The Auto Miser

We went to the casino on Thursday, with Farmer H behind the wheel of A-Cad. Riding with Farmer H is always an adventure. His sweaving was tolerable this time. Only a few strays into the wake-up bumps on the highway, only a few drifts into the other lane.

My main issue this trip was FREEZING. It was an overcast day, 46 degrees when we left the Mansion. Temps would be climbing into the 70s, but I know the casino is always cold, so I wore a sweatshirt over my regular gambling uniform pink plaid shirt. The temp on both dual controls in A-Cad were set at 74. This would probably be fine, IF there was any air blowing that heat around.

I tried to hold my tongue, for The Pony's sake, who doesn't like listening to our squabbles. You'd think a simple request for heat would be met with the blower being turned on. Problem solved. But no. Not when the driver is Farmer H, Auto Miser.

We traveled the county blacktop highway for about 30 miles. Got our McDonald's breakfast at the drive-thru, and got on the interstate highway. After Farmer H had consumed his Sausage, Egg, and Cheese McMuffin, I dared mention that I was cold. Farmer H reached over and set my control to 80 degrees.

"That might work, if any air was flowing. It's not."

Farmer H put his hand up to my center vent. "It's blowing."

I put my hand up to my side vent. Nothing. I turned the dial. Nothing.

"That vent is closed. No wonder you're not getting anything."

"I just closed it. Trying to see if it had been closed, and I could open it."

"It's on."

"No. It's NOT on. I could turn my side up to 100, and I still wouldn't get any warm air. Because you always put it on AUTO, and say it works automatically. That's all you ever talk about! AUTO, AUTO, AUTO! If the fan isn't on, the air doesn't move!"

Farmer H reached over and tried to set my contol on 100. The highest it went was 90. He left it there, and held his hand to my center vent again. There was no change. Farmer H cranked the dial on the fan, to put it on the highest setting. Warm air started blowing out the vent. I turned my control back down to 80. 

"You don't have to crank it up so much. My point is that you never want to turn on the fan. You think AUTO is actually doing something, but it's not!"

Farmer H turned it down to medium. "You're a big girl. You can operate the heat."

Yeah, right. In the past, this results with a heavy sigh, or vocal objection from Farmer H. About AUTO! AUTO will keep the temperature at what it's set for! Miraculously! Without any air moving at all!

Anyhoo... at least I was finally warm. But then we entered a brief shower. Light rain. Farmer H finally turned on the windshield wipers. On the lowest setting. So I endured a watery windshield with a distorted view, then a swipe that smeared dust. I didn't even bother to give my opinion of THAT situation. Nor when we got back home, and I saw how deflated A-Cad's tires were.

I don't know what the deal is with Farmer H. He acts like it costs money to turn on the fan to blow the heat, and to run the windshield wipers faster, and to put air in the tires so they're at the proper inflation! AND like such an imagined charge would come out of HIS pocket!

As If He Thought This Was A Good Defense

You are about to get a peek into why Mrs. HM lives in a state of incense-ation. As you might suppose, it involves Farmer H.

Yesterday morning, we were preparing to leave for the casino. Farmer H had been to town to gas up A-Cad (and most likely have a clandestine donut). I had asked him to get some scratchers for me, because I knew we'd get back around 5:00, and I didn't want to go to town then. I gave him three losing tickets as examples of what I wanted, and the money.

You know where this is headed, right? Farmer H returned home with my tickets. Except he had bought two extra, because Casey's was out of the one that I wanted. Then he went to Orb K and got that one. Oh, and he told me the extras were the Tetris ticket that I like, but they were totally NOT Tetris, but a green color rather than red, purple, or blue, with a money theme and a back-scratch playing area that is not on Tetris. Yet he STILL swore they were Tetris, because that's what he'd asked for, so the girl messed up, or they have their tickets in the wrong slots.

Heh, heh! That's not even what got me incensed. I was kind of expecting something like that to happen, given how Casey's always seems to have their tickets in the wrong slots every time Farmer H goes there to buy some for me.

Because he had spent an extra $10 on tickets, I went to my purse and extracted a ten. I took it to the living room on my way for a last bathroom break before the 90-minute trip. I was leaning on the back of the couch. I dropped the ten on the TV table beside the remote.

"Here's your ten."

The bill fell down on the table surface. Farmer H reached for it. And...

PICKED UP AN INK PEN AND HELD IT OUT TO ME!

"What are you doing? Why would I want that?"

"You said you wanted a pen."

"No. I gave you your money. And said, 'Here's your ten.' This is what causes all the problems around here. You can't hear, and you make up stuff you claim that I say. Then when I talk louder, you accuse me of yelling."

"I can hear! I hear you, HM. I just don't listen to you."

SWEET GUMMI MARY! WHAT IN THE NOT-HEAVEN???

As if such a statement would be acceptable. A man telling his wife that he can hear her, but he chooses not to listen to her. 

I might as well tell him that I cook his supper, but I don't care if the food is done or expired. 

Pepper Is Hazardous To Our Health

This is the 7th day of new puppiness. Pepper has been here one week. He is settling into life at the Mansion. He hardly barks at all now. I was thrilled on Tuesday when I saw that he had eaten all of his moist puppy food. He had been just nibbling at it here and there. But Tuesday, it was all gone at 3:00. 

I told Farmer H to put some more food out. He argued that the can said a small dog only needs about 1/3 of the can a day. NO! If Pepper is eating it all gone, he needs to have the option of more. He's a growing puppy! Farmer H put out more last night, which he ate, and more this morning, which is now gone at 1:00. It's not like Pepper has to watch his figure to become a supermodel.

I go out several times a day for petting. Pepper gets into the laundry room, because I can't step in and close the door fast enough. He sniffs around, and finds things to chew on. NO! I have to help him back out on the porch by the nape of the neck. It takes three or four tries before success is achieved. In fact, yesterday I almost gave myself a concussion. In my haste to close the door behind Pepper, I slammed the doorknob into my bent-over noggin! That smarted. It left a knot. There might be a bruise by now. 

Farmer H says he gets Pepper out of the laundry room by throwing him!!! "Well. I don't actually THROW him. I scoop him up with my hand under his belly, and give him a toss out the door. He lands on his feet. He's fine. He turns around to come right back."

Pepper has razor-sharp toenails. And his teeth are nothing to sneeze at, either. Both Farmer H and I have scabbed arms from the maulings we get while picking up and petting Pepper. He's a little chewer, and must be told NO! He's pretty smart. When I say NO! and stop petting after a nip, he will sit down and look up at me. Before starting to nip again. It takes patience, but I think Pepper is learning.

Farmer H brings Pepper in the Mansion at 5:30 a.m. I hold him until he's too rambunctious. He settles down when Farmer H comes back into sight. Then I set him down on the floor, and he sniffs around, and tries to chew on our feet or pants legs. No accidents in the house.

Farmer H takes Pepper back to the porch before he leaves, and feeds him. Our biggest concern is when Pepper is old enough to run free. Farmer H is certain he will run after SilverRedO when he starts to town. The plan is for me to bring him in the Mansion, or feed treats to him and Jack on the back porch.

In the evenings, Farmer H takes Pepper out by the carport, where he sits on the toolbox he took out of SilverRedO, and watches Pepper explore. Farmer H pets Jack to let him know he's still special. Jack only growls when Pepper pounces on him and nips. I consider that fair warning. Pepper will have to learn canine manners.

A Hot Time In The Old Mansion Last Night

It's HERE! Our new heat pump. Which replaces the new heat pump we paid $8,500 for on September 9th. The Mansion has been running on Auxiliary Heat all through the frigid January cold snap. Now that it's about to hit 75 degrees on Wednesday, we have our new(est) heat pump installed.

I was a bit surprised when Farmer H said it was coming on Monday. That's President's Day. A holiday for many businesses. But Hick said the HVAC Guy was supposed to be here with it between 8:00 and 8:15 on Monday morning. 

"You'll be here, won't you? So I don't have to deal with it?"

"There ain't gonna be no dealing with it. He just has to connect it outside. I'll be here. All I'll have to do is switch over the thermostat off the Auxiliary Heat."

I believed Farmer H. Which is my own fault. I should have known better.

The HVAC Guy got here at 7:40. That's A.M.! In the morning! I was sitting on the short couch, shrouded in a fleece throw, because I'm always cold. Even though the Auxiliary Heat has been working just fine, keeping the Mansion at 70 degrees. Farmer H had just opened the shades to watch for his arrival, and exclaimed: "There he comes now!"

Farmer H grabbed a jacket and went out. I continued watching TV. Then I heard Jack, and saw him running along the trees in the front yard, looking over his shoulder. That was odd. You'd think he'd be looking at the driveway. Then I saw Farmer H come tooling along on his green tractor. Down along the trees, having gone up through the BARn field with it, then back down through our yard. He went around to the back of the Mansion.

About 15 minutes later, Farmer H came up the basement steps (13 rail-less). I thought he was going to adjust the thermostat, but he was only there for a warmer jacket.

"Why were you on the tractor? To help unload it?"

"No, to move it around to the back of the house. He's got the van parked out here on the gravel by my sheds (Shackytown Boulevard). He can't get it around the back because of the mud. And I might have to pull his van if he cain't get across the yard to leave. He's hooking it up now."

About an hour went by. I was snug under my fleece throw. Farmer H came up to set the thermostat for turning on the heat pump. I heard the Auxiliary Heat go off. Then nothing else kicked on. About five minutes later, 

A STRANGE MAN CAME UP THE BASEMENT STEPS!

He walked past me to the thermostat on the wall behind me. Farmer H huffed up the steps after him. If looks could kill, Farmer H would have expired in his tracks. He just gave a shrug. Good thing I was not in the bathroom with the door open! Good thing I was wrapped in a fleece throw.

"Yeah, it's set to run automatically," said HVAC Guy. "I'm not going to do anything just yet. Let's give it a few minutes. Sometimes these heat pumps just need a hard reset. You start taking them apart, but then they start running after about five minutes. Let's wait and see."

Back they went down those steps. A couple minutes later, I heard the heat kick on. I didn't know if it was Auxiliary Heat or the heat pump. But I heard it. And then I saw HVAC Guy's van go across the yard and up the driveway. Farmer H returned to the living room.

The new new heat pump has been running ever since. I can't tell a bit of difference, other than a different sound when it kicks on. Monday night, I was huddled on the short couch again, under the fleece throw, shivering as usual. Farmer H asked what was wrong.

"Nothing. I'm just cold. It's 70 degrees in here."

"I'm sweating!"

Well, no wonder. He was still wearing his town clothes, and not just tighty-whities.

It's About Time

T-Hoe has new tires! Four! You would expect that many, but then again, we're relying on Farmer H to get them... It's only been four or five months since he declared that he was getting tires for SilverRedO, and that T-Hoe definitely needed tires by December.

I can definitely tell a difference. I noticed it when I walked into the garage. As someone who agonizes over climbing into a vehicle, I'm attuned to such things. I swear that T-Hoe sits at least two inches taller now. Which is in addition to the two inches he gained when the suspension system was finally repaired. 

Farmer H says they are the same size tires as before. I don't think so. Even from outside, before stepping up on the running board, these tires seemed bigger. They filled more of the wheel well. The Pony couldn't tell a difference on Errand Day. That's traitor behavior! I needed VALidation. 

It's possible that the extra nine lbs of air pressure makes a two-inch difference, I suppose. Having the regulation 35 lbs of air as opposed to 26 lbs will make a car sit higher. It's not just hoisting myself in that makes me notice. It's also when I slide out. I feel like my feet aren't going to hit the ground!

The engine puttering noise was also supposedly "fixed." But Mick the Mechanic told Farmer H that he wasn't sure if that was it. That we'd just have to see if it worked. It seemed to, until yesterday, when I thought I heard the puttering upon starting. Farmer H stands by his story that it could be a lot of things.

Anyhoo... that little two-day sojourn at the shop cost us over $2000! Labor was $625. We used the money that was paid back for Farmer H's replacement of his wrecked trailer. Plus the rest from my miscellaneous fund that I add to every week.

At least T-Hoe is rolling on good tires. He even seems to drive better, though Farmer H says the tires were just put on, and not balanced or anything. Which seems odd. I thought that was part of the procedure for putting on tires. Farmer H probably didn't hear my question, and just made up an answer.

Looks Like We've Been FIRED!

I was surprised to find our gas bill on the kitchen table Thursday. That was 10 days before it was due! There might have even been time to mail the payment, but with the President's Day no-mail holiday on Monday, I didn't want to take a chance. I used the Guest Pay option online. 

I'm not sure why this bill was actually on time. It was twice the amount of the last bill, but we attribute that to the 10 days of below-zero weather during that billing period. Not a big deal. It was still only $150, even with Farmer H and Old Buddy working at Bargain House, and running the furnace.

Here's the most puzzling thing about this bill. It said the amount due was based on the ACTUAL READING! Right there on the bill! Read Type: Actual.

You may recall that the previous few bills included a form instructing us to READ OUR OWN METER. And then to go online and report the numbers within five days of the self-reading.

This time there was no form. No self-reading. Farmer H and I have been FIRED by the gas company! We are no longer meter-readers! Can't say I'll miss the monthly grind of such ungainful employment.

Farmer H Picks Up Picked-Out Pepper

Thank the Gummi Mary, Farmer H chose the right pup when he went to pick him up Thursday afternoon. I don't know if he was smart enough to show the picture on his phone, as I insisted. More likely, Giver knows her pups, and remembered the one I asked for. She even gave him a bath!

They arrived at the Mansion around 3:00, as I was leaving for town. Of course I had to delay my trip by 20 minutes to hold Pepper. He smelled so fresh! Like shampoo. He snuggled right in, but was shaking. Not from the cold, because we were in the laundry room, and it was 60 degrees outside.

"He's just scared. He whimpered all the way here. I had him in that box on the front seat of my truck."

"Well, no wonder. It's like he's been kidnapped. He doesn't know where he is, and we're holding him captive. He was calling for his momma to come find him."

"Yeah. He'll get used to it."

Farmer H was going to get the pet carrier and put it in the laundry room, for Pepper to spend the night. Then he decided against it. The temperature wasn't going down much overnight. Pepper was surprisingly quiet. I expected more whimpering. I went out to pick him up and pet him when I got home from town. Farmer H checked on him a couple times. When it got dark, he took out Pepper's blanket that Giver had sent with him. Said he snuggled in on it inside his dog house.

Friday morning, I had Farmer H bring Pepper inside so I could hold him for the half hour before Farmer H left. Pepper was quite feisty! Like he didn't want to snuggle with me on the couch! I held him on my chest, one arm wrapped around him. He was very squirmy! And started yipping and howling. Which is just the cutest thing. Not sure if he was hollering for him momma, or excited to be inside. When Farmer H talked, it got Pepper's attention. He might be bonding with his "kidnapper," and come to adore Farmer H like Scarlett did. At least he knew Farmer H from a couple visits before he was taken. And Farmer H is the one who feeds him.

That's kind of a problem. It's like Pepper doesn't want to eat. Farmer H had gotten him puppy kibble. I thought he was getting some canned food as well, but he did not. He said Giver had been giving Pepper the dry food with a little water sprinkled on it, mixed with wet food.

I visited Pepper throughout the day on Friday. Every couple of hours. Petting and picking up and putting down and wrestling a bit. Pepper has sharp puppy claws! My arms were dripping blood. It was hard going back inside, because by the time I got through the door, Pepper was inside. There's no shooing a puppy. I had to get a neck-nape grip and coax him across the threshold, then be quick with the door, taking care not to slam his puppy head into the jamb.

Intermittently, Pepper would take five minutes to have a howling fit. I did not go check at that time, because it would be rewarding his howls. I swear, Pepper might really have some beagle in him, from sound of his voice. When I'd sneak in for the next visit, I'd see Pepper sitting in front of the door. Or nowhere, which meant he was in his house napping. He would run to me when I called him. Wanting to be picked up, then wanting to be put down.

When Farmer H got home, I told him I didn't think Pepper was eating. The kibble was still in the food pan. 

"I'm not sure he understands how to eat. Maybe he's just hungry."

"She said he was eatin' the dry food. Do we have anything else?"

"Just a hot dog. Or sandwich meat. I'm sure 10Box sells puppy food. They have a pet aisle."

"I'll get some tomorrow. Maybe cut up some of that hot dog real little. Or do we have milk?"

"There's a little. Not sure if it's still good."

Farmer H took out some diced hot dog. Put some in Pepper's mouth. SAID he ate it, but I'm doubtful. Looks like all of it is still in the food pan. Farmer H took out a bowl of milk. Said Pepper drank a little. Saturday morning, I tried some shredded turkey lunch meat. Pepper was not interested. When I tried to put it in his mouth, he clamped his lips shut. At least it stopped the howling!

I'm hoping Pepper will like the canned food. I figure a pup will eat before it will starve to death with food right in front of it.

Introducing, The Cutest Little Pupper Named Pepper

THE PUPPY HAS ARRIVED!

If you are hoping for adorable puppy pictures, I apologize. I don't have them. It's not for a lack of trying. Capturing a half-heeler pup on the back porch is like catching lightning in a bottle. Difficult. It's easier to capture the actual puppy than the picture.

There's Pepper. In his back-porch pen this morning around 9:30. There's his house in the background, with the bacon-scented chew toy in front like a just-delivered morning paper. And the brown dog statue from the side porch that Farmer H put there to keep Pepper company. He said Pepper was licking it. Well. Every animal that comes across the porch stops to pee on it. So that's not really something I want to think about.

Pepper has no respect for personal boundaries! And tries to squeeze through narrow spaces intened to keep him out! I picked up Pepper for petting purposes. Then set him down. He was all over the place, though I had to lure him out of his house at first. Pepper got into the laundry room, which was fine, because I had the door to the kitchen closed. After a bit of investigation, I finally shooed him out. 

This does not look like Pepper at all, but since there was no other puppy on the porch, it has to be him! He was howling to be let into the Mansion, heh, heh. Or for Farmer H to come rescue him.

More picking up and petting ensued. Jack came around the kitchen to investigate.

Jack did not seem at all impressed when I held out Pepper over the barrier, like a low-level Lion King proffering, for his inspection.

Tomorrow, I'll tell a little about Pepper's first day and night.

The Universe Sends Genius A Super Bowl Memo

While I sit here awaiting the arrival of my PUPPY, there's a brief update on Genius. 

Aside from my weekly letter, and an occasional text, we don't communicate a lot. Genius is busy working on driverless trucks, and I am busy doing pretty much nothing. Genius called to wish me a happy birthday, and we caught up on things not in my letters.

"The Pony came out for the Super Bowl. We made a batch of Chex Mix, and had a variety of snacks. We had potato skins, and nobody burned their hand on the oven coil!" [In reference to Genius branding himself with the upper coil many Super Bowls ago.]

"We hosted our first big party at our new house. We had 25 people over for the Super Bowl. We have a big projection TV downstairs, and a regular TV upstairs. I was in the kitchen getting the last-minute things done for the food. I made hot wing dip, and everybody brought stuff. I know you won't want to hear this, but I was slicing some focaccia bread, down to the last heel. The knife slipped and sliced through the second knuckle on my left index finger. 

"NOOO! That's terrible! You're right. I don't like to hear that!"

I knew it was pretty bad. But I stayed calm. I put pressure on it, and turned to rinse it. Someone was standing in front of the sink, and I said, 'Could you move over for a minute? I need to get to the sink.' I ran water on it, and called Friend to come get the bloody heel and wipe up blood from the floor. Then I went upstairs to the bathroom to get it cleaned up. I was pretty sure I needed stitches, but with the pressure, the bleeding slowed. I got it bandaged, and went back to enjoy the party. I still don't want to bend it yet, and it interferes with my writing."

Let the record show that Genius is left-handed. Why he was slicing bread with the knife in his right hand, I'll never know. I hate to think about his injury, even now. It's like I can feel the knife sliding through the skin!

It today's letter, I told Genius that The Universe is sending a message. That maybe he should lay off the Super Bowl snacks, and confine himself to mixing the drinks. Somebody else can deal with the food. Or he can order out. A burn and a cut might just be the beginning. He doesn't need a broken bone or a concussion!

Mrs. HM Buys A Puppy Kit

I had to do a little puppy shopping on Tuesday. Just the necessities. Well, except for the food, which Farmer H was getting, and some cedar shavings, which he already has in the garage. The puppy has been eating moist food, with a little bit of dry food, just to try it. I'm not sure what Farmer H got. We used canned food for our other pups when they were tiny. Much to the jealousy of the bigger dogs, who had to be shooed away during the meal.

Anyhoo... I knew we didn't have a collar small enough. And Farmer H "thought" he had a leash from when Lucky was here for a week. I think he gave away Scarlett's leash when he gave away Scarlett. And of course a puppy needs toys!

That's a medium leash, 6 feet. The collar is the smallest they had. I think even with adjustment, it will be too big right now. But our puppy won't be going anywhere but the yard for a while. I think Farmer H said he has to be at least 4 months old before he can have his very special operation. By then, he might grow into that small collar.

The real fun was in picking out the toys! It took me a while. I discarded a round rubber gorilla head with crazy eyes and rope attached. And a flat three-pointed fabric thingy. I know puppies love to chew, so I got the Tuff Bone. I don't particularly care if it cleans his teeth. I think it would be satisfying to chew on, and it seems durable. 

The pig has a squeaker inside, but you have to pinch it in just the right place. It's a softer chew, with a tough fabric finish. The flip-flop is very squeaky! I think the puppy will like that one. He should have enough choices here to keep him from chewing the porch rails. But you never know.

I'm looking forward to our new pet. But I'm sure a lot of worry will come with him!

Just Add Puppy

No more worries about our puppy deal falling through. Farmer H got a call from the puppy-giver a few days ago, assuring him that the promise was still good, despite a brief falling-out. AND, with the puppy's availability moved up a week, Farmer H got right to work making a secure little "pen" for him on the back porch. Of course he did it by coming home early, while I was lying down for my afternoon nap. Which was directly on the other side of the wall where Farmer H was grinding screws into wood until his drill screamed in protest.

Here's the view out the laundry room door:

Looks like Jack is getting the heated water bowl, on the other side of that board. This blue bowl will need to be dumped and rinsed. In fact, it was ICE until mid-morning. We're getting up to 78 degrees today! I might ask Farmer H about that electrical plug. Puppies CHEW! The water will probably be okay from now on, as long as Farmer H fills it each morning. Temps are supposed to stay in the 50s for the daytime.

Farmer H blocked off the openings under the rails, where a puppy might try to squeeze through. Can't have him falling 12 feet to the ground. Or even six feet onto Poolio's deck. I will for sure tell Farmer H to remove that saw blade from the old school desk. Don't want my puppy decapitated if he gets rambunctious!

At first I was worried that there were gaps along the bottom of the rail.

Further investigation revealed that there are rail boards blocking those openings. Part of Farmer H's barricade involves pegboard. Which he says is so Jack and the pup can see and smell each other while the puppy is in captivity.

The house Farmer H was preparing turns out to be just a roof!

It's not real pretty, having been exposed to the weather for many years. But it's a hidey hole, and will have cedar shavings underneath for bedding. It's not the best of puppy prisons, but it will do for a couple of weeks. 

I will be checking on the pup every couple of hours, for picking up and petting. I don't dare take him out on the porch, lest he fall down the steps, or get through the unblocked rails. I'm in no shape to catch a loose puppy!

I'm hoping to lure Jack through the kitchen, into the laundry room, where I can make a proper introduction. Of course Jack will get treats, so he associates the puppy with good times! And by closing the laundry room door behind me, Jack can just chill out in there if he doesn't want to greet the puppy at first. I won't have to worry about him roaming through the Mansion.

This afternoon, I plan to look for some puppy toys at 10Box.

A Super Feast

The Pony came out Sunday, so we could make food for the Super Bowl. We are not football fanatics. Farmer H and I both enjoy watching the occasional game. The Pony has absolutely no interest. But it's the Super Bowl, you know. The name is right there. It's something special. An occasion we can use to prepare a feast of snacks. Farmer H even came home from his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5) a half-hour early, in time to fill his tray before kickoff at 5:30.

We started working just before noon, since a batch of Chex Mix was in order. Not specifically for the Super Bowl, but because we all like Chex Mix, and the majority of my yearly four batches are given away. The Pony was a great stirrer! I put it all together, and then it was in The Pony's hooves, stirring every 15 minutes for two hours. Nothing stuck to the pans! Great job! Of course half of it was packaged up for The Pony to take home.

Our meal-time snacks were nothing elaborate. Mostly storebought stuff that only needed warming. We had quite the variety. Taquitos and Scoops tortilla chips, for which I made a dipping sauce with salsa and Velveeta cheese. Toasted ravioli and mozzarella cheese sticks, with marinara sauce for dipping. Wedge fries with ketchup or ranch dip (which I made with Hidden Valley powder and sour cream). Potato skins, to which I added some extra shredded cheddar. Little sandwiches of turkey and ham on Hawaiian Rolls, with an assortment of cheeses: cheddar, swiss, muenster, pepper jack, provolone. A frozen Bloomin' Onion, though it was called Petals, and was just the battered pieces. And Little Smokies in BBQ sauce, to which I had added some grape jelly for slow simmering.

Dessert was cheesecake, with assorted varieties, pre-sliced. Brownies and donuts, both storebought. The Pony took home half for later consumption.

We all loaded a big cafeteria-style tray. Of course with so much, I could only have one or two of everything. The Pony took a lot home. We will be feasting on sandwiches this week, after Farmer H finishes off the Little Smokies. I'll add one or two of the other sides, but not the entire feast for regular suppers.

The game itself was not very interesting. A bit one-sided, but the team I picked won. I didn't really care, because my dream team (the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, quarterbacked by Baker Mayfield, who was a star at OU while The Pony was in school there) was knocked out of the playoffs. No Super Bowl for them! Anyhoo... I picked my team at the opening kickoff, solely based upon my preference for the color of the uniform!

At halftime, we switched to watch the Puppy Bowl. Farmer H has not watched a Super Bowl halftime show since Janet Jackson had her wardrobe malfunction. That might be his criteria. If there's not a chance he might see something titillating, he has no desire to sit through a musical performance. I'm pretty sure this year's artist had nothing Farmer H wanted to see accidentally exposed!

I suppose our next feasting opportunity will be Easter. 

Puppy Prepping

The anticipation of a new puppy has everyone excited. Jack has a spring in his step, almost as if he understood when Farmer H and I told him he would be getting a puppy. I think about getting some toys from the pet section of 10Box, and making sure that Farmer H will get puppy food. Farmer H is planning on where to put New Pup.

"I think I'll block off part of the back porch, like I did when we got Grizzly."

"Yeah, that would be better than putting him out on a lead in the side yard. But make sure he can't get through the rail and fall! I don't think puppies understand depth like that."

"He won't fall through the rail! Grizzly didn't."

"And what about the water? If you block the back porch, Jack can't get to the water."

"There's two water dishes. I'll set the old one on the other side."

"That will work, as long as it doesn't freeze. Because the puppy will have the heated water bowl on his side."

"It will be fine."

"What about a house? You built that little box for Grizzly. But we used it for the cats, and the other pups, and it fell apart."

"I'll bring one of them doghouses from the other end of the porch."

"Those are HUGE! It's too big for a puppy."

"No. They're in sections. I can take a section out, and set the roof down lower. Then he can stay warm in a smaller house. I have a bag of cedar shavings in the garage."

"You'll have to clean up his poop! And he'll think it's okay to poop and pee on the porch. So you can't get mad at him if he does it when you let him free."

"He'll learn. Jack will teach him."

I really think Farmer H is the most excited of us all.

My Hoped-For Puppy's Kin

I suppose this pup was meant to come live with us. When Farmer H left the Mansion on Wednesday morning, I had no inkling that his travels might lead to a puppy! He got a call about a relative matter, and went to speak to that person. Who just happened to have FOUR PUPPIES!

I don't know if Farmer H asked for one, or if one was offered. He sent me the text asking, when he knew all along that I've been seeking a companion for Jack. Farmer H has always wanted a puppy. I think that's because he was quite sad when Lucky the rescue dog disappeared after a week (under mysterious circumstances!), and he wants one without a previous life to go (or be taken) back to.

Anyhoo... Farmer H initially told me that these pups were a mix of heeler and beagle. I am skeptical. Their heeler heritage is obvious. At least in three of them. When I saw the mom-dog, I began to doubt the beagle part.

I don't know all my dog breeds, but I don't see much beagle in her. Maybe the shape of the head. Or the the body. The legs look thin. The coloring is off. She may have SOME beagle in her, but I see black and tan, or maybe a mini-pinscher, though she's not quite svelte enough for that, with a coarser coat, and not the stand-up ears. The main thing is, I don't see PIT.

Here's the first pup Farmer H showed me:

I first thought that's the one I wanted. Then came the next picture. 

They are quite adorable. The one we're supposed to get is on the right. I said he looked sad, but Farmer H, who was sitting right there watching them run around, said, "No, he's happy." Then he sent a picture of the last pup.

That's the runt. I have nothing against runts. One of our best dogs, Grizzly, was the runt of a litter of eight pups. I chose him specifically, looking into their pen at the dog pound. He was a beagle/lab mix, midsize, colored like a chocolate lab, but shaped like a beagle. This little guy here is just not the one I prefer, because I like a speckled pup. He seems to take after his mother. 

Nothing special about these pups. They're mixed breed. Might have 57 varieties in there. But I know I want one, and Jack will have a companion. Whether he likes it or not!

Two weeks to go until my new doggie can leave its momma.

Forewarning Fizzle

With the tree trimming and wire running that's been happening along our blacktop and gravel roads, it came as no surprise that I got an email on Wednesday from the electric company.

The title was: Planned power outage in your area. 

A planned power outage is always better than an unplanned power outage. 

To keep you informed about changes that affect your service, we wanted to let you know about a planned power outage scheduled for 02/06/26 at approximately 1:00 p.m. lasting approximately 1 HOUR. The outage is necessary for safety completing emergency maintenance and could be rescheduled due to weather or other emergencies.

It included our specific address. I wasn't sure if this concerned the tree trimming with a man lift that Trimmer Steve had spoken about. Or if it was about the new transformer Farmer H said they had put down by Mailbox Row. I could imagine cutting the power for a man working along live electric lines with a saw. And also to activate a new transformer. I could understand both processes taking about an hour.

I set about preparing. To make sure I didn't want to leave for town during that hour, because the garage door runs on electricity. To take care of my bathroom needs while I still had flushing capability. To have water in case I got thirsty, because the well runs on electricity. To have my innernetting at a stopping place, because HIPPIE's battery is going bad, and only lasts to about 40% until HIPPIE goes to black screen, and comes back upon plug-in with another black screen suggesting to replace the battery. To perhaps plan my daily 30-minute nap at this time, so I could stay warm under the covers, since the heat would be off.

I kept an eye on HIPPIE's clock. At 12:53, the furnace stopped blowing, the lights went off, and I shut down HIPPIE. I had other things I could do in my bright kitchen, like adding up Farmer H's expenditures for December and January, to write up a bill for The Pony for Bargain House expenses. Fill out the tax assessment forms that have to be returned by March 1 or get a monetary penalty. Sort through the forms we've received for tax purposes, to see if anything is missing.

I chose the assessment forms, them being the easiest.

WHAT'S THIS???

The power came back on! It had been off less than five minutes! What in the Not-Heaven? I guess that's a good thing. But maybe it was just preliminary. Maybe it would be going off again. No rush to fire up HIPPIE just yet. 

I looked over the assessment forms to see what changes might be needed. That will require Farmer H's input. He might have bought more safes or equipment for his business during 2025. And we might need to change the trailer information due to the unfortunate demise of his old trailer, and the purchase of his new old trailer. I went to check the front yard. Nothing.

It must have been the activation of the new transformer that necessitated the planned outage. Seems like everything went okay. By 1:30, with no flicking or outage, I started HIPPIE again. 

That was almost a non-event.

Maybe, Maybe, Fingers Crossed

I'm hoping this deal doesn't fall through! I have been searching for a new dog for months. Ever since Lucky mysteriously disappeared, there has been nothing suitable to adopt. When there IS, somebody else always gets it first. Which is good for the dog. Not so good for me.

Here's hoping that Farmer H doesn't do anything to jinx this latest verbal agreement. It's kind of a family thing. There are four pups. Farmer H sent me pictures of all of them. And asked which one I wanted. Maybe my first choice was already spoken for. But this is the other one I mentioned:

See what I mean about knowing one of the breeds in the mix? That's a heeler, by cracky! A part-heeler pup as a companion for my little Jack. Farmer H said it's heeler and beagle. Um. No. He sent a picture of the mama dog. She's no heeler, and she's no beagle. Maybe a beagle mix. I might show the other pictures later.

Anyhoo... I asked the breeds, because take a look at those FEET! Granted, Jack has those sturdy digging paws. And he's not too big. So lets hope Farmer H is not too far off on this puppy's family tree.

I haven't thought about a name yet. I'll have to see him in person. Or "in puppy," if you will. Of course we will get him his puppy shots, and de-wormer, and eventually his very special operation.

I'm half-holding my breath until Farmer H can pick him up in two weeks.

Getting My Hopes Up Again

I was minding my own beeswax on Wednesday afternoon, sitting at the kitchen table with HIPPIE, when I got a text from Farmer H. It said: "Do you want this?" It was followed by a picture of...

A PUPPY!

I don't have it loaded on my computer yet. So a picture will have to wait. I was shocked. Of course I want it! I could tell half of its heritage right away. But I had to ask what kind. You know, to make sure it's something we can handle.

"Yes! If you think it won't get too big. Those look like big dog feet."

"The mother is about twice as tall as Jack. I don't think it will be too big."

Anyhoo... I'll get that picture loaded for tomorrow. Farmer H says he can't bring it home yet. But in two weeks. I hope the weather settles down a bit by then. It's not from a rescue, so time is not an issue. I hope Jack is willing to accept a little brother.

Mystery Solved

Monday around 1:40, there was a knock at the door. With temps back up to the upper 20s, I didn't mind speaking through a crack in the door. I found the Steve Zahn tree-trimmer guy on the front porch, with Jack wagging his tail and staring at him.

Trimmer Steve said, "I was here Friday, but nobody answered."

"Well, it takes me a long time to get to the door." Not that I owed him an explanation. It's MY Mansion, and I'll answer the door when I want to.

"We trimmed a bunch around the cedars over by that barn. We have the grinder, but want to know if it's okay to just shove the trimmings back into the brush. It looks like you keep the field mowed."

"Yes, that's fine. We don't care."

"Also, is it okay to cut over there by the road? It looks like some honeysuckle or something growing there."

"I don't know about the honeysuckle. There used to be blackberries over there. They'll grow back, won't they?"

"Yes. But it might take years."

"Well, we don't use them for anything. So you can cut them. My husband thought it might be about his trailer over there being in the way. He can't get in there right now to move it, but said you guys can move it with your equipment. But I know maybe you can't do that because of insurance liability or something."

"I don't know about insurance, but probably can't because our boss will say no. We don't need that trailer out of our way. The electric guys might. I'll pass on that information. Also, this area right here? In front of the house, by those sheds? We can't use our trimmer there because there's too much going on. The limbs might fall on the wires. So we'll be using a man-lift there. So we can hold the limbs as we trim, and drop them out of the way. You might have somebody else knocking on your door."

"I'd rather they not! Whatever you have to do is fine. We drive through the yard all the time. Just don't drive on that white pipe sticking up. See that? It's our well."

"Oh. I see it. I'll tell them it's okay to use the man-lift."

"And watch out, because there's a sinkhole behind those sheds. Not as big as the one out front, but when the snow melts, it's noticeable."

"Okay. I'll tell them about the sinkhole. I'm the one who saw the big sinkhole up by the road, and told them."

"I'm surprised you've been out working in this cold."

"It actually made it easier for our trucks, with the ground frozen. But we got pretty cold. A couple days, they sent us home early. We're not allowed to work below 10 degrees."

"Well, I better let you get back to work. But whatever needs to get done, it's fine. We have to have dependable electricity!"

Trimmer Steve gave Jack a few pats, and left. I really don't want any more knocking. 

No offense to Trimmer Steve.

Two Idiots Don't Make A Non-Idiot

Sometimes, people can't understand the simplest of instructions. Around here, that "people" is Farmer H. And "sometimes" is all the time.

I instructed Farmer H to buy my scratchers. Gave him one of each kind, so he could see what they looked like. Made it clear that I wanted four of the $5 crosswords, and four of the $3 crosswords. I didn't care if they came from one place, or from two places. He could decide that for himself. Maybe that's where I went wrong! Farmer H had to MAKE A DECISION! And that fried his brain.

Anyhoo... here are the sample tickets I gave him to take along. 

A brown one, and a black one. Obviously crosswords.

Here is what Farmer H bought for me:

That's a $5 crossword, and a $3 bingo ticket. I don't understand how he could be mistaken.

They look nothing alike! He had a sample! Even if he didn't notice the size difference in the display case, he should have felt it when the clerk handed him the tickets. And then there's the fact that they're not even close in color, which should have been obvious in the case, and in his hand.

The FIRST time this happened, Farmer H said, "That gal gave me the wrong tickets!"

The SECOND time this happened, Farmer H said, "I asked for the right thing! They must be under the wrong number."

The THIRD time this happened, Farmer H said, "I told that gal I got the wrong tickets yesterday, and I wanted to make sure I got them right this time. She even checked, and it was what I wanted. That's a crossword, ain't it? No? Well, she said it was a crossword. We both checked it. Their machine must be loaded wrong."

Oh, so many holes in his argument. Farmer H gets my tickets at Casey's. They don't have a machine. He has to look at the display, and ask for the number that corresponds with the ticket he wants. So he must be telling that gal the wrong number. If he said they both checked it, that must mean he asked for the bingo ticket, thinking it was a crossword. And she doubled-checked the number to make sure that's what she gave him. And he looked at it and saw it was what he asked for.

The problem isn't the gal at Casey's.

Even A Bad Decision Is, At Least, A Decision

Must I do everything around here? Yes. I must. Nobody else is capable of making a decision.

Farmer H has been getting scratchers for me during this snowy cold time. I appreciate it. I give him the money, and tell him the tickets. I keep it quite simple. There is another story about that...

Anyhoo... I have been depleting my gambling cash, because except for one of the past 11 days, Farmer H has not brought me any good winners. I have some small winners, like $3 and $5. I can't imagine him being able to cash several of them in, or most definitely not scan them into the lottery machines.

Anyhoo... I gave him a $6 winner to use for buying me two $3 scratchers. I was standing by the kitchen table at 5:00 a.m., looking to see what winners I had. I chose that one. And gave him cash to get the $5 crosswords. I handed them to him around 5:45, as we sat on our respective couches.

As Farmer H was leaving at 6:00, he hollered from the kitchen.

"There's a lottery ticket on the floor!"

"And...?"

"What should I do with it?"

"Just put it on the table."

Seriously. Was my input needed for that? Could he not consider his options? What can you possibly do with a lottery ticket on the floor?

1. Leave it there. Step over it and pretend you didn't see it. Like Farmer H does with anything else that might be in his path on the floor.

2. Pick it up and throw it away. Not worried about that. No way would Farmer H actually pick up something and throw it away.

3. Pick it up and put it on the table. This seems to be common sense. For most people.

This is just ridiculous! What could Farmer H have possibly thought I wanted him to do with that ticket? It's not like he needed to bring it to me in the living room. I was going nowhere. I always have my scratchers at the kitchen table. Easy peasy.

It's just like the previous evening, when I got Farmer H's supper from the oven. It was leftover Domino's Pizza, and foil-wrapped Bread Bites. I let him put the pizza on his plate, and unwrap the Bread Bites. He shook them out of one end of the foil packet I had made for them. Then held the used foil out to me!

"Why are you doing that? Do I want to stand here and hold your used foil?"

"Huh. Well. I'll just leave it here." He said, setting it, still partially folded, on a pizza pan on the back burner.

I seriously don't know how he would survive on his own.

Somebody Might Qualify As An Honorary Member Of Mystery, Inc.

The Mystery of the Door-Knocker remains unsolved. But when Farmer H heard my details, and scoped out the scene on his way home, he had an idea.

"It was probably them tree trimmers."

"Are they working in this cold? With the snow?"

"Yeah, they've been up in here with their tractor thing grinding up the limbs they trimmed."

"Were they in our field?"

"No. There was no tracks in the field. But they was in the driveway."

"Then why are there footprints going from our front sidewalk towards the BARn field?"

"I don't know. But they don't go all the way. They was probably comin' to ask about my trailer. It's under the power lines. They might want to move it."

"You mean they want YOU to move it! As if anything could hurt that trailer any more."

"Not my wrecked trailer. The new one. A line runs over it. And I won't be here when they come back. So I ain't movin' it. But you can tell them THEY can move it. They just have to lift up the tongue. Their tractor can move it. Then put it back when they're done."

"I don't know if they would do that. Liability and stuff. But you don't need to be driving over there in this cold, and get stuck."

"I ain't goin' over there. But they can move it if they ask."

We'll see what happens with that. I'm not sitting around waiting on them to come back. I think I can finally make my escape on Monday, when we'll hit a balmy 40 degrees. I wish I knew where I put my old Hawaiian shirt...

Reading The Clues

Another mystery dropped itself in Mrs. HM's nonexistent lap on Friday at 1:40 p.m. I was sitting at the kitchen table with HIPPIE, watching YouTube videos of Jolly eating food at Dollywood. They're two British guys named Josh and Ollie, who try American foods, and sometimes give them to British schoolboys to get their reaction.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

After I jumped back into my skin, I looked toward the front door. I didn't see anybody trying to peer through the wavy glass to get a distorted view of me. No way was I getting up to hobble to the door. I was not expecting a visitor. Not expecting a package. Jack was not barking. Whoever it was could just go away. It was 18 degrees. I didn't want to leave my heater and stand in a frigid draft.

Then I worried if it could be somebody bearing bad news. Surely they would knock again. I know they could hear the TV sounds. No further knocking.

First I called Farmer H. You know, to make sure he was still kickin'. And then to see if he had told somebody they could come out for hunting or junking. He answered.

"I'm still alive. No, I don't know of anybody who would be out there. Unless it was them tree guys again."

"The tree guys already got permission from me to work over in the BARn field and the other field."

"Unless it's a different guy this time."

"Well. They can do what they want. I don't want to open the door to talk to them. I guess I'll call Pony and make sure everything's okay."

"I just talked to Pony a few minutes ago."

"Oh. Then I won't bother."

That set my mind at ease, with both of them being okay. For the next hour, the mystery was still on my mind. Farmer H said our neighbor Tommy had called him last week to take him to work! He left a message that Farmer H heard later. He's not a taxi. He doesn't always hear his phone. In fact, it rang Thursday night at 9:10 and 10:15,while Farmer H was snoozing. Didn't say who it was from, but he thought it might have been the buddy he put the sewer pipe in for, and wrecked his trailer. Farmer H thought he might have been calling to see if he'd be at his SUS2.5 on Friday.

Anyhoo... when I got up for a bathroom break an hour later, I decided to look out front. Just in case there was a package or a note. Nope.

Little Jack was sitting in the sun. I gave him a piece of grease bread. I saw footprints along the front brick sidewalk. Could have been from Farmer H going out to SilverRedO to get something, since he does use the front door sometimes. 

Then I saw footprints going the other way. Off the sidewalk, towards ShackyTown Boulevard. I don't think Farmer H has been over there since the snow. He usually drives SilverRedO over to the BARn in this kind of weather. So the best I can guess, it WAS one of the tree guys. Or a junker buddy of Farmer H. 

I'll tell Farmer H about the footprints. Just in case he wants to slow down and look in the BARn field on his way home.

A Fresh Pot Of Rage Has Been Set Upon The Stove

This new pot of rage has been simmering overnight. It's not boiling yet. Perhaps it's more suited for a slow-cooker. A crockpot rage, if you will.

Wednesday evening, Farmer H flung open the kitchen door. I hate it when he does that. It's startling. With all the snow and cold, my little Jack is not lying in the hole he dug that is under SilverRedO under the carport. So I don't hear him bark as he trots out of the hole to serenade Farmer H down the driveway. Farmer H knows I haven't gone to town in the snow, so he doesn't even try his key in the doorknob. He knows the door is unlocked.

This fresh rage is not about being startled out of my skin by a barging Farmer H. He stepped in after swinging the door wide open. Stomped around on the inside doormat. Then pulled the door closed, raking in maximum arctic cold. I was shivering, even with my under-table electric heater. But that's not the main ingredient of my fresh pot of rage, either.

Farmer H clumped across the kitchen floor, boot soles squeaking, tracking clumps of snow. Dirty gray snow, as if he'd been stomping a snowdrift beside the road gathering car exhaust.

"Hey! You're leaving dirty snow. I hope I don't slip and fall in your puddles."

"I've gotta go to the bathroom."

Of course he must announce all bodily functions. Except the gaseous emissions, which are definitely not silent, but considerably deadly, which he saves until he comes to the kitchen.

"Great. Now you're tracking it on the carpet, too."

No answer. He came back through the house, headed for his recliner.

"So you're just gonna leave it there?"

"I don't know what you expect me to do, HM! I wiped my feet on the rug. TWICE!"

"That doesn't mean you got out all the snow. It's all over the floor."

Farmer H started back to kitchen. No doubt with the intent of proving my lyin' eyes wrong.

"Hear that? Your boots are still melting snow and getting it on the floor."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"What am I supposed to do? Let it melt, and maybe slip on it? Or clean up YOUR mess?"

"Fine! I'll get a paper towel!"

Which he did. One. A single select-a-size. And dabbed at the biggest puddle, closest to me. Not getting all of it, leaving a gray streak like a rivulet from a polluted glacier. Which I cleaned up later, before walking over it to lock the kitchen door for the night.

Mrs. HM Does Not Take The Bait

Mrs. HM has some advice for scammers: "Take a long walk off a short pier. It's not so easy to lure Mrs. HM. She refuses to take the bait."

I was happily clicking away on HIPPIE this morning. Having my morning banana and Maple Brown Sugar Instant Oatmeal, perusing the UK Daily Mail. Gotta keep up with world events and gossip, you know. I can't even remember what story I was reading. I had just gone to the comments and read a couple when a blue box popped up, covering most of the screen. And it TALKED to me! A computer woman's voice.

This was a most unwanted intrusion! That bright blue screen was telling me there had been a security breach. That my computer had been LOCKED. That my IP address was being used for identity theft. That I should not attempt to close the screen or shut down my computer, because I could lose all my data. That I should call Microsoft at a phone number listed on the screen.

Dang it! I just wanted to finish my oatmeal and read those comments. That blue screen could not be closed. The X in the corner did not respond to my clicking. And more of the same screen were popping up. Like that cascade in Solitaire! Only not as many, and not as fast. The ESCAPE key didn't work, either. There was no way to access the tab at the top of the screen. It was covered by that first big blue pop-up box. My only option was to hold down the power button until HIPPIE shut down.

After a few minutes, I turned HIPPIE on again. He went through his regular start-up routine. I clicked the Microsoft Edge icon to access the internet. It's the browser I have been using for about a year, ever since Google Chrome went crazy and wouldn't load.

Welp! The first thing that came up was not my Edge browser screen, but that dang conglomeration of those blue boxes. At least NOW there was the tab up top. I X-ed out of it. Then tried my Edge icon again. And there was my browser screen as normal.

It's not nice to fool Mrs. HM. At least she's no fool. My mom would have panicked, and called the number listed on that blue box for "Microsoft Support" to unlock her computer. In fact, I'm sure she did one time, and talked for 30 minutes, and was waiting for a gal to call her back. Luckily, we stopped her before she gave away any personal information.

Out Of Town And Out Of Touch

It is day 5 of my self-imposed weather exile from town. I'm not getting out in the frigid temps with snow on the parking lots. Farmer H said today, since I had to send him to 10Box for bananas, that for the most part, the snow has been plowed, but the area around the handicap spaces was not as clear as it should be. The good news is, he was actually able to stick to my list of five items. And get my scratchers from the lottery machines.

I didn't have much time to talk to Fave on Thursday. Several customers came in after me, and I didn't want to hold up her line. It was the first time I'd seen her since her thumb checkup on Monday. I noticed a smaller bandage on that hand, but couldn't get the specifics.

The previous week, I'd gone in Sunday afternoon to find only one other customer. He was standing over by the little kiosk where the draw ticket slips are kept. He was filling one out, so I stepped up to the counter. Fave had her back turned, looking out at the pumps to turn one on. When she turned back around, she looked over at The Guy. He turned and came to the counter.

"Oh. Were you not done?"

I figure that if somebody is not at the counter, it's not their turn! I was right there, ready for a transaction. But The Guy didn't seem like a rude buttinsky. Then Fave reached over to the printer that shoots out the draw tickets, and picked up a couple.

"He's almost done. Just a couple more to go." 

She scanned the slips he gave her, and then he paid and left. So I guess he really was in the middle of a transaction. Neither Fave nor Other Girl are shy about telling people, "You'll have to wait, I have other customers in line."

Anyhoo... once The Guy left, Fave giggled.

"Not gonna lie, I kind of have a crush on him! He plays that game every day, and thinks he knows it all, and his plan makes him win. When it's just luck like for everybody else. I really hope he does have a plan for winning, heh, heh."

"Ooh! Does he know?"

"I don't think so. But when his daughter comes in here, she calls me 'Mom.' It's kind of funny."

So... Fave might have a secret beau! At least a secret to HIM. I can't wait to catch up when I can finally get to town.

Simmering Rage 2c: The Hamburger

Last week I needed Farmer H to carry in groceries. I was having an especially bad knee day. He said he'd be home by 5:00. He was going out to the middler of nowhere to fix the door for Nick and Bev, our former Backcreek Neighbors.

Of course he was not back. I called from the parking lot of 10Box before I left, to say I'd be home in 10 minutes. He was not even to Sis-Town yet.

"I should be there pretty soon. Just leave it in the car. That won't hurt it. I'll bring it in when I get there. It ain't but 40-somthing degrees."

"It's 52, and I have your ice cream and hamburger."

"Well. You could just take the ice cream."

Which is what I did. I also had some cheese. Can't remember what else cold. And two bags with cans for making chili after our beans were gone. But I didn't want to carry in four pounds of hamburger. That's heavy for someone who can't walk without grabbing onto stuff for balance.

I got home and took in Farmer H's precious Drumsticks. I thought he'd be there in about 10-15 minutes. I went ahead and changed clothes. Got the beans out of FRIG II to start warming. It actually took Farmer H 25 minutes, because he made another stop. A story which will probably appear on my not-so-secret blog. Anyhoo... I was coming out of the bathroom in my comfy clothes when I hear Farmer H putting the groceries down on the cutting block.

"I don't need all these cans here! Just set the bags along the wall, on the floor. I'll be using them tomorrow morning when I make the chili."

He did, and I put other things away. Like the bread and bananas and cheese and oatmeal and protein bars. Something was missing. 

"Where's the hamburger?"

"HAMBURGER? I didn't see no hamburger."

"It was in a bag on the back seat. Right by the bags with the cheese and the oatmeal."

"Huh. I guess I'll go out and look..."

Yeah. He came back with the four-pound tray of hamburger. Good thing I noticed. But that's not the only issue with the hamburger. Bear with the roundabout tale that brought my rage to a simmer...

That's not hamburger. That's beans. The last of the beans. And a pan of juice. You'll understand their significant contribution to my building simmer.

"The beans are warm. This is the last of them. Make sure you leave me half. Because the past two nights, you've had beans stacked about two inches above the rim of the bowl!"

"I did not! I had a corn muffin broken up in the bottom of the bowl."

"I know that. But it wouldn't give you a towering pile of beans in the middle of your bowl."

"You said I could have what I wanted. That you like the juice."

"I DO like the juice. And I said I could get more beans out of the big pan. Which I did. But this is all that's left. I don't want just juice."

"Look. I've got juice!"

"Yes. But that's also a lot of beans. And you're still dipping. I don't care if you have NO juice. Just leave me half the beans."

"I am. There's a whole bowl of beans in there for you."

"We'll see when I'm ready to eat."

Just as I suspected, when I dipped out my beans, there was barely half a bowl. Sure, I had juice to add. But as for beans, just a half bowl. The simmer was about to grow to a roiling boil the next evening, when Farmer H dipped his chili.

Once again, he had a towering bowl of chili. I had browned 2/3 of that 4-pound pack of hamburger to add to six cans of assorted beans in the chili. I daresay that if I'd set out the big pot to warm up, Farmer H would have had all the hamburger in his bowl.

A disagreement ensued, and the next night, I was in sole charge of dishing up the chili. Sometimes, you gotta look out for yourself before you reach the boiling point.

Simmering Rage 2b: The Tire, The Cane, And The Hamburger

On Thursday, I had to go by the title office for Farmer H, to drop off some forms (which I had to fill out!) regarding the recent deal to sell HIS LAND. I did not want to do this. I hate this stuff. And Farmer H had already signed the other papers, meaning I had to go without him.

At least it was Errand Day, and The Pony agreed to accompany me. I said I was planning to bring my cane. There's a step to get through their threshold, and without an appointment, I was afraid I might have to sit in the outer chairs to wait. They are armless, and I might need my cane for balance getting up and down.

Temps were in the 30s. I dressed in three layers. I just can't stand the cold. Must be my lack of a thyroid. The garage is especially cold, and I shiver before T-Hoe's heat starts to work about two miles down the road. I went out and put the papers, and some ham and beans and corn muffins for The Pony, into T-Hoe's passenger side.

I turned to A-Cad, to get my cane out of the back seat. I almost ripped my arm off! The door was locked! What in the Not-Heaven??? We don't lock our vehicles out here. Farmer H always said, "If a prisoner escapes, he'll head to the highway to catch a ride, not out here in the woods to steal a car. But if he does, it'll be unlocked for him to hotwire, and he won't need to break into the house for keys!" More Farmer H logic.

Anyhoo... I was a bit upset, because I was not wanting to waste any time, to get to town and get that paperwork done before errands and the dropping temperatures before Friday's storm. I really wanted my cane. Lucky for me, I have the spare key for A-Cad in my purse. So I fished it out and tried the clicker to unlock the doors. 

NOTHING.

I tried that clicker several times. It was deader than a doornail. I suppose it needs a new battery. I put the key in the front door lock, and got it open. I used the button on the armrest to unlock all the doors. I hobbled to the back door again. Found my cane. Saw no reason for the doors being locked. Just a few pocketknives and some mini flashlights in packages. I closed the back door. Hobbled to the front. Tried locking all the doors with the armrest button. The alarm started sounding. I couldn't stop it with the clicker. Dead, you know. So I had to lean in and put the key in the ignition and start A-Cad, which shut off the alarm. Then I had to leave all the doors unlocked. What's the use of only locking the driver's door with a key? 

You can bet Farmer H got an earful when he came home. To which he replied, "Huh."