Thanks, But No Thanks

I stop short of making this Incident # 1368 in Farmer H's list of infractions of the Hillbilly Mom Rules. He only gets a break because he had good intentions.

Today I got a text as I was pulling into the garage with my 44 oz Diet Coke around 1:00.

"If want we can run to casino"

"No. I just got my soda. Hadn't planned on it."

Here's the thing. Of course I would have liked a trip to the casino. If Farmer H had mentioned it even last night, I would have gotten my blog posts ready to publish automatically. Readied my gambling purse with the money I was willing to lose. Set aside house money for lunch. Put my two forms of ID in that purse. Made sure Farmer H had his player's card laid out. And then met him in town today when he was ready. There is planning, people, that goes into a casino trip. I would have spent the night looking forward to the event, thinking about which machines I would play. And I most certainly wouldn't have spent some of my casino bankroll on scratchers today.

Since I hate texting, I called Farmer H, who was dining at Hardee's after closing up his Storage Unit Store due to a new onset of rain. I explained the situation, and he HAD THE NERVE to say, "We can go in the morning. Because it's supposed to rain, and I won't open my store."

"Uh. Tomorrow is Easter."

"I know. The casino will be open."

"Uh. I have to cook the meal."

"Well, all you have to do is warm up the ham steak."

AGHHHH!

Let the record show that without visits from The Pony and Genius, Farmer H and I are having a lesser Easter dinner. Not so many dishes. Not a whole half-ham. Farmer H asked for a ham steak and mashed potatoes. We both like the 7-layer salad. Carrots go well with ham. So that's the menu: ham steak, mashed potatoes, 7-layer salad, carrots (and potatoes) with onions cooked with bacon. I need the bacon for the salad, and I'll use some of those cooked potatoes to mash. We're also having Sister Schubert's Rolls, and Edy's Grand Double Fudge Brownie Ice Cream. Because Farmer H asked for ice cream for dessert.

You might have noticed that "warm up the ham steak" is not the only task I will have to prepare the dinner. Those eggs for the salad aren't going to boil (and peel) themselves, or the block of sharp cheddar throw itself onto the grater. Nor will the potatoes peel themselves and cook and jump into a pan of milk and whip themselves into a frenzy with butter. Nor will the bacon magically morph from raw to cooked, with its companions, the baby carrots and self-slicing onions. Of course, I DON'T have to churn the ice cream and bake the brownie chunks, so there's that.

Seriously. How could Farmer H think that we'd run to the casino in the morning (and have lunch there and return in the afternoon), and I'd have Easter dinner ready to serve in the evening? Because that's the time he picked, thinking he would run his Storage Unit Store until time to feast. Apparently, I have superpowers.

We DO plan to go to the casino NEXT weekend. I have a free play offer that I can't refuse. I've been planning on that trip. Mrs. Hillbilly Mom does not do spur-of-the-moment. Even for the casino.

Incident Number 1,367 That Is Going On Farmer H's Permanent Record

Stranger than fiction! Farmer H cooked his own lunch Thursday! Of course, with the good...also comes the bad. Even Steven is not floating Mrs. Hillbilly Mom a break any time soon. No siree, Bob!

Farmer H said he was going to a new auction, with a guy he often auctions with. This one was just past Farmer H's old work town, and the buddy would be driving.

"He says to meet him at 3:30, but last time he got there by 3:15, so I'll leave here around 2:55 in case he's waiting for me. You don't have to cook supper. I'll get something there."

"What are you having for lunch. I was just leaving for town."

"Did you throw away the last piece of my ham steak? I think you gave it to the dogs."

"I don't remember that, but it's possible. I don't see it here on the shelf."

"I was going to fry myself some ham and eggs."

"There's plenty of eggs. You can use that sliced ham I got for after Easter."

"Okay. That's what I'll have."

Off I went to town, after laying out three slices of ham for Farmer H. Because he's helpless like that, with questionable hand hygiene. I thought I'd need to put away the remainder of the new pack of sliced ham, but as luck would have it, the package had a ziplock top.

I should have known all this good luck flowing my way was going to result in an EVENING by Steven. Farmer H gone all afternoon and night, making his own lunch so I didn't have to, and getting off easy with putting away the ham. Sweet Gummi Mary! That was like a vacation inside retirement!

When I got back home, I was SHOCKED to see that Farmer H had washed the skillet he used to cook his lunch! One more good luck tally!

I got ready to add some Cherry Limeade powder to my 44 oz Diet Coke, and put my pinwheels on my lunch tray to descend to my dark basement lair. By now, it was already 2:30, and close to Farmer H's departure time. I turned from washing my hands at the sink, and reached for the select-a-size paper towel I had left laying on the cutting block. They can be re-used, you know, after drying clean hands on them.

IT WAS GONE!

I was sure I'd left that paper towel. I'd used it to dry my hands after washing the dishes that morning before Farmer H came home from town. It was drying there when I left. But now it was gone.

"Hey! What happened to my paper towel? From the cutting block?"

"Oh. Uh. I used that. To wipe the counter after I cooked. Then I threw it away."

Funny how I saw, on the counter, a DOUBLE select-a-size paper towel, folded over, halfway crumpled. I didn't even bother to ask Farmer H why he tore off two paper towels to use, left their remains, but needed to finish off MY paper towel.

Yes. It DOES matter. I'm RETIRED, you know. I don't have much else to think about.

Does This Picture Make My Rear-End Look Fat?

Poor T-Hoe. I set out to take a flattering picture. Really. I wanted to send it to my sister the ex-mayor's wife, to show her HOW CLEAN my car is today. Accidentally. Due to the downpour. I eased along the mile of gravel road slowly so as not to splash through puddles.

However...now that I bring up that picture in a larger format...it's not all that flattering to T-Hoe!

I would have moved back farther, or taken a shot from the side, but the yard is a quagmire, and I did not want to subject my mesh New Balance to such squishiness. However...I had the bright idea to take one from the other side, where I had the corner of the concrete carport to stand on.

Well. All I can say about that is: "T-Hoe, the '08 Tahoe, has a very shiny nose."

Get a good gander at this, people. T-Hoe doesn't stay clean for long.

The Dirty-Pool Holdout

You're never going to believe this. Okay. You will. You MOST CERTAINLY WILL believe this. I'm still struggling with it, but then, Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is known as a cockeyed optimist...

FARMER H HAS BEEN HOLDING OUT ON ME!

It's true. As generous as I am with my casino and lottery winnings, as generous as I am with our joint checking money that Farmer H himself earned 2/3 of all these years...I found out that Farmer H has a stash. I cry shenanigans!

All those times I gave Farmer H casino money! Feeling sorry for him that he did not have a bulging casino bankroll like I did, from putting back part of my winnings. And lump sums of larger wins. Even after donating a large portion to others for gambling fun at Christmas time in years past, though not this one. That's just me. I'm so selfless...

Farmer H, apparently, is not.

Tonight we were carrying out a decision we made over the past week, of helping out someone who was behind on their electric bill. Way behind. Had the power cut off, and the thingy that spins around showing your usage removed from the outside of the home. Farmer H was getting the specifics, the exact amount, the account, and where to go pay the bill. That's because we don't want our names associated with it! So Farmer H was going to pay in person, with cash or money order, no check.

The original plan involved taking some money out of one of our savings accounts. Since Farmer H is a spur-of-the-moment kind of guy, he had to do it now. RIGHT NOW! Like, at 4:45 p.m. I guess maybe the payment station stays open late. It IS in a grocery store, so I guess it's good for those hours. Anyhoo...Farmer H said he'd have time.

"I can go down to the credit union tomorrow. For now, I'll go get my money bag out of the safe. I have enough."

"WHAT? You have THAT MUCH money?"

Let the record show that at first we were led to believe that the arrears was around $1000. But when getting the specifics, Farmer H discovered that to get the power back on, the cost would be over $1600.

HE HAD THAT MUCH MONEY SOCKED AWAY FROM HIS STORAGE UNIT STORE!

Sweet Gummi Mary! That's dirty pool, taking my handouts of OUR money all this time, pretending to be a casino pauper! Even when I'd been telling him all month that this would be the last time that I gave him anything to gamble with, he didn't happen to mention his cash stockpile.

When I mentioned that I sure would have like to have MY casino gambling subsidized by money from our checking account, he said, "Well, I NEED my money, for paying rent on my storage unit, so I can run my store! It's how I make money."

"Well, I would LIKE to have the same amount I've given you for the past year, to BUY MY LOTTERY TICKETS! That's how I make money!"

"Yeah, but mine is my hobby. I have to have something to do."

"Lottery tickets are MY hobby!"

Right now, we are agreeing to disagree on Farmer H's entitledness. I have no intention of taking any of OUR money as compensation for all that I gave to Farmer H. All I wanted was for him to see how ridiculous his reasoning is, and apologize for leading me to believe that he NEEDED that money in order to enjoy a day at the casino with me.

I don't think I achieved my goal.

The Swarm And The Ab-Norm

Yesterday, I took The Pony's box of Easter treats to the main post office. It takes an extra day for packages to reach him. Besides, I didn't have labels, and I didn't want the packages to get mixed up. And they're heavy. No way was I going to stand in line holding TWO of those boxes.

Today I left in a downpour. I was hoping the creeks didn't overflow before I could get to the post office. They didn't. But we had flash flood warnings. The main post office has parking under a roof. I was happy to see only one other car parked there when I arrived. I grabbed the label that I had asked for yesterday, and filled out this morning. I figured I'd let the mail counter-man put it on the box, since that's kind of his job, and he might have some insider tricks. As it was, he didn't put it in the printed area for the label, but right in the middle of the box. So maybe he DOES know something!

Anyhoo...I slid out of T-Hoe, and turned to get the package off the back seat. Sweet Gummi Mary! It was as if a SWAT team had arrived, intent on flushing out a fugitive. That parking area went from T-Hoe and one other vehicle to SEVEN cars in the blink of an eye. I don't know where those other five people came from, but they were all business, jumping out and striding purposefully in the door, while I juggled that box and T-Hoe's clicker to lock him up.

The original customer came out as I went in. Didn't hold the door for me, though. Don't mind me. I'm just an old woman with an awkward box. The lady who'd parked next to me was busy blocking the slot for outgoing mail. I did a Stretch Armstrong move to finagle my credit card payment envelope into the opening. She was busy letting her young son open their post office box. But at least she had the manners to excuse herself when she saw that she was blocking my bill-paying efforts.

An old lady was at the tall table in the counter-area, fiddling around with a label or envelopes. I passed by her, because she was not staking her spot in line. Some guy got done and was on the way out. Stamps, maybe. Then a lady, who had virtually rushed in like the old O J Simpson through an airport, plopped a package and a manilla envelope on the counter. Great. Somebody mailing packages. I'm sure nobody behind ME in line has ever thought that...

Directly in front of me was an old lady holding a gift bag. Which was later revealed to hold a paper-sack-wrapped box that she was mailing the cheapest way possible. Her words. Then the lady who'd been at the high table joined her, reminding her to get stamps. She paid with a debit card. Then me. And a guy behind me also with a box. I've never seen so many people mailing packages. Maybe they all have adult kids who need Easter boxes.

Anyhoo...Genius's package was man-handled by the counter guy (heh, heh) and set on its side with much shifting and rattling of contents. I paid cash and hit the road. Made it over the creeks before flooding. I DID notice that the little low-water bridge leading up the hill to HOS's house had muddy water flowing over it. Maybe a few inches, nothing impassable yet.

Here's the strange part. The little low-water bridge leading up the hill to the Mansion is right there. A fork off that road to HOS's. With its own little creek that flows into the other one. THAT CREEK WAS BONE DRY! I've never seen this combination.

Normally, when one of those little bridges goes under, they both do. Sure, the part on the Mansion road is a wet-weather creek. And this was certainly WET weather. It had been raining all night. The yard was full of puddles. The bigger creeks, and the river, were rising. Yet this one was bone dry as far as I could see up into the woods.

I guess maybe a tree limb fell across it upstream. Or maybe the beavers have been dam-building already. Probably, whatever is blocking it will give way overnight, and a wall of water will come rushing across. That's what a flash flood is, I guess.

The Mansion is high and dry, as is HOS's house, so it makes me no nevermind. As long as Farmer H makes it home from yet another auction that his buddy called him to attend.

For The Kids

Last night I taped up the flat rate boxes (large) that I use to send the boys their holiday goodies. Not so much a care package as an I-CARE package. They get one for Valentine's Day, and Easter, and Halloween. Just treats, sometimes trinkets. For instance, on Valentine's Day, Genius got a silicone ice cube tray that makes big blocks of ice for putting in whiskey drinks. And a GRACULA garlic chopper. The Pony is getting a knockoff fidgety spinning thingy. Just fun stuff.

Farmer H sat in the La-Z-Boy, silently begging for candy samples. It's not good for him, you know. But since he'd just eaten supper, and had some protein under his belt, I tossed him a miniTwizzler from a multi-pack. Which promptly bounced out of his hands, through the leg-rester, hit the carpet, and flung itself up over a wooden board of the La-Z-Boy frame, and deep under that chair. Farmer H fished it out, though. Which involved rolling under the leg-rester like he was working under a car, and reaching up over his head with his Poparm, to get that mini-Twizzler.

Anyhoo...Farmer H watched me sorting out the goodies on the coffee table. "That's a lot of candy!"

"I know. Welcome to Christmas Eve, when I sort the stocking stuffers around 2:00 a.m."

"I bet that checkout lady thought you were buying it for your grandkids. Did you tell her it's for your 20- and 23-year-old sons?"

"NO! Are you saying I shouldn't send them anything? I'll be sure to put it in their weekly letter. 'Sorry, no treats. Dad says you're too old.'"

"Don't do that! I didn't mean anything by it. Send them their candy."

"Well, HOS's boy is getting some, too. He's a grandchild."

"Yeah. I know. I'll bring that basket over here tomorrow."

Here are the boxes going to the boys. Don't mind the scarring of the table. That was Genius's doing. For a Genius, he's not that smart. It happened at Christmas one year, shortly after we got the table. Genius took my new mouse pad, and said, "See? You peel the back off, and it won't slip." He put it on the coffee table, went to pick it up, and a layer of table came with it. Yeah. It's not the most expensive of furniture. This is a Mansion, not a PALACE!

Hope the boys enjoy their treats. I haven't had a complaint yet.

Julienning Julian

Sweet Gummi Mary! I am too old to be jumping through hoops. I might throw out a hip.

There I was, sailing along, having done my federal AND state tax returns over two days. Yeah. Not even full days. A couple hours each day, with an extra one that night I declined TurboTax's offer to SAVE. The whole process was SO much quicker without filing Genius's taxes this year. Even though we lost him as a deduction, what with him being such a working man through the spring and summer...we picked up an education credit for The Pony because this past year, he didn't MAKE money off his scholarship.

Anyhoo...all that was left to do was print and file. I'd been putting that off, because I wasn't looking forward to the PRINTING part. Yeah, yeah. I know. All I have to do is push a button. But there were 35 PAGES of forms and worksheets. Normally, I make more than one copy. Because of Genius, and sending him his own set. Plus he had federal, Missouri, and Kansas. But without him, I just made one copy for us. So the whole process wasn't as formidable as I'd anticipated.

Anyhoo...I was chugging right along, all I had to do was hit FILE, which entails several screens. In the past, we've had an issue with Genius and the identity theft that he fell victim to his first year at college. He was not the only one, and I think it was eventually traced to something data-related at the bookstore. So this was the first year in five that I did not have to alter my tax process to provide paper follow-up copies to prove that Genius was really Genius.

Anyhoo...as I was in the process of filing, a screen came up asking for driver's license data for Farmer H and me. Not a big deal. I went upstairs for my license, and called Farmer H to see how soon he'd be home from the auction. My info was already entered when I got my hands on Farmer H's license. Well. His looked different. That being a chauffeur's license that he'd needed for work. His did not have an issue date. The screens would not let me progress without that issue date. Even looking up help, where I discovered that Missouri does not require license information for tax filing, did nothing to get me past that screen. Hmpf. That was a fine kettle of fish.

Further investigation tipped me off that older Missouri licenses (and apparently chauffeur's licenses) don't show an outright issue date, but have a kind of code vertically along the picture. Not so much a CODE, as the Julian date.

SWEET GUMMI MARY!

Do you know how hard that is to decipher? Even though I knew which numbers represented what, I could not find a converter online that only needed the year and day number. At first. I think it was about my 5th try where I found one to give me what I needed.

Shh...don't tell Farmer H that I found a Julian converter. He thinks I'm a genius. An evil one, perhaps. But still a genius.

Not gonna lie. I was ready to julienne that dang Julian calendar.