Retired People Problems: Trapped Like A Rat

Sweet Gummi Mary! These people putting in gas lines to (and from) nowhere are going to drive me crazy! On Tuesday, they had FOUR trucks parked along our gravel road. Each hooked to a long, long trailer. One had six or eight giant opaque containers of water. Dirty water. Like taken out of the creek. Obviously not for drinking. Perhaps for lubricating or cooling their digging equipment. The heat index was around 110. Due to last all week.

Anyhoo... they are parked on a hill curve! On both sides now! With orange cones denoting a slim path between their equipment. Oh, and none of the eight or ten guys working there are designated to direct traffic. So we are on our own. Take your chances! You can't see over a hill, and you can't see around a curve! It's daylight. So no headlights to suggest oncoming traffic.

So far, I have avoided meeting an oncoming vehicle. Until my trip home on Tuesday evening around 4:50 p.m. As I started down the hill and around the curve, I encountered ONE OF THE WORK TRUCKS, PULLING A TRAILER!

Of course I stopped. That driver, high up in his truck cab, motioned for me to COME ON! I squeezed T-Hoe as far to the right as possible. Two tires off in the mud of the hill, where there's no gravel. That truck driver stayed where he was. I suppose he was waiting for me to go by. 

However... even if I had been continuing straight, and up the next hill towards our other property where HOS (Farmer H's Oldest Son) had lived for a while... another of their trucks with a trailer was parked on that little low-water bridge, with four guys standing around talking.

I put on my left turn signal, though, because I have to go up that side road to get to the Mansion. I guess the truck driver finally noticed. His trailer was completely blocking the road I needed to turn onto. He gradually eased forward, until my path was clear.

I don't need this stress! I just want to be able to get out to town once a day, and get back home! Poor Farmer H! He needs to haul his lawnmower to town for mowing yards of our properties. Good luck getting SilverRedO and a trailer past this mess!

Logic Is Defied, And Not Just By Farmer H

Have you heard? We live in the middle of nowhere. Yet on Monday, there was a crew putting in natural gas lines on our gravel road! Farmer H warned me when he came home around 2:30.

"Be careful. There's a crew on our gravel road putting in gas lines."

"Where? Can I go out the other way?"

"On our gravel road! By the S curve up the hill."

"You mean on [NAMED ROAD]?"

"No. On our gravel road by the S curve up the hill."

"Isn't that where [NAMED ROAD] branches off?"

"Yes. But they're not on that road. They're on our gravel road."

"I KNOW THAT! I'm just trying to figure out exactly where!"

"You can go the other way, but that's driving out the other gravel road and going the long way. You can get through."

Here's the deal. I DID get through, on the half of the road left open, since no other traffic was coming my way. But I don't understand this gas line installation. Where is it coming from, and where is it going? 

The section where the gas line is being installed it about a quarter mile from the county blacktop road. How is this gas line going to be connected to something? There's been no gas line installation on the county blacktop road. Nor on the quarter mile from blacktop to this section of the gravel. What's the purpose of a gas line that doesn't receive gas?

Something is fishy in the enclave of Hillmomba.

Scarlett Is Off Her Rocker Again

Just when you assume, after a mere year of living with us, and not in a crate 12 hours a day in an apartment, that Scarlett has grown accustomed to life at the Hillbilly Mansion... she reverts to her old self.

Sunday, I went out for my town trip. Scarlett leaped and cavorted behind me, as usual, waiting to be tossed a scrap of stale bread. But THEN, as I was climbing into T-Hoe, Scarlett came through the door of the garage! She never does that! She knows that when I leave, I'm not going to pet her in the garage.

At least she didn't keep running in after I backed out, causing the garage door to stop closing, requiring me to make multiple tries to close it.

Scarlett and Jack stood in the driveway as I started T-Hoe off the carport. Usually, Scarlett stays on the porch, and Jack lies in a hole he's dug in the gravel under where SilverRedO usually parks. I knew what was in store...

Halfway up the driveway, I saw Scarlett start to run along behind me. My loyal little Jack headed her off. Got her into the front yard/field. He ran back and forth, blocking her progress from coming after me. 

Well. Scarlett herself must be no stranger to herding, thanks to her DNA. She finally evaded Jack, and sped after me. Not her usual hopping/leaping gait, but stretched out, for speed. Sensible little Jack stood in the front yard/field, watching. 

As I went down the hill in front of our neighbor's house, I could see Scarlett still chasing.

When I came home, I did not see Scarlett. Little Jack and Copper Jack barked their fool heads off, running around on the carport as I piloted T-Hoe into the garage. 

Thank the Gummi Mary, Scarlett appeared on the side porch. I suppose she had been lying on the back deck, hoping the object of her ADORATION would make an appearance. Because Farmer H was home, SilverRedO parked in his normal place.

That Scarlett is an enigma.

It's MADDENING, I Tell You!

It's Farmer H's world, and other people are sometimes allowed to co-exist in it.

Friday evening, Farmer H said he'd get his big salad when he was ready. I set out a mini pack of Ritz Crackers for him. And the bag of fried onions for topping. Told him if he ran out of his Bacon Ranch dressing, there was a bottle of Lite Ranch in the door of FRIG II.

I was sitting at the kitchen table when Farmer H came in to get his salad. He managed to take the lid off the container. And get a fork from the drawer. Then he took out a bottle of dressing, flipped open the lid, and was trying to squeeze it onto his big salad. Looked at it quizzically. Then put it back in FRIG II's door.

"Huh. I got the wrong one."

Yes. The unopened bottle of Lite Ranch. And rather than unscrew the lid, and peel off the foil, he put it back into FRIG II. Then Farmer H took the Bacon Ranch, and started to put it on his salad.

"Wait! You're not going to shake it up first?"

"Yes! I'm shaking it."

Farmer H had the bottle upside down, and started shaking it. As if that's not a recipe for disaster!

"That's a good way to spill it all over the floor! Who shakes a bottle upside down? Oh, wait. YOU won't be the one cleaning up the mess. I will."

"I'm not shaking it upside down!" Said Farmer H, righting the bottle as he spoke.

Then Farmer H took his big salad to the long couch and set it on the marred coffee table, seating himself for a feast.

"Did you take a paper towel? Those crackers are greasy."

"Not yet. I had my hands full of the salad and my soda and the crackers."

"Because a paper towel is so heavy and hard to hold..."

Farmer H came back to get a paper towel. When he sat down again, I had another thought.

"Did you put the fried onions on top?"

"No. I forgot."

"That's what makes it good."

"I know."

Farmer H came back with his big salad, and shook some fried onions on top.

Later, when I went to put the fried onions on top of my big salad, the bag was open. Oh, well. It had only been a couple of hours. When I tried to seal the bag, it wouldn't close. Closer inspection revealed that the zip-lock part wouldn't work. Couldn't work. Because it was already sealed, with both halves on one side of the package. Farmer H had yanked it open, tearing the one zip side loose from the bag.

"Huh. I can't seal up the fried onions, because you yanked the seal off the side of the bag. It's already zipped, but not holding the sides together."

"I DID NOT! You always blame everything on me! Maybe YOU did it!"

"Well. The bag was open when I got it. So not me. I last used it a couple days ago. When I made sure it was sealed. I always do that when I'm done. And it WAS. Now after you used it, it's broken. You always have ten different excuses denying what you've done. Just because you say it's so, doesn't make it so."

"Yeah! Like you saying I messed up the package!"

I would really like to see Farmer H in court, under cross-examination from a reputable lawyer. Maybe it will happen, from the great beyond, once he succeeds in killing me.

Now Farmer H Tries Killing Me By Neglect!

I'm pretty sure Farmer H has not given up on his quest to kill me. Thursday, he went to the Devil's Playground for dog food and sundry items on a list I gave him. I talked to him around 2:45 to remind him about the Tide detergent I forgot to put on that list. Anyhoo... he was in the store at the time. He knew I was just leaving the Mansion, on my way to the bank, and to Country Mart to pick up big salads for our Friday night supper, and a few other items, including the vanilla wafer cookies he requested.

Anyhoo... as I was starting home at 4:45 from the Gas Station Chicken Store, I tried to call Farmer H. I knew he'd be home already. I wanted him to be ready to help carry in my groceries.

There was no answer. Huh. Maybe he was out mowing again. Or maybe down fiddling with POOLIO's filter. Once I got on the county blacktop road, I tried to call again. No answer. And again, as I was going up our gravel road just before the driveway. No answer.

SilverRedO was parked under the carport as usual. So Farmer H was definitely home. Perhaps snoozing again in the recliner? I don't know. But I DID know that I'd be carrying in those six grocery bags by myself! I had mostly cold stuff. But I was NOT carrying in the three six packs of Diet Mountain Dew.

Little Jack came to greet me as I got out of T-Hoe in the garage. Huh. No Scarlett. She had just been there, barking with the pair of Jacks, behind the garage.

I looped all six bags on my right arm. Thankfully there was nothing really heavy this time. Just the salads, a container of cold fried chicken, some cherry tomatoes, the vanilla wafers, a couple bags of chips, and five boxes of the 5-for-$19.99 frozen items Farmer H likes for a quick supper, or to take to his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2) for lunches. Like mini chicken sandwiches and mini cheeseburgers. This time I also found BUFFALO mini chicken sandwiches. And corn dogs. And some mini pizzas.

Anyhoo... I added my purse and metal water bottle to that arm. As I let Jack out the people door, here came Scarlett galloping around the corner of the porch (sliding to a stop). 

AHA! That meant Farmer H was down by POOLIO. Scarlett barely lets him out of her sight when he's down there. If he has the gate closed on the porch, she stands and looks through the rail at him. 

I know Farmer H knew I was home! You'd have to be deaf not to hear the creaky garage door go up and down, and the dogs barking their fool heads off. In addition, I was yelling at Scarlett, who CANNOT understand a command to GET BACK. Not even with a push to her chest! Even though I do it EVERY TIME I have groceries to set on the metal chair on the side porch, so I don't have to carry them up the steps. A couple days ago, she even got whacked with a 12-pack of Shasta Diet Cola. NOT intentionally! I was trying to lift it up, and she darted toward me, pawing at my chest.

Anyhoo... I was screaming at Scarlett to GET BACK. Explaining loudly (not for HER benefit) that I had all those groceries to put on the chair.

You might imagine how my level of not-happiness increased as I rounded the corner of the porch, and spied Farmer H sitting on a chair on POOLIO's deck!!!

Sweet Gummi Mary! Can you believe that Farmer H had the NERVE to come in through the laundry room door the very minute I was putting away items in the last bag??? I'm sure you can.

"Oh, you still have the knack, don't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Showing up RIGHT WHEN I GET DONE PUTTING AWAY GROCERIES!"

"I didn't know you was out there."

"You'd have to be deaf not to know. And I called you and called you! What if I was in a wreck? What if my car broke down? You don't answer your phone! You knew I was in town, at the store!"

"I didn't have my phone."

"That's the point!"

"I can't take my phone in the pool, HM."

"Yeah, like that's what I'm suggesting! A phone in the pool! You could put it on the deck where you could hear it!"

"It would get water splashed on it!"

I give up with this guy. What's he doing, practicing synchronized swimming? Doing cannonballs off the side? I've never seen Farmer H splashing water in POOLIO! He lays on a raft, up against the side.

I'm pretty sure Farmer H is trying to kill me. By neglect, or by rage.

The Increasingly Elderly Mrs. HM

I must be looking more frail and pitiful than usual lately. More and more people are holding open doors for me! The old men have always been nice about it. In the past few weeks, a couple of 20-something guys have done it. A little girl around 7. And a few days ago, it was a young teen boy!!!

It was at Orb K. I had parked in my favorite space by the striped handicap walkway, though not in the single handicap space. This one is more convenient for me. As I climbed out of T-Hoe, I saw these two teen boys cutting up as young boys do, and running across the County Lettered Highway to get from the Save A Lot/Subway mini mall to Orb K. 

With my many years of teaching experience, I judged these young'uns to be around 14 years old. Like that summer between 8th grade and 9th grade. Just starting to grow up and fill out. One was lanky with short brown hair, and the other stocky with curly red hair.

By the time I got to the front door, Red had just arrived. He looked back over his shoulder for Brownie, who was laughing and weaving through the parked cars. Red glanced at me, then stepped over and HELD THE RIGHT SIDE DOOR OPEN FOR ME! 

Wasn't that sweet? I looked him in the eye and thanked him. He looked embarrassedly proud. 

THEN TWO 20-something gals came barreling out before I could step in!

I had seen them approaching through the left glass door, each with a fountain soda in hand. I know they could see me through that door, and how Red was holding our side open. Of course they assumed it was for THEM! And instead of coming out the left door, they jumped over to exit through the door Red was holding for Mrs. HM! No "Excuse me" or NOTHIN' from them as they almost knocked me over. No thanks, nor even an acknowledgement, for Red, either.

Heh, heh. I suppose I need to work on looking WEAKER for this demographic...

Perhaps Mrs. HM Has Solved A Slippery Mystery

I have mentioned to The Pony and Farmer H that I don't understand why Scarlett often tumbles up the steps, and slides along the porch boards rather than stopping on a dime like Jack. She's a goofy dog, but otherwise seems coordinated enough. After all, she follows behind me, hopping and leaping, without coming down on my heels. Most of the time. She jumps off the four-foot-high concrete carport onto the slanted grass below without stumbling, in order to chase uncatchable squirrels. AND I've seen her leap UP from the grass onto the carport, flat-footed!

Jack has very sturdy digging claws on his toes. I thought maybe Scarlett, being an Australian Shepherd with no need for digging, unlike Jack's dachshund half, simply has shorter claws. Or maybe she was de-clawed by her previous master! But no. I looked. Scarlett has normal-looking claws, though not as thick as Jack's.

While I was observing her toenails, Scarlett took off around the porch corner, looking for Farmer H, who had carried in two boxes of groceries! Seeing that he'd closed the kitchen door, Scarlett came running back towards me. Tried to stop, and SLID across the porch boards. When she turned and started back to look for the object of her ADORATION again, I saw the bottom of her paws as she pranced along.

THERE WERE TUFTS OF FUR POKING OUT BETWEEN HER TOES!

That's gotta be it! Scarlett's toe-pads don't make full contact with the porch boards. The fur allows her to slide. Maybe she even enjoys this activity, like a kid in socks sliding on a tile floor. I can't imagine it being a problem for her on the grass, or concrete, or gravel. 

Now I'm wondering if this is just a characteristic of her breed.