The Acts Of Life

You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have the acts of life that Mrs. HM experiences on a daily basis with Farmer H.

Remember way back when I mentioned how something was wrong with T-Hoe? That there was a rattle underneath? And Farmer H said he would take it to Mick the Mechanic? Well... that day finally came on YESTERDAY! And that was only because I whined mentioned to Farmer H that I was getting afraid to drive T-Hoe, because the steering has not been right for quite a while.

"It wobbles. Like if somebody crosses the center line, or starts to pull out in front of me, or there's something in the road... if I have to steer suddenly, it feels like T-Hoe is going out of control. Like it takes too long for the wheels to turn, and then the whole car wobbles back and forth. It really bothers me when I pull out onto the county lettered highway, right onto the bridge, and if somebody is over the line, I'm afraid to get over, because I might hit the concrete side."

Farmer H came home the next day, saying he had an appointment for T-Hoe at 8:00 Thursday morning.

"That's good. It's only been 9 months since I told you something was wrong."

"No it hasn't. It's only been a couple months."

"I'm pretty sure it was during Spring. Because it wasn't warm enough to have the windows down, but I put it down to listen to the rattle."

"It wasn't that long!"

Okay, looking back at that post as a reference, it's only been 8 months! Since April.

Anyhoo... Farmer H brought T-Hoe home before leaving again for town. It took less than two hours, and cost $130.83. Pity that T-Hoe couldn't have been fixed 8 months ago. I can definitely tell the difference when driving. Farmer H said he thought I would, because he also noticed that the steering was mushy, and then worked fine after repairs to the stabilizer bar. The rattle is also gone.

Anyhoo... before Farmer H left that morning with T-Hoe, I had two requests.

"Be careful backing out of the garage. I don't want you to break off a mirror again. And when you come back, make sure I can get the door all the way open, so I don't hurt my knees getting in."

Well. Both mirrors are intact. But when I left for town, T-Hoe's door hit the 2x4 board that is part of the framing of the garage. You have to park where the door opens in between two 2x4s. Or the door won't open completely. Depending on how far you've pulled in, it could be a couple inches, or six or eight inches less opening space.

I have not yet mentioned this detail to Farmer H. He has been scolded multiple times about T-Hoe's door not opening all the way after he parks T-Hoe in the garage. I suppose his response will be that T-Hoe's door DID open all the way... until it hit the 2x4.

No Thanks From The Thankless

In the tradition of shooting the messenger, on Tuesday evening, Farmer H poisoned the cook. Poisoned any good will remaining, anyway. 

At the end of our Thanksgiving leftovers, I mentioned that there was bacon left from the roasting of the vegetables. And that I had a can of biscuits in FRIG II that needed to be cooked before they exploded and put us in need of a FRIG III. Farmer H perked up.

"Oh. I can have eggs and bacon and biscuits for supper!"

"Yes. If I make the eggs, they will be scrambled. I am no good at frying eggs."

"I can do that."

Of course I got everything else ready for Farmer H. I put the biscuits in the oven, intending to watch over them as he fried his eggs. I was pretty sure he could not do both. I also put his already-cooked bacon on foil, on a pizza pan, to slide into the oven as the biscuits neared their done-ness. I had the skillet set out, and the bottle of vegetable oil, and a spatula, and a plate with fork and knife, plus three eggs on a paper plate with a rim and coating that grease won't seep through.

I called Farmer H to the kitchen.

"You can start your eggs when you're ready. The biscuits cook for 13-17 minutes. They've been in for five. I will check them and move them to the lower shelf when I come back, and put in your bacon to warm. There are your eggs. Put the shells back on that plate, and you can toss them off the porch."

With that, I took a quick bathroom break. I came back to the kitchen to see that Farmer H had put his bacon off the pizza pan, and onto the back burner of the stove, still on the foil.

"What are you doing? I had that all ready for the oven!"

"I put my bacon back there to warm up."

"That's what the pan was for, to slide into the oven."

"Huh. Well. This works."

"If you think so. Not sure how fast that is going to warm. What about the biscuits? I can't see them."

Farmer H opened the oven.

"Huh. It doesn't look like they're cooking. They're pale. I told you the oven doesn't work right."

"The oven is heating from the bottom. The biscuits are fine. They've been in there for... 14 minutes."

"Exactly. And they don't look done."

"THIS IS WHY I HATE TO DO ANYTHING! YOU ARE ALWAYS BOSSING ME!"

With that, I left Farmer H to his own devices. Not another word from me to boss him around! I sat down at HIPPIE and started computing. I heard grease sizzling. The oven opening and closing. Seems that Farmer H thought it best to move those biscuits down to the bottom of the oven where it was heating, and put the bacon in there, too.

When Farmer H finally buttered his biscuits and took his plate to the living room, I saw that he had left the skillet of grease on the hot burner, with the metal spatula balanced in it. And had put his eggshells on the flimsy paper plate rather than the one I had put them on with directions to put the shells back on it.

After eating, Farmer H brought his plate to the kitchen to put in the sink. I pointed out the skillet on the hot burner.

"I turned it OFF, HM."

"Uh huh. Because that instantly makes the coil cool enough to leave popping grease on. And the eggshells are on that plate soaking through to the counter."

"The shells are fine. I'm taking them out right now."

It's really easier to cook for him myself. I'm pretty sure that's his evil plan, anyway...

Can't Blame This Attempted Killing On Farmer H

The Universe plots against Mrs. HM. When not using Farmer H as an agent of her demise, The Universe finds other ways to hasten her end.

We had snow on Monday, starting mid-morning, after temperatures overnight in the low twenties. The snow stuck on the Mansion porch, and the rail, and on the cover of POOLIO. Farmer H was in and out, telling me the roads were fine except for bridges, and the pavement didn't seem slick. He was going to an auction that afternoon. In fact, he followed me out the gravel road as I went to town.

I had on T-Hoe's 4WD but didn't need it. A little snow was still flaking down. Not sure if you can see it in this picture from our gravel road as I came home.

The parking lots in town were basically clear. Some had a shiny look to them, so I trod lightly and surefootedly. The trip to town was uneventful. My first stop was the Gas Station Chicken Store, where I got my rightful handicap space. When I came out, I opened T-Hoe's door and stepped my right foot on the running board to get it. Whoopsie! I felt my foot slide. Good to know. I rubbed the sole of my shoe back and forth, to scrape off the film of ice that builds up from road spray while driving. I hadn't noticed it getting out. Maybe it was fresh from the little mist that was falling when I went inside.

Anyhoo... with my right foot planted, I hoisted myself up onto the running board. My decrepit knees make me use an odd method to get in. I turn to face outward, putting my left foot on the running board as well, and sit my ample rumpus onto T-Hoe's leather seat. Then I turn to sit the right way in the seat, rather than facing out.

Welp! Something went terribly wrong! My left heel could not gain traction. I was unable to get my ample rumpus onto the top of the seat. I was a bit sideways, and FALLING off T-Hoe's running board! This was scary! It was so cold! I didn't want to end up on the pavement, waiting for somebody to see me and try to help. I held onto T-Hoe's door with my right hand, while my left hand was being wrenched loose from the door jamb. My left foot slid down onto the pavement, and my right followed, but not before bending my knee too tight. I usually slide that foot off the running board when halfway down, but in my struggle to maintain balance, it stayed on the running board.

I was able to stay on my feet. My heart was racing as I tried to figure out my next move. Holding onto the side of T-Hoe, I moved to the back door, and opened it to get my long ice scraper. Thank the Gummi Mary, it was within reach. That's the advantage of never cleaning out your car between seasons!

Anyhoo... I used the scraping end to get the film of ice loose from the running board, and the brushy end to sweep those shavings away. I made sure I had traction in the areas both feet needed, and climbed back in. I had to do it again at my next stop, Casey's just across the moat.

I'm so glad I had my scraper! Otherwise, I don't know how I would have gotten into T-Hoe to get home. My right arm is sore, and my left arm has a tremor when I try to reach over to the counter to lay something down while sitting at HIPPIE. It doesn't hurt, but I must have strained a muscle needed for that motion. The right knee is swollen and achy, but I'm pretty sure I'm going to survive.

Not today, Universe!

Probably A Relative Of Farmer H

Farmer H enjoys a good tree stump. He has several sitting in the lava rocks that line the front and side of the Mansion, interspersed with actual rocks, gathered from the creek, and my grandma's collection. Sometimes when we're driving, Farmer H will exclaim: 

"I wish I had that stump!"

Of course that's what I thought of when I pulled up behind this truck at the stoplight on Monday. Well. It's the second thing I thought of. The first being: "Don't get too close, in case that junk falls out when he takes off when the light turns green."

Those are not small stumps. They would wreak havoc with the undercarriage of any vehicle that ran over them. They're not even strapped in with a bungee cord or come-a-long! That guy has raised the top that would sit over a load in the back of that pickup. Only gravity holds them in the truck bed.

Even Farmer H is smarter than this guy, and knows how to haul random tree stumps without being a possible road hazard for drivers behind him.

Counting ONE Of Farmer H's Blessings

When I was in the Gas Station Chicken Store on Wednesday, the cashier wished me a Happy Thanksgiving.

"You, too! I've been home cooking, getting part of it ready for tomorrow. I probably smell like onions right now!"

"Not at MY house. SOMEBODY who lives there doesn't like leftovers. So we have to prepare things as fresh as possible."

Oh, no. Can you imagine having to work your regular shift, get home after 10:00, then get up to cook the next morning before you can serve Thanksgiving Dinner? What a stressful scenario. They probably didn't get to eat until evening, unless she got up at midnight:01 to start cooking!

That's one (I said ONE) good thing about Farmer H. He may eat the food in five minutes, but at least he eats the food, and doesn't mind that I started cooking it the day before. AND he will eat holiday leftovers for several days, because they're special things that I don't make often.

This Old Nag Continues To Pummel A Deceased Equine

I'm sure you're getting tired of Mrs. HM telling lottery stories. I can't help it. That's all the news I have to share. The last two were upbeat, considering that Farmer H and I were both winners. Today's tale is a groaner. Another near-miss for Mrs. Hillbilly Mom! Technically, it's another near-win. But that sounds too positive for the way I feel.

Considering that Farmer H won $200 on that Black Diamond ticket, I figured that's what I should buy. It's an unusual amount. Most rolls of tickets have a $100 winner on them, and then lesser amounts. So this was something special. I figured maybe more of those would have been distributed around Hillmomba this month. As much as MoLottery claims these winners are random, they show up in clusters each month on the prize map. It only shows wins of $1000 or higher, but there are always clusters around different cities, and it's usually the same ticket.

I went to town Friday with the mission of getting two or three of those Black Diamond tickets for myself. I could afford it, from my recent not-losing streak. My first stop was the Liquor Store, because it's on the right side of the road, and the traffic flow favors this route. I got my Black Diamond and a crossword from a new employee there. He appears to be of Indian (not Native American) heritage, with an accent like Apu from the Kwik-E-Mart on The Simpsons. The regular stoner guy who wears a hoody has not been there my last two times.

Anyhoo... from there I made my left turn by the Casey's, and looped back to the Gas Station Chicken Store. I was cashing in Farmer H's $200 winner, and Fave the cashier said,

"Oh. A guy just came in with one of these that he got over at the Liquor Store. He asked me if I could cash it. I scanned it, and it said SEE MISSOURI LOTTERY. It was a $1000 winner! So I gave it back to him."

"WHAT? I just bought one over there. Just now! I had been planning on it since my husband scratched this one. If only I'd been a few minutes earlier, that would have been mine!"

"Isn't that always how it goes?"

"You're tellin' me! And so soon after missing that $50,000 over at 10Box!"

Anyhoo... I can't get much closer to a big win. Oh, and my Black Diamond from the Liquor Store was a loser. Same as the one I got at the Gas Station Chicken Store.

Farmer H Takes The Cake

Having survived 35 years of marriage to Farmer H, you'd think I would know better. Better than to tell him something, and expect him to follow through. I know he's not a rocket scientist (unless it would involve putting the parts of a rocket together and making it work), and he's not one to pay attention and do as I tell him. So I was setting myself up for failure from the get-go.

We had a big selection of store-bought desserts for Thanksgiving dinner. Farmer H had said he would like a cherry pie. I DID look for one, but all I found were pumpkin and pecan. That's not counting the freezer section, because he knew I didn't want to cook an actual pie in the oven.

Anyhoo... I found a Cherry Pie Danish that I got for him, in a long pan, to be sliced and eaten. He had a piece of it after finishing his plate of real food.

Other desserts were six triple-chocolate brownies that I bought for The Pony to take home. I think the package said "two-bite" brownies. They looked good. I got The Pony something like that last holiday dinner, and he liked them. As Farmer H was looking over the desserts, I specifically said, "I got those brownies for The Pony." Same as I had said when he carried the desserts in from T-Hoe. 

What do you think Farmer H did? That's right! He opened those brownies and ate one! While standing right there with the knife in his hand for slicing his Cherry Pie Danish. To his credit, The Pony said, "That's okay. I don't mind." Oh, and Farmer H ate the brownie in ONE bite.

Other desserts were a selection of mini donuts. Chocolate, powdered, and cinnamon. A dozen mini cupcakes, with vanilla and chocolate. And a triple chocolate cake. It looked like a Bundt cake, but without the ridges. Just a ring of a chocolate cake, with chocolate icing, and mini chocolate chips on top.

That triple chocolate cake is the bone of contention. As The Pony was packing up leftovers, I sliced up half the cake to go. They were thin slices, to lay down in the flat container. The last two wouldn't fit, and I thought, "Oh. That's a good size for me to have, since I've been cutting back. A thin slice of cake won't hurt. It's the holiday."

Later that evening, I asked Farmer H if he was still full, or if he wanted some leftovers. He said he thought he'd just have more dessert. Something he can do on his own, which I don't need to warm up.

"Okay. Have whatever you want. I have two thin slices of that cake already cut, that I'm going to eat for the next couple of days. You can slice whatever size you want."

I was in the bathroom while Farmer H was getting his desserts. Then I started washing up all the dishes on the counter. Then I had more computer time. Around 10:30, I shut down HIPPIE to go watch TV. I got a little bowl to put my thin slice of cake in. When I pried off the clear cover of the cake, I could not find my slices! But you knew that already, didn't you?

I turned that cake all around. Maybe the light was tricking me. Maybe the chocolate icing had run over the incisions I'd made in the cake. Nope. My thin slices were gone! BOTH of them! 

Yes. I realize I was free to make another thin slice of the cake. It's just the idea of it. I can't have one thing in this Mansion that is MINE. Just for me. Earmarked as my personal property. Farmer H always has to assert his dominance as King of the Mansion. He obviously didn't want a thin piece of cake. He took TWO thin pieces of cake, when he could have cut his own thick piece with the knife that was lying right there. But no. He had to take both of the pieces of cake that I said I wanted.

It's the principle of the matter.