There Are None So Blind As Mrs. HM In A Pair Of Sunglasses

When I started down the driveway at 2:15 on Thursday, the sun was blazing. I put on my sunglasses, and was annoyed (as I am every other sunny day) by the scratch on the right lens, directly in front of my pupil. It was going to be a long ride, since I was headed over to Sis-Town on errand day. I grabbed my old pair of sunglasses off the lower section of T-Hoe's console. They have a scratch on the left lens, directly in front of my pupil.

Doggone it! This was not going to do. I wanted clear vision without tilting my head. I stopped beside the trash dumpster, and fished around inside the vault of T-Hoe's console, under the lid with the indentation where I lay my phone while traveling.

Aha! There was my newest pair of sunglasses that I purchased last fall. I suppose I'd been saving them for a special occasion. They were still in the crinkly clear wrapper. I bought two pairs at once, from a bin in Save A Lot, for $3 each, if I remember correctly. The other pair was yellow. I keep them in A-Cad, to wear on casino trips with Farmer H, Master Sweaver, behind the wheel.

Anyhoo... I slid my new sunglasses out of their wrapper, and slipped them on my face. They fit just right. But WAIT A MINUTE! There was a scratch on the left lens, directly in front of my pupil! What in the NOT-HEAVEN??? Mrs. HM just can't catch a break.

I wore them out to the main blacktop lettered highway. Then took them off and set them on the lower console. It wasn't TOO bright. And neither is Mrs. HM...

While waiting at the bank, I picked up my new sunglasses to rub the marred lens on my shirttail. Sweet Gummi Mary! That wasn't a scratch! It was the little piece of cling plastic with a code number on it. I peeled it off, and the lens was perfect.

Here they are, posed on T-Hoe's dash at Country Mart:

Aren't they snazzy? That style was all the rage in the '80s. Well worth my $3. Though you'd think Save A Lot should pay ME to wear them, for being such an ambassador of advertising for their chain.

There's Something To Be Said For Timing

I was parked at the Hillmomba Casey's yesterday when I heard sirens. A glance behind me showed a city police car coming from the Country Mart road, going past Casey's towards the direction of the dead mouse smelling post office. I waited another couple of minutes, for some behind-walkers and a car backing out, and another city police car went by with sirens. Huh. Guess it's a good thing I wasn't headed to the post office.

Leaving Casey's, I got in the left turn lane to go to Country Mart for my machine scratchers. WELP! The entrance was blocked off! Good thing I could see it from the light, and take the alternate route behind Dairy Queen.

It looked like somebody had hit an electric pole. The "pole" was now in two pieces, dangling by the wires. Some white utility trucks were working with a lift. And one police car, plus a couple regular trucks, were blocking the road there.

Looks like there was more than one calamity I avoided. That realization took away the annoyance with myself for being an hour and a half late to town.

Listen To Your Elders

There are signs of unrest at Country Mart. I overheard a discussion between cashiers while poking the lottery machine to get my scratchers. There were no customers around. Except me. I guess they think of me as one of them, since I bring in a cart every day.

Anyhoo... it seems that three new employees have been hired. I haven't really shopped since the Thursday before Easter, except to pick up bananas. So I haven't noticed any new faces. The Elderlies referred to them as "the new girls." So I assume they are young. 

One of the Elderlies was headed outside for her smoke break. They like to stand by the new plant display out front, which is built on bread racks and has ferns and such. I don't know much about plants. But the little plastic swimming pools next to them catch my eye. I was a bit annoyed when the display was being built, because the gal working on it was blocking three parking spaces with her stuff, and had the hose stretched across the sidewalk, with puddles all over. I had to walk out in the driving lane to get to the front door. She was not a new employee, but one I don't see there often.

Anyhoo... my favorite Elderly was saying, "Them new girls don't listen to a thing you say! I had to tell them not to destroy the plants when they water them. They don't pay any attention!"

I can imagine that scenario. I don't know if some plants were messed up, since I don't pay attention to the plants. But it's feasible that the new girls think they know everything, and see nothing wrong with getting the watering done as fast as possible, to gain more time on their cell phones.

That seems to be how the world works these days.

The Eye To Stomach Ratio

The Pony piled on more than he could chew at Easter dinner. He set his plate on the kitchen counter, and asked if I wanted to save a smidge of his ham sandwich for Jack. Yes. It's in the treat bowl, still waiting for Jack. 

When I came home Monday afternoon, Farmer H stopped me to talk while he was on the lawnmower in the front yard/field. The main point of the conversation being that he had just broken the belt on the mower. Scarcely three hours after he'd bought a battery for it.

Jack was down by the carport then, chewing on something. As I got closer, he trotted under SilverRedO with it. Looked like a round bone. Perhaps from somebody's ham. Not ours! It was boneless.

Anyhoo... Jack did NOT come to greet me, and did NOT come up on the porch to get his treat. Too bad, so sad. Enjoy that dry bone, rather than a juicy ham sandwich portion.

Monday night, I gathered myself some leftovers and sat down at the kitchen table with HIPPIE. My best old ex-teaching buddy Mabel began texting. So I was a bit distracted. And then all at once, I was FULL! I could not finish my food. That is unheard-of for Mrs. HM. Whose eyes are usually smaller than her stomach.

Jack will be getting some 7 layer salad. I think he will only pick the bacon out of it. And maybe the cheese. Possibly the eggs. He will like the cheesy hash brown casserole better. And most certainly the half slice of ham.

IF Jack can tear himself away from that dry bone.

No Rest For (Most Of) The Feasters

We had our Easter feast yesterday. Farmer H declared the time should be after he was done working at his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2). He took in $325, of which $75 was clear profit. So I guess that was worth it for HIM. Although I worked tiredly through the night, preparing the vittles. For free.

In addition to ham, we had our usual sides of deviled eggs, potato salad, hash brown casserole, 7-layer salad, Stove Top Stuffing (The Pony's request), and Sister Schubert's rolls. Dessert was a choice of brownie cake with frosting, a frozen chocolate pie, and a variety of cheesecake slices. All storebought. 

Farmer H was supposed to pick up The Pony on his way home, so The Pony could have wine with his meal and not worry about driving home. The plan was for 1:30 pickup. Yet when I was carrying a platter with an 8-pound ham to the table to slice, I was startled by The Pony yanking open the kitchen door. It was 1:35. I was NOT expecting them so soon. Which threw off the timing of the meal. Although I WAS happy to see my little helper. I'm NOT talking about Farmer H! He went to snooze in his recliner while The Pony and I got the rolls in the oven, and a set the table, and put out the food.

It was quite tasty, though I regret using store-brand mayonnaise in my 7-layer salad, as I could tell a difference in taste from my usual Kraft Mayo, which I did not have except in a squeeze bottle for sandwiches.

Anyhoo... everyone ate their fill, and probably more. Farmer H was done first, and had a slice of pie, then went back to snoozing. The Pony took a little longer. Skipped dessert in order to take it home with him, since he was full. I sent many leftovers, but The Pony went off and left his potato salad container in FRIG II. Farmer H is going to drop it off at his house on the way to the Senior Center. You know. Because he can't eat my leftovers for lunch!

I suppose Farmer H is missing being a pampered pet. He hasn't been to the Senior Center since last Wednesday. He had his surgeon appointment on Thursday, and the center was closed on Friday. I hope they don't send him home with extra food!

No Rhyme. No Reason. Unless He's Possibly Trying To Kill Me.

Farmer H has developed a rather annoying habit of late. There's no reason for it. He can pick up things off the floor with his grabber. He can squat if he needs to bend part-way. So I can only imagine that he's trying to drive me crazy(er), or raise my blood pressure until I put myself out of his misery.

Because of his back surgery, I have been bagging the trash. When it's full, I tie up the bag, take it out of the wastebasket, and put in a new one. We use the large black plastic trash bags. They can get pretty full. I tell Farmer H not to lift them, especially when there are jars and heavy stuff inside, and it's probably over 10 pounds.

That said, there are no limits on Farmer H FILLING the trash bag. He's capable of throwing away garbage. Yet he suddenly does not!

The first item was an empty box that had held 6 Little Debbie Zebra Cakes. The new kind, shaped like a jelly-roll, or like the other delicious Little Debbie, the Swiss Rolls. There was room in the wastebasket for the box. Yet Farmer H set it on the floor, BESIDE the wastebasket. What in the Not-Heaven? It would have taken more effort to squat and place it there. Unless he merely dropped it, in which case I think it would have fallen over, rather than standing up leaning against the wastebasket.

Friday night, Farmer H did it again. He put the paper sack that had held our take-out Chinese food next to the wastebasket. There was room, because I had picked up the Little Debbie box and put it in the trash. But now here was a large paper sack. Empty. BESIDE the wastebasket. It could have been crumpled and put inside. But no. That was apparently my job.

I have no idea the reasoning behind Farmer H's trash habits. I hope they don't continue. I guess I could ask why, and risk a tirade for my inquisition, with accusations that I expect things to be done MY WAY. Which I think is a pretty reasonable way to dispose of trash...

A Mind Is A Terrible Thing To Chase

I'm not sure what Farmer H has done with his mind. Perhaps he left it at his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2). It most definitely is not in his noggin. It is difficult to follow his train of thought.

Friday afternoon, he came home early because his legs hurt from sitting on his stool at the SUS2, his doctor was closed because of the Good Friday holiday, and his cronies were not meeting for their weekly bull session. I was just putting away the 30 eggs I had boiled to get ready for Easter dinner preparations. Farmer H sat down in his recliner. I stopped to talk to him on my way to the shower.

"I'm tempted to go ahead and boil the potatoes for the potato salad. So they can be cold and ready to peel tomorrow before I go to town. But I'm worried about having enough room in FRIG II to keep all the Easter stuff."

"It's not hot outside."

"What's your point?"

"You don't have to keep them in the fridge. They can set outside."

"It's 62 degrees! And why would I want our food sitting outside in the open?"

"You could put them in the garage."

"What? There are bugs. And maybe mice!"

"You could put them in the back of your car."

"Um. No. I'm not going to set my boiled potatoes outside for bugs to crawl over, at 62 degrees."

Not a very logical conversation. Even for Farmer H. But we obviously had a conversation about me wanting to put a bowl of boiled potatoes in FRIG II.

When I came home from town, I discovered that Farmer H had put six Diet Mountain Dews, and six bottles of Perrier, on the top shelf of FRIG II. Taking up HALF the space on the top shelf.

I suppose I could go ahead and make Farmer H a special batch of potato salad, and set it outside until Sunday afternoon...