Rumors Of My (Impending) Death Have Been Greatly Repudiated

The Pony came home from his mail route Thursday with a nose running like a faucet. He cleared up a bit over the time he allowed us (about 15 minutes) to chat with him. Then he hustled off to his 2-hour bath.

"I am allergic to something at the end of my route! During the last two hours, my nose would not quit running. I'm pretty sure I'm allergic to grass. That's when everybody came out and started mowing their lawns!"

"That wouldn't surprise me. You used to get a headache every time Dad mowed."

"One of the other carriers said it happens to her. She recommended Zyrtec. Didn't I used to take that when I was little?"

"Yes. But then you kind of grew out of it. Genius took it until he went away to college. Then he decided to stop."

"I'm leaving early tomorrow so I can buy some."

Well. The Pony came home at 7:15 on Friday, even more snotty.

"I think you must have picked up a cold. You really sound worse today."

"People were mowing again. If I had a cold, the Zyrtec wouldn't help."

"I can't tell that it's helping. When did you take it?"

"This morning about 8:15. I felt better afterwards."

"I don't know. Just stay away from me! I don't want to catch it."

"I thought you said Covid wasn't real."

"I never said that. I don't think you have THE VIRUS. I think you have a cold, and I don't want it! Especially because I LOSE MY TASTE every time I get a cold! Even though you weirdos apparently don't!"

"You're not going to catch it, HM. You're so dramatic."

"It could kill me!"

"A cold ain't gonna kill you."

"It COULD! I am NOT in good health!"

"No. You're not."

"We've been trying to tell you to get your knees fixed!"

"I am not worried about my knees right now. Don't get too close! At least you're off for two days, and you can rest up and get better."

"Oh, Dad. Here's my route next week."

 

"Now you've touched his phone! Don't touch your face!"

 

"Oh my lord. You are so dramatic!"

 

"I'm not sick, Mom. I think it's an allergy. I only took 6 Puffs with me, because I thought it would start in the evening again. But my nose was like this all day. So I had to blow my nose on napkins. That's why it's so red."

 

"You probably picked up a cold! Is anybody at work sick?"

 

"No. I'm only around them in the morning before I go out on the route. We all have to wear masks inside. And if I go in a business to deliver."

 

"Well, you've been sitting in your room for a year. And now you're out around people. You probably touched your face or rubbed your eyes."

 

"Yeah, Mom. I touch the mail, and then lick my hands..."

 

"I don't know what you do! Just stay away from me. You don't want to kill me, do you?"

 

"He's not going to kill you, HM."

 

"You say that NOW! But when you're putting me in the ground, maybe you'll pour some whiskey on my grave, for your Mommy who ain't here no more..."

 

Sweet Gummi Mary! I think they are in denial. I hope The Pony stays in his room for the weekend. You know. Like usual. He says he's going to drive around and look at the streets on his new route. I said I would drive him, so he can look while I pay attention to driving. But then, HE'S SICK, and I won't ride in T-Hoe with him... so that's not happenin'.

The Road To Yell Is Paved With Good Intentions

I bought The Pony a treat when I was in Save A Lot. The cookies that are like chocolate chip, but with M&Ms. At least the generic form of M&Ms. He used to love them when he was a kid. I'm pretty sure he still likes them, but he also tries to eat one meal a day, and limit his snacks. Lately, he has been having Hershey Kisses from a giant bag, and assorted cheesecake slices from FRIG II's freezer. So the cookies are still around.

 

Don't they look delicious? They ARE! I forewarned The Pony that I would be consuming them at the rate of 1 per day. I noticed the stash was disappearing, and thought The Pony was also enjoying his treat. Nope. He hasn't had a one. 

FARMER H HAS BEEN EATING THE PONY'S COOKIES!

It's not that we withhold treats from Farmer H. But he DOES have The Diabeeetus, as Wilford Brimley used to say in his commercials. Before dying. Of The Diabeeetus, perhaps. So Farmer H should NOT be eating cookies (nor the clandestine Casey's donuts). But there's no telling Farmer H what to do.

Farmer H is what the French call les incompetents [thanks, Home Alone girl, 12 seconds]. And what the doctors (and NURSE PRACTITIONERS) call medically noncompliant.

I don't know why I spend twice as much, buying Farmer H sugar-free versions of his treats, when he eats them AND the regular sugary versions. I guess I am what they call an enabler.

No amount of reasoning, cajoling, nor yelling can convince Farmer H that he is harming himself. If I stop buying treats for myself The Pony, Farmer H will STILL sneak off to Casey's for his candy bars and donuts.

Farmer H said yesterday that he's been going for a walk around the lake in town every morning. It's a quarter-mile. I'm pretty sure there's a donut stop involved, since Casey's is on the route.

The Cricket-Spider

Tuesday afternoon, I puttered around the kitchen, doing laundry, catching up on my innernets, and playing Candy Crush Saga before heading to town for my 44 oz Diet Coke. Farmer H was hanging around the grounds, but only came in once for the bathroom.

With The Pony at work, I was pretty much left to my own devices. I didn't exactly dance like no one was watching, or sing like I didn't need the money, [Kathy Mattea "Come From the Heart"] but I suited myself. 

 

When I stood up from the kitchen table to go throw my laundry in the dryer, I was startled by a critter on the kitchen floor, right in front of the laundry room door. It wasn't moving, thank the Gummi Mary! It was kind of flat! Being on my own, with nobody to answer to, I stepped over it! 

 

Seriously. Why should I be the one to always pick up the flattened critters from the floor? I was sure Farmer H had tromped on it with his workboots when he came in from mowing to poop-up the master bathroom.  In fact, he probably brought it IN on his boots.

The thing was black. It looked like a spider at first. But closer, it looked like a cricket. I didn't have on my glasses. Not that they would help, what with their bifocals discombobulating me when I try to wear them while walking around and looking down. But closer-up, I thought I could discern a thorax and six legs. Or maybe a flattened spider with two legs crushed underneath...

Anyhoo... it was there when I got back from town. So definitely not alive-enough to chase me. Farmer H was still outside. The Pony came in the front door. Poor Pony. The first thing I said to him was NOT "How was your day?" It was:

"Pony! Can you get a paper towel and scoop up that dead cricket-spider? I'm not sure what it is."

Ever-dutiful, The Pony scooped. I was at the kitchen counter, my back to him, when he BROUGHT IT TO ME!

"Um. Mom. It's NEITHER!"

"Ugh! Get it away! I don't want to SEE it! I just want it thrown away."

"Mom! It's a piece of THREAD!"

"What? Oh. It must have unraveled from my sock... Well. Thanks for picking it up."

"I think maybe you should wear your glasses more."

And I probably should not be left unattended for great lengths of time.

Not-Heaven's Non-Angel

WHAT IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE?

Yes, I know I've posed that question before. But still I keep screaming it from within the safety of T-Hoe. Almost on a daily basis.

Monday, I had my errands planned according to the flow of traffic. A stop by Save A Lot on the way to town. It's on the right. A right turn out of there, to the Gas Station Chicken Store for magical elixir and scratchers. There's a stoplight by them, so the traffic flow is no big deal. Then the final stop at Orb K on the way back out of town. A right turn in, and a right turn coming out. Easy peasy.

Everything went as planned. UNTIL my last stop. Orb K has parking in front of the store, along the sidewalk. As I drive onto their lot, these parking spaces are on my left. On the right is a long row of gas pumps, under roof. Maybe 8 or 10 pairs of pumps. The row of gas pumps runs almost twice as long as the store itself.

Anyhoo... I passed the first six parking spaces. Most were occupied. I don't squeeze in. As you know, I prefer a space where T-Hoe's driver's door can open all the way. So I park by the yellow-striped handicap walkway. It's not a handicap spot. That's to the left of the walkway. The spot I like is the first one of 7 parking spaces running along the sidewalk to the right of the yellow-striped handicap walkway.

I was elated to see that my very special parking space was open. As was the one next to it. A car was backing out farther down, so I stopped to wait for it to get out, and to drive by me. I had my left turn signal on, in case a car came up behind me on the way to the drive-through entrance. You know. A signal. Signifying that I was making a left turn, into that (or the other) empty parking space.

WEE-OH! WEE-OH! WEE-OH! [call the (British) waa-mbulance]

WOOP!WOOP!WOOP! [and the city police]

REE-REE-REE-REE-REE! [cue the Psycho stabby music in my head]

Imagine my surprise as a dressed-in-black dude on a motorcycle rounded the end of the gas pump row, came up behind the car I was waiting on to drive by me on the way off the lot, and PARKED ACROSS THOSE TWO EMPTY PARKING SPACES I WAS WAITING ON!

AW NOT-HEAVEN NO!

Surely he was just pulling across both spaces to get his big motorcycle in position to back into one of them.

No. He was not.

Motorcycle Dude parked sideways, across two parking spaces that I was clearly signaling to enter.

In a fit of pique, I drove down to the end of the gas pump row, made a right U-turn, and drove off the lot. To make a left turn in the traffic quagmire that is the un-traffic-lighted intersection of the county road out of (and into) town, and a used-car lot, and the exit road from Save A Lot, Subway, and a Dollar Store.

I was so hyped-up on rage that I didn't mind the 5-minute wait to get a left turn back towards the stoplight and Country Mart. Where I bought my scratchers instead. And had a $15 winner and a $10 winner.

Maybe Even Steven was just trying my patience...

It's A Corker, It's A Snorter, It's A Downright Marker...

Well, now. Such a coincidence. I don't know how much more I could emphasize my believe that we are treated to random markers to assure us that we are moving along the right path. That we are not ripping a hole in our rich tapestry of life.

Over the past couple days, I have been taunting Blog Buddy Sioux with my standard go-to title for blog posts: stealing from Steve Miller Band's "The Joker."

It's harmless, really. Just a bit of covert plagiarism from the quaint little enclave of Hillmomba. 

As you know, I make a trip to town every day to buy a 44 oz Diet Coke and scratch-off tickets. My favorite ticket for the past couple months has been the $5 crossword. 

Look at the word that won me $10 on Monday's scratcher.

 

Heh, heh! It's the JOKER!

Just a random coincidence though. Right?

My Special Day Was Not All That Special

Not even a $3 change purse and two boxes of Sno-Caps! I DID get something...

Farmer H DID offer to take me out to eat on Mother's Day. I'm pretty sure that's because HE wanted to go out to eat. I did not. Why go out on the most crowded restaurant day of the year? I would gladly have welcomed some carry-in delicacies. But nobody was offering that! Must be too much trouble to drive to pick up food for the woman who stands in the kitchen and makes THEIR food and washes their dishes.

Anyhoo... I ended up getting Hardee's chicken tenders for myself on my trip to town. Oh, and of course Farmer H asked me to pick him up a Bacon and Swiss Burger, and onion rings, and a Diet Coke with no ice. You should have seen the stack of onion rings he got with his small combo! The Pony swiped two of them in the kitchen, and still they were falling out of the box. So different from my sad stub fries.

Don't you worry about The Pony. He drove himself to Steak N Shake. I guess he was sitting there with a bunch of mothers of cheap children. Then he went to the Devil's Playground for a couple job-related items like a two-piece rainsuit, and a good thermos jug.

While The Pony was gone to lunch, and Farmer H was sitting in his recliner (rain-out at the Storage Unit Store), I got a phone call from Genius. Genius was not having a good day. 

"I am locked out of my bank account! My online bank that I've used for eight years was bought out by another bank. During the migration of accounts, MINE, and those of 100,000 other customers, were locked without access. They were supposed to have a special number to call, with a team to assist us, on Sunday. Today. But when I get through, and state my business, the minute I mention my old bank's name, the line disconnects. The ONE TIME I got through to a live person, he pretended he couldn't hear me, and HUNG UP! I need to have my account unlocked within 7 days, when the IRS tries to take out my income taxes that I owe! We have three accounts. I have one, Friend has one, and we have a joint one that we use to pay the bills. Friend can get into both accounts, but I am locked out of both!"

"Well. I guess you'd better be nice to Friend. Maybe you can get an advance. Or a little allowance. You could send me your winning scratchers that you've saved up, but the mail would take too long to get them here. OH, and I wouldn't be able to send you a check to deposit in your account, since you're LOCKED OUT!"

Anyhoo... we chatted about 30 minutes, all the while I was losing valuable time on Candy Crush Saga boosters that were only good for one hour. I had played about 5 minutes on them before Genius called. He usually doesn't talk long. We had caught up with each other's lives, so I said, 

 

"Do you want to talk to Dad before you hang up? He always like to know what's going on."

"Sure. I guess I could."

So Farmer H walked to the kitchen table to get the new phone out of my hand. I vaguely heard him chatting as I continued my game. I had 25 minutes left before my hard-won boosters were used up. I was jolted out of my Candy Crush-ing trance by Farmer H, walking back to the kitchen.

"I think I might have blocked Genius's number on our phone."

"WHAT?"

"I was ready to hang up, and the screen said END CALL AND BLOCK, and I pushed the button."

"Which button?"

"The middle round one. And it said CALL BLOCKED."

"NOOO! You push the red button to hang up. RED! Red means STOP! It ends the call!"

"Huh. I don't know how to fix it."

Farmer H shoved the phone under my nose.

"I don't know how to fix it! It's a new phone!"

He kept pushing the phone at me. So I took it. Glanced at the screen that didn't look right and had weird stuff on the menu. I got it back to the regular screen of TIME and MISSED CALLS, and set it on the table. Farmer H came back, dragging the instructions that were on a MUU-MUU-fabric-sized paper, much like that of The Pony's antibiotic insert. He sat down across the table from me, and started reading from it. Farmer H is not a good out-loud reader...

"I don't know why you're doing that. Here's the phone."

"So you can look at it while I read."

"Um. I am playing a timed game right now."

Farmer H jumped up having a hissy-fit.

"You always get like this! I am trying to fix the phone, and all you can think about is that stupid game."

"First of all, I am not the one who messed up the phone. I am not in charge of the phone. You blocked Genius, so you can unblock Genius. I don't think it has to be done THIS VERY INSTANT. My game has about 15 minutes left. It IS something I want to do right now. I was doing it before you messed up the phone. I'm pretty sure the phone can wait until The Pony gets back. He'll know how to fix it."

Indeed. The Pony had Genius unblocked within 60 seconds of picking up the phone.

Farmer H has a lot of nerve, yelling at me for HIS MISTAKE on Mother's Day, and then pretending he's a real Prince Charming by giving me some Dove Dark Chocolate squares, and a card that looks like a table centerpiece. Oh, and hitting the jackpot on a pile of FRESH-GREASE ONION RINGS!

He's A Yokel, A Provoker, He's A Liquor Store Smoker

You would think I'd ceased being surprised any more. Surprised at the things I see in the convenience stores I frequently frequent. After all, I believe I showed you the plumber's crack guy putting air in his tires while airing out his (plumber's) crack for all to see. Meaning me and The Pony.

Still, I like to kid myself into thinking Hillmomba is a normal place.

Thursday, I stopped by the Liquor Store on my way to mail Genius's weekly letter. I needed scratchers to tuck inside at the last minute. Of course I chose the busiest rush hour time at the Liquor Store. Which seems to be at 12:30 on a Thursday afternoon. 

There are often 7 or 8 cars parked on the lot, not counting those in the drive-thru line. Yet when I go inside, the place looks deserted! I can't figure out where those people go. Maybe two or three are employee vehicles. Maybe a man and a woman in the bathrooms. But where are the others? Is there a secret card game in the back? A room for smoking the wacky tobacky that accoutrements are sold for? Hidden slot machines in a mini casino? I can't figure it out. 

However... on this day, all the car drivers were in plain sight, right there in a line in the close quarters of the Liquor Store. I was fifth in line. Some guy was having problems with his card while trying to pay. The next lady only had a 44 oz soda. What a freak! The third guy was holding a case of beer, patiently. But it's the fourth guy that gave me pause.

He had entered just ahead of me. Not trying to beat me like a smart-aleck Pony-person. He just walked faster. Came up behind me as I hobbled up the blacktop ramp to the door. I didn't pay him much mind. Twenty-something, scraggly hair not long nor short. Just shy of the shoulders. Thin, nondescript brown, parted on the side. Faded jeans. A faded brown t-shirt. He went to the end of the line proper, standing down the middle aisle. I stood to the side, by the outer aisle, so as not to crowd in.

THAT'S when I noticed. Cigarette smoke was choking me. Drifting over the shelves to invade my lungs. Huh. I guess that guy had been smoking as he walked in. People leave their butts on the parking lot all the time. Just flick them away with thumb and middle finger as they enter. I'm sure you've caught a glimpse in my penny photos. 

WAIT A MINUTE! Smokey came up out of the aisle, and stepped over by the door to FLICK HIS ASH IN THE METAL CANISTER ASH TRAY!

HE WAS ACTIVELY SMOKING! INSIDE!

I'm pretty sure there's a law against that. Of course I didn't say anything. I'm not the smoke police. But I was kind of incensed! Hot under the collar. Smoldering with resentment. I do not hang out in liquor stores to catch lung cancer!

Anyhoo... I'm not sure what Smokey bought. It seems like they had a bag ready for him at the counter. He said he'd be back tomorrow to pay for the rest. Did he put something on lay-a-way? Was this a clandestine drug deal in plain sight? I don't know. The bag was a dark color. Not sure what they use for bags in that place. I've never bought anything that required one.

When Farmer H came home, I told him about Smokey. 

"That's against the law! You can't smoke in a public place!"

"Actually, it's not. Not in Hillmomba. The owner can decide if they want to allow smoking."

Surely he was talking out his rumpus! Making up stuff again. GASLIGHTING, if you will...

I looked it up. FARMER H WAS RIGHT!

Here's the link to Missouri Health and Human Services rules. And this pasted section:

 

The law stipulates the following are not considered a “public place”:  

- Private residences  

- Tobacco stores where greater than 50% of sales is related to tobacco products 

- Performers on stage if smoking is part of the production 

- Limousines for hire and taxicabs, where driver and all passengers agree to allow smoking 

- Any enclosed indoor arena, stadium or other facility seating more than 15,000 persons and which may be used for sporting events  

- An entire room or hall used for private social functions, provided that seating arrangements are under control of the function’s sponsor and not the proprietor

WELL! The Liquor Store is actually named Cheap Smokes Beer Liquor and Loans. So I guess that's their main business. Smoke 'em if you got 'em, even INSIDE the store!

I hate it when Farmer H is right. He's not even a smoker! I guess he has such a vast array of friends in different social strata that he's heard about it from the business owners.

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Heh, heh! I googled it to get the exact name of the store, and WAY WAY down the page of Google Reveiws, I found this gem:

"Needs A lot Of Help...Seems Like A Store Front For Something illegal.."

 

Mrs. HM is not the only person in Hillmomba who can pick up vibes from a place.

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