A Premature Swim In POOLIO

Thursday evening around 7:30, I was once again innernetting at the kitchen table. I noticed Pepper roaming around under the kitchen window between me and POOLIO. That's not unusual. The water dish is just around the corner.

Then I heard a THUMP. Or maybe a CRACK. It sounded like a block of wood falling onto the wooden porch boards. I turned to look, but didn't see anything out of place. However... Pepper poked his head through the porch rails, and started barking towards POOLIO. Or the woods behind POOLIO. I couldn't see Pepper's face.

Then something grabbed my attention. IN POOLIO! It was a squirrel. Floating. Slowly. A mere two days after Farmer H and Old Buddy took the cover off POOLIO.

"Hey! You've got a dead squirrel in POOLIO, and Pepper is barking his fool head off!"

"Huh. It must have got trapped in there, and can't get out because the water is so low now, and no ladder."

"I'm pretty sure he's dead. He's not moving like trying to swim. Just drifting."

"Well, I better come get him out."

Farmer H went down to the pool deck and used his net skimmer to dip out the squirrel. I didn't watch the whole operation. Farmer H said he threw the squirrel down in the woods. I don't think the skimmer could fling it in that direction from the deck. I have a sneaking suspicion that Farmer H pulled in the squirrel, and then picked it up and swung it across the yard into the treeline. He did NOT stop to wash his hands when he came in!

"You know those dogs will be on that squirrel in a couple minutes."

"Yeah. He must have been dead for a while. He didn't just now drown."

"I don't know why Pepper all at once started barking at it."

"Maybe it just now rose to the top."

That's even worse! Maybe it was there all winter! The water is murky. I can't believe Farmer H doesn't drain the water out and start fresh every summer!

It's A Good Job If You Can Get It

I was minding my own beeswax Tuesday morning around 9:30, innernetting at the kitchen table. Something caught my right eye in the POOLIO area. It was SilverRedO, driving into the back yard. I saw Farmer H and Old Buddy meander over to the woods side of POOLIO. 

I know Farmer H had been draining water off of POOLIO for a couple of nights. He's getting ready to open that cauldron of butt-water soup for another season of taking a couple dips here and there, all the while paying hundreds for chemicals to make the water less toxic.

Farmer H and Old Buddy started pulling on the black plastic cover. Yep. They were getting POOLIO ready. It's a two-man job. The cover is heavy and awkward. At least most of the water was off the top from the nine-month accumulation of rain and snow.

Once the job was done, Farmer H and Old Buddy just kept standing there. For no reason! Leaning with arms on top of POOLIO's side. Chewing the fat, apparently. As if they couldn't do that anywhere else. It was longer than just a brief rest. For 30 MINUTES they stood there, doing nothing. 

That better not be Old Buddy pay from Farmer H's cash expenditures! I will have to dock Farmer H for 30 minutes worth of reimbursement!

I Want Back In The Frying Pan

Woe was me. I whined because I had three rolls of elastic wraps wound around each lower leg... and then I met a woman who bound me with velcro from ankle to mid-thigh!

Sweet Gummi Mary! Now I feel even more restricted. Sure, it was a time-consuming task to peel off the elastic wraps and re-wrap them for a shower. But now I feel like I have casts on both legs. It's a mental thing, I'm sure. I'll have to adjust. This will be the Summer of Adjustment for Mrs. HM.

Let's back up a bit. Farmer H had volunteered to leave his precious store to meet me at therapy at 1:00 to carry in my 8-pound awkward box. I had opened it to see if I could put the stuff in a bag instead, but no. So I'd put my bag of wraps inside, and taped across the top of the box flaps. Just a single piece of tape, to hold the flaps down so they didn't pop up in my face as I carried the box.

Farmer H burst into the living room at 5:50 a.m., and picked up the box to move it from couch to coffee table, having said the night before that he would carry it out to T-Hoe. Instead of picking up the box by the bottom, as any normal person would have done, he stuck his fingers into the cracks at each end where the flaps were folded down across the top. Of course that ripped the tape loose, leaving the flaps flapping.

I told Farmer H that was a stupid way to move a box. He took offense, and stormed out, taking my flapping box with him. I said forget helping me, I'd find a way to get it inside the therapy building. When I got out to T-Hoe to leave, I tried to stick the snarled tape back down to hold the flaps. It kind of worked.

As I was getting out of T-Hoe at therapy, I got a call from Farmer H, saying he had just closed his SUS2.5, and was on his way to carry my box. It's less than 2 miles from there. He carried in the box and left it on a chair while I checked in. When OT came to get me, she saw me struggling to pick it up, and took the box to carry back to the therapy room.

That's when my world started swirling down the drain to Not-Heaven in a handbasket! OT took out the two see-through packs of beige rubbery folded flaps. There was also a box that she said she never ordered, and didn't know why it was in there. She told me to sit on the side of the hydraulic table/bed this time, which was still up against the wall. I soon learned why OT had said the wraps must be fitted before I could use them!

First OT unwrapped my wrappings. Then measured my ankle and calf with a tiny retractable metal yellow measuring tape. And progressed to marking one of those beige rubbery flaps with a black marker, drawing a line to connect marks, then CUTTING OFF about half of it with big metal scissors! She attached some white velcro thingies to join some pieces. Then added some black velcro flaps. "They always send way more than needed. And here are extra velcro patches."

But wait! There was no sock thingy to wear under. So OT raided that box, which had a single lower leg wrap, in a fixed size, but also a black past-knee support stocking. Two of them.

"These will work. That's a maintenance brace, which you might need when we're finished, or maybe not. But we can use these stockings."

Dang it! That's going to be hard for me to get on. And my feet are trapped! No open toe like with the elastic wraps. Anyhoo... she turned that stocking partway inside/out, then had it over my foot, and was peeling it up my leg in no time. 

THEN commenced the wrapping. From ankle to just below the knee. The velcro beige thingy has six "flaps," which are just part of the rubbery beige. They are pulled tight, each crossing oppositely below the other. So three going one way, and three going the other. OT says it's very important not to have any gaps between the flaps. It didn't feel too bad, other than my toes being crammed in the stocking. OT repeated the routine for my right leg.

Next came the measuring and trimming and fitting for the KNEE section. It is shorter, but also has six flaps. The two middle ones must be aligned across the kneecap. There's a mesh kind of tube sock thingy that goes on under this. The knee part makes me feel restricted. It's hard enough to bend my knees without such a pressure torture device!

OT decided that we could skip the upper thigh wrap. That area does not really seem to be an issue with me. It's mainly flabby skin, not circulatorily-challenged like the below-calf and above-knee area.

Anyhoo... I feel like I'm walking around with leg braces. I'm afraid to take them off, lest I can't get them back on correctly! Even though OT labeled them for me, L and R, and numbered the flaps in order. Of course I will remove them to shower before I go back on Tuesday. Here's hoping I get it right!

The Put-Upon Mrs. HM

I am six visits into my leg therapy. Only 30 to go! It seems like I have been doing this FOREVER! Not knocking my OT. She's good at what she does. I do think it's helping a bit. The schedule is what is wearing on me. I go three times a week. It takes up my whole day! Not that I have any pressing activities. I just like my free time, not fretting about being somewhere on a schedule.

The clinic is in Bill-Paying Town. It takes me 45 minutes to drive there. I budget in an extra 15 minutes, because I never know when I might get behind a tractor, or hit every stoplight red. My appointment lasts an hour. Then there's the drive home. So that's about a 3-hour chunk out of the middle of my day. I have to take my meds and eat my oatmeal and banana earlier that I'm accustomed. Wash the dishes earlier. Curtail my innernetting, so blog posts must be done a day ahead of the day ahead I usually write them. Shopping on the way there or home is not convenient, due to cold items on the way there, and my sweatpanted, tightly-wrapped legs on the way home.

So far most (of my six) appointments have been at 1:00. From 10:30 when I start my getting-ready process, my day is tied up until after 3:00. Don't even get me started if I want to shower before an appointment!

Removing the wraps takes 10 minutes per leg. Putting them back on takes 15-20 minutes per leg. There's a sock thingy, then cotton batting, then three wraps, starting with the smallest on the ankle/foot. They each must be taped before applying the next one over it. My shower itself only takes about 10 minutes! I've been doing the unwrap/shower/wrap routine on the days before an appointment. At least the OT agreed to let me remove the wraps for an actual shower.

NOW there's a new wrinkle. OT ordered some velcro wraps, for the lower legs, and the upper legs. They were delivered to the Mansion. Thankfully, this is ONE delivery that FedEx did not mess up. Save for changing the delivery date and time by an extra day and 12-hour window. They came yesterday at 3:50, while I was in town. It's an 8-pound box, about the size of a microwave in a box. I am expected to carry this box into the waiting room and treatment room. That's because they have to be fitted by OT, I can't just open the box and start using them.

That's not easy for Mrs. HM!!! I use my cane, you know. It's hard enough with a cane and my purse and the bag of freshly-washed wraps that I'm returning. So I put the wraps down in the box. I'll leave my purse in T-Hoe. And try to go without my cane. I'll have to take up an extra seat in the waiting room to set the box on. I'd never get it up off the floor, where it would be in the way anyhow.

I'm trying to keep a more positive attitude, but it seems that every week there's something more added to my "duties" in having this therapy.

Farmer H Is His Own Buddy

I came home from town Wednesday, a bit earlier than usual, because of my leg therapy appointment. As always, I looked down into the BARn field as I passed, to see if Farmer H was there puttering around. No SilverRedO. But there WAS a vehicle!

A white truck with a matching camper shell was parked nose-down in front of the BARn door. Huh. That was not supposed to be there! I don't know anybody with such a truck out here. No relative has one. Farmer H's buddies who have come out to hunt squirrels or deer or mushrooms did not have a vehicle like that. I had to stop in the driveway and give Farmer H a call.

"Where are you? Is anybody supposed to be over at the BARn?"

"I'm down at my locker. I was waiting on a call from the ATF. I'm ready to leave now. Nobody that I know of is supposed to be out there."

"Well, there's a truck over at the BARn..."

"Is it a white truck? That's the one I just brung out there. That I took back from Old Buddy."

"Huh. It might have been nice if you could let me know. So I didn't think someone was stealing all your tools and treasures out of the BARn."

"Oh. I didn't know when I was going to get it, but today I had help."

You'd think something like that might be nice to share with your wife, when you leave her home alone all day to defend the Mansionstead against intruders. Farmer H has finally been trained to notify me when one of his buddies will be here for something. I guess that rule doesn't apply when he's his own buddy.

FINALLY, Farmer H Spares Two Minutes For Mrs. HM's Needs

Several days ago, I found water on my kitchen floor. A stream, actually. It flowed across the front of the cutting block. Remembering when this happened before, I figured it was coming from the sink. Last time I didn't notice until it had pooled in front of FRIG II, and we blamed the icemaker. This time, I knew where to look.

The trail led me back to the mouth. But the floor in front of the sink cabinets was dry. I made a mental note to keep an eye on this situation. There was no leakage when I ran cold water to get a drink or fill my water bottle. No leakage when I let the water run hot, to rinse the greasy supper dishes. But when I washed the dishes in the mornings, around 7:00, a stream of water would appear, coming out from under the sink cabinet.

I opened the cabinet doors and looked in. Nothing was wet. That's the puzzling thing. I didn't know if it was just the prolonged running of hot water. Or maybe the sprayer, which I used more. Was it where the water came up into the faucet? Or was it the drain?

I told Farmer H. SEVERAL TIMES.

"There's a leak again around the sink. I can't figure out where it's coming from. I've had to mop up water, always after I do the dishes."

"Huh. I'll have to take a look at it."

INDEED! But it didn't happen. 

On Tuesday, there was a LOT of water! I'd had more dishes to wash than normal. So there was a little more water in the sink. And it took longer. That little stream flowing across my kitchen might have had rapids! It was past the cutting block, almost to FRIG II, by the time I tore off the paper towels to staunch it. Yet nothing was dripping under the cabinets. Nothing wet.

When Farmer H got home, I reminded him AGAIN. He got down on his knees and peered underneath the sink.

"There it is. It's the drain. The collar came loose again. There. It was dripping down, and running under that flat pan you have the cleaning stuff sitting on. Then out the crack."

"So it's fixed now?"

"Yeah. I tightened it. The bottom pipe was loose where the top pipe fits into it. I might need to get a smaller collar connector."

That's what I think he said. I don't know plumbing terms. But as for "not knowing" why that piece keeps coming loose, I'd say: 28 years. That's how long since Farmer H build the Mansion, and put in that sink.

You'd think Farmer H could have devoted those two minutes to me the first time I reported the leak. Then again, I'm not a harem, a buddy, a flip house, a pup, an apartment building, nor a store.

Mrs. HM Has Been Re-Appointed

I went to an appointment last week that my nurse practitioner had scheduled for two months after the supposed start of my leg therapy. The leg therapy which I had just attended four sessions of (36 total to be done), which had begun only nine days before this NP appointment.

Nothing much was solved here, as you might suspect. I told him how long I'd been going. Showed him that my legs were wrapped, and asked if he wanted to see them. "Oh, no. That's all right. OT knows what she is doing."

Heh, heh. I had asked OT about this appointment. I think it was on my second visit. Would NP unwrap my legs to get a look? "I don't know. But for sure, he won't wrap them back!" Yeah. That takes HER about 15 minutes to do both legs. It takes ME 25-30 when I take them off for a shower.

Anyhoo... I asked NP if I still needed to come back in one month, for a regular appointment he had scheduled in June. A six-month appointment, for bloodwork and BP and such. NP said no. That we could do it in AUGUST. Because I would be done with the leg therapy at the end of July. So to make an appointment for the first two weeks of August.

I went out to the appointment desk. The gal I stopped at didn't seem to know what she was doing. She asked the gal next to her. Which is okay. If you are learning a job, get it right! The problem was that NP had NO appointments available in the first two weeks of August, because he was on VACATION! You'd think he might have remembered that when he told me. So I told the scheduling gal I would take one at the end of August, and that I needed to cancel the appointment I had for June.

You'd think we were trying to schedule the invasion of Normandy! Scheduling Gal again asked her cohort, who told her a different way to get into the calendar. Then she was busy with an old man who had just walked out. Scheduling Gal asked if I wanted a printout of the day's appointment. I said yes.

Scheduling Gal returned from the printer room with a coverless tome of War and Peace. Or at least my office visit printout, of about the same length. She was puzzled. Kept looking at it.

"I think it probably printed a list of my upcoming therapy appointments."

"Oh. Okay. I see that. But I forgot to put in your cancelled appointment. Here. Let me do that. Okay. Do you want me to print that again?"

"NO! As long as you took off the appointment, I can remember not to go."

"Here. I'll just draw a line through that one."

I really hope that appointment got taken out, and they don't say I'm a no-show. I doubt it would be charged, since my insurance always covers it. It's not much, even for a copay.

The left hands and right hands at this medical facility really need to be introduced to each other, so they have a vague idea of what each is doing.

Pepper Doesn't Know

Aside from the initial grogginess on his surgery day, I'm not sure Pepper realizes what happened to him during his very special operation. Farmer H brought home a clear head-cone thingy, with Pepper's collar attached. But it's sitting on a kitchen chair, and not on Pepper's neck. I only found out when I asked why Pepper didn't have his collar.

"I don't think he needs it. He licked at it a couple times, and Jack licked at it until I told him no. But it don't look like Pepper is going to mess with it. I guess them stitches will dissolve or pull out. They didn't give me no appointment to bring him back for the stitches."

Pepper also had two prescriptions. According to Farmer H:

"He's got a pill for pain. And calming pills."

"Calming pills? What's that about?"

"To keep him calm. So he ain't runnin' all around, and tear out the stitches."

Well. I'm not sure Pepper understands what his meds are for. Farmer H gives them at 6:00 a.m., and 6:00 p.m. I have seen no measurable change in Pepper's behavior! In fact, it seems like these meds make Pepper hyper-er! He gambols around like a crazy beast. He jumps up when he used to NOT jump up. He torments Jack by barking and pouncing. That's even with a double dose. Meaning the bottle says "1 or 2 pills as needed," and Pepper gets two.

Pepper's meds are Carprofen, 1 pill every 12 hours for pain and inflammation. And Trazodone, 1-2 tablets every 12 hours as needed for light sedation. 

Apparently, Pepper does not know the meaning of "sedation."

Sweet Pepper, Now Less Spicy

On Thursday, our gangly new pup Pepper had his very special operation. Poor, sweet, Pepper. He had no idea. He DID know that he didn't want to "go for a ride." Pepper is now five months old. He's like an awkward tweenager, full of energy, gamboling all over the place.

When Farmer H takes Pepper to the vet, he uses the wire kennel that dear, rehomed Scarlett arrived in. He puts it in the back of SilverRedO. Then lifts Pepper in and latches the door and closes the tailgate. This means Pepper can't really see anything through the wire. Just the sides of SilverRedO's bed. It does not surprise me when Farmer H returns, and says Pepper vomited in the kennel. He sets it out and the rain eventually cleans it before the next trip.

Anyhoo... Pepper had to be at the vet at 7:30. It's slightly less than five miles from here. The weather was nice. No problem getting Pepper there. Except his attitude.

"Pepper didn't want to get in the crate. He saw me lift it in the truck last night, and he gave me a look! This morning he tried to get away from me. I had to drag him with the leash."

"He'll REALLY not want to get in the next time, heh, heh!"

Anyhoo... the operation was a success, and Farmer H had Pepper back home by 4:00. 

"Your puppy resting."

In typical Farmer H picture-taking style, we have a whole lot of "scenery," with the subject a tiny afterthought in the center. This is the state of our nice wrap-around porch now. No walking for me, to try and get my legs into shape. Propane tanks and rolling tables and non-working generators. I need room to swing my arms for balance, and maybe take my cane along, and not catch a toe on junk to trip me up.

Anyhoo... back to Pepper:

He's plumb tuckered-out! If you look closely, you can see his green bandaid on a front leg, from his IV. I think Pepper might turn out to have stand-up heeler ears. They are riding a bit higher each day. He already has the coarse heeler coat. Not sure what his other heritage is, exactly. He's so lithe and slim. Not at all like a heeler. And taller than a beagle, which Farmer H originally said, I think.

We're hoping Pepper will calm down and not be so feisty all the time. Hopefully we'll start seeing a kinder, gentler, less-spicy, not-picking-on-Jack, Pepper within a few weeks.

The Harping HM Gets The Win

Like a squeaky wheel getting the grease, Mrs. HM made The Universe sit up and take notice. The day after she wrote a scathing review of her recent terrible treatment with losing scratchers, the spell was broken! Well. Kind of. I still only had two winners. TWO! That's a travesty. The good news is that they were GOOD winners. Not that there's ever a bad winner, just disappointing winners if they're only money-back.

The very first ticket I scratched was a winner:

I was happy to see the first COIN symbol. I knew I'd at least won back my $10 price of the ticket. With the second coin, I figured it could be two $5 prizes, so still money back. The third gave me news that it was at least $15. Then they kept coming! By the time it hit ten coins, I knew it was at minimum $50. To see $10 under the first coin was fantastic. $100, baby! A great win. FINALLY.

I continued my scratching sessiong. Loser, loser, loser. Nothing was paying me from my fives and threes. Until...

This is my new favorite ticket, the Loteria. Coming through with a $40 win. Yay, ME!

Only two winning tickets is not actually a good sign that things are turning around. Then again, I'll take a $140 win any day!

No Need For Overkill, I'm Getting The Message

The Universe mocks me with losers. Losing lottery tickets. A plethora of non-winners, for several days this week. But then Errand Day rolled around. And it got WORSE! Not only did I suffer just a couple of money-back winners, but I had trouble buying those losers!

Save A Lot was the first stop. I needed two kinds of dill pickles, the spears and the crinkle-cut slices. I love the dill pickles from Save A Lot. They also have a lottery machine. I stopped there a couple days this week on the way home from therapy. Didn't win. But I got tickets, and got to play. THIS TIME, the machine was out of my favorite blue Loteria tickets, and also my $5 crosswords. In fact, all but one of the $5 tickets were unavailable. Some said OUT, and others just had a - - - in that place.

At the Casey's, I went in without The Pony, who was waiting in T-Hoe to pump the gas when I pre-paid. It took a long time to pay, because the clerk messed up my lottery. I actually think his register did the deed, and it wasn't his fault. But I had to explain to him that I really DID owe him $5 more than what he was charging me. I had five tickets, and not four. He kept counting them weird, but I had two of the Loteria, which he didn't tear apart. However, I heard the scanner beep twice on it. But it didn't show up on the receipt. I finally convinced him to take my money! Then went back to tell The Pony that I had corrected my karma since that soda scanning incident at Country Mart a few weeks ago.

Speaking of Country Mart, we went there next. Neither of us needed groceries, so The Pony waited outside playing phone games. I pushed a cart inside and parked it, standing on my own two knees at the lottery machines. The first one malfunctioned like it did on Tuesday. Took the money, let me select a ticket, then locked up. After five minutes, it still had not recovered.

A worker gal walked by dumping the wastebaskets.

"Is this thing going to eventually work?"

"Probably. It's been doing that."

"Yes. I'll give it a chance. It's already been longer than Tuesday."

Dang. My knees were getting tired. I'd given up my cart/walker. A vendor came to the adjacent office. Then left. A manager guy walked out. Talked to some employees. Then came back.

"Is that machine giving you trouble?"

"Yes. I thought it was going to work. It seemed to, and let me choose another ticket. But now it's locked up again."

"Let me get the key. I'll give your money back."

He made it print a receipt, which looks like a draw ticket. "You'll have to take that to the service desk to get your refund."

Don't I know it! Same thing had happened in 10Box. This time there was an actual person working there. The trash gal. She cheerfully handed back my money. I hobbled out the door at that end, which was already halfway to where T-Hoe was parked. The Pony admitted that yes, he had been getting a bit worried.

Rather than giving The Pony lottery money this trip, as I always do, I had said I was getting four random $5 tickets. The Pony had two winners. One was $5, and the other had the 5X symbol! Which made it a $25 winner.

The Universe is rubbing salt in my losing wounds. I had more tickets than The Pony, including a couple of the $10 new crosswords. My total winnings were $35. Barely more than The Pony, with a lot more spent.

The Universe has made it pretty clear that I'm having a losing streak. At least let me buy the losers without incident!

A Tangled Ball Of Snakes

My first week of occupational therapy for my legs was cut short because my OT was out sick on Friday. On Monday, I got the gist of how that appointment would have ended. 

The leg-wrapping involves three wraps on each leg. They're a lot like ACE bandages, only better. The OT says they have two-way stretch, and work while I'm moving, AND at rest, to facilitate fluids being squished out of the tissues, and not pooling due to gravity. They don't loosen and sag like the one-way stretch ACE bandages. They also don't have Velcro at the ends, so need to be taped.

The wraps are in three sizes. They're centimeters, so I don't remember exactly. By looking at them, I would say the widths are about 2 inches for the smallest, that goes on the foot/ankle. Then 3 inches for the next one that overlaps the ankle and goes to the knee. And 4 inches for the one that goes over it, from ankle to knee.

But wait! We're putting the foot before the knee! The whole thing starts with lotion on my bare leg, then a stretchy net kind of open-ended stocking going toe knuckles to above the knee. Then a wide (maybe 12 inches) swath of cotton batting that wraps from ankle to just below the knee. THEN the wraps are applied, starting at the ankle/foot. Once all three wraps are on and taped, the net stocking is folded down over the top. That covers up the tape, lest it get caught on my pants and get pulled loose.

Anyhoo... the whole process takes about 20 minutes. When I undid the wraps to take a shower, and reapplied them, it took ME slightly over 30 minutes to get them off, and another 30 to get them back on! And I even have some knowledge of wrapping, thanks to my athletic training classes for coaching.

That's a long description, but the wrapping is the core part of this treatment. That's why OT initially told me that I couldn't unwrap them the whole time (three months!) she would be treating me. Then she allowed it, saying since she saw I could bend over to reach my feet and do it myself. In fact, when I went back on Monday, having unwrapped them twice in that time to shower, she said she couldn't tell it was MY wrapping instead of HERS, except for the different tape. I took that as a compliment.

Anyhoo... Monday I found out that I would have two sets of wraps. We use them a week, then OT gives the used wraps to me to take home and wash, and applies the second set. Which I will get at the end of THIS week, and she'll use the ones I have brought back clean.

"Here are your old wraps, and the washing instructions." She went over them with me.

No problem. Except I realized my Tide laundry detergent was Tide With Bleach. So I went by Country Mart and got some regular Tide to be sure. I used have a net bag for washing delicates, but apparently I've had no delicates in quite a while, because I couldn't find it. HOWEVER, I have a pillow cover that works the same way. It has a zipper at the end. So I put all six of my wraps inside, zipped it shut, and threw in some socks and a couple towels and pair of sweatpants. No need to do a separate load just for the wraps. I made sure to change the washer setting to COLD COLD.

When the washer was done, I lifted the lid to see a horror show! The wraps had slithered out of the pillow cover! Somehow they had unzipped it! I had a nice clean inside-out pillow cover, and a TANGLED BALL OF SNAKES. Good thing those six wraps did not have Velcro at each of their ends! I was able to untangle them in about 10 minutes.

My original plan was to stretch those wraps along behind the long couch, and forbid Farmer H from using the front door and walking there. That did not seem easy. I swear each of those wraps seems 20 feet long. At least longer than I am tall. Instead, I draped them over the banister that keeps people from falling into the opening where the 13 rail-less basement steps reside. I put a beach towel over the banister to protect the wood. Then I halved each wrap, and halved it again, to drape like so much decorative bunting along that rail. I didn't think it would stretch them out as much as halving them over a shower curtain, as OT said some of the patients do.

OT said that the stretching is not such an issue as heat. That she thought one of her clients was kidding when she said, "I didn't use hot water. I stretched them out to dry. Then I ironed them." OT says the lady is kind of sarcastic and funny, and OT originally laughed at the story, but the client wasn't smiling. OT realized she was serious. She had IRONED those wraps! 

"And her wife verified it! Said, 'Oh, yeah. She irons EVERYTHING!' So I told her not to do that again."

Heh, heh! I said I didn't even know if I HAD an iron, and OT said she's pretty sure she does, but not sure where it is right now. That times are different, and her mother is always telling her, "I'm not going out with you looking like that! Take off your shirt and I'll iron it for you!"

Seriously. Times ARE different. My mom used to iron my dad's tighty whities. I don't think OT looks unkempt at all...

Johnny Appleseed Missed The Boat

After four visits, I now have an idea how my occupational therapy sessions will go. I show up and notify the front desk I'm there. I sit down and wait, doing my best to avoid random children zooming around, or unsteady walkers, or reckless scooters. On time, I get called by OT, and proceed to the inner sanctum, and her treatment room.

I take off my shoes and socks, pull up the legs of my sweatpants, and sit on the end of the hydraulic table/bed. Some days, it's just for a re-wrap. Other days, she puts a sheet on the table/bed, and I lie down for a massage of sorts. Not the happy-ending kind! Some armpit/abdominal/groin/leg pushing. I liken it to the kneading of a cat. A cat with human-size lady-hands.

On Tuesday, there was a new tool: a ziploc bag containing rows of cherry seeds sewn into material. Kind of like a knobby potholder in a baggie. OT said a rep had given it to her, and she puts it in a new bag to use on each patient. She uses it between the leg and her hands, to massage and break down tissue that has hardened, to improve circulation.

"Who in the world though of such a use for CHERRY SEEDS! You'd think another fruit would be more efficient. Maybe one with a LOT of seeds. Not just one seed per cherry. Or maybe the factories that pit the cherries pushed this, as a way to get rid of the cherry seeds! I don't get it? Are they pointy on the ends? Or why wouldn't plastic balls be just as useful?"

"I don't know. This is something new since I did my training. The seeds are all a little bit different size, but they're smooth. Maybe they roll different, because they're not perfectly round. It's not like they're loose and releasing any chemicals into the skin."

Such a mystery. OT had warmed the packet in a microwave. It was actually a pleasant (not happy!) feeling as my leg was massaged with it. My hour ended right on time. I was wrapped, back in my socks and shoes, and leaving Bill-Paying Town by three minutes after the hour. I really don't mind it at all, except the waiting room with PEOPLE in it!

I guess there's a cherry-grower's association thumbing their collective noses at Johnny Appleseed.

Mrs. HM Is Smelling Again

Yes, Mrs. HM's sense of taste and smell have returned! What food did I choose to celebrate? A TACO SALAD! I had been thinking about pulled pork nachos, but on Errand Day, The Pony was browsing around the biscuit section of Country Mart, and came to me with a flat box package.

"Look at this, Mom! It says you can make your own taco salad bowls!"

Well. That DID look promising. I think the brand was Aztec. The box had four tortillas and some cardboard foldy thingies to drape them over. Bake for 6-10 minutes, cool, and you have your own taco salad shell! I'm sure you could do the same thing with a regular flour tortilla draped over an oven-proof bowl. But I was willing to give this a try. It turned out great!

The shell crisped up quite nicely. Disregard the box of bandaids, and the ibuprofen. I'm not a great cook, but I don't regularly slice off appendages. I'm slow to put things in the cabinets, and I was almost out of ibuprofen, and when Pepper gets feisty, it's handy to have the bandaids ready and waiting by the sink.

I looked in 10Box and Country Mart for shredded lettuce. None to be found! I guess other taste-regainers had the same idea. So I had to chop up my romaine.

Next came the chicken. Diced from a boneless skinless chicken breast I had baked a couple days earlier for Farmer H's suppers.

The cheese was extra-sharp cheddar. I buy a 16 oz block and cut it into 16 cubes. So I have a handy 1-oz portion ready when I need it. This was done on my handheld grater. No fingertips included, heh, heh!

Gotta have my crunchy sweet Vidalia onion.

There's Save A Lot medium salsa, with some Frank's Original RedHot Sauce sprinkled on top.

Three tablespoons of sour cream dabbed all around.

Crowned with black olives. Yes, I had to slice them myself. I mistakenly thought I had more of those pre-sliced small cans. But no. I guess I used them on super nachos.

This chicken taco salad was everything I dreamed of! There are still three more "shells" in FRIG II. I'll get around to them, and the pulled pork, after I'm done with our Tuesday Mother's Day Chinese.

So Many Roadblocks, So Much Time

It seems as if every appointment with Occupational Therapy is to be fraught with obstacles. First one, there was the wild kid running around who crashed into my knee. The second one had the broken brake on the hydraulic table/bed. The third one was cancelled! That's right! No sooner had I gotten my untimely treatment started after two months of delays, than my third appointment was cancelled!

I was driving T-Hoe on Errand Day, trying to turn into the bank while avoiding a guy on a mower whizzing across the entrance. My cell phone rang. I tried to answer with one hand while steering with the other. The Pony had said the number calling had last been used last week.

"Oh! That's the hospital number. My leg appointments. Give it to me! Hello?"

"Mom. It didn't slide. You haven't answered. Here. Let me get it."

The Pony accepted the call, and I pulled up into the employee parking area to take it.

"Is this HM? I'm calling for HM about her appointment tomorrow at 8:30."

"This is her."

"Your therapist is sick, and won't be in tomorrow. So your appointment is cancelled."

"Oh. That's okay with me. Thank you so much for calling to let me know."

"We have you on Monday at 1:00."

"Yes. I'll be there. Thank you."

I'm not disappointed to miss that session. I don't really like to get out of the Mansion that early. I just hope they don't tack that on at the end of the 12 weeks now!

Seems Like There Should Be An Easier Way

Automation is out of control! To make one person's life easier, it takes inconveniencing a myriad of others. It's not like this is anything new. It just came up on my gripe list this week.

You may recall that I will be hauling myself down to Occupational Therapy in Bill-Paying Town three times a week, for 12 weeks (!) for treatment on my legs. Which still probably won't qualify me for a knee replacement, but maybe that's not meant to be.

Anyhoo... for each appointment, I get an email and a text saying that I need to do the pre-check-in on YourChart. Oh, and I also have a regular (follow-up) appointment with my NP this week. So I got 10 such reminders on Thursday! They were for Friday/Monday/Tuesday/Friday leg appointments, and the Wednesday NP appointment. At least I only had to log onto YourChart and confirm FIVE times, not all 10.

Surely this could be more streamlined. The only screens that I had to interact with were for each visit, to automatically sign my consent for treatment and billing. That's it! Just a fake signature. They have all the rest of my info. Wouldn't you think I could consent to the entire 12 weeks of treatment ONE TIME? So I would only need to fake sign once, rather than 36 times???

As for the appointment my NP had scheduled when I was there in March about my legs, the follow-up two months into the future in May, which he said he still needed, rather than combine it with my regular 6-month appointment in June... that dang YourChart had the AUDACITY to ask me what my appointment was for!

YOU tell ME! I didn't make the appointment! My NP made the appointment. Surely it should have some type of code as a follow-up for some other type of code.

But no. I was supposed to say what my "complaint" (heh, heh, I could have a field day with that!) was, and the reason for it, etc.

I will probably get a little persnickety when I see my NP. You know, what with having seen the OT only ONE WEEK before this "follow-up" appointment to see how the treatment is going. My blood pressure reading may not be in the normal range.

Mystery (Somewhat) Solved

It's been a week since my Fave went missing. She usually works the afternoon shift four days, over the weekend at the Gas Station Chicken Store. I was highly optimistic on Thursday. Surely Fave would be back, just like normal. Wouldn't she? 

NOPE!

The car in the parking lot was that of the Other Gal. She works the other afternoon shifts, and also mornings on the weekends. She's okay. I have no issues with her. The tickets she sells me do not seem as lucky. Over this past week, my winnings have suffered! However... I got up the gumption on Thursday, around 4:30, with no other customers in the store. As Other Gal was handing back my $2 change, I took the plunge...

"I was surprised to see you here today. I was expecting Fave."

"Oh. Well..."

"What's going on with that?"

"Fave got shot."

"WHAT? SHOT??? That's terrible! I was thinking maybe she got another dog bite. Losing the end of her thumb was bad enough. But SHOT!!! That's even worse! How did THAT happen?"

"Well. She was with her dog. Apparently somebody said he was going to shoot the dog, and Fave said no he wasn't."

"Where did she get hit?"

"The abdomen, I think? I haven't talked to her. And maybe on her calf. I think the bullet just grazed her."

"The abdomen is not good! I hope she's okay. But thanks for the info."

What in the actual NOT-HEAVEN??? There comes a time when maybe you have to evaluate your situation, and maybe, just maybe, realize that this dog is not the best thing to have in your life. I'm sure Fave loves her dog. But she's lost work from breaking up a fight, then lost the end of her thumb for breaking up another fight, and now she's been SHOT!

Maybe when she returns, I can get more of the story, straight from the dog-momma's mouth.

Mrs. HM Is Back To Her Tasteful Self (Kind Of)

Blow the long horns, and start the pageantry for the official announcement: Mrs. HM Seems To Be Slowly Regaining Her Taste!

I don't want to jump the gun, put the cart before the horse, or count my chickens before they hatch. But I have HOPE! Which started on Thursday morning. I almost detected a smidgen of flavor at the first bite of banana. WHAT? Was it possible? Sadly, the rest of the banana was just as tasteless as it had been for the past 12 days. It was the 14th day since I fell ill. Time to be healed!

The oatmeal just had the newly-regular taste that I can only describe as "discernable sweetness." No actual flavor, but it was sweet, not savory. I opened up my little jar of Vicks VapoRub and took a whiff. Nope. Nothing. It might as well be an unscented candle.

On my Errand Day with The Pony, I shared my hope. I had a generic Halls MenthoLyptus Honey Lemon cough drop. There were a couple of instances where I thought I noticed lemon! Not while consciously trying to taste it. But randomly, which got my attention back on my taste buds.

I had another cough drop just before my snack of 1 oz of sharp cheddar and 12 dill pickle chips. Not really needed to open up my nasal passages, because I could breathe in and out normally through my nose. I had hoped the MenthoLyptus would waft up into the recesses of my sinuses and shrink the tissues a bit more, to let those flavor molecules proceed to the tiny patch that recognizes them. Nope.

At suppertime, I tried the Vicks jar again. I think I could tell it was Vicks! Barely. I had a can of sardines with mustard sauce. The mustard was tangy, as usual. Perhaps a bit more so this time. Still no sardine flavor. No taste in the Ritz crackers. But the Progresso Chunky Chicken Noodle Soup? I got a small taste of the broth!!! Just a hint, and just a couple times. It was like if La Croix made soup, that would have been the flavor!

Now it's Friday at noon. I can definitely tell I am sniffing a jar of Vicks VapoRub. The banana SEEMED to taste like a banana. But so many of them lately have not much flavor anyway. And I got a couple Brown Sugar Maple vibes from my oatmeal. 

I'm ON THE MEND! Tonight, I'm planning to have a TACO SALAD, made with the boneless skinless chicken breasts I had cooked yesterday for Farmer H's suppers. His with Lemon Pepper, but mine just plain. I think the medium salsa, and Frank's Original RedHot Sauce, might give my nostrils a kick.

Things are looking up for Mrs. HM's nose!

Mrs. HM's Leg Can't Catch A Break

I feel like something is destined to go wrong with each step of my leg journey! First all the trouble getting the appointment. As I was leaving after the second session, on Wednesday, my Occupational Therapist asked me if I ever went to the Wound Care Clinic.

"Do you have time? First I was told that the Wound Care clinic would call me for an appointment. After a couple weeks, I sent messages through YourChart asking what was going on. I was told to call Wound Care myself. They didn't want me! Said it was a task for Physical Therapy, and that they would talk to my NP, and Physical Therapy would call me. Nobody did. Another call to the office, and I was told to call Physical Therapy myself. They said they didn't handle it. I called my NP's office again. The was told that Occupational Therapy would handle that, and give me a call. Nobody did. Another call to NP. More advice to call on my own for an appointment. Occupational Therapy said they had a wait list, and I'd get a call when they had an opening. Now here I am!"

"I was wondering, because I saw a couple of referrals in your chart, and I was trying to figure out what that was all about. Is there anything we could have done that would have made it easier for you?"

"Everybody I talked to was VERY NICE! Even the ones who didn't want me, heh, heh! I don't have any complaints about anybody. I was trying to do the right thing, because I knew I had a follow-up appointment in two months, and the two months were almost over! My appointment is next week. I didn't want to show up and be asked, "So you haven't done ANYTHING?" I didn't want to seem pushy, but I didn't know what to do. If somebody had just called me from somewhere, and said, "We have a waiting list and we'll call when we can fit you it... that would have been very helpful."

My second visit was at 8:30 a.m. The day after I left the first appointment at 2:30 p.m. At least no toddler rammed into my leg this time! The only child I saw was a cutie, a little girl about 6 months old, with wild spiky black hair, whose mom had to use the bathroom, so a receptionist came out an held her. I was called back only two minutes past my appointment time. And then the next obstacle beset me.

There were four people in my treatment room! My OT, two women, and a man. I wondered what they were going to do to me! This seemed serious! OT had said that she would be doing some kind of massage this time. Did it take FOUR people? I'm not an elephant! One person can easily reach across me! They were moving that low flat table bed around. It's on wheels. Covered with blue vinyl, with a hinged part so you can have your head and shoulders elevated. It's just like the one they had in the x-ray room when I got my knee x-rays, and the gal told me to sit on the end. Oh, and did I mention that it rises on hydraulics like a car lift?

Turns out a part broke on the brake the day before. Something snapped.

"I didn't do it!"

"Oh, no. You didn't do it. This was before you were even here."

They all puttered around. The bed had been against the wall, but it was being moved out so OT could move all the way around me. The one lady was in charge of the office equipment, I think. She was going to call the supplier, but trying to work out a makeshift brake for the day, using a plastic wedge, which was too big. 

"Can you put it against the wall? No? Maybe you can use another room today, with the other table. It's only a couple inches narrower."

"I don't know. What's the weight limit? That's the problem if I use it all day. But I can use that room for my next appointment, because I don't need the table. I'm just fitting for a bra. So you can work on this one while I'm not in here. But I need this table after that."

The table wasn't all THAT rolly. OT got on the other side of it as I climbed on, and it didn't roll. She jacked me up about halfway, then sat on her rolly stool, moving all around the table, massaging my lymphatic pressure points or something. She explained, but I didn't catch it all. It was abdomen, armpits, neck, groin, legs, and even feet! This was after I sat on the end first, and she unrolled all the wrappings from my lower legs and feet.

Anyhoo... afterwards I got all wrapped up again. Next appointment for Friday morning.

Be Careful What You Hound People For

Tuesday afternoon was the long-awaited appointment for the leg service I was referred for on March 9th. It was at the occupational therapy facility near the hospital and my NP's office. Farmer H drove me. I was told this first appointment was a consultation. I told Farmer H it might just take 15 minutes. Or maybe a half hour, depending on how they booked. I didn't think anything would be actually done on this day.

WRONG!!!

We got there at 12:35. My appointment was 1:00, but I'd been told to arrive at 12:45. It's over in Bill-Paying Town, so a 30-minute drive on the highway. NOBODY was in the parking lot!

"Is this the right place?"

"Yeah. There's the address above the door. This is what they told me. It must be because of lunch time. At least we got a good parking space!"

A couple more cars arrived. Two people went in, so I did, too, while Farmer H fiddled around in A-Cad for a moment. I got checked in. Nothing to fill out, because I had done it through YourChart. At least the receptionist VALidated my efforts by thanking me for that.

The waiting room filled up quickly. The worst part was KIDS! Only two, but they were four years old, and one had been running wild for 10 minutes when the other arrived. He was good at first, but saw The Runner, and started doing it himself. Which eventually ended with Second Runner stumbling and falling ON MY LEFT KNEE! It was quite startling, and unwelcome, but didn't hurt too much, because that's the better of my knees. Farmer H picked him up, and his grandma apologized to Not-Heaven and back. I don't hold it against the kid, because obviously he has some issue that's being dealt with through occupational therapy. It's just that I'd prefer a child-free environment at this stage in my knees life.

I was called back to a room with a chair and a low flat table. My Occupational Therapist was a gal in her early 30s. I liked her immediately, because she was matter-of-fact and put me at ease. I pulled up my pantlegs for the exam, while sitting on the chair and she wheeling over on her doctor stool. She heard my tale. Poked at my legs a bit. Asked me some history. Said it is definitely lymphedema, not cellulitis, but that it's possible cellulitis could develop, especially after a surgery, when there's a lot of swelling.

OT then had me sit on the end of that low table, making sure I felt secure, far enough back, and RAISED IT UP! High! I felt like a car getting worked on! OT wheeled over to my dangling my legs, and had my shoes and socks off before I could object. I don't like people touching me. Of course you don't really have much choice when you're there to get your legs worked on.

OT took about a bazillion measurements, then said she was going to wash my legs (they weren't dirty, it's standard procedure!) and wrap them. That I couldn't get them wet. That I'd need "shower bags" if I took a shower, or to do sponge baths.

"For how long?"

"Until I'm done seeing you."

Which will be THREE TIMES A WEEK until the END OF JULY!!!

What in the Not-Heaven have I gotten myself into? No way am I going that long without a shower! I said so to OT (in a polite way looking for a solution). 

OT said that since I had mentioned wrapping my legs at home with an ACE bandage (which I have been doing for a while, because it makes my knees feel better), that I could undo her wrappings, and put them back on as soon as the shower was over. Since she wants the wraps left on continuously between visits, when she wraps them again. She said a lot of her patients can't bend over to reach their feet, so they can't re-wrap, but she could see I had no problem doing that.

The goal is to squeeze fluid out of the tissues, and then maintain that after the three months by using home wraps and therapies. Again, I'm not sure if this will be good enough for the orthopedist, but it can't hurt giving it a try. That's why he referred me to my NP for such a referral.

Anyhoo... that's the plan. I went back again today (Wednesday), and I go Friday. As you might assume, more tales will follow.

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.