Want Not, Waste Some

When will I eeever learn? Yes. I used my sing-songy voice like my 2nd Best Old Ex-Teaching Buddy Karen when she would beat me at a hand of poker.

 

If it seems too good to be true, it probably is. Especially at Country Mart.

 

All summer, I've resisted buying corn-on-the-cob, due to the price. I suppose maybe the price is up all over. But to me, $5 for 4 medium-sized pieces of corn-on-the-cob seems excessive. It's not like we're importing it from Timbuktu. I'm pretty sure corn grows near Hillmomba.

Friday, Country Mart had ears of corn 3-for-$1. That's still in the shucks. Or whatever you call them. Corn like you break it right off the stalk. I don't mind shucking corn. I used to get it from my grandma's garden. While I'm not crazy about the occasional worm, it's not enough to make me give up corn-on-the-cob. So I took my chances. I bought 6 ears of corn.

I shucked two of them on Monday evening. Slathered on some butter, wrapped them in foil, and let Farmer H grill them. THEY WERE DELICIOUS! No worms, either. 

Tuesday evening, I took two more ears out on the back porch for shucking. That's the beauty of living in the country. You just toss your vegetable waste off the back porch. Something will eat it! I've seen a terrapin back there several days when I get ready to park T-Hoe in the garage. Maybe it's the same one. Maybe there are more. 

Anyhoo... I cut the ends off, and shucked the first ear. Peeled all the silky hairs off. It looked fantastic. I started on the second. Wait a minute! That looked rotten. Or like mold. Not green, but brown. I trimmed off more. Okay. Wait! After shucking, some of the kernels had that brown stuff on them. But some came off as the silk came off. Huh. I tossed that ear towards the woods, and went in for the last two. Same thing! Only not as much.

I know there is some weird delicacy with corn fungus, but I don't think this was it! I cut off those kernels, after using my green scrubby thing in the sink to remove some of the brown. I gave Farmer H his choice of the one good ear, or the 1.5 trimmed ears. He chose the 1.5. He's still breathing, as far as I know.

I asked Farmer H if he wanted me to pick up some more corn at the store when I buy bananas on Wednesday. He said no.

Farmer H Has Only Showed His Rumpus Twice Since Friday

Twice. Once literally, once figuratively.

 

Since his medical procedure on Friday, Farmer H as been able to bathe himself! Not a bath per se, but a shower, if he doesn't let water spray directly on his stitches. I'm still not understanding the whole implantation wire/battery thingy. But Farmer H DID show me the result on Saturday.

 

The area that had the leaky bandage was completely uncovered! Looked healthy, with only a small hole and bit of surrounding redness, where a wire had been poking out, attached to a battery pack on a belt. Now, that battery pack is apparently under Farmer H's skin. On the right side, I guess, which has about a 3-inch, horizontal incision held together by gnarly knotted stitches.

 

To be fair, that stitched area was there before. Not even covered. Maybe they opened it up again, then sewed it back. Farmer H sure wasn't able to tell me. Having been KNOCKED OUT, you know, during the procedure. Anyhoo... it had a small see-through oval patch over it. Like a plastic bandage. Looked healthy enough. Farmer H said he was allowed to shower on Saturday! Which he did. And twice on Sunday! He said the bandage should fall off in about a week, and the stitches should absorb in 10 days. He has a follow-up appointment, but it doesn't involve the stitches.

Now that he's self-sufficient, Farmer H has resumed his true coloring. He grilled pork steaks on Monday evening. I set out his BBQ brushes, a bottle of sauce, a rectangular tray covered with foil to transport the cooked meat. I shucked two ears of corn, peeled off all the stringy things, slapped on some butter, wrapped them in foil for cooking on the grill, and put them on the tray.

Farmer H had told me the grilling would take about an hour. I had only to make some instant mashed potatoes, and heat up some frozen garlic toast to complete the meal. Imagine my surprise when, after 45 minutes, Farmer H returned with the hot meat tray.

I'd already measured out my water into a saucepan for the potatoes, and turned on the burner. (The correct one!)

"I didn't know you'd be done so soon! You said an hour."

"I did not. I said 45 minutes."

"Nope. You didn't."

"It don't matter anyways. You said you wasn't cooking the potatoes until I brought in the meat."

"They only take 1 minute. But I could have had the pickles out, and the onion sliced, and my sauce ramekin for dipping."

As I turned to get the garlic toast out of the freezer (it takes 6 minutes), I noticed that Farmer H had set that tray of meat on the front burner. Where I'd have to reach over it to stir the potatoes on the back burner. Every other time, he's set the meat on the left side of the stove, on THAT front burner.

"I can't believe you just put that meat there in my way."

"I don't know where I'm supposed to put it! You have stuff all over the stove! So if you want me to put it somewhere else, I suggest you clean off the stove!"

Sweet Gummi Mary! The NERVE of that cheeky rumpus! 

 

"The only things on the stove are those two pizza pans. They always sit there. The front one has the foil on it to put the garlic toast on. It's not too heavy for you to move. You could have stacked it on top of the one on the back burner. Or set the meat back there."

 

THEN he went off, lecturing me about nothing and everything. Declaring that he didn't want no garlic bread, just forget it! Concluding with: "You are mad at yourself and you take it out on me!"

Seriously? What in the Not-Heaven? I was most definitely mad at HIM, and not at all at myself!

Things are back to normal around here...

I'll Huff And I'll Puff And I'll Blow My Luck 'Round

I made a promise on my not-so-secret blog, to Blog Buddy River, that I'd blow some luck her way. Let it never be said that Mrs. HM reneges on a promise, or doesn't do her homework! My assignment is DONE, man! 

Yes. Since it DID involve geography, I had some research to do. In my mind, Australia is over the Atlantic Ocean, down past Africa, below India. Heh, heh! I was pretty close! So in my mind, if I was going to hike across the U.S., and hop in a canoe to paddle across the ocean, that's the route I'd take from here in Hillmomba, MO. I'd head Southeast.

But NO! Apparently, the most direct route would be to head Southwest! Hike over to California, (because I don't want to be a reverse border-jumper into Mexico), and put my canoe in the Pacific Ocean, and paddle that way, perhaps stopping off in Hawaii for a bathroom break. Seriously. I'm pretty sure I could get there both ways, what with the Earth being ROUND. But going Southwest seems more efficient.

So... when I left for town, I stopped T-Hoe near the end of the driveway, and made sure my bearings were correct, since there was no sun as a landmark, by looking at the mirror compass:

 

See it in the corner? SW for Southwest! I was pointing the right way.

In my mind, I wrapped up my luck in a little square silver box. Put a nice white ribbon with red polka dots on it to hold on the lid and keep the luck inside. Tied that ribbon into a bow on top. I blew that box (I'm quite the blow-hard) into the atmosphere, so it could hitch a ride on a spiraling, corkscrewing zephyr. So it could loft and waft its way to Australia, to River's front door. No porch pirate would have a chance to snatch it, since River is home most days, and would hear the gentle thump as my pretty box landed.

Yes, such a grand plan I had. My arm was almost aching from patting myself on the back. But then I got home from town and scratched my lottery tickets, and discovered winners of $50, $30, and $25.

Sorry, River. That luck might still be floating along in the upper atmosphere. At least I didn't send it on a haboob... which might have eroded some luck. I recall that the haboob was never very lucky for me, when I had freshmen reading about it in my Earth Science class.

The Universe Works Overtime To Conspire Against Mrs. HM

It was one of those days. The days when you have a specific plan, and all goes awry. It was Friday, when Farmer H was having the battery of his bladder wire inserted under the skin of his right rumpus. First cat out of the bag, on Implant Eve, the hospital called to take his pre-op info, and announced that his surgery would be at 7:00 a.m. 

 

Well! That was quite a change, since all his discharge paperwork from two weeks previous said it would be at 2:00! So... Farmer H sent a text to The Pony, informing him that he would now need to be at the Mansion, ready to leave by 5:00 a.m. to get to the hospital by the 5:30 check-in time, rather than noon for the 12:30 check-in time they had planned on.

 

Of course that didn't affect ME, except for The Pony wanting a wake-up text between 3:00 and 3:30 a.m. He takes long showers! Since I'm up anyway, it didn't matter. I figured as soon as they left the Mansion at 5:00, I would go to bed and sleep a few hours, then go to town to mail Genius's letter, which I had forgotten to take along on Thursday. The mail goes out at 11:30. My plan was to leave at 9:30, and also stop by the store on my way home, and be back by the time The Pony arrived with my patient.

 

"Au contraire," said Even Steven.

Oh, I left home at 9:30. I took the closest route to the bank, to withdraw the rest of Farmer H's money that was in the check from Back-Creek Neighbor Bev that I had deposited on Thursday, getting half his money back. There was a flagman stopping traffic so a crew could put in giant metal poles to replace the wooden poles holding the electrical wires.

Right after I got past that roadblock, The Pony texted me that FARMER H WAS BEING RELEASED, and he was driving around to pick him up! I tried to send a text, but even in the midst of town, my phone disagreed. 

At the bank, only two cars were ahead of me. I thought I might actually make it back home shortly after The Pony and Farmer H arrived, and that I could chat with The Pony. However...

I waited in line 10 minutes. Then as I left, taking the back alley to avoid traffic at the stoplight by the exit lane... I came upon the garbage man in the alley:

 

I couldn't back up and negotiate the curve back into the bank lot, which would only have made me use the exit lane at the light anyway. So I waited. It took that guy forever.

 

He was working alone, and had to drag that giant dumpster back into its brick hideaway when finished. I'll be danged if he didn't STOP TO BACK IN CROSSWAYS at the stop sign on the other side of the church. That's the church whose steeple was struck by lightning a while back. Anyhoo... I took a short cut through the little parking area beside the church that the bank rents for its workers to park. So I got out on the road from the bank entrance, which gives more room from the stoplight traffic.

I'd finally gotten a text to The Pony that I was being delayed, and would get there as soon as possible to relieve him of the patient. I told him I was skipping the store trip, and only finishing up my business in Sis-Town. Then it was on to the Casey's, where the entire population of Sis-Town decided they needed to be at the very moment I arrived:

 

That lady behind the counter talking of the phone was not ringing up any customers! I'm not even sure she was talking to an actual person. She maybe only uttered one sentence. The other guy was out on his break, smoking. I saw him on the sidewalk as I went in. So it took a long time to buy my scratchers. In fact, I had half a mind to walk out, but I'd already parked and hauled myself in, and waited through half the line. Good thing I stayed. I got a $60 winner.

Back outside, having been rung up by the man while the woman still stood with the phone, avoiding eye contact... I saw that I was the victim of a close-parker!

 

Lucky for me, I'd snagged the space next to the handicap walkway (though the actual handicap parking space was on the other side of it). So I didn't have to wait for the close-parker to leave in order to get T-Hoe's door open. I don't know how the close-parker got out of his truck! Maybe from the passenger side? Maybe he was a stick-man? He had to fold in his mirror to even park there! If you look closely in the mirror, you can see how tight the space was between us. And I didn't even cheat over! I was squarely in my space, not needing to cheat, what with the striped handicap walkway abutting T-Hoe's driver's door.

From there, I mailed Genius's letter at the drive-thru mailbox at the edge of the post office parking lot where The Pony fell down the faulty-railed metal steps of the loading dock. Then went to the School-Turn Casey's for other scratchers. All the spaces were parked in, so I had to go around the block. By this time, I had called The Pony, who was leaving the Mansion, what with Farmer H saying he was DRIVING HIMSELF to the Senior Center for a fried-fish lunch. Upon trying to get out on the main road from the Casey's side street, my view of the four-way stop was blocked by a giant camper:

 

Just as I was ready to pull out, a car would come barrelling from the stop sign, making me jam on the brakes and wait. After 6 or 7 false starts, I made my getaway. Since there was no longer any urgency, I stopped by Country Mart anyway for some sale meat to grill for the Labor Day holiday.

But I forgot the ice cream, which was one of the main items I went for, Farmer H having procured some good-enough medicine, and wishing to resume stoking his sweet tooth.

Quite an exhausting day. I might as well have slept in, and mailed that letter at my leisure,

This One's On Me

The Wednesday night warming of the beans. Not the running of the bulls, but still a mishap waiting to happen.

I put a serving of beans in my copper-bottom saucepan. No need to use the whole cauldron where I cooked them. Just some for Farmer H, with mine to be warmed later. He was in no hurry to eat, having feasted on a thick slab of meatloaf at the Senior Center for lunch. Even treated Old Buddy. The price is right: $5.00. The sides were mashed potatoes and carrots.

Anyhoo... I wanted to scratch my lottery, and set the pot of beans on the back burner.

"I'm going to let your beans start warming. If I can get this burner to work. It's either cold or too hot."

After 10 minutes, I took a break from my LOSERS to check on the beans. Stone cold! The bottom of the pan was frigid to the touch. So was the burner itself!

"I told you this thing doesn't work right! I've had the beans on for 10 minutes, and NOTHING. Not working at all, even though I put them between LOW and MEDIUM LOW. But if I turn them up just a little, they'll start burning!"

I adjusted the dial just a tad, and hobbled off to the bathroom. Came back and touched the bottom of the pan. Still ice cold! But wait a minute... I could feel heat. Smell heat.

WHOOPSIE!

It was the FRONT burner I'd turned on! My bad. I turned it off (too big for the pan I was using) and turned on the actual back burner where the pan was sitting. To a notch between LOW and MEDIUM LOW. Within 10 minutes, the beans were warming nicely.

Farmer H really doesn't need to know this...

Mrs. HM Is Full Of Beans

Monday night, I chopped up the rest of the ham I'd used for Farmer H's ham steaks, and started a pot of beans. Did the quick boil and rapid soak method. Saved the ham to add later, when the beans were mostly done. I put in some black pepper, juice from a jar of Sweet Banana Pepper Rings, a spoonful of minced garlic. 

After simmering with the added ham, those beans were not to my liking. The ham wasn't fatty enough. So on Tuesday morning (meaning noon:30), I fried up a pound of that auction bacon we still have in the freezer, and added it. Much better!

Now the other problem. When I went to Country Mart on Monday for some Jiffy Corn Muffin Mix, all that dang store had was Jiffy with HONEY corn muffin mix! Nobody wants that in their beans! Beans are savory! So I got the store brand of corn muffins. Surely they would work just as well.

Sadly, I bought eggs to add to the corn muffin mix, but not milk! We don't drink milk, and it was not on my mind. A quick consult with my estranged BFF Google showed that sour cream can be used 1 to 1 as a substitute for milk in baking. Well, there you go! I had plenty of sour cream. So I used it.

The muffins came out just right. They didn't have as much flavor as Jiffy, but that was probably a factor of the different brand, and not the sour cream for milk. They were nice firm muffins, not at all crumbly like the Jiffy sometimes.

Here's my beans:

 

Yes, it's a generous bowl. I am LITERALLY full of beans! My bowl is layered with crumbled corn muffins (1.5), diced Sweet Banana Pepper Rings, diced Vidalia onions, and of course BEANS. Mmm... so tasty. In fact, I could eat only a bit of that muffin stump slathered with butter. That's okay. My little dog Jack LOVES corn muffins. Of course I had my Shasta Diet Cola cooling in an old refill mug from Git n Go, when I lived in Springfield, MO. And my metal water juggy thingy.

I love my beans! The ones I can find under all the ham, bacon, peppers, onions, and corn muffin.

Farmer H Upsets The Apple Cart

Technically, Farmer H upset ME! Not in a loud crashing toppling-over incident, but emotionally. Yes. Even Mrs. HM, with her cold, cold heart, has emotions. They usually run quite hot. As in this case. 

The Truth in Blogging Law requires me to inform you that Farmer H did not harm any apples. He actually upset the balance of the banana bowl. It's a heavy, oval glass bowl that I think has fruit shapes in the glass. It was given to me as a gift, quite possibly by my mom. It has legs in the bottom. The only fruit we have around now is bananas. Gone are the days of variety when two ravenous boys shared our Mansion.

Every morning, Farmer H and I each have a banana. It's a good source of potassium, you know. I once ended up at the ER with very low potassium, causing my heart to skip beats. Apparently my "potassium-sparing" blood pressure med did not get the memo about "sparing." Farmer H also takes such a med, and I believe he takes those giant horsepill potassium tablets as well.

Making sure we always have our morning banana is quite a task. You can't just buy a truckload and put them in the pantry for later. I try to make sure we have 8 bananas in the bowl after I make a shopping trip. Which means that at least every four days, I have to go buy bananas. 

IT'S LIKE BEING A JUNKY, PROCURING YOUR FIX!

Just like Seinfeld nemesis Newman says of the mail: "It never stops!" I am on a constant quest for bananas. Now Farmer H has made my job more difficult.

WEDNESDAY MORNING, FARMER H ATE TWO BANANAS!

That means we are a banana short! I will have to go to the store one day sooner. Or else go without my daily banana. Because Farmer H gets up first, and takes his banana before I do.

You know what will be discussed during Wednesday evening's session of "Now Is the Time We Talk About the Most Recent Thing You've Done Wrong."