If They Can't Beat You, They Join You

When I came out of the Gas Station Chicken Store on Monday afternoon, I saw that T-Hoe had company. An unwelcome visitor, at that!

Let the record show this is NOT a parking space. That white truck is blocking the driving lane, while T-Hoe is safely ensconced in Mrs. HM's rightful handicap parking space.

You can see how the parking lot is not marked off with stripes for parking. The diesel gas pumps are on the other side of that white truck. Nobody can park there for gas while it's blocking the drive-thru lane. They MIGHT possibly be able to squeeze in, but it's usually dump trucks and fire trucks that use it, and they take up a lot of room. There's the alley in front of the mailbox, where I cut through to get to Casey's.

If somebody had been parked in the FREE AIR space in front of T-Hoe, I would have needed to back way up across the three regular gas pump lanes to get around that white truck and find my way out. I don't like backing, since T-Hoe's backup beeper doesn't work. I don't want to run over anybody, no matter how much people piss me off!

As I wrote on the back of my scratchers, the driver of that white truck came out. A thin blond 30-something guy. No visible disability, no plates or placard for his truck, carrying a six-pack of beer. I'm pretty sure he begrudged me my rightful handicap space!

A Pretty Good Mother's Day

Sunday was Mother's Day, and Farmer H went off to his SUS2.5 as usual. He did verbally wish me a happy Mother's Day before leaving at 6:00 a.m.

Around 7:45 I had a text from Genius, asking if I was too busy for a phone call. Nope. We chatted about 45 minutes. Genius was hoping I was having a special lunch or a casino trip. No, not on that specific day, because I do not like crowds. I had gotten Genius's card in the mail the day before, so he was pleased that "The post office is finally doing its work!" Sometimes his letters get to Pittsburgh a week or two after I mail them! It was a nice conversation. I don't get to talk to Genius much, he's so busy with work.

A couple hours later I had a text from The Veteran wishing me a happy Mother's Day, even though he is not required to do so, heh, heh! I've been part of his life since he was five, and always got on well with him and HOS (Farmer H's Oldest Son). I did not hear from HOS, which is fine. Farmer H himself rarely hears from him these days.

Later in the afternoon, The Pony sent a brief text. We talk so often that I did not expect a call from The Pony. We made plans a few days earlier to go out to eat later this week, when all the other mothers are home cooking again. 

Farmer H picked up Captain D's for supper, so I'm actually getting TWO Mother's Day meals! It was delicious for fast food. I don't think I've had Captain D's for over a year. Also, he gave me a card and a box of Ghirardelli chocolates.

AND, my scratchers had a $50 winner and a $25 winner. So it was one of my better Mother's Days over the years. The worst being the time my only gift was a $3 change purse. Not that I became a mother just for the gifts, of course...

Farmer H Needs A Rescue Pony

Farmer H had to rely on The Pony to rescue him this weekend at his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5). He could not access some of his merchandise. The most expensive/ dangerous/regulated merchandise that he sells, which is stored in safes for safety. They have a code on an electric keypad to gain entry. Farmer H said the keypads were not working. He's not sure if it's a battery issue with the keypad, or if he will have to call the safe manufacturer for repairs.

Anyhoo... these safes also work with good old-fashioned KEYS, so Farmer H called The Pony to come out and find two sets of keys to drive down to the SUS2.5. That was around 11:30. The Pony had to shower, and was still out here by noon, rounded up the sets of keys, and delivered them to Farmer H before noon:30. That was a nice thing for The Pony to do. I never would have found those keys, one set having been in the basement, where my knees don't allow me to go safely. Nor would I have likely been able to hobble across gravel to get to Farmer H's SUS2.5.

Anyhoo... I suppose the customer grew tired of waiting, because Farmer H said he bought a different model of such merchandise, but cheaper, which was in a locked case that was available at that moment. You never know with these customers. He will probably be back. When they find something they like, they usually return to buy it. It's a collector kind of issue. 

Poor Pony! Didn't even get a thank-you from Farmer H! Who was on the phone with the regulating agency when The Pony dropped off the keys, finding out if another customer was approved for such a purchase. That's okay. The Pony knows Farmer H appreciates the effort, even though he might not say it in so many words.

Things That Go HUM In The Night

It's no secret that Mrs. HM is a night owl, and Farmer H is an early bird. He's often in bed by 7:30, while Mrs. HM watches TV through the early morning hours.

Friday night, I sat down on the short couch around 11:30. Nothing much caught my interest on TV. Nothing good on the cooking channels. I switched between King of Queens and The Goldbergs, most episodes of which I've already seen several times. 

Around 11:50, I noticed an odd sound. A humming noise. What in the Not-Heaven? It seemed to be in the area of the master bathroom. Did Farmer H run a bath in the big triangle tub? Was that the jets? Sometimes he does that if he can't sleep, or if his legs are hurting. It was quite possible, even though I hadn't been in the living room to hear the initial running of the bathwater. I made a mental note to check in a half hour or so.

My lackluster viewing options betrayed me. I nodded off to sleep, and woke at 3:00 a.m. The noise was still going. Time to worry. What if Farmer H fell asleep and slipped under the water??? Or maybe it was just the light over the toilet, which has a built-in fan. You'd think Farmer H would not go to sleep with a light on in the master bathroom. Of course I had to get up to investigate.

I muted the sound on the TV. Opened the bedroom door. No light was showing in the bathroom. In fact, there was no sound from the jets of the big triangle tub. Farmer H started stirring in the bed, thrashing against his breather hose.

"Sorry. But there's a noise. A humming. I thought maybe you were having a bath. Do you hear it?"

"Not now. But I guess I better check it out."

Farmer H came out to the living room.

"I hear it now. It sounds like the well! I'll go down in the basement and check. I had the water off this afternoon to fix the connector on the water heater."

Indeed, I had passed Farmer H headed home when I went to town. He didn't stop for his Friday afternoon bull-shooting session with his cronies. Now he headed down the 13 rail-less steps to the basement. Halfway down, he made a discovery.

"Oh. I found out what it is. The fan in the NASCAR bathroom!"

"So it's been running for about 12 hours now?"

"I guess so. I used it when I was down there working on the connector."

Farmer H turned off the light in the NASCAR bathroom, and the humming stopped. 

I suppose it might still be going, if I'd found more appealing fare on TV. 

Such A Fine Line Between Kindness And Rudeness

Mrs. HM likes to consider herself a reasonably polite member of society. Even though people piss her off on a regular basis, she strives to treat others as she would like to be treated. Like Thursday, in Country Mart...

I was on the soda aisle. The deal this week was to buy two bottled six-packs of Coca Cola products, and get a third one free. Famer H likes Diet Coke. He brings one home a couple times a week, having bought it at Casey's (I'm sure accompanied by a donut), and finishing it before supper is ready. Then he gets a Diet Mountain Dew from FRIG II. 

I got two of the Diet Coke, and then a regular Coke six-pack for when The Pony comes out to the Mansion.

Anyhoo... I heard a cart coming up behind me. The aisles are okay there, but I lifted the wheels of my cart to set it parallel to the soda side. It had been at an angle while I was loading my six-packs. I glanced over my shoulder and saw a lady about my age. I waited for her to proceed past me. She stopped.

"Um. I'm sorry. But that's RIGHT WHERE I need to get something."

"Ha ha ha! You're kidding! And I was SO careful to move over out of your way! Here I am congratulating myself, and I've actually put myself IN your way!"

"Yes, you did!" The lady chuckled as I moved forward to allow her access.

"Oh, well. It's the thought that counts."

Mrs. HM. The well-meaning gal who disrupts your shopping trip!

Is It So Wrong?

It's no secret that Mrs. HM is not a fan of the UTVs (Utility Terrain Vehicles) that seem to be the latest trend in Hillmomba. They are sometimes called side-by-sides. They have two seats, sometimes four. Usually a roof. They are a minimal step up from 4-wheelers, which have no roof, and carry two passengers, and are used for riding in rough terrain. 

These UTVs don't require the licensing of a car. They don't carry the same insurance requirements. They are cheaper than actual cars. I don't know the safety requirements in their construction, but they do not have roll bars, or reinforced doors. Most of them don't even have doors. They might come with seatbelts. I don't know. I have not observed people in them wearing seatbelts.

Anyhoo... I do not like these UTVs on the road. I think they are a safety hazard for the people in them, and for people on the road with them.

Since the last flooding, the main low-water bridge has been quite rough. The sign proclaiming BUMP was washed away. The most recent repair where the pavement is gone has made this bridge even rougher than before the current application of blacktop. A couple times, I have almost knocked myself senseless, while daydreaming about my scratcher plan, or how The Pony was getting along in bad weather on his route. The section of the bridge that meets the blacktop county road must be approached slowly, to ease all four tires of the vehicle over the rough "steps" that formed when blacktop washed away.

On the way home from town this week, clueless people had parked a car next to the area that requires easing. Two of those people were sitting on the edge of the bridge, dangling their feet over the side, fishing with poles. Another gal was walking from the car to them, using prime center real estate on that bridge for her path. Of course I slowed down. I knew that drop-off was there, and I didn't want T-Hoe bouncing along with clueless people so near.

I looked in T-Hoe's mirror, and saw a UTV that had not been there at last glance. I have no idea where this UTV came from. I had not seen one in any driveway, waiting to pull out. It must have been following me from the county lettered highway. Which means it was going WAY too fast for the county blacktop road. Mrs. HM herself drives quite quickly there. She knows the road.

Anyhoo... as I eased T-Hoe off that step-ledge, the UTV was almost on top of me. I went across the bridge, still watching in the mirror. That UTV did not slow down! It hit the step-ledge way too fast. 

Is it so wrong that this observation gave me great pleasure? I'm pretty sure the driver of that UTV had his head rattled, and his teeth knocked together from the impact. I figure this was not a local person. That UTV blazed past T-Hoe when I turned onto our gravel road about a half mile past the bridge. I hope a lesson was learned about speeding in a UTV, but it doesn't seem that was the case.

Prognosis, Negative!

Looks like Pupsie will not be getting her very special operation. In fact, it was scheduled for this morning. Farmer H's efforts to trap her were futile. He came home at 1:30 on Wednesday to make the attempt. The very incident he's known would have to happen since six weeks ago when he made Pupsie's appointment. The vet said to let her know by 2:30 if Pupsie wouldn't be able to go under the knife on Thursday morning.

Farmer H went out to the side porch, armed with a baggie of hot dogs. He hollered for Jack. That's to throw Pupsie off, you know. Make her less suspicious, heh, heh. Jack is a good dog. He's always there for a petting, wagging his tail and squirming with happiness. Pupsie, not so much. She won't even follow me to the kitchen door for a treat unless Jack is up on the porch.

Anyhoo... Farmer H said he tossed pieces of hot dog into the pet carrier. And that Pupsie would only go inside to eat them when Farmer H was way over by the Gator under the carport. Any closer, and Pupsie would not go in.

Farmer H came into the kitchen to report this news to me, then headed back out to go to town. "Just watch. I bet they've eaten those hot dogs now that I'm in the house."

Of course they did. 

I suppose another appointment will be made, and Farmer H will perhaps concentrate more on the taming. He says Pupsie will come up and eat out of his hand, but the minute he tries to pet, she jumps away. No amount of (assorted) drugging has done anything to calm Pupsie's anxiety.