It's Gotta Go Somewhere

Here's why I bought some baking potatoes last week, even though Farmer H later told me that we had a bag of them from the Ponytail Guy. I couldn't see them on my kitchen table:

They were behind the most recent Ponytail Guy harvest. That's my view from the kitchen sink, looking across the counter. Huh. Maybe I should have looked at that jade plant more often! We might have finally killed it.. Anyhoo... that's the latest box of Ponytail Guy FREEbies. The bag of potatoes was behind it, hidden from view, and by the flap when I walked by. Behind it is a box with loose potatoes and onions, a couple of each. The box of new potatoes is on the floor. It needs to be sorted, and some tossed off the back porch. That's a job for The Pony!

Here are the goodies inside that table box:

 

I moved some around so you can see better. We have refried beans, a stack of two tuna cans, two flip-top cans of Spaghettios, red kidney beans, two boxes of lasagna noodles (no-cook), a jar of creamy peanut butter, four pouches of spaghetti sauce, two packs of graham crackers, a box of spaghetti noodles, a dented can of corn, a can of chunky chicken noodle soup, a can of tomato sauce, a can of potatoes, and a giant bag of corn flakes.

 

Maybe next week, I'll experiment with a lasagna.

Time Marches In Place

Whoever said Time Marches On is a liar. Or else not a native of Hillmomba. Time here is at a standstill. Actually, it's at a slowly-creeping-backwards-like-the-next-victim-in-a-horror-movie-still.

We got a call today from one of Farmer H's doctors. I saw the name of the clinic, and let the machine pick up. No need trying to remember details of a message when they can say it on a recording to listen to, and repeat if needed. He has an appointment on Tuesday. The gal gave her name, and said they needed some test results brought along, or faxed to their office, and if he had any questions, to call at such-and-such number.

Always the dutiful wife, I glanced at the clock. 12:15. Farmer H would be closing up his Storage Unit Store and heading to lunch. Then off to visit with some cronies, then to his regular doctor's office for his shot. That's his Friday routine. I went to the kitchen, where my cell phone was charging, to send him a text with the message and phone number. It costs us long distance charges to call our cell phones from our house phone. Don't even get me started on THAT!

Anyhoo... I sent the text at 12:26. When Farmer H got home later in the evening, he said he had tried to call the doctor, but got a machine saying THEY CLOSE AT 12:00! Why in the NOT-HEAVEN would they call and leave a message at 12:15, asking for a call back, when they are already closed? Anyhoo... Farmer H already has a copy of the test results, so he will just take them along Tuesday.

In another not-so-startling time twist, I got a bill from The Pony's December ear visit to Urgent Care. The only problem being that it was a bill I already paid once! The co-pay of $35. I sent my check on January 11 when I got the statement. The bank says the check cleared on January 22. This new bill, dated January 29, says the co-pay is now 30 days past due!

Well. This very same clinic has double-billed me before. It's right here in town, but they send their billing through a service in the city. I had a devil of a time getting it straightened out last time, which was several years back. Good thing my boys didn't frequent clinics and Urgent Cares.

Anyhoo... I tried to call them at 11:45 a.m. I got a recording saying that due to a high volume of calls they were currently experiencing, I should leave a message with the name and question and method of contact, and somebody would call me back within 48 hours. 

I THINK NOT!

When they listed their business hours as 8:00 to 5:00 on M/W/F, I'm pretty sure nobody would be calling me on a Friday afternoon, or Saturday or Sunday. The recording guy babbled off an email that sounded kind of hinky, and said I could leave a message that way to receive a call. Um. No. I will call at MY convenience, not theirs. Maybe in a few days.

I suspect a lot of people were calling to complain about being double-billed! I doubt they were all trying to set up a payment plan here at the first of the month. So I might get through to them later, or I might not. What's the worst that could happen? They send me another bill that says I'm 60 days past due? Why does it matter how long I'm allegedly past-due, when I've already paid the bill on time?

AND... they might possibly figure out by the next billing that if was originally paid on time. Maybe somebody was asleep at the switch after the payment went through on January 22, and the next billing went out on January 29. 

Maybe their time marched backwards a little too far.

Too Soon, On The Heels Of Cookiegate?

Sweet Gummi Mary! Such a surprise at the Mansion on Thursday! It was like Mary and Laura Ingalls finding a shiny new penny in the toe of their Christmas stockings!

As I entered the kitchen to dole out dog treats after my town trip (NOT locked out this time!), The Pony turned from the counter, almost prancing with excitement.

"Oh, Mom. Dad got you a COOKIE at Casey's. He said they had a bunch of them, and when he saw your initials, he had to get one for you."

"OOH! I can't believe he got me something! It looks good. Is he here now?"

"No. He went back to town for something. Didn't you see his truck was gone?"

"I wasn't looking. I have such a headache. But I will love my cookie! I bet they had them for the Super Bowl. For Kansas City."

"Yeah. He said that was it."

"I don't care. It's MINE now!"

 

 

Apparently they chose the employee with the worst penmanship to add the initials. Who then proceeded to do the job with their feet. At least they won't succumb to the fate of Claude Daigle, who received the medal for writing the best hand, and thus drew Rhoda Penmark's wrath. Not that I'm knocking my special cookie.

 

When I heard that Farmer H was home later, I sent him a text.

 

"Thanks for my cookie."

 

"I thought it was cute."

 

"Just like me! And sweet, too!"

 

"Yes" [followed by a big honkin' toothy smiley-face emoji] 

If I didn't know better, I might think Farmer H was being sarcastic by text! Good thing I wasn't all cookied-out from eating 4 bags of auction animal cookies.

The Ample Rumpus That Animal Cookies Didn't Build

Remember when Farmer H bought a case of animal cookies at the auction? He said he still had 7 bags left in Silverado, although a case is usually 12, and he said he'd only eaten ONE.

 

Farmer H is pushing his luck. He is insinuating unseemly acts of gluttony from Mrs. HM.

 

He had given me a bag of animal cookies, which I left on the cutting block. It was available for any who wanted to snack on them. I don't know if they did. I don't count cookies. I'd take some down for dessert, but left the whole bag upstairs. When I ran out, Farmer H gave me another bag, which I also left on the cutting block, taking a few at a time with strawberry jam.

 

I ran out of animal cookies last week.

 

"Oh, could you bring me in another bag of animal cookies from your truck?"

 

"There ain't no more."

 

"WHAT? You ate all the animal cookies?"

 

"No. I brought them in. There was 4 bags. The Pony put them in the pantry. At least that's what he said he was doing."

 

Farmer H went to the kitchen and rummaged around in the pantry.

 

"Huh. I guess you ate 'em all." 

"WHAT? I did NOT eat them all! I didn't eat any! Only the first bag, and then the second bag you brought in. I thought they were still in your truck."

"There ain't no cookies in the pantry."

"Well I CERTAINLY didn't eat 4 BAGS OF COOKIES! You're the one who bought a CASE, and had 7 bags left!"

"I don't know how many were in the case. But I brought the bags in, and The Pony put them away, and now there ain't no cookies."

I do not take kindly to false accusations! The Pony was gone to Steak N Shake at the time, so he could not be interrogated as to his shelving or possible consumption. But then Farmer H took another look.

"Here they are, 4 bags, on the floor of the pantry."

He DID NOT say he was sorry. I'm sure nobody needs to be revived with smelling salts from the shock of that reveal.

I saw no need to backtrack on my original exclamation that Farmer H ate 4 bags of cookies.

Common Sense Is An Agile Shape-Shifting Zephyr

The Mansion is not a fortress. It IS penetrable, especially in a reverse kind of way. Common sense flies out the window on a regular basis around here. Even though the windows are closed and locked and double-paned, with weather-stripping.

 

Farmer H had started a load of laundry while I was gone to town. That's not unusual on a Sunday. I didn't pay much attention. Sometimes he calls from the recliner to ask if the washer is still running. The Pony was standing at the cutting block, putting away groceries he had carried in for me.

 

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! 

The Pony continued taking bread out of a bag to move to the cabinet. Even though he was standing closest to the laundry room, with his back to the door, he made no motion to check on that OBVIOUSLY ABNORMAL SOUND FROM THE WASHER. He just looked at me, eyebrows raised. Of course Farmer H did not break his recline.

"Well! Go turn it off!"

"How was I supposed to know?" Groused The Pony. Most assuredly not interested in helping ME, Farmer H, or the washer.

"Shove in the dial! That turns it off! HEY! Your laundry is messed up. You probably have the washer overloaded."

"No. I only put three pairs of jeans in there."

"I guess maybe you should distribute the load a little more evenly. Come in and fix them."

Sweet Gummi Mary! I shudder to think what they might have done if that happened while I was still in town. The washer might have walked across the ceramic tile, and broken a hose trying to get away. I seriously don't know how they've lived this long without a major catastrophe.

Like Potatoes Growing Out Of Our Ears

We have SO MUCH FREE FOOD from The Ponytail Guy that it is coming out our ears! In an effort to use up some potatoes a couple days ago, it made me think of a story from a Little Golden Book, perhaps, about a kid who wouldn't wash her ears, and POTATOES grew out of them!

 

Maybe it was a little boy. Maybe I'm projecting. Maybe I'm having a flashback! I don't recall having dirty ears, or refusing to bathe. That was the rule. Come in from playing, take a bath before bed. Maybe the book was a bedtime story and I dreamed the rest. 

 

Anyhoo... the point is that we have a plethora of potatoes. FREE. But I went to the store to buy three giant baking potatoes! I'd promised Farmer H and The Pony baked potatoes with the meat loaf I made from the FREE 2 pounds of 80/20 ground beef supplied by the Ponytail Guy. In fact, just before I left for my 44 oz Diet Coke, I told The Pony to open up the 10-lb bag of potatoes, and set out the three biggest ones for baking later with supper.

 

"I'll scrub them now, and they'll be ready to go when I come up to cook."

 

"How am I supposed to open this bag? It's like cardboard with a net window."

 

"Here. Use my kitchen scissors. WAIT! When did I have TWO pair? Oh, well. Here. NO! Why did you cut the whole top off? How are we going to keep them in the bag now? It'll fall over and spill!"

 

"Um. Mom. We have a bigger problem than that. Even the biggest three potatoes won't be enough."

 

The Pony held up a handful of NEW POTATOES! The tiny kind!

 

"Looks like I'm buying baking potatoes in town! Good thing we found out before I left!"

 

Anyhoo... Farmer H and The Pony had baked potatoes with their meat loaf, but I left mine for The Pony to bake another night. He wasn't planning to eat leftover meat loaf with us Monday night, because he was having a robust Steak N Shake lunch. I decided to use up some of the new potatoes by roasting them in the oven.

 

 

Here they are, all clean and dry, before I halved or quartered them. Heh, heh! One looks like a butt!

 

I tossed them in a little vegetable oil, and shook on the Hidden Valley Ranch powder.

 

Also a tiny bit of ground black pepper (I'm not a fan of pepper). Then I slid them into a 450-degree oven for 25 minutes.

 

 

Mmm... they came out just right! A little bit crispy in parts. The innernets say they're not so good warmed up the next day, because they won't crisp. Then again, the innernets said to coat them with minced garlic and cook at 450 for 35 minutes. Good thing I read the comments where people said their garlic burnt up! No garlic on our new potatoes this time. The solution seems to be to add it the last 15 minutes if you use it.

 

Farmer H said the potatoes were delicious. As for the baking potatoes, he said,

 

"There's a whole bag of them behind the box of canned goods on the kitchen table."

Good to know. NOW.

The Pony, Like Farmer H, Would Make A Terrible Criminal

Good thing The Pony doesn't seem bent of a life of crime. He'd be locked up, the key thrown away, and a permanent resident of the Crossbars Hilton before he even got started. Like Farmer H, he is not a good liar.

 

I sent him a text as I left Country Mart, asking for his help carrying in groceries. The Pony is very good about assisting with manual tasks for ME. (Farmer H might beg to differ.) It's a good thing, too, because that crazy cashier put a bag of onions, a bunch of bananas, three large baking potatoes, and a bottle of mustard in one bag! I take that back. In TWO bags, because she had to double-bag them. I swear that thing weighed 50 pounds! I could hardly lift it out of the cart and into T-Hoe. 

Anyhoo... The Pony trotted out, and grabbed my bags. Another contained Country Crock margarine and sour cream, and a third with some pretzel rolls. He also took my purse. All I had was my magical elixir. It takes me a while to get up the steps, with the dogs whirling around in a frenzy anticipating their treat. This day it was old hot dog buns wiped in bacon grease.

I was talking to the dogs as I reached for the doorknob.

WHAT IN THE NOT-HEAVEN?

I almost pulled my shoulder out of the socket, and banged my head on the door. 

IT WAS LOCKED!

I pounded on the metal door with my open palm. Not angry. Just bewildered. Feeling sorry for myself. The Pony had just gone inside! WHY would he lock me out? His beloved mother! When he opened the door, I stood there with my most pitiful expression. A facial version of Nancy Kerrigan's "WHYYYYY?" Only not whiny.

"Why did you lock me out?"

"Um. I didn't know that I did."

"Obviously it didn't lock itself. You had to turn the button in the doorknob."

"I don't know how that could have happened! I didn't lock the door. Maybe my phone did it."

"How in the NOT-HEAVEN is your phone going to lock a door?"

"By hitting the button thing?"

"Yeah, right. There's no way that could happen."

"Let's see. I had it in my jacket pocket. Maybe it swung against the doorknob as I came in."

Here's where you must suspend your belief in the laws of physics! And also in the valedictorianship of The Pony. HE WENT TO THE DOOR AND STARTED SLINGING HIS POCKETED PHONE AGAINST THE DOORKNOB!

After about 10 times, I yelled "STOP IT! You know your phone could not have done that!"

"Oh, really? Well, the door is now locked."

I suppose The Pony had turned that little button with his hand while I was preoccupied. NO WAY could banging a cell phone against a doorknob's lock button make it turn.

"I can't believe you're going with that scenario! I'm not mad. I guess you absentmindedly turned the lock. Why don't you just say so? This is ridiculous. CRAZY, even!"

 

"Well... I remember how many times you yell at me for not locking a door."

 

"I have NEVER yelled at you for not locking a door. Dad has. And you have to admit, we prefer to have the house locked up when nobody is home. And when we're sleeping."

 

Like Farmer H, The Pony cannot admit a mistake.

 

SWEET GUMMI MARY! It's not like The Pony forgot to lock a door once or twice when he came home. Nope. The Pony forgot to lock the door when HE LEFT, and EVERYONE ELSE WAS GONE! Also, after taking the dumpster up after dark, and returning to the Mansion.

 

You may recall that we'd been having the mail-stealers, and that guy who kept breaking into a house up by our 10 acres on the hill. With video footage of him roaming around inside, posted on the Facebook page of our enclave. Also, we had people living in a car on our other property until Farmer H pulled a big tree across the driveway to keep them out. And then there was the matter of a STOLEN TRUCK being found down in our woods! Of course Farmer H had decreed that we keep all Mansion doors locked! Even when at home. It did not seem like an outrageous command at all. 

Anyhoo... The Pony will never avoid jail with such an outlandish alibi. He needs a career, but it better not be as a career criminal.