The Pony spent an hour this afternoon stripping.
Perhaps that's not exactly the career I had in mind for my precious baby. But his father will be thrilled. Ecstatic. In fact, Farmer H is the one who suggested such a pastime last night, for today's itinerary.
"Pony. Did you get those boards done for your Sword Shack today?"
"Uh huh."
"I'm going to need more tomorrow. At least 15 so I can build up the sides. There's a heavier hammer if you need it. In the BARn."
"The hammer's fine. Sometimes, the nails are bent, and I can't get them out."
"That's okay. You can use the Sawzall to cut through the nails."
"No. The hammer is fine."
"Okay. So tomorrow, you'll be stripping."
"Okay."
Yeah. Farmer H is building a Sword Shack for The Pony to keep his collectibles in. He has a bunch of skids he brought home from work that they take apart for lumber. The Pony's job is to knock the boards loose and remove the nails. Farmer H calls this stripping.
As with all of his projects, I try to stay away from Farmer H structures under construction. My eyes glaze over when he tells me about them. Even though the Sword Shack will be in sight of the Mansion, right next to the Little Barbershop of Horrors, I try not to look. It's his project. I'm not all that interested.
There had better not be a pole in the middle of that Sword Shack.
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
Monday, June 29, 2015
Something Must Have Gone Awry In The Space-Time Continuum
I ONLY HAVE FIVE WEEKS LEFT OF SUMMER VACATION!
How has this happened? Where did almost half of my vacation go already? NO! It's too soon! How can I enjoy my remaining time with this hanging over my head?
I know better than to look at the calendar. But the #1 son needed money in his account for his house rent for July. I had to look up the date to put on the check. It is #1's fault that I know how short my time is now!
The Pony tried to encourage me. "But it will be your last year."
"Yes. My last back-to-school breakfast. My last OPEN HOUSE!"
"Uh huh. And your last conferences. That should be worth it. Even though nobody ever shows up."
"Oh, they always show up for the first one in the fall."
"That's because you have freshmen. The parents don't know yet to not care about their kids."
"Yeah. Every time something goes wrong, I can think, 'Well, I'll never be teaching on September 29th again.' That should get me through."
So many days ahead. So little time.
How has this happened? Where did almost half of my vacation go already? NO! It's too soon! How can I enjoy my remaining time with this hanging over my head?
I know better than to look at the calendar. But the #1 son needed money in his account for his house rent for July. I had to look up the date to put on the check. It is #1's fault that I know how short my time is now!
The Pony tried to encourage me. "But it will be your last year."
"Yes. My last back-to-school breakfast. My last OPEN HOUSE!"
"Uh huh. And your last conferences. That should be worth it. Even though nobody ever shows up."
"Oh, they always show up for the first one in the fall."
"That's because you have freshmen. The parents don't know yet to not care about their kids."
"Yeah. Every time something goes wrong, I can think, 'Well, I'll never be teaching on September 29th again.' That should get me through."
So many days ahead. So little time.
Sunday, June 28, 2015
I Don't Know How He Functions In This World
Farmer H has done it again.
My sister the ex-mayor's wife and I have been cleaning out closets in Mom's house. The only thing left in my old bedroom closet, besides craft stuff that Farmer H is going to take to the auction and split the proceeds, were old suits that belonged to my dad. These were not the leisure suits from the hall closet that my nephew wanted to wear to his fishing tournament. These were actual suits. Which could still be worn, they being of the classic suit style.
These suits would not fit The Pony, as he is of a smaller frame, my father having stood six foot two. He had short legs, though, and a long torso. The jackets would come to The Pony's knees, which is not any current sartorial trend of which I am aware. Genius is kind of built that way, but he has his own fashion flair, and would not be interested, having bought himself a fancy suit last year for interviews. We had five bags of clothes to donate on Thursday, so I left these suits hanging in the closet, and told Sis I would get them another day, while she is away on vacation.
I told Farmer H that maybe one of his older two boys could fit in the suits. One is more muscular, and the other is taller. He went by today with his oldest boy, who took three of the suits and will see if the pants can be let down, as Farmer H told it.
"He took three of them suits. They're nice, and he doesn't have a suit. The jackets fit, but he'll need to get the pants let down. Did you know you had one of your dresses in there? And a robe?"
"You were only supposed to take the suits! There was a yellow bridesmaid's dress in a plastic cover, and a white graduation kind of robe that was Mom's from one of her lady society things. Can you not tell the difference in a man's suit, and a long yellow bridesmaid's dress and a long white graduation robe?"
"Well, I didn't think they were suits. I picked them all up. I dropped off the rest of the suits for donation, but those other two are out in the car. I'll take them back."
"Donation? They're not open on Sunday!"
"I left them under their awning. They weren't open the last time I took stuff, either."
Which makes me wonder what Farmer H does with his time, and why he can't tell the difference in a man's suit and a woman's bridesmaid's dress.
My sister the ex-mayor's wife and I have been cleaning out closets in Mom's house. The only thing left in my old bedroom closet, besides craft stuff that Farmer H is going to take to the auction and split the proceeds, were old suits that belonged to my dad. These were not the leisure suits from the hall closet that my nephew wanted to wear to his fishing tournament. These were actual suits. Which could still be worn, they being of the classic suit style.
These suits would not fit The Pony, as he is of a smaller frame, my father having stood six foot two. He had short legs, though, and a long torso. The jackets would come to The Pony's knees, which is not any current sartorial trend of which I am aware. Genius is kind of built that way, but he has his own fashion flair, and would not be interested, having bought himself a fancy suit last year for interviews. We had five bags of clothes to donate on Thursday, so I left these suits hanging in the closet, and told Sis I would get them another day, while she is away on vacation.
I told Farmer H that maybe one of his older two boys could fit in the suits. One is more muscular, and the other is taller. He went by today with his oldest boy, who took three of the suits and will see if the pants can be let down, as Farmer H told it.
"He took three of them suits. They're nice, and he doesn't have a suit. The jackets fit, but he'll need to get the pants let down. Did you know you had one of your dresses in there? And a robe?"
"You were only supposed to take the suits! There was a yellow bridesmaid's dress in a plastic cover, and a white graduation kind of robe that was Mom's from one of her lady society things. Can you not tell the difference in a man's suit, and a long yellow bridesmaid's dress and a long white graduation robe?"
"Well, I didn't think they were suits. I picked them all up. I dropped off the rest of the suits for donation, but those other two are out in the car. I'll take them back."
"Donation? They're not open on Sunday!"
"I left them under their awning. They weren't open the last time I took stuff, either."
Which makes me wonder what Farmer H does with his time, and why he can't tell the difference in a man's suit and a woman's bridesmaid's dress.
Saturday, June 27, 2015
OH! Hillmomba!
You never know what you're going to come across on the way to town. Such a surprise that you can't have your son snap a good picture out his window on the way, but you can get an okay couple of snaps on the way home. Like that tree way down in the middle of this photo. You know. The horizontal one. Here's a closeup.
OH! HILLMOMBA! Where the wind scours the rolling terrain
And the fallen tree, that I do see
When I drive to town after a rain
Oh, Hillmomba every night my Farmer H and I
Avoid each other, but watch the weather
Makin' lazy circles in the sky
You're blowin' away, our Hillmomba!
Our Hillmomba, MO
Yep. You never know what you're going to see on the way to town after a gusty night. We were under no watches or warnings. In fact, our neighbors to the north were only under a severe thunderstorm watch. But we heard the commotion.
I thought The Pony had gotten up out of bed around 10:30. I called to him, but Farmer H answered. "No. It's me."
"What are you doing going out on the porch?"
"I was checking on the weather. Well. I got up to go to the bathroom, but I heard the wind, so I went to look. The clouds are swirling. The furniture is blowing. I guess it will be all right. I'm going back to bed."
Let the record show that the furniture at the Mansion is not some lightweight plastic crap. It's metal. Old-style metal yard chairs that belonged to my grandma, and more modern mesh metal chairs the Farmer H brought home. So heavy that I do not deign to carry them from one place on the porch to another. So heavy that when I push them to and fro for better distribution of grocery bags on the porch to await The Pony's liftage, the dogs and cats scurry in fear at the rasping of metal on wood.
Looks like the hilltop Mansion dodged one Thursday night.
Friday, June 26, 2015
No Way To Run A Business
When I hold the ribbon-cutting for my proposed handbasket factory, I am going to be chomping at the bit to get down to the brass tacks of wooden handbaskets. I will be the best businesswoman who ever businessed. I am NOT going to schedule an upgrade of my computer system on the last Friday of June, when quarterly reports are due to be mailed imminently. No sirreee, Bob! That would be spiting my face by cutting off my nose.
Even Steven sure has a warped sense of humor. Today was Farmer H's payday by direct deposit. It's not like the Mansion is running in the red until that cash is electronically ready. Mrs. Hillbilly Mom has stockpiled all of her summer checks to ride out the drought until her contract makes it rain again in September. But since it's bill-paying Friday, Mrs. HM called that bank account automated number to find out the amount of Farmer H's check to balance the checkbook before the outgoing money was recorded.
Funny how Farmer H had made FOUR purchases on the debit card last weekend and had not notified the Mansion accountess. At least he didn't charge a tractor. So...Mrs. HM straightened out that mess, and set off to deposit some college savings for The Pony, and drop off a quadruple payment on the Mansion. Sounds simple, eh?
As I entered the office to pay for future knowledge, a man walked out with a computer tower under his arm. Maybe it was more of a box than a tower. The man looked all proper and British, without the bowler hat, kind of like a dapper Dick Van Dyke. There was no van awaiting him. No panel truck. Not even a handcart which is called a dolly around these parts. Off he went, up to the crosswalk (told you he was proper) and across the street. Even Steven should make a note-to-self: "Hit Mrs. Hillbilly Mom over the head with foreshadowing in the future."
I skipped into the vestibule and pulled open the door to gain access to one of the two teller windows encased with bullet-proof glass. You'd think our credit union was located in Bankrobberville. We could even have our own song. "Dodging bullets again in Bankrobberville. Looking for my lost pi-int of blood. Some people say there's a pistol to blame. But I know it's my own bulletproofglassless window's fault."
Three workers were standing behind one window, so I went there. A high-level muckety-muck, a mid-manager, and a kid who graduated with Genius. They were all discombobulated in their own way. The HLMM was on the phone, telling somebody the computer system was being switched out, so she couldn't look up the balance. Then she grabbed a tall stack of printouts that I swear looked like they were on that dot-matrix tractor paper and thumbed through and gave some info. The MM traipsed over to the other window, so I followed like a kitten trying to touch noses with itself along a series of wall mirrors. Nope. MM reversed like a duck in a state fair midway shooting gallery as soon as I got to the other window. The KWGWG sat there looking uncomfortable, waiting for a sign from his uppers.
Finally he took my check and wrote out a receipt. WROTE OUT BY HAND. Not even a dot-matrixed tractor-paper printout in yellow like usual. Showing no balance. And the HLMM said, "Here, KWGWG. Let me get you some paperclips to hold your transactions together." Seriously. This was at NOON! Not like they hadn't had since 8:00 to come up with a system. That sock buried in the back yard is looking more viable every day as a savings option.
When we got to the next town to pay on the Mansion, nobody was manning the drive-thru. It was like "The Langoliers." The lights were on. But nobody was around. Thank the Gummi Mary nobody was slumped into a bowl of soup after succumbing to Captain Trips. Finally the regular drive-thru lady appeared. She's the one who looks like my high school shorthand teacher. At least I got a regular printed yellow receipt from her.
We won't dwell on the wad of paper money I got back in change for my strawberry slush at Sonic.
When Mrs. Hillbilly Mom takes over the world, customers at her handbasket factory will find it always stocked with employees. Emplyees who give back itemized printed receipts and/or paper money. Paper money all facing the same direction, without crumples or tears.
Even Steven sure has a warped sense of humor. Today was Farmer H's payday by direct deposit. It's not like the Mansion is running in the red until that cash is electronically ready. Mrs. Hillbilly Mom has stockpiled all of her summer checks to ride out the drought until her contract makes it rain again in September. But since it's bill-paying Friday, Mrs. HM called that bank account automated number to find out the amount of Farmer H's check to balance the checkbook before the outgoing money was recorded.
Funny how Farmer H had made FOUR purchases on the debit card last weekend and had not notified the Mansion accountess. At least he didn't charge a tractor. So...Mrs. HM straightened out that mess, and set off to deposit some college savings for The Pony, and drop off a quadruple payment on the Mansion. Sounds simple, eh?
As I entered the office to pay for future knowledge, a man walked out with a computer tower under his arm. Maybe it was more of a box than a tower. The man looked all proper and British, without the bowler hat, kind of like a dapper Dick Van Dyke. There was no van awaiting him. No panel truck. Not even a handcart which is called a dolly around these parts. Off he went, up to the crosswalk (told you he was proper) and across the street. Even Steven should make a note-to-self: "Hit Mrs. Hillbilly Mom over the head with foreshadowing in the future."
I skipped into the vestibule and pulled open the door to gain access to one of the two teller windows encased with bullet-proof glass. You'd think our credit union was located in Bankrobberville. We could even have our own song. "Dodging bullets again in Bankrobberville. Looking for my lost pi-int of blood. Some people say there's a pistol to blame. But I know it's my own bulletproofglassless window's fault."
Three workers were standing behind one window, so I went there. A high-level muckety-muck, a mid-manager, and a kid who graduated with Genius. They were all discombobulated in their own way. The HLMM was on the phone, telling somebody the computer system was being switched out, so she couldn't look up the balance. Then she grabbed a tall stack of printouts that I swear looked like they were on that dot-matrix tractor paper and thumbed through and gave some info. The MM traipsed over to the other window, so I followed like a kitten trying to touch noses with itself along a series of wall mirrors. Nope. MM reversed like a duck in a state fair midway shooting gallery as soon as I got to the other window. The KWGWG sat there looking uncomfortable, waiting for a sign from his uppers.
Finally he took my check and wrote out a receipt. WROTE OUT BY HAND. Not even a dot-matrixed tractor-paper printout in yellow like usual. Showing no balance. And the HLMM said, "Here, KWGWG. Let me get you some paperclips to hold your transactions together." Seriously. This was at NOON! Not like they hadn't had since 8:00 to come up with a system. That sock buried in the back yard is looking more viable every day as a savings option.
When we got to the next town to pay on the Mansion, nobody was manning the drive-thru. It was like "The Langoliers." The lights were on. But nobody was around. Thank the Gummi Mary nobody was slumped into a bowl of soup after succumbing to Captain Trips. Finally the regular drive-thru lady appeared. She's the one who looks like my high school shorthand teacher. At least I got a regular printed yellow receipt from her.
We won't dwell on the wad of paper money I got back in change for my strawberry slush at Sonic.
When Mrs. Hillbilly Mom takes over the world, customers at her handbasket factory will find it always stocked with employees. Emplyees who give back itemized printed receipts and/or paper money. Paper money all facing the same direction, without crumples or tears.
Thursday, June 25, 2015
This Little Piggy Went To Mansion
Farmer H never ceases to infuriate amaze me. Last evening, he drove the riding mower (on a trailer, of course) to town to mow the yard at my mom's house. He'd been gone three hours when I noticed he wasn't back yet.
"Pony? How long does it take Dad to mow Grandma's yard?"
"I don't know. An hour? Maybe two."
"He's been gone a long time. I guess he's okay."
"Probably."
"Maybe I should call and check on him."
"Maybe."
"I will. Next commercial."
No need to spoil the double feature of Big Brother and The Briefcase that we had recorded to view without commercials. So the next time we came to commercials, I let them play, and called Farmer H.
"Where are you?"
"Over at the BARn putting diesel in my new tractor."
"You were gone long time. Hey. You bought that tractor thinking it took regular gas, didn't you?"
"No."
"Yes. You always complain how diesel used to be the cheapest, but now it costs more. I can't imagine you'd buy a diesel tractor knowingly. Your old one wasn't diesel, was it."
"I knew. And the old one ran on regular gas."
So he proclaimed. After a while he came in the house to report that he'd talked to the neighbors at Mom's house about our selling price. Doesn't matter right now, because my cousin has first option. So when The Pony snorted, I told Farmer H that we were in the middle of our shows. Off he went back upstairs. Later, when I went to bed, I checked my phone and saw that he had sent me THIS right before coming back over to the Mansion.
WTF? What is it? To me, upstairs at the kitchen counter plugging in my cell phone, looking at that on my email without benefit of the worst glasses I ever bought...it appeared to be a pig with a tumor on its back. How dare Farmer H buy a pig without consulting me!
We are not having pigs. My grandpa had pigs, and they STINK. Not a single pig will be kept on the Mansion grounds. Especially one with a tumor on its back! I couldn't wait until morning to let Farmer H have it. Not the pig. A piece of my mind! There I was, worried whether he was all right, and he was out buying a pig!
Well. I forgot this morning, what with Farmer H leaving at 6:00 a.m., and me just getting up at that time, barely instructing him on how to breathe in/breathe out all day, and check with my cousin about whether our price is acceptable (they work together). So later this morning, while cleaning out my old bedroom, not to my sister the ex-mayor's wife satisfaction, I might add...I sent Farmer H a text asking WHAT that picture was.
"Oh, that's Goatrude. A chicken flew up and perched on her back, and seemed perfectly content."
He dodged the pig bullet this time. So I am saving my chastisement. I know I'll need it one of these days.
"Pony? How long does it take Dad to mow Grandma's yard?"
"I don't know. An hour? Maybe two."
"He's been gone a long time. I guess he's okay."
"Probably."
"Maybe I should call and check on him."
"Maybe."
"I will. Next commercial."
No need to spoil the double feature of Big Brother and The Briefcase that we had recorded to view without commercials. So the next time we came to commercials, I let them play, and called Farmer H.
"Where are you?"
"Over at the BARn putting diesel in my new tractor."
"You were gone long time. Hey. You bought that tractor thinking it took regular gas, didn't you?"
"No."
"Yes. You always complain how diesel used to be the cheapest, but now it costs more. I can't imagine you'd buy a diesel tractor knowingly. Your old one wasn't diesel, was it."
"I knew. And the old one ran on regular gas."
So he proclaimed. After a while he came in the house to report that he'd talked to the neighbors at Mom's house about our selling price. Doesn't matter right now, because my cousin has first option. So when The Pony snorted, I told Farmer H that we were in the middle of our shows. Off he went back upstairs. Later, when I went to bed, I checked my phone and saw that he had sent me THIS right before coming back over to the Mansion.
We are not having pigs. My grandpa had pigs, and they STINK. Not a single pig will be kept on the Mansion grounds. Especially one with a tumor on its back! I couldn't wait until morning to let Farmer H have it. Not the pig. A piece of my mind! There I was, worried whether he was all right, and he was out buying a pig!
Well. I forgot this morning, what with Farmer H leaving at 6:00 a.m., and me just getting up at that time, barely instructing him on how to breathe in/breathe out all day, and check with my cousin about whether our price is acceptable (they work together). So later this morning, while cleaning out my old bedroom, not to my sister the ex-mayor's wife satisfaction, I might add...I sent Farmer H a text asking WHAT that picture was.
"Oh, that's Goatrude. A chicken flew up and perched on her back, and seemed perfectly content."
He dodged the pig bullet this time. So I am saving my chastisement. I know I'll need it one of these days.
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
You! I Learned It From You!
The Pony doesn't ask for much. He's usually goes along with whatever torture I devise to fill his day. So much that it's hard to figure out what to feed him. I asked what he wanted for supper tonight, and he said, "Anything," because he's an agreeable sort, if less-than-honest to spare my feelings.
"Come on. You know you won't eat ANYTHING! You only eat about four foods. What's the worst thing I make that you never want to eat?"
"Um...chili. Not that yours isn't good! You probably make really good chili. I just don't like chili, so I won't try it."
"Do you know what grandma made that I never wanted to eat, but I like it now? Vegetable soup. Do you know what it reminded me of?"
"Vomit?"
"NO! Vomit! It didn't remind me of vomit."
"Dog vomit?"
"NO! What kind of person says that? It reminded me of a big pot of garbage. I don't think it helped matters that she used to collect actual garbage in a big cup on the kitchen counter, and then go out and dump it every evening over by the creek. Did you ever notice her to do that? Or had she stopped?"
"Yeah. She did it."
Oh, well. We can't all toss it off the back porch as we go along.
"Come on. You know you won't eat ANYTHING! You only eat about four foods. What's the worst thing I make that you never want to eat?"
"Um...chili. Not that yours isn't good! You probably make really good chili. I just don't like chili, so I won't try it."
"Do you know what grandma made that I never wanted to eat, but I like it now? Vegetable soup. Do you know what it reminded me of?"
"Vomit?"
"NO! Vomit! It didn't remind me of vomit."
"Dog vomit?"
"NO! What kind of person says that? It reminded me of a big pot of garbage. I don't think it helped matters that she used to collect actual garbage in a big cup on the kitchen counter, and then go out and dump it every evening over by the creek. Did you ever notice her to do that? Or had she stopped?"
"Yeah. She did it."
Oh, well. We can't all toss it off the back porch as we go along.
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