MAYBE I Have Solved The Security Alert Mystery

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Non-Malicious Honker

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roll On, Sharp Two-Wheeler, Roll On

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

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

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

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

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

The Pony also mowed along the front sidewalk:

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

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

I'll Tell You What Else Is Annoying

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

What can I blame for this? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Very annoying.

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

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The Pony Gets Charged

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

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

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

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

Farmer H came home and went to bed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll call back and see."

"NO IT AIN'T ALL ABOUT ME!"

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

"DON'T YOU YELL AT ME!"

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

"I'll go now!"

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

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

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

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

"Okay. Now I feel bad."

The Pony's not the only one. 

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

It's Maddening, I Tell You!

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

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

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

"Oh. Thank you."

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

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

"What did I not put back?"

"The slaw!"

"I put away the slaw!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What am I supposed to call him?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm stopping by the motel."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Farmer H makes my brain hurt. 

Which Nobody Can Deny (Except This One Guy)

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

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

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

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

SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK

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

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

"Those squeaks say different."

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Helper Is Sometimes Not So Helpful

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I need treats, too!"

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

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

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

A Surprise Feast

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

SUPER NACHOS

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

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

12 tortilla chips

half a bag of shredded lettuce

1 oz of shredded cheddar cheese

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

seven tablespoons of salsa

one diced Vidalia onion

six tablespoons of sour cream

half a mini can of sliced black olives

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TOO EASILY!

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

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

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

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

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

Chinese Easter

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Pony Is My Conscience

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

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

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

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

"I have four of the sodas."

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

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

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

"Let me see your receipt."

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

We walked on. Almost to the door.

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

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

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

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

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

"Let me see!"

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

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

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

The Pony begs to differ.

Another Attempt Thwarted?

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

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

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

WHAP!

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

CRUSHED and FLUSHED!

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

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

Cutting Remarks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Delayed Reveal

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

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

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

"Ooh! That's great!"

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

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

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

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

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

No Treatments Indeed For Mrs. HM In KNEEd

After such a helpful conversation with the gal at my Nurse Practitioner's office on Thursday, I called the Occupational Therapy office on Monday morning. Full of hope, you know, to finally get this knee business off the starting line. To see what can be done to improve the circulation so the skin doesn't look red and continue to spook the orthopedist into not replacing my knee.

I waited until 10:40 a.m. Long enough for them to get into their Monday morning routine. After the morning rush. Before lunches. Between breaks.

Occ Gal was friendly. Didn't seem rushed. I told her I had been referred by my NP.

"What is your name again? And address? Phone number? Oh, I see it here. Is there a reason you're calling us?"

"Because I was told to. By my NP's office. This has been going on for over a month. I've been told that somebody will call me. Then they don't. I check back. I'm told to call them myself, to make an appointment. So now I'm calling you. To make an appointment for an evaluation, and possible treatment."

"Okay. We currently have a waitlist for lymphedema. But I will put you down, and we will call you when there's an opening."

"All right. So it will happen when it happens? I don't need to do anything else?"

"That's right. You don't have to make any more calls."

"Well... that's good to know, anyway! Thank you so much."

Meanwhile, nothing has changed. My next appointment with my NP, to see if there's been improvement, is May 13. I'm predicting that the findings will be the same. You know, because I'm such a psychic.

Pepper Is Sprouting Taller Each Day

Little puppy Pepper is growing into adolescence. He's all gangly and leggy, and a bit clumsy at three months old. He has stopped nipping at our hands when petted. He still takes a nip at Jack, in their playful shenanigans.

Farmer H's favorite antic of Pepper's is when he steps right over Jack's back. Pepper is almost tall enough to do it, but gets stuck. A couple days ago, it happened on the side porch when I came home, and Farmer H was sitting there with the dogs. 

Pepper had three legs over, but his right rear leg was stuck. So he was kind of perched on Jack's back. Then he turned to take a nip at Jack's ear. Jack objected, but couldn't get turned to nip in return, with Pepper resting across his back like a saddle. A growl, and running out from under Pepper, solved the issue.

On Thursday, Farmer H came out to get his tractor for HOS (Farmer H's Oldest Son) to use for some yard work.

"I stopped over in the BARn field, and Pepper come runnin' up to me as fast as he could. He slammed right into my leg! That made him flip over, and he started yelpin' like he was really hurt. Stupid dog!"

"Well, he was just happy to see you. He loves you."

"Yeah, maybe."

We thought Pepper must have learned his lesson about running and stopping. He'll be more careful, getting used to his bigger, faster body. Maybe he's not learning as fast as we anticipated.

Saturday, I was rounding the Juno house corner of the porch, leaving for town, when I heard the dogs coming. They lounge in the sun on the front porch until they hear me slam the kitchen door. Then they come running for their snack, which I toss down at the top of the steps.

Pepper was in the lead. He came barreling at me and SLAMMED into my left shin, a few inches below the knee. Good thing that's not my worse knee, and that I was able to grab the corner of the house. Pepper didn't yelp. But he got a stern, "Pepper! NO!" It made enough of an impression that he stopped jumping, and got behind me to follow me to the steps. Where he danced on his hind legs waiting for the snack, careful not to touch me.

I hope Pepper gains some coordination soon. These old bones can't take a beatin' like they used to.

If You Try Sometime, You Just Might Find, You Get What You KNEEd

Thursday morning before I left to pick up The Pony to get our early Easter Dinner side dishes prepped, I fired up HIPPIE to send another note to my NP's office. Concerning my lack of an appointment to deal with my leg issue that's preventing a knee replacement. An appointment that was first mentioned on MARCH 9. Which I have contacted several staff about, 3-4 times. 

It had been 3.5 weeks since the mention of that appointment, with no appointment in sight. And me due to go back to see my NP in a month to see if this intended intervention was helping.

I scrolled down through my emails to get the most recent YourChart notice. That's the easiest way to log in, through an email with the link. The most recent was when I saw that I had a new charge, and had gone online paid $48 for the x-ray at the orthopedist.

Imagine my SHOCK when the YourChart screen opened, and I saw an order from my NP about a referral to Occupational Therapy "on or about April 9."

What was THIS all about? Why had I not gotten a YourChart notification when it went in? The date on it was March 26, which was the previous Thursday. The only thing such as this that I'd seen previously was in my actual chart, the summary from my NP appointment on March 9, where there was a mention of a referral to the Wound Care Clinic with an ending date of April 9.

You may recall that I had called the Wound Care Clinic myself, and was told they didn't handle my issue, and that they'd talk to my NP and then somebody from Physical Therapy would call me to make an appointment. Which had not happened...

Anyhoo... I could not understand from this notice what I should be doing. When I'd click on the "more information" part, it would only say something like "contact your facility." I'm not sure of the exact wording, and don't want to go look it up again. But I didn't know if I should be calling my NP, or the Occupational Therapy office, which I could not find anywhere on the clinics associated with my hospital/clinic.

So... I called my NP's office. The Gal was very polite. I explained I had seen that notice, but didn't know what to do, and I had reached out several times trying to get specific information. The Gal said she was in my chart, looking over my past questions and answers.

"Please give me a minute to read through these. I see. Here are two numbers for you to call. The Occupational Therapy office, and the Wound Care Clinic. Now I want to go check and make sure what is intended. Okay. Thank you for being so patient. Go ahead and scratch off the Wound Care Clinic. You should call the Occupational Therapy office. They will give you an appointment to come in for an evaluation. Then they will set up appointments with you as needed."

"Can you tell me where that is?"

"It's right here near the hospital. Let me give you the address."

"Oh. I know that area. Thank you so much! You've been the most helpful person I've talked to!"

Now I have a plan. I was running late to pick up The Pony and get on with our day. Besides, it was Thursday, with Good Friday being the next day. I supposed the OT office would be closed. I will be calling on Monday to see when I can go. Of course, I'll have to make sure it's not a day when Farmer H has his MRI for the collapsed lung/pneumonia issue. 

The Universe would have a heyday if those two appointments coincided.

A Round Of Do-Gooding On The House

Thursday evening, I drove The Pony home after we got part of our side dishes ready for our Easter Dinner on Friday. I stopped by the Gas Station Chicken Store to get my scratchers. As I walked around the corner of the building, I saw a late-20s man talking to an older man at the pumps. They were quite jovial, in good spirits.

Young Man turned and started towards the door at the same time I was getting there. He held the door open for me. I thanked him and hobbled inside. I stepped to the side of the counter, and told Fave, 

"Let him go ahead. He was before me, and held the door."

"Thanks. I just want to pay this $10 for gas. I was broken down behind the high school, and that guy came along and stopped to help me!"

"Oh, really? Give him these tickets. Tell him they're on the house, heh, heh!" Fave tore off a bunch of the red tickets that gas customers can use to enter the weekly drawing to win $30 of gas. The number they get depends on how much they spend on gas.

So we all did a good deed that day!

Young Man held the door open for me.

I let Young Man go ahead, because it was the right thing to do.

Old Man had stopped to rescue Young Man on the road.

Fave gave out a bunch of drawing tickets to reward Old Man.

Speaking (Two Days Ago) Of Parties...

We had a flier in our mailbox on Monday. In true Farmer H fashion, he did not bother to read it. Just put it down on the table with the rest of the mail.

"Hey, did you see this? Looks like they're asking for money again for the road gravel."

"No. I didn't see nothin' about that."

"You might want to look at it. It says it's the "Annual Gravel Fundraiser." Our neighbors across the road are hosting a BBQ at the end of April, and they're asking for donations for gravel. They're having hamburgers and hot dogs, and say to bring a side dish. I'll make something if you want to go."

"I don't want to go. I'm too old to hang out around a bunch of drunks. I don't like most of the people out here now."

"Well, we'll give money for the road."

"Yeah. I'll give it directly to Neighbor."

"That way when the drunks start complaining about how 'The Hillbilly family never shows up or donates nothin',' Neighbors can say, 'Oh, they already gave us their money.' I don't know how much it is these days, but we'll give enough for a load of gravel."

"It's $250! Neighbor [from next door] got a load yesterday. That's why he borrowed my tractor, to spread the gravel. Didn't you see it?"

"That seems like a lot. Who did he use? I DID notice some lighter color small gravel down by the creek."

"He called me askin' who I use, but he ended up callin' around and said that $250 was the cheapest he could get. Funny how I don't remember him never donatin' gravel money before."

"Well, he DID do the work of spreading the gravel. On your borrowed tractor..."

"Yeah. The last time we got gravel, it was $165. But it's gone up."

We like both these neighbors, and the one down the hill. That's about it. The other people are newer, not the same as when we all moved out here 25 years ago. They are the hard-headed people who don't want to listen to Farmer H's ideas of how to improve the road. I doubt they will kick in much of a donation for gravel. They seem to think "other people" are responsible for that.

More Training Is Needed

No. We're not talking about new puppy Pepper. We are talking about Farmer H. Oh, how I had hoped he was successfully trained to notify me of impending visitors of his doing. 

Even though I found out by eavesdropping in the right place at the right time about the stranger coming to get the file safe, I was fairly confident that this matter would not concern me. I heard Farmer H myself, telling that guy on the phone our address. In fact, I even asked why he was giving our address to a stranger. Well! Because "he's never been here before, HM." 

Silly me. I thought surely the matter of this file safe had been discussed before. After all, the phone call was just to specify the time. And give the guy the address.

Here's the deal. Farmer H was home around 3:00, carrying stuff in the Mansion, and saying that he had to go over to his Freight Container Garage to meet the stranger at 3:30. Off he went. I don't know if he drove the Gator or SilverRedO, because I didn't watch. I went to lie down for my 20-minute nap before town. 

THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP!

What in the Not-Heaven???

THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP!

That was the front door! About 10 minutes into my nap. Good thing I use my phone for an alarm, and had it right there on the bed. No way was I getting up to hobble to the front door and greet Farmer H's stranger. I called Farmer H.

"Somebody is over here banging on the front door."

"Oh. Huh. I guess I'll come over."

You'd think Farmer H would have mentioned to the stranger that the file safe was in an outbuilding. Tell him he'd be over by the BARn, which is big and red and can be seen from the gravel road as you go by headed for the driveway, whereby a metal pole holds our address. Farmer H could have just told the guy to drive directly into the BARn field from the road. Then they could greet each other and get the file safe loaded.

Clearly, Farmer H needs instruction on how to give strangers instructions for showing up to buy his junk.

The Mansion Is Party Central

Let the record show that Mrs. HM enjoys a quiet, peaceful life. I'm fine with not having visitors. In fact, I don't WANT visitors. I like my routine. Don't come a-knockin' on my door looking for hospitality.

Farmer H is a people person. He likes interacting. He's probably in the dictionary (remember those?) as an artist's rendering, next to gregarious. Farmer H never met a stranger. And most often, what's his is theirs. Except for money. But you may recall the trailer-lending ending. Twice.

Because Farmer H has a penchant for inviting people to partake of his junkalicious bounty, he is under strict orders to LET ME KNOW if somebody will be popping up at the Mansion. He's been pretty good about that lately.

Monday was Party Central day at the Mansion. At least I got texts.

9:04 a.m. 

"Neighbor is going to use the tractor"

Okay. So I knew that when Jack started barking and running over to the BARn, there was a logical reason. Nobody was stealing one of Hick's tractors. It was just being borrowed. Neighbor had permission, and wouldn't need to bother me.

10:08 a.m. 

"HM HOS [Farmer H's Oldest Son] is looking for mushrooms in the woods"

Okay. HOS had been a bit estranged until the past couple weeks. I don't know his current vehicle. So when Jack started barking and running over to the BARn field again, it was only HOS, and not some stranger prowling around in the woods.

3:30 p.m. 

A complete stranger was coming to the Freight Container Garage. Farmer H didn't text me. I overheard him the night before, making the deal. Supposedly Farmer H knew a relative of this guy, and he was getting some kind of file safe that Farmer H didn't need. I'm sure there was a sale or trade taking place.

That let me know I shouldn't be concerned if I saw somebody parked over in the field by the Freight Container Garage when I went to town. They weren't breaking in and stealing Farmer H's treasures. They were waiting to complete a deal with Farmer H.

We might have to put in a roundabout if we're going to have so much traffic...