I'm doing it again. My imagination is working overtime. Okay. It's just working. It has no regular hours. And, truth be told, it doesn't work all that much. So even though it's Saturday, I doubt my imagination has even put in 40 hours this week.
About a half hour ago I got a phone call. Of course it didn't show a name or business. Normally, I wouldn't answer those calls, you know. But with a boy in Oklahoma and a boy in Kansas and a husband on his way across Missouri...I did.
"Hello."
"Hello?"
I really don't like it when people do that. Hey, buddy, YOU called ME! So when I say hello, get to your business. Don't say, "Hello" back at me, like I'm going to start a dialogue with you.
"Hellloooo."
"Oh. Um. Is Farmer H there?"
"No, he isn't."
"Oh. Um. Well, I have a problem."
"Oh, you do, do you...?"
"Yeah. My girlfriend broke up with me, and...uh...she deleted all my phone contacts."
"Huh."
"So...um...I was trying to get [REDACTED]'s number."
"Well, I don't have it. I don't even know if Farmer H has it."
"Oh. I was trying to get ahold of her."
"Sorry. We can't help you."
CLICK! Before he started up again about his sad sack life.
You see, I'm not particularly convinced that this guy was on the up-and-up. He never gave a name. Or said how he knew Farmer H or [REDACTED]. Why would we just pass out her phone number like it's written on a toilet stall wall?
Let the record show that [REDACTED] is HOS's ex-wife. They get along fine. Share their daughters. No legal issues between them. But people move on with their lives, and you don't know their day-to-day dealings. A couple of times last week, we got a recorded call for [REDACTED] saying to call such and such number regarding case number such and such. I'm pretty sure that's one of those scam calls, since we've never gotten a call like that regarding her before, and she usually takes care of business, and we've gotten such recordings concerning ourselves.
Soo...not sure if this guy was a scammer trying to get classified information, or a weirdo who wants a new girlfriend. But one thing's for sure: he's not getting either one on MY watch, by cracky!
Or maybe it was a crazy dude hired by Crazy Dude to find out if Farmer H is gone so he can come rough me up!
Saturday, July 15, 2017
Friday, July 14, 2017
If He Was A Gunslinger, He'd Be In Trouble
Since the weather has been topping 100 degrees by afternoon, I've given up my evening driveway walk. But don't you worry about Mrs. Hillbilly Mom going to seed, turning from a lean mean fighting machine into a blob of suet. Silly worriers! Suet would MELT IN THIS HEAT!
I've taken to walking in the morning. It doesn't really suit my schedule, because most of the time I'm going to bed at 3:00 a.m., and who wants to get up before 7:00 to walk? Not Mrs. HM, that's for sure. But sometimes you gotta do things you don't wanna do. So I'm trying to get to bed by 1:00, so I can still get my six hours of sleep, and get up and walk while the driveway is about 75% shady. Not to be confused with Farmer H, who is 100% shady.
I don't ask Farmer H for much. Oh, sure, I ask him not to leave poop on the back of the toilet, and mud clods on the floor, and banana peels in the La-Z-Boy cushions, and toenails in the candle on the mantel, and to take me to the casino once or twice a month, and to tell me when he's going to have people roaming around the Mansion, and to wake me up when I have something to do. Okay. Maybe I DO ask him for a lot. But he needs to get over it.
Since Farmer H leaves for work at 6:00 a.m., I've asked him to call me at 6:45. That's about the time he pulls onto the workplace parking lot. How hard could it be? It's one thumb-push on his cell phone, and a five-second greeting. He did it for me ONCE this week.
Okay, now don't go asking Mrs. HM why she can't wake herself up. Her body clock does that. At 9:15 every morning when she goes to bed at 3:00. But when she goes to bed at 1:00, and wakes up at 7:15, it's already too hot and sweaty outside to walk. An alarm clock, you say? Why can't she use an alarm clock? HOOOO BUDDY! You don't know Mrs. HM very well at all. It would be easier for her to find an egg in the yard before Sweet, Sweet Juno eats it, and hatch that egg after 21 days, and raise that little chick without it being eaten by neighbor dogs or snakes or foxes, and train it to sit on her nightstand and crow at exactly 6:45 a.m... than learn how to set one o' them there ALARM CLOCK RADIO THINGIES!
Anyhoo...today was Friday. Farmer H doesn't work on Fridays. He set his alarm to get up at 5:30, though, so he had time to drive to town and eat breakfast, and then cut up a tree over in the BARn field before the sun got too hot. I asked him to call me at 6:45 to wake me for walking. Not forget like he did on Thursday, when I arose at 7:15 and said, "No way, no how, am I going out in that sun, and sweat up and down the driveway."
At 6:45, Farmer H woke me this morning. In person. Standing beside the bed.
"I would have called you, but I lost my phone."
"Great. There's another couple hundred dollars that I can't spend at the casino." [Just kidding. Let the record show that I don't use house money at the casino. I used my previous winnings from scratchers.]
"I've looked all over. I don't know where it could be."
"It was on the bathroom counter when I went to bed."
"I got it off there. The whole holster is gone. I've lost it somewhere."
"Maybe you laid it down. Call it with my phone and listen."
"No. I'll go retrace my steps."
"I've got to get dressed and get outside. Just go get my phone and call it. The worst that can happen is that you don't hear it. And maybe you WILL, and you'll find it."
"No. I'm fine. I'll go out and look."
"Why do I have to do EVERYTHING around here? I'll do it. Start listening."
"Well, your phone is different than mine. I don't know how to get into it."
DUH!!! Why didn't he just say so? You'd think my little android was some complicated ALARM CLOCK RADIO THINGY! I called, but there was no sound inside the Mansion. Farmer H went out the door. I could hear the dogs start their barking frenzy when he fired up the Gator. Right before I went out to walk, the house phone rang.
"I found it."
"Where?"
"In my car. It had fallen between the seat and the console."
I swear. I don't know how men walk around with those things.
I've taken to walking in the morning. It doesn't really suit my schedule, because most of the time I'm going to bed at 3:00 a.m., and who wants to get up before 7:00 to walk? Not Mrs. HM, that's for sure. But sometimes you gotta do things you don't wanna do. So I'm trying to get to bed by 1:00, so I can still get my six hours of sleep, and get up and walk while the driveway is about 75% shady. Not to be confused with Farmer H, who is 100% shady.
I don't ask Farmer H for much. Oh, sure, I ask him not to leave poop on the back of the toilet, and mud clods on the floor, and banana peels in the La-Z-Boy cushions, and toenails in the candle on the mantel, and to take me to the casino once or twice a month, and to tell me when he's going to have people roaming around the Mansion, and to wake me up when I have something to do. Okay. Maybe I DO ask him for a lot. But he needs to get over it.
Since Farmer H leaves for work at 6:00 a.m., I've asked him to call me at 6:45. That's about the time he pulls onto the workplace parking lot. How hard could it be? It's one thumb-push on his cell phone, and a five-second greeting. He did it for me ONCE this week.
Okay, now don't go asking Mrs. HM why she can't wake herself up. Her body clock does that. At 9:15 every morning when she goes to bed at 3:00. But when she goes to bed at 1:00, and wakes up at 7:15, it's already too hot and sweaty outside to walk. An alarm clock, you say? Why can't she use an alarm clock? HOOOO BUDDY! You don't know Mrs. HM very well at all. It would be easier for her to find an egg in the yard before Sweet, Sweet Juno eats it, and hatch that egg after 21 days, and raise that little chick without it being eaten by neighbor dogs or snakes or foxes, and train it to sit on her nightstand and crow at exactly 6:45 a.m... than learn how to set one o' them there ALARM CLOCK RADIO THINGIES!
Anyhoo...today was Friday. Farmer H doesn't work on Fridays. He set his alarm to get up at 5:30, though, so he had time to drive to town and eat breakfast, and then cut up a tree over in the BARn field before the sun got too hot. I asked him to call me at 6:45 to wake me for walking. Not forget like he did on Thursday, when I arose at 7:15 and said, "No way, no how, am I going out in that sun, and sweat up and down the driveway."
At 6:45, Farmer H woke me this morning. In person. Standing beside the bed.
"I would have called you, but I lost my phone."
"Great. There's another couple hundred dollars that I can't spend at the casino." [Just kidding. Let the record show that I don't use house money at the casino. I used my previous winnings from scratchers.]
"I've looked all over. I don't know where it could be."
"It was on the bathroom counter when I went to bed."
"I got it off there. The whole holster is gone. I've lost it somewhere."
"Maybe you laid it down. Call it with my phone and listen."
"No. I'll go retrace my steps."
"I've got to get dressed and get outside. Just go get my phone and call it. The worst that can happen is that you don't hear it. And maybe you WILL, and you'll find it."
"No. I'm fine. I'll go out and look."
"Why do I have to do EVERYTHING around here? I'll do it. Start listening."
"Well, your phone is different than mine. I don't know how to get into it."
DUH!!! Why didn't he just say so? You'd think my little android was some complicated ALARM CLOCK RADIO THINGY! I called, but there was no sound inside the Mansion. Farmer H went out the door. I could hear the dogs start their barking frenzy when he fired up the Gator. Right before I went out to walk, the house phone rang.
"I found it."
"Where?"
"In my car. It had fallen between the seat and the console."
I swear. I don't know how men walk around with those things.
Thursday, July 13, 2017
Good Thing Modern-Day Hillmomba Isn't 1600s Salem
I’ve had internet problems, my friends! Which started bright
and early Wednesday morning, when I tried to take Shiba for a ride on the
Information Superhighway. Sweet Gummi Mary! I might as well have been Fred
Flintstone trying to merge onto the Autobahn through the courtesy of my two feet in my hollow-log
cruiser.
The #1 Son said nothing this guy did could have caused my internet to lapse. Huh! I guess he must have been some do-goody layman lawyer back in his Salem witch-hunt days, making a dishonest living by saving witches all willy-nilly.
You know my main suspect, right? That dude who came over to
ask to use my internet! It HAD to be him! He’s the only thing that was
different than usual about my internet. So he must be guilty! Off with his
head, or burn him at the stake, or boil him in oil, or press him like a panini.
Whatever they did to the witches back then.
Never mind that this dude used my internet on Sunday
evening, and my internet continued to work for two days. He must have put a
timer on it! A hex! Cursed me with eye of frog and tail of newt. I think that’s
what’s best used for curses. I’d look it up for historical accuracy, but I
DON’T HAVE INTERNET! Not while I’m writing this, anyway.
That really makes me mad. I’m more dependable than the post
office, by cracky! I even post on CHRISTMAS DAY! And now, I’ve had to skip a
day. That ain’t right. Somebody might be worried about me. Even when I was on a
couple of deathbeds with my multiple bilateral pulmonary embolisms, I had the
#1 Son and The Pony put a note on my blogs. Now I’m incommunicado. But I’m
fine! Okay, so my nose is a bit out of joint, and my blood pressure is probably
skyrocketing, and I’m secreting a bitterness more bitter than that woody
divider part inside a walnut…but I’m fine.
The #1 Son said nothing this guy did could have caused my internet to lapse. Huh! I guess he must have been some do-goody layman lawyer back in his Salem witch-hunt days, making a dishonest living by saving witches all willy-nilly.
Alls I know is…next time that Farmer H's new best friend's husband dude rides his broom over
here, he’s NOT using my internet.
Assuming I ever get it back, that is. Which, if you read
this, I DID!
Tuesday, July 11, 2017
If Some Idiot Caveman Hadn't Invented The Gosh-Darn Wheel, Maybe We Wouldn't Have To Jump On The Latest Bandwagon
I hate progress. Don't you hate progress?
I'm not talking about the eradication of disease, and proper food storage methods, and AIR CONDITIONING. Nope. I don't mind THAT progress. I'm talking about everyone being forced to jump on the internet technology bandwagon. I don't WANT to hop on that bandwagon. I have knees that are not good for hopping. I don't like loud band music. I fear the wagon might throw a wheel, and THEN where would we be? Stuck there on the dirt road or halfway across the prairie on a wagon that can't take us where we need to go.
One of my credit unions, without bothering to tell anybody, or maybe just without bothering to tell ME, decided to force everybody onto their bandwagon. Oh, they didn't have twin six-shooters to Yosemite-Sam us onto it. They hit us where it counts. In our virtual pocketbooks.
This practice apparently started at the first of the year. A paper quarterly statement that arrives by mail costs you FIVE DOLLARS! You know, I used to be my mom's Five Dollar Daughter. But I have no intention of being this credit union's TEN DOLLAR WENCH! Because, you see, we have TWO accounts there. So in early April, I opened up our statements to see that each account had been assessed the five dollars for paper statements. The NOT-HEAVEN YOU SAY!
I rushed right down there to their facility in Bill-Paying Town to complain. Okay. By rushed right down I mean that I went during the first week of May. Because I had some other business to attend to, that being withdrawing money to cover monthly checks for our health insurance premiums. Since we'd already been charged TEN DOLLARS for the first quarter, I figured it wasn't going to happen again until the second quarter. Actually, I figured it wasn't going to happen again AT ALL, because I was going to give them a piece of my mind about fees that would end up being dang near more than the interest earned on those accounts by the end of the year. By complain, I mean that I broached the subject of the paper statement fee with the teller when I withdrew money.
The teller told me that she was not able to help me, but that Brianna (may or may not be her actual name, as I am not good with names, and that was two whole months ago, by cracky) over at a desk in a cubicle could, but she had a gentleman with her at the moment. I stood around for a good ten minutes, and darted over there just as that gentleman left. Even though Brianna had been tipped off by the teller's phone call that I was waiting, she looked like she was going to make a break for it. I sat down in that gentleman's still-warm chair before she could get away.
"I just need to change my accounts from paper statements to electronic statements. So I don't have to pay the fees every quarter."
"Oh. You can do that at home, yourself. You'll have to set up an internet banking account. I could do it for you here, but I'd just be bringing up the screen, and turning the laptop around for you to type in an ID and password, and security questions, and set up your account."
"Well...I guess I'll try that at home, then."
I was a bit dubious. It's never quite like they lead you to believe. I figured I'd have a while to work on it. After all, it was the first week of May, and the quarter didn't end until June 30.
Sometime around midnight on June 28, I tried to set up my account on my New Delly. A more misbegotten excuse for a website I've never seen! I tried and I tried to set up a new account. The system kept telling me it was unavailable, after I'd typed in all my stuff. But you know me. I'm quite persistent when money is concerned. So I kept at it. And as if by Karmaic intervention, on the fifth or sixth try of doing everything EXACTLY the same, the site let me register. I went to the part about statements, and set it for ELECTRONIC. All done, right?
Yesterday, I got a paper statement on one of the accounts. Showing a charge of FIVE DOLLARS for a paper statement. This morning, I called the credit union. Explained that I had set my accounts for electronic statements, but now I'd received a paper one, and was charged.
The gal on the phone might very well have been Brianna. Heh, heh. Do not put off forever what you should have done that day, Brianna. Because now I am back to bite you on the butt. Figuratively, of course. She asked if I was in the account right now, and I told her yes. She took my information.
"I am. But it's really hard to get around in. It still shows me that I have my account set to electronic statements."
"Oh. I see that it is."
"Then why am I getting a paper statement and fee? I have two accounts. Am I going to get another paper statement and fee?"
"No. It looks like only one account is set for electronic statements."
"How is THAT? When I bring up my online account, both of my accounts are showing."
"Yes. I see that. I'm going to need to look into this."
"Okay."
"OH! It looks like we only have an email address on ONE of your accounts. The one with the paper statement, we don't have an email address to send it to."
"Well, how am I supposed to do that? Because in all the time I spent setting up this online banking account, it never once gave me an option to set an email address for my second account."
"I'm going to have to go in and do it. I'll put your same email address on the second account. Give me 15 or 20 minutes, and then you can go back in and check."
"I'm not really in a hurry to check it. I don't know where it would show me that, anyway, since I didn't see a place to do it before, and it's going to take you 20 minutes to do it. But this will take care of the paper statement problem?"
"Yes. And I'm going to take that fee off of your account for this one."
"Thank you."
Yep. Ol' Brianna only THOUGHT she was getting rid of me that day. Now her toes have been run over by the bandwagon.
I hate progress.
I'm not talking about the eradication of disease, and proper food storage methods, and AIR CONDITIONING. Nope. I don't mind THAT progress. I'm talking about everyone being forced to jump on the internet technology bandwagon. I don't WANT to hop on that bandwagon. I have knees that are not good for hopping. I don't like loud band music. I fear the wagon might throw a wheel, and THEN where would we be? Stuck there on the dirt road or halfway across the prairie on a wagon that can't take us where we need to go.
One of my credit unions, without bothering to tell anybody, or maybe just without bothering to tell ME, decided to force everybody onto their bandwagon. Oh, they didn't have twin six-shooters to Yosemite-Sam us onto it. They hit us where it counts. In our virtual pocketbooks.
This practice apparently started at the first of the year. A paper quarterly statement that arrives by mail costs you FIVE DOLLARS! You know, I used to be my mom's Five Dollar Daughter. But I have no intention of being this credit union's TEN DOLLAR WENCH! Because, you see, we have TWO accounts there. So in early April, I opened up our statements to see that each account had been assessed the five dollars for paper statements. The NOT-HEAVEN YOU SAY!
I rushed right down there to their facility in Bill-Paying Town to complain. Okay. By rushed right down I mean that I went during the first week of May. Because I had some other business to attend to, that being withdrawing money to cover monthly checks for our health insurance premiums. Since we'd already been charged TEN DOLLARS for the first quarter, I figured it wasn't going to happen again until the second quarter. Actually, I figured it wasn't going to happen again AT ALL, because I was going to give them a piece of my mind about fees that would end up being dang near more than the interest earned on those accounts by the end of the year. By complain, I mean that I broached the subject of the paper statement fee with the teller when I withdrew money.
The teller told me that she was not able to help me, but that Brianna (may or may not be her actual name, as I am not good with names, and that was two whole months ago, by cracky) over at a desk in a cubicle could, but she had a gentleman with her at the moment. I stood around for a good ten minutes, and darted over there just as that gentleman left. Even though Brianna had been tipped off by the teller's phone call that I was waiting, she looked like she was going to make a break for it. I sat down in that gentleman's still-warm chair before she could get away.
"I just need to change my accounts from paper statements to electronic statements. So I don't have to pay the fees every quarter."
"Oh. You can do that at home, yourself. You'll have to set up an internet banking account. I could do it for you here, but I'd just be bringing up the screen, and turning the laptop around for you to type in an ID and password, and security questions, and set up your account."
"Well...I guess I'll try that at home, then."
I was a bit dubious. It's never quite like they lead you to believe. I figured I'd have a while to work on it. After all, it was the first week of May, and the quarter didn't end until June 30.
Sometime around midnight on June 28, I tried to set up my account on my New Delly. A more misbegotten excuse for a website I've never seen! I tried and I tried to set up a new account. The system kept telling me it was unavailable, after I'd typed in all my stuff. But you know me. I'm quite persistent when money is concerned. So I kept at it. And as if by Karmaic intervention, on the fifth or sixth try of doing everything EXACTLY the same, the site let me register. I went to the part about statements, and set it for ELECTRONIC. All done, right?
Yesterday, I got a paper statement on one of the accounts. Showing a charge of FIVE DOLLARS for a paper statement. This morning, I called the credit union. Explained that I had set my accounts for electronic statements, but now I'd received a paper one, and was charged.
The gal on the phone might very well have been Brianna. Heh, heh. Do not put off forever what you should have done that day, Brianna. Because now I am back to bite you on the butt. Figuratively, of course. She asked if I was in the account right now, and I told her yes. She took my information.
"I am. But it's really hard to get around in. It still shows me that I have my account set to electronic statements."
"Oh. I see that it is."
"Then why am I getting a paper statement and fee? I have two accounts. Am I going to get another paper statement and fee?"
"No. It looks like only one account is set for electronic statements."
"How is THAT? When I bring up my online account, both of my accounts are showing."
"Yes. I see that. I'm going to need to look into this."
"Okay."
"OH! It looks like we only have an email address on ONE of your accounts. The one with the paper statement, we don't have an email address to send it to."
"Well, how am I supposed to do that? Because in all the time I spent setting up this online banking account, it never once gave me an option to set an email address for my second account."
"I'm going to have to go in and do it. I'll put your same email address on the second account. Give me 15 or 20 minutes, and then you can go back in and check."
"I'm not really in a hurry to check it. I don't know where it would show me that, anyway, since I didn't see a place to do it before, and it's going to take you 20 minutes to do it. But this will take care of the paper statement problem?"
"Yes. And I'm going to take that fee off of your account for this one."
"Thank you."
Yep. Ol' Brianna only THOUGHT she was getting rid of me that day. Now her toes have been run over by the bandwagon.
I hate progress.
Monday, July 10, 2017
I Blinked And I Missed It
And now...back to Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's continuing series called, "What, Exactly, Is Wrong With People?"
Today I was at The Devil's Playground over in Bill-Paying Town. I say I was "at" it, but I was actually on the shopping center road, attempting to make a left turn into The Devil's parking lot proper.
I wasn't at the drive with the striped lines for slow walkers up in front of the doors. I was at the road at the far end of the parking spaces. There's a road along there, see. On the left of me was The Devil's lot, and on the right of me was a Qdoba, I think. And a storefront that might be Sprint, where we tried to buy The Pony's newest phone. I don't pay a lot of attention to the other businesses, because we don't go over there much any more. Gone are the days when WENDY'S was located along there, where the #1 Son loved to get a Frosty and fries, for dipping purposes.
Anyhoo...there I was, stopped to wait on three oncoming cars, my left-turn signal blinking, when a silver sedan
ZOOMED AROUND ME ON THE LEFT!
You understand that, right? It was on my left, passing me, while I had my left turn signal on, signaling that I was going to turn LEFT. Never mind that the silver sedan got in the lane that the oncoming three cars were coming in.
WHAT, EXACTLY, IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE?
That silver sedan didn't even toot the horn. Remember those days? When you were passing somebody, you tooted the horn? Of course, back in those days, you didn't pass a car on the left when it had its left-turn signal on. Or when traffic was coming at you from the lane you were passing in.
That silver sedan darted across in front of me, and made a right into the Qdoba or whatever parking lot. Seriously. Who needs Mexican food THAT bad at 10:15 a.m.?
Today I was at The Devil's Playground over in Bill-Paying Town. I say I was "at" it, but I was actually on the shopping center road, attempting to make a left turn into The Devil's parking lot proper.
I wasn't at the drive with the striped lines for slow walkers up in front of the doors. I was at the road at the far end of the parking spaces. There's a road along there, see. On the left of me was The Devil's lot, and on the right of me was a Qdoba, I think. And a storefront that might be Sprint, where we tried to buy The Pony's newest phone. I don't pay a lot of attention to the other businesses, because we don't go over there much any more. Gone are the days when WENDY'S was located along there, where the #1 Son loved to get a Frosty and fries, for dipping purposes.
Anyhoo...there I was, stopped to wait on three oncoming cars, my left-turn signal blinking, when a silver sedan
ZOOMED AROUND ME ON THE LEFT!
You understand that, right? It was on my left, passing me, while I had my left turn signal on, signaling that I was going to turn LEFT. Never mind that the silver sedan got in the lane that the oncoming three cars were coming in.
WHAT, EXACTLY, IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE?
That silver sedan didn't even toot the horn. Remember those days? When you were passing somebody, you tooted the horn? Of course, back in those days, you didn't pass a car on the left when it had its left-turn signal on. Or when traffic was coming at you from the lane you were passing in.
That silver sedan darted across in front of me, and made a right into the Qdoba or whatever parking lot. Seriously. Who needs Mexican food THAT bad at 10:15 a.m.?
Sunday, July 9, 2017
Now The Weirdos Come A-Callin'
Sweet Gummi Mary! A woman is not safe in her own Mansion these days. Not even hidden away ten-feet-under, in her dark basement lair, with her somewhat-protective hillbilly husband floating around out back in Poolio, and three alarm-sounding fleabags patrolling the property.
Here I was, minding my own business, happily pecking away at New Delly, carefree as a retired teacher on a late Sunday afternoon in mid-July...when I heard a chime. It was the Big Ben chime. Ding DING Ding, Dong Dong DONG Dong. (I hope those dongs don't attract any PR0N searchers!)
Since Farmer H had just gotten back from a surprise Sunday afternoon auction, I didn't think anything of those chimes. I figured he'd bought some new clock, and had wound it and set it to see if it worked. He's always piling his bargains on the kitchen table. And the noise was coming from upstairs.
I kept happily pecking away. Life is good. I had a good portion of my 44 oz Diet Coke at my right elbow, cool air pumping out of the vents, supper coming up which I did not have to make, since Farmer H was having BBQ leftovers, and I was making a roast beef sandwich. Happily, happily pecking, not a care in the world, Big Brother on TV tonight, my life stretched out ahead of me in a non-scheduled kind of way.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!!!!!
Well. THAT startled me. I guess somebody was at the door. That ding-donging could have been the doorbell. It's just that it hasn't worked in so long that I am unfamiliar with the tone. And of course Farmer H was out back floating, carefree as a 40-percent-retired manager of facility maintenance, another day off looming ahead, his only responsibility to slap a hamburger on a bun and open the microwave.
I started upstairs. There are 13 of them, you know. And my knees are not to be rushed. I got to the door and stepped out onto the 150-degree front porch that was baking in the late afternoon sun, and saw a car parked behind Farmer H's Toronado. Huh. I guess THAT'S why the dogs were going crazy.
The man in the driver's seat waved at me and got out. I told him Farmer H was in the pool out back, but he kept talking to ME.
It was the husband of the back-creek neighbor, Bev, who is going to court over Crazy Dude tomorrow. I'm not saying they aren't nice people, but they're a little different.
"I need to use your internet. If that's all right."
"Uh...my internet?"
"Yeah. I have some software that I never registered, and I need it for a file to take to court tomorrow. I just need to connect to your internet to do it."
"Uh...you have everything you need?"
"Oh, yeah."
"Will it...uh...hurt my computer?"
"NO! It's just software."
"Well...I have a laptop up here in the living room..."
"Good. Thank you ! I'll get my laptop out of the car."
Huh. He didn't mention that he had his laptop. I don't know what I thought. I thought he was wanting to use MY laptop or desktop. I don't understand this junk. He mentioned a key code, and I remember the #1 Son using that to get us our Word or Office or something. I went inside. Have I mentioned that I do NOT like people in my house?
The guy came in and sat down where I'd cleared a place for him at the coffee table where #1 had ripped the varnish off within a week of us getting it, by sticking a mouse pad on top and saying it would just peel off. It did. Along with the varnish. Anyhoo...BevMan started prattling on again about stuff I didn't know. I wasn't pickin' up what he was layin' down. Supposedly, he is ex-military, and works for the government, according to Farmer H. He might as well have been speaking in some kind of code.
"Is your system password protected? I didn't think of that."
"Uh...I don't know? Like...my laptop is. I have to sign in when I turn it on. But I just did that while you were getting your stuff."
"No. The network."
"I don't know. It's always there when I start up my computer. I think we have two or three. I see it when my internet goes down and I'm trying to connect and find the problem. Something like Home Group and a couple with other names."
"No. This would be your internet."
"We have DISH Network. That's our internet. But I don't know if we have a password. Once I asked my son about that when he set it up. I said, 'So someone could just drive by and use it? Like, our neighbors might stream movies on it or something?' Because I'd heard horror stories about that. And I didn't want an overage. He said it was possible, but not likely. That we would see them sitting out front on the road."
"Oh, they'd have to be pretty close. Right up here on your porch."
"Well, then I don't think we have a password."
"I'll know as soon as mine comes on. I'm almost out of power. I put it on the lowest setting. I hope it works long enough to get this loaded."
"I don't know what kind of laptop you have. But I have a charger over there. In all those wires."
"No. This should be fine. As soon as I get it, I'm going to turn it off, and then go home and start it up again."
Hmpf. BevMan got it done, supposedly, while I was in the kitchen slicing an onion. I don't want to be a bad neighbor. Farmer H DID get those restraining order papers served to Crazy Dude for Bev. But I find this kind of behavior a bit odd.
Would YOU drive to somebody's house, somebody you've only met once, and ask to use their internet? Would YOU move to a new house, and not have internet after three or four months? Would YOU put off getting your court case ready until 15 hours before it was scheduled? Would YOU not even have your laptop charged when you went to ask somebody to come into their house and use their internet?
I find this situation a bit creepy. Maybe he was scoping out our house. Maybe he was planting something on my internet. What if he's a SPY to rival Farmer H's spy-ness in his odd activities?
Maybe I have an overactive imagination. Too bad I'm not creative enough to use it as a story plot.
Here I was, minding my own business, happily pecking away at New Delly, carefree as a retired teacher on a late Sunday afternoon in mid-July...when I heard a chime. It was the Big Ben chime. Ding DING Ding, Dong Dong DONG Dong. (I hope those dongs don't attract any PR0N searchers!)
Since Farmer H had just gotten back from a surprise Sunday afternoon auction, I didn't think anything of those chimes. I figured he'd bought some new clock, and had wound it and set it to see if it worked. He's always piling his bargains on the kitchen table. And the noise was coming from upstairs.
I kept happily pecking away. Life is good. I had a good portion of my 44 oz Diet Coke at my right elbow, cool air pumping out of the vents, supper coming up which I did not have to make, since Farmer H was having BBQ leftovers, and I was making a roast beef sandwich. Happily, happily pecking, not a care in the world, Big Brother on TV tonight, my life stretched out ahead of me in a non-scheduled kind of way.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!!!!!
Well. THAT startled me. I guess somebody was at the door. That ding-donging could have been the doorbell. It's just that it hasn't worked in so long that I am unfamiliar with the tone. And of course Farmer H was out back floating, carefree as a 40-percent-retired manager of facility maintenance, another day off looming ahead, his only responsibility to slap a hamburger on a bun and open the microwave.
I started upstairs. There are 13 of them, you know. And my knees are not to be rushed. I got to the door and stepped out onto the 150-degree front porch that was baking in the late afternoon sun, and saw a car parked behind Farmer H's Toronado. Huh. I guess THAT'S why the dogs were going crazy.
The man in the driver's seat waved at me and got out. I told him Farmer H was in the pool out back, but he kept talking to ME.
It was the husband of the back-creek neighbor, Bev, who is going to court over Crazy Dude tomorrow. I'm not saying they aren't nice people, but they're a little different.
"I need to use your internet. If that's all right."
"Uh...my internet?"
"Yeah. I have some software that I never registered, and I need it for a file to take to court tomorrow. I just need to connect to your internet to do it."
"Uh...you have everything you need?"
"Oh, yeah."
"Will it...uh...hurt my computer?"
"NO! It's just software."
"Well...I have a laptop up here in the living room..."
"Good. Thank you ! I'll get my laptop out of the car."
Huh. He didn't mention that he had his laptop. I don't know what I thought. I thought he was wanting to use MY laptop or desktop. I don't understand this junk. He mentioned a key code, and I remember the #1 Son using that to get us our Word or Office or something. I went inside. Have I mentioned that I do NOT like people in my house?
The guy came in and sat down where I'd cleared a place for him at the coffee table where #1 had ripped the varnish off within a week of us getting it, by sticking a mouse pad on top and saying it would just peel off. It did. Along with the varnish. Anyhoo...BevMan started prattling on again about stuff I didn't know. I wasn't pickin' up what he was layin' down. Supposedly, he is ex-military, and works for the government, according to Farmer H. He might as well have been speaking in some kind of code.
"Is your system password protected? I didn't think of that."
"Uh...I don't know? Like...my laptop is. I have to sign in when I turn it on. But I just did that while you were getting your stuff."
"No. The network."
"I don't know. It's always there when I start up my computer. I think we have two or three. I see it when my internet goes down and I'm trying to connect and find the problem. Something like Home Group and a couple with other names."
"No. This would be your internet."
"We have DISH Network. That's our internet. But I don't know if we have a password. Once I asked my son about that when he set it up. I said, 'So someone could just drive by and use it? Like, our neighbors might stream movies on it or something?' Because I'd heard horror stories about that. And I didn't want an overage. He said it was possible, but not likely. That we would see them sitting out front on the road."
"Oh, they'd have to be pretty close. Right up here on your porch."
"Well, then I don't think we have a password."
"I'll know as soon as mine comes on. I'm almost out of power. I put it on the lowest setting. I hope it works long enough to get this loaded."
"I don't know what kind of laptop you have. But I have a charger over there. In all those wires."
"No. This should be fine. As soon as I get it, I'm going to turn it off, and then go home and start it up again."
Hmpf. BevMan got it done, supposedly, while I was in the kitchen slicing an onion. I don't want to be a bad neighbor. Farmer H DID get those restraining order papers served to Crazy Dude for Bev. But I find this kind of behavior a bit odd.
Would YOU drive to somebody's house, somebody you've only met once, and ask to use their internet? Would YOU move to a new house, and not have internet after three or four months? Would YOU put off getting your court case ready until 15 hours before it was scheduled? Would YOU not even have your laptop charged when you went to ask somebody to come into their house and use their internet?
I find this situation a bit creepy. Maybe he was scoping out our house. Maybe he was planting something on my internet. What if he's a SPY to rival Farmer H's spy-ness in his odd activities?
Maybe I have an overactive imagination. Too bad I'm not creative enough to use it as a story plot.
Saturday, July 8, 2017
Good Thing Farmer H Is Stuck In His Ways
Here's the update on our air conditioner. I'm sure you've been thinking about me all day, as you floated around your pool, or sprawled on your white leather sofa sipping a refreshing beverage. Wondering whether I'd reached the boiling point yet. Whether I was screaming like a teakettle whistle.
Let's just say that the evening was fairly warm. Farmer H turned on the ceiling fans, to stir the hot air. I toyed with the idea of not having my driveway walk, lest I never cool down. But since the temperature outside was nearly the same as the temperature inside at 8:00 p.m., I walked anyway. Running cold well water on my inner wrists helped cool me after the walk. Sitting on the front porch pew with the dogs didn't help much. No air was moving.
I was not at all tempted to turn on my underdesk heater at New Delly in my dark basement lair. The temperature down here was tolerable. But I did not turn on the heater in my OPC (Old People Chair) when I went out to watch TV. When I went to bed in the wee hours of the morning, the temperature was 78 degrees. That's a little warm for me, but the bedroom ceiling fan kept me from melting.
Farmer H had said he was getting somebody else to work on our unit this time, rather than Quartz Warming and Chilling. Yet when he came into the Mansion to tell me at 9:30 that the guy was on his way...it was a guy from Quartz Warming and Chilling. Seems the other guy, who had started his own company, could not make it until one day next week. That's no way to treat Farmer H! Even though I'm sure we won't get such speedy service when he is no longer in charge of a factory which utilizes the companies he calls.
Anyhoo...I went on to town. I don't like people in or around my Mansion. I'd rather not be there to see it. I'm funny that way. An hour or so later, Farmer H sent me a text that the repair was made, we had cool air, and THE REPAIRMAN DIDN'T CHARGE HIM!
"He called his supervisor, and told him what he found, and he said NO CHARGE, that probably they should have noticed that wire the last time when they had it apart, or the guy might have accidentally bumped it with something and messed up the wire. But it IS a 15-year-old unit, so we got a deal with this repair. I'm glad the other guy was busy!"
Here's the thing. I'd told Farmer H that we shouldn't have to call repairmen every other month, pay them, then call them again because something ELSE was wrong. "If it wasn't for you knowing the people who run Quartz, I'd almost think they were fixing one problem, and then sabotaging something else so they can come back and charge us again." Except I didn't use the word sabotaging. I was talking to Farmer H, you know.
Farmer H explained that the last time they were here, they had to fix something that was broken. And this time, they found a wire that was broken. It had melted or vibrated itself in two. That the wire is what ran the fan which pulls the air across the coils and cools it and then pumps it out to the house.
YEAH! For one shining moment, I could picture it in my head, and knew EXACTLY what Farmer H was talking about! But then the Seinfeld trivia started elbowing it, and my lottery ticket strategy gave it a titty-twister, and the slot machine visuals gave it an Indian burn, and then my newfound knowledge kind of evaporated.
Like sweat off my face when I enter the Mansion after my walk now.
Let's just say that the evening was fairly warm. Farmer H turned on the ceiling fans, to stir the hot air. I toyed with the idea of not having my driveway walk, lest I never cool down. But since the temperature outside was nearly the same as the temperature inside at 8:00 p.m., I walked anyway. Running cold well water on my inner wrists helped cool me after the walk. Sitting on the front porch pew with the dogs didn't help much. No air was moving.
I was not at all tempted to turn on my underdesk heater at New Delly in my dark basement lair. The temperature down here was tolerable. But I did not turn on the heater in my OPC (Old People Chair) when I went out to watch TV. When I went to bed in the wee hours of the morning, the temperature was 78 degrees. That's a little warm for me, but the bedroom ceiling fan kept me from melting.
Farmer H had said he was getting somebody else to work on our unit this time, rather than Quartz Warming and Chilling. Yet when he came into the Mansion to tell me at 9:30 that the guy was on his way...it was a guy from Quartz Warming and Chilling. Seems the other guy, who had started his own company, could not make it until one day next week. That's no way to treat Farmer H! Even though I'm sure we won't get such speedy service when he is no longer in charge of a factory which utilizes the companies he calls.
Anyhoo...I went on to town. I don't like people in or around my Mansion. I'd rather not be there to see it. I'm funny that way. An hour or so later, Farmer H sent me a text that the repair was made, we had cool air, and THE REPAIRMAN DIDN'T CHARGE HIM!
"He called his supervisor, and told him what he found, and he said NO CHARGE, that probably they should have noticed that wire the last time when they had it apart, or the guy might have accidentally bumped it with something and messed up the wire. But it IS a 15-year-old unit, so we got a deal with this repair. I'm glad the other guy was busy!"
Here's the thing. I'd told Farmer H that we shouldn't have to call repairmen every other month, pay them, then call them again because something ELSE was wrong. "If it wasn't for you knowing the people who run Quartz, I'd almost think they were fixing one problem, and then sabotaging something else so they can come back and charge us again." Except I didn't use the word sabotaging. I was talking to Farmer H, you know.
Farmer H explained that the last time they were here, they had to fix something that was broken. And this time, they found a wire that was broken. It had melted or vibrated itself in two. That the wire is what ran the fan which pulls the air across the coils and cools it and then pumps it out to the house.
YEAH! For one shining moment, I could picture it in my head, and knew EXACTLY what Farmer H was talking about! But then the Seinfeld trivia started elbowing it, and my lottery ticket strategy gave it a titty-twister, and the slot machine visuals gave it an Indian burn, and then my newfound knowledge kind of evaporated.
Like sweat off my face when I enter the Mansion after my walk now.
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