just don't like people. I don't like being interrupted when I'm in the middle of a scratcher crisis. And because I was rushed since he was waiting, I forgot to get my PowerBall football ticket.

This was not a quickpick. I had selected the 8 teams I wanted to play. Out of a chart of all 32 teams. It shows the helmets with logos, and a 3-letter abbreviation for the city. Don't you worry about Mrs. HM. She still got a ticket on Sunday morning, out of the machine at 10Box. My picks didn't win anything this week, but the quickpick I got at the Gas Station Chicken Store won $7. 

Anyhoo... I would have preferred a silent stalker, rather than this friendly man. I got my (unsatisfactory) tickets out, and proceeded with my shopping. I didn't wait to see if Mr. Nice Guy got the machine to take his twenty. 

Not Sure Whose Day Was Worse (Part 2)

When we last convened, it was Thursday afternoon around 4:15, and Farmer H was telling me that he was planning to drive to town for a new prescription, after having taken his "clean-out" medicine that morning.

"What? You're not coming to town! You might poop yourself! You've taken that medicine."

"Well, I have to get it. It's an antibiotic. They called me two hours ago and said it was ready. I don't even know which doctor prescribed it."

"I guess they'd let me pick it up for you? That my name is on your contacts? It's not a narcotic."

"Yeah, they'd probably let you pick it up. But you don't have to. I'm fine. I can drive to town."

"I'm sitting here RIGHT NEXT TO YOUR PHARMACY! I can do it."

"You could go to the drive-thru."

"Okay. I'll get it."

A car had just left the drive-thru, so I pulled right in. I couldn't reach the buzzer on the side of the building. But three women were milling around. I know one of them saw me. She looked right at me. But continued her milling. I continued my sitting. Staring through the window, trying to mind-control her to come give me service. It worked!

"What do you need?"

"To see if I can pick up my husband's antibiotic. He said it got called in."

"What's your husband's name?"

"Farmer H Hillbilly."

"Date of birth?"

"Month Day, Year."

"And his address?"

"1313 Old Gravel Road, Hillmomba."

"Okay. It looks like it isn't ready yet."

"Well, he said he got a call two hours ago that it was ready."

"It will have to be signed off on. And then I'll have to fill it."

"Do you want me to come in? So I'm not blocking your drive-thru?"

"If you want to. Where is Mr. Farmer, anyway?"

"He's home! He took the clean-out medicine! He's not going anywhere! So how long will it be? Maybe 10-15 minutes?"

"Sure."

She didn't sound all that certain. I drove around front and parked. To sit and wait, rather than go in and stand around. I called Farmer H.

"It's not even ready!"

"They told me it was!"

"Well, some old skinny blond lady told me it's not."

"I don't even know which one that is. If the guy is working, it will take a while. Everything's always late when he's working."

"She DID say 'HE'll have to sign off on it,' so..."

"Yeah. That means it's the guy pharmacist. I'm sorry."

"I'm just sitting here waiting. Good thing I used the Casey's bathroom when I got gas an hour and a half ago."

While I waited, five people pulled up and went in. Only one came back out. 15 minutes passed, and I went inside. There was an old man sitting in the Immunizations area, either before or after a shot. Two men were being waited on at the counter. A woman was in line, but got called to a third register by a man worker. One old guy wrapped up his transaction, and I got to the counter.

The 30-something dark-haired gal was really nice. I asked if they had a prescription ready for Farmer H.

"Of course we do!"

"Well, he DOES keep you guys in business!"

"Here it is. Just enter his phone number on the keypad. People find that easier than signing with their finger."

There was no charge. I was on my way out. The other old man was walking behind me. I stepped aside and told him to go ahead. I'm not winning any races these days.

Farmer H read the info on the bag. It was amoxicillin from the strange man urology NP he saw on Monday.

I know Farmer H is the one who's dealing with this treatment, but I think I had a worse day than he did on Thursday.

Not Sure Whose Day Was Worse (Part 1)

Thursday is my regular errand day. I drive over to Sis-Town and pick up The Pony. Then we go to the bank, to get T-Hoe's gas, and to Country Mart. Sometimes we go in the post office, and other times just drop Genius's weekly letter in the box on their parking lot. It is timed for me to leave the Mansion at 2:00, pick up The Pony at 2:30, and get back to the Gas Station Chicken Store in Hillmomba by 4:00. That's when Man Owner leaves, and the coast is clear to give Fave the scratchers I "tip" her with each week.

Farmer H knew he would be drinking the clean-out medicine, and not going to town all day. He had asked me if Thursday would work for me. Yes! That was the best day, because I'd be away from home (and Farmer H) longer. He got up around 6:00, and drank his medicine as directed.

Not much really happened all morning. I guess maybe it was a different prep than given for colonoscopy tests. Because this one was just a small bottle. Didn't need mixing in a jug to sip all day. Farmer H had the expected results, but nothing urgent or explosive. By 2:00 as I was getting ready to leave, he said,

"If I'd a-knowed this was all that was going to happen, I could have gone to town like normal. There's a bathroom at the flip house, and at the Senior Center."

"Well. Don't be too relaxed. It still might hit you later."

I was off to town, and Farmer H was continuing his annoying habit of not sitting still. He had "cleaned" the bathroom toilet (curious timing, at the start of the morning of this treatment) and sink. He washed four loads of laundry. Actually folded them and put them away. Bagged up a pile of his old shoes and drove them up to the dumpster on the hood of the lawnmower. He snacked all day (also curious timing) on powdered donut holes, Payday Mix, butter cookies, strawberry wafer cookies, and a Drumstick ice cream. Had his regular breakfast of a protein bar and banana, and a lunch of mini sausage biscuits and Ruffles potato chips. It's a wonder he got "cleaned out" at all!

Anyhoo... I was trapped there with fidgety Farmer H until 2:00. I'm surprised he didn't get out the vacuum and tell me to lift my feet! Aside from my nerves being shot by my constant companionship, I escaped relatively unscathed for my town trip.

The bank lady took forever to serve the single (of three) drive-thru lanes that they have open lately. The wind was whipping strongly at Casey's when we stopped for gas. Temps were upper 70s, so it wasn't a chilling wind. Just powerful. In fact, The Pony jumped out to come around and hold my door open for me to get out, and then back in. That wind would not let T-Hoe's heavy doors stay open long enough for my egress and ingress.

Grocery shopping and mail were uneventful. I dropped off The Pony, and made it to the Gas Station Chicken Store at 4:05. That's when the rest of my day hopped on the express handbasket to Not-Heaven.

Fave's car was not on the parking lot! It was Other Gal's car. So my "payoff" would be delayed until Friday. Meaning I would have to go to town later than I like, to avoid Man Owner. And even so, Fave might not be there that day, either.

I did my business with Other Gal. Once back in T-Hoe, I called Farmer H to tell him I was starting home with the groceries. It takes 10 minutes. This way, he can be watching, and come out to carry for me. 

"Okay. I have to come to town anyway once you get here. I have another prescription."

To Be Continued...

I Guess I Can't Tell Him He's Full Of It

For a couple days, I'll have to find another way to tell Farmer H that he's full of it. Because even though he figuratively is, he literally isn't.

Remember that surgery Farmer H had way back on August 13? The "roto-rootering" of his prostate, as he called it? He's still not back to normal, and it's been two months! The innernets say it could take three months. I hope so. Meaning I hope that's all it takes, is a little more time. I don't like Farmer H being miserable, unless I'm the one causing it.

Monday, he went back to the doctor to complain. Not the surgeon responsible, but a work-in appointment with a urology NP. This was a traveling guy who works all over the country. Farmer H was impressed, after being scared.

"This wasn't the regular gal who sees me up there. This was a big man! He looked like a lumberjack. He had a beard. His hands were HUGE. He might have been some kind of foreigner, but he didn't have no accent, and his name looks American. But he was wearing almost I guess what you'd call a turban on his head. 

Anyway, he told me to get that stuff you take before a colonoscopy. The clean-out medicine. He says I might not THINK I'm constipated, but that is what could be causing me not to be able to pee. And that straining breaks blood clots loose from the healing, even though it shouldn't still be doing it now, and that could block me from peeing. Also, he wants me to have another scan. He looked at the one the gal had done last time, and didn't notice anything in it."

Well. Farmer H got the scan ordered the next day. They gave him the runaround, saying he went to the wrong place, and then the other place said they didn't have an order, and then he had to also have a blood test. It was a mess-up of epic proportions, but at least this new strange man got things done at his end.

Which brings us to Farmer H's end. A story to be continued...

A New Wishy-Washy Turn Concerning T-Hoe's Gas Tank Problem

Sometimes I wish the excuses I'm given would remain consistent! Farmer H is a master of excuses, especially where T-Hoe's needs are concerned. I'm sure you recall the problem with T-Hoe's gas tank not wanting to allow gasoline in at a normal pace.

First there was the excuse that he would have to get under T-Hoe and take something apart to replace whatever is clogged. Too much trouble.

Second, it was just because of Casey's pumps. SilverRedO did the same thing. Get my gas somewhere else. Like that station next to the Devil's Playground.

Third, Farmer H had an appointment with Mick the Mechanic to fix T-Hoe. But since he couldn't guarantee he'd be done by 10:30 so Farmer H could get to Illinois with his buddy for lunch and a merchandise-buying trip, he canceled the appointment.

Fourth, Mick was too expensive. That would cost a lot for labor, him taking so long. So Farmer H was going to get an appointment with the dealer over in Sis-Town.

Fifth, that's just too much time to spend sitting at the dealer waiting for the work to be done. Time that could be spent working on the flip houses. (Yeah, right! More likely fiddling around at the SUS2.5)

Sixth, we COULD get an appointment with Mick, but then I might not have T-Hoe one day, and I'd have to miss my town trip, because he would take so long.

Seventh, just go to Casey's. Use the pump farthest from the door. It has less pressure in it than the ones closer. So the gas goes in almost like normal.

I've had enough! I told Farmer H that I'm tired of (The Pony) taking 15 minutes to pump half a tank of gas every week. This has been going on since JUNE! That he needs to get an appointment with Mick for Tuesday. 

On Monday, we have the yearly meeting with our financial advisor. I will meet Farmer H there, then on the way home, he can meet me at Mick's and drive me home in SilverRedO. The work will get done on Tuesday. And Tuesday afternoon, Farmer H can bring T-Hoe home, and on my way back to town, I'll drop him off to get SilverRedO.

There's no need for me to miss a town trip. It just means Farmer H can't be carousing all over the county on Tuesday afternoon. He'll try to finagle his way into coming home at 4:00, but I'm demanding 2:00, my regular town time. T-Hoe should be finished before noon, anyway. And I'm sure Farmer H isn't spending his time after lunch working on flip houses. Otherwise, they'd be done by now!

A Small Victory

Careful. Don't ASSUME. You know what that does to you and me. This victory has nothing to do with Farmer H finally fixing anything. FRIG II's icemaker, and T-Hoe's gas tank, remain unmolested by repairman hands. No, this victory is more personal.

I don't remember if I have mentioned my toenail. I think I did, way back when I first started my leg therapy. Maybe before, about how gnarled and hooflike the great toenail on my right foot had become with my advancing age. How it was hard to clip, and in fact I bought new, longer-handled clippers for more force. Clippers that made me think of hoof-trimmers used by farriers, or Dr. Pol of TV vet fame. 

Anyhoo... I related how this toenail was an embarrassment for me during leg therapy, even though OT had reassured me that she dealt with much worse. And has even had several POP OFF INTO HER HAND when taking off compression socks. 

These compression socks, which I must wear all day, every day, for the rest of my life... are a pain in the toenail! It never ends! Compression, compression, compression! Pulling tighter with every step. With every wiggle of my toes. There's no getting away from it. OT said that some patients cut off the toes. Of the compression socks, of course! Not off their feet! But that only meant that the socks would creep up through the day, up the foot, to the ankle. And that would allow the foot to swell. 

Anyhoo... this tale is not about the great toenail of my right foot. It's about the great toenail of my left foot. A toenail which had no problem until a couple weeks ago, when it got a little hangnail kind of thingy on the medial edge. As with a hangnail on my fingers, I slathered it with triple antibiotic ointment to keep it moist and infection free. It takes longer for a toe hangnail to heal. Especially one shut away in a hot compression sock for 22 hours a day.

That left great toenail finally quit being painful, feeling pinched when the sock would press on the end. I kept up the ointment slathering after showering. Then a few days ago, I noticed that toenail (which was not hooflike at all, but like a standard toenail) was wiggly. It could flap a little, like a talking cartoon shoe. THEN when I was bent down scrubbing it in the shower, that toenail slid sideways a little bit. To the 1:00 position. I told The Pony about it. Who retched and stated a desire not to be informed further.

I didn't want to force that toenail to move. Just left it alone, so to speak, with ointment and care not to bump it or get a sock thread caught on it.

Well. This morning (Wednesday) in the shower, as I was gently scrubbing with only liquid shampoo and my bare fingers... that great left toenail slid up and off the toe.

I WAS ECSTATIC! 

One less toenail to worry about! If only the HOOF would do the same! My toe looks like a normal toe. Except with a see-through toenail. The depression of a toenail is still there. But smooth. 

Pardon me for not sharing photos with you. I really don't like feet. Not even my own. I will spare you this sight, in case you might have the same opinion as The Pony.

Good thing I'm not a songwriter or a poet. An ode might be in order.

The Anxious Doggy Daddy

Pepper's new collar has been doing its job. Well, Pepper has been responding, it's not just the collar. Today (Tuesday), Pepper's feedback response rating is 90%. We're so proud! 

Monday was stressfull for Farmer H. You'd think he was a proud new papa, from the way he carried on about Pepper. It started with a text at 11:58.

"Have you seen pepper says he was out of satellite area"

"I'll look out. Says battery is low."

We check on the phone app randomly, to see if Pepper has breached the fence, or where he might be on the property. I saw that the battery symbol showed an hour left. That was unusual. It's usually got 36 hours with a full charge. We take the collar off every evening, and charge it for an hour. It shouldn't have been so low at noon.

I went to the kitchen door and called Pepper. Jack came wriggling around the corner, thrilled to see me. He got pats while I waited on Pepper. The last location had been out in the Shackytown Boulevard area. I don't know if Pepper came from there, or out by the carport. But he DID come running. Both dogs got a treat, and I took off Pepper's collar for charging. I sent Farmer H a text so he knew that all was well.

We are not happy with that collar battery! THIS TIME, we think it might have been the slow internet on Sunday. Maybe the collar kept trying to connect, and when it couldn't hold the signal, it switched to the GPS signal. Which also wasn't strong, because of clouds.

Right now, it's 2:19, and the collar shows 9 hours left. We charge it around 4:00, so that's fine. It also has a strong wi-fi and GPS signal at the moment. Pepper is out behind the garage.

I know Farmer H has been checking on Pepper all day. He said he was going to keep an eye on the battery life. I tried to tell him that it's not the end of the world if the battery goes dead. Pepper doesn't know it's dead. Pepper still remembers getting shocks. He's likely to avoid those areas. And even IF he would leave our fence area, he won't go far. The worst that could happen, I imagine, is that he goes to the neighbor's house, where he may or may not make their dogs bark, and may or may not be seen by them. It's not like Pepper is a wandering Scarlett.

A Whining Update

It's Monday now. My sickness is progressing. It has been fairly mild, as colds go. Sunday morning was the worst, with chills and then burning up, though I didn't feel like I had a fever. Just an inability to regulate my temperature. My eyes were sensitive to the sunlight when I went to town. I had a few sniffles, but not enough to cart around Puffs. Some sneezes later Sunday evening. Now I feel a bit of nose stuffiness and ear crackling. A tiny bit of wheeziness in the chest. But sometimes, I forget that I am sick. I have hope, because Farmer H seems to be getting over his bout, and it's the eighth day for him.

Farmer H picked up Domino's Pizza for us on Sunday evening. So I still had that treat. AND (knock on everything wooden within reach!) I still am able to taste. I attribute our quick recovery to doubling up on the vitamins. They contain vitamin C, zinc, and quercetin, which fight the replication of a virus.

Farmer H made another trip down the 13 rail-less steps to the basement on Sunday night. He was going to one of the safes anyway, after a weekend of business at his SUS2.5. But he DID re-set the router and satellite receiver again while he was down there. And it WORKED! My internet is back to regular speed! Though still too slow for The Pony's tastes, and just the mention of it makes me reach for all things wood again. I might have a new complaint, about bruised knuckles from knocking.

Still no ice from FRIG II. Farmer H looked up fixes on his phone Monday morning, and says he will try some of them when he gets home.

We continue not to think about T-Hoe's gas tank issue...