While HIllbilly Mom's Away, Farmer H Has His Way

Farmer H has been up to his old tricks again. Not only did he break the passenger mirror off my T-Hoe while I was in the hospital, but he tried to poison himself, and turn our boudoir into a circus tent.

The first shenanigan, he was afraid to tell me. I suppose he had thoughts that I might kick off, and he would never have to confess. It's bad enough that this is not the first mirror he's broken off a car of mine by backing out of the garage. He waited until I was ready to be discharged, then confessed, because he knew I would see it when I climbed into my chariot for the ride home. Never mind that T-Hoe has the fancy mirrors that fold in and out at the push of a button. Farmer H could not be bothered to push. "I was worried about you. I wasn't thinking." Uh huh. The first time, on my old Suburban, he did not have this excuse. And he still destroyed that mirror. He says he's going to heal T-Hoe himself.

"I ordered the part. The mirror itself did just what it was supposed to do. It bent backwards. But that darn glass shattered! Now I need one little piece, or I'll have to get the whole thing from the dealer, and that will cost two or three hundred dollars." Indeed.

When I got home and opened Frig, I saw a package of bologna in a zip-lock bag. "Oh, did you go buy yourself some bologna so you could eat?"

"No. It was in there."

"I haven't bought bologna for at least six months."

"Well, the date was good."

"Are you sure the YEAR was good?"

"I think so. It didn't make me sick."

Such are the feeding habits of Farmer H.

That night, when I went to lay my head on my own stack of three pillows, I discovered that Farmer H had changed the sheets. Gone were the sticky flannel velcro sweat-inducing demons. In their place were cool new cotton sheets. Crisp sheets. Very crisp. So crisp that they could not have been washed. Ever. It was like covering myself with a plastic tarp. Crinkle, crinkle. Stiff. And they still came up over my head by three feet. Farmer H admitted the next morning that yes, he had changed the sheets. Took them right out of the package and put them on the bed.

The flannel sheets are still crumpled on the bottom of the clothes hamper awaiting my wash. Farmer H's domestic sense of duty only goes so far.

The Blind Leading The Blind Right Over The Edge Of The Abyss

So...yesterday Mom came out to sit with me and take me to the store. Unbeknownst to Mom, I had a previous agreement with my sister the ex-mayor's wife to provide deviled eggs and potato salad for a BBQ at her house Saturday night in honor of Mom moving from septuagenaianship to octogenarianship. This was before my unfortunate hospitalization, but since I need to get back in the swing of things, I am trying to keep my end of the bargain. At least I didn't have to work all week and walk at graduation tonight and THEN make my side dishes.

I told Mom I was going to boil up a bunch of eggs and use them for egg salad, tuna salad, in salads, devil a few, etc. I was the regular Bubba Gump of eggs. I think she fell for it. Anyway, I put a big pan of water and 16 eggs on the big front burner to boil. I told Mom, "I'm kind of tired, but I figured you could check on the eggs in a minute and see if they've started to boil. I usually let them go for 10 minutes once they start boiling."

Mom said she would be happy to check on the eggs. She went to the kitchen about five minutes after I put them on. "I think they're boiling. There are little bubbles coming to the top."

"Are they LITTLE bubbles? Because I want to make sure they're really boiling."

"I'll check back in a few minutes."

"Sometimes it takes them a while. Give them five more." We were watching Little House on the Prairie. Half Pint was mean to her dog Jack, then he died. Mom was almost in tears. I had to remind her to check on the eggs.

"Oh, they're just starting to boil. I can tell. They're steaming. And those bubbles are bigger."

"Are you sure? Is it a rolling boil? Because I don't want to ruin 16 eggs if I take them off too soon. Mayb you can stick your hand in there and see how hot the water is. Is that too much to ask?"

"Do you want me to? Because I will."

"No, Mom. I just bandaged your wrist. I don't have enough first aid supplies if you dip your hand in boiling water and strip of the flesh. I'll just come look for myself."

"No. Don't get up. You rest. I'll feel close to the water."

"I can't believe it's taking this long. I put the burner between Medium High and High. I don't like it TOO high, because the eggs crack. Wait. I guess I turned on the right burner..."

"OH! You didn't! You turned on the back burner. I'll turn on the front one. Do you want me to turn the back one off?"

"Yes, Mom. I can't believe you told me those eggs were boiling. They weren't even ON. It's been 25 minutes since I turned on the wrong burner. Good to know they were steaming and boiling with no heat to the pan."

"Oh, don't get me tickled! It's a good thing you said to check the burner."

"Yeah. I think I'll check on this pan myself."

Sweet Gummi Mary! I don't know which of us is further out of touch with reality...

The Lost Ladies

We are the blind leading the blind, and we are bruised and bloody.

My mom has been coming to sit with me during my convalescence. She arrives around 9:30, and leaves at 2:00 to pick up The Pony from school. We can get into a lot of trouble in that time. Today Mom drove me to Save A Lot for my first outing in which I actually exited the car. I took a cart to use for my walker, and she took a cart as a spare, in case I tired and needed to leave. In that scenario, she would give me her empty cart and help me out, then return to pay for my items.

I endured the shopping trip, but felt a bit light-headed a couple of times. Times when Mom was nowhere in sight, having abandoned me to go look for mayonnaise. I calmed myself and leaned on my cart/walker until she reappeared. We loaded three boxes of groceries into the  back of Mom's Blazer. She did the majority of the heavy lifting when we got home. Unfortunately, Mom knocked her wrist on the doorjamb somehow, and started spraying blood. She's on blood thinners, though a different brand from mine. I fetched her a bandaid and some triple antibiotic ointment and patched her up. She swore she didn't need it, but I swore I didn't want my couch all bloody.

In her over-helpiness, Mom tried to grab a red solo cup on the kitchen counter that she had shoved with the food box. Of course in her grabbing, she knocked it all the way off, onto the kitchen floor. "You're killing me, Mom," I told her after bandaging, while reaching down to pick up that cup. "Now I am squishing my egg  while I bend over." My "egg" is a lump on my stomach the size of an egg, inside a giant purple bruise where my third injection of blood thinner went on Saturday. I think that nurse punctured my liver. The lump is a bit smaller today, like a banty egg. I'll ask the doctor about it tomorrow.

I might need to ask Farmer H to nail some crosses and strands of garlic over the doors and windows.

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I'll get to the blind part tomorrow.

He's Gonna Need Jackie Chiles To Represent Him

Farmer H has been pitching in to take up the slack during my convalescence. He has grilled our supper every night. He calls from work to see how I'm doing. He came downstairs to get me last night after a brief sortie to my dark basement lair. And later, I discovered he had washed the supper dishes. He's a prince among farmers.

That does not mean that Farmer H has not been up to his old shenanigans.

Last Thursday, Farmer H and The Pony were working on getting Poolio in shape for the summer season. They had already taken off his cover, skimmed him numerous times, cleaned out his filter, and started a well-water transfusion. Farmer H came down the basement steps to go out and check on Poolio, through his workshop to the back door. When he came back inside and started up the stairs, I noticed something amiss. It was NOT the simple fact that Farmer H was wearing only his tighty-whities and shoes.

"Hey! What's that on your feet?"

"My shoes."

"I don't think those are your shoes."

"Yes they are. They're my Crocs."

"I don't think so."

"They're my Crocs."

"No. They're not. Why do you have to do this? Your Crocs are camouflage, and you wear the strap behind your heel. Those Crocs are blue. With no strap. You took my Crocs by the bookcase, didn't you? You are wearing my Crocs! Put them back."

"These aren't your Crocs." Farmer H continued stumping up the steps. I wish I had signaled The Pony to run and grab his ankle, and hold him in place while I went around him and pointed out the empty spot where my navy blue Crocs belonged. Alas, I was breathless and could not exercise my authority.

I don't know how he thinks he can get away with these things. Farmer H would make a terrible criminal.

Mother And Dog Reunion

When we last convened, I was in the hospital, cooling my heels with multiple blood clots in my breathing apparatus. I am out now. Not exactly kicking up my cooled heels, but plodding along adequately.

It may come as a shock to you that my sweet, sweet Juno missed me. Or, as Farmer H reported, "I told your juno you were sick she looked at me like I was nutes." Yes. That's an exact quote, straight from his text.

I replied, "You don't speak her language. Of LOVE."

Farmer H said, "Ya cat food. I will give her a hand full."

So...after three days away from my sweet, sweet Juno, I returned home to a happy pup. She greeted me on the side porch, as is our custom. I was weak. But I stopped to pet her. She gazed into my eyes with her own humanlike amber orbs. I swear she was grinning. Farmer H stood behind me on the sidewalk by the garage. A bit of an interloper. A chaperone of sorts. A fifth wheel.

"I'm kind of tired. I need to go in. Can you give Juno a little cat food?"

"Yeah. Here you go, dog." Farmer H grabbed a fistful of cat kibble and dropped it on the porch in front of him.

"There, Juno. Daddy got your snack." She walked over and took a bite. THEN CAME BACK TO ME AND LAID HER HEAD ON MY SHOULDER. If you don't grasp the gravity of this situation, let me remind you that Juno LOVES cat kibble. And when she came back to lay her head on my shoulder, THERE WAS STILL A PILE OF CAT KIBBLE ON THE PORCH!

My sweet, sweet Juno loves me more than cat kibble. I'm not worthy.

Hillbilly Mom is Missing

The Pony here. Mother dearest is in the hospital at the moment, and will catch up with all o' yall when she gets it.

How Ya Gonna Keep 'Em In The Front Bedroom, After They've Rented A Basement

Here’s our latest update on the #1 son. He has a rented a room in the city. It’s a basement bedroom with a private bathroom. His landlords are a young couple in their mid-20s. They have a 4-month old baby. They swear the baby is a very good baby. #1 verifies this has been true so far. He moved in Sunday.

His basement abode includes a common area with a big-screen TV, a laundry room, and a bar with a mini fridge. His landlords say they do not use the basement unless they are entertaining, in which case they will be at the bar. With the baby, they may not be there much this summer.

#1 has kitchen privileges, with use of appliances and utensils, as long as he washes up after himself. He shops at the Schnucks that is across the street. His workplace is nine miles from his residence. According to Farmer H, he’s in the vicinity of St. Charles and the casinos. #1 says he has all the hot water he wants for his morning shower, because the couple is up and out before he gets ready for his job that starts at 9:00. I asked if the baby is gone, too, and he said, “No. The baby stays home. An old man watches her. I think he’s a relative.”

There is one other intern at #1’s place of employment. They went to Taco Bell for lunch the first day, but #1 was planning to shop for groceries to take his lunch. He will be paid once a month. The first time will be the middle of next month.

He seems to be in good spirits, and excited about his new job. He will be taking a leave to work at Missouri Boys State, since he is on staff there in the IT department. In addition, he may take a leave to attend the Solar Car competition in Texas for his college. He has worked nonstop on that solar car since last fall. These leaves were a condition of employment, which is a main reason he selected this job over another one.

One of #1’s college buddies lives fairly close, and has a pool. He does not plan to come home often this summer, what with his extra responsibilities and little free time. 

We are proud that he is earning his keep. He is glad to be out from under our thumbs.