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.

I Was Thrilled To Win $100 On A Scratcher, Then I Met A Man Who Won More Without Buying A Ticket

Thanksgiving this year fell on our anniversary date. That makes 35 years of matrimony for Mrs. HM and Farmer H. We didn't plan anything special. I had Thanksgiving Dinner to prepare. I got a card for Farmer H, and some scratchers.

While The Pony and I were getting food ready in the kitchen, Farmer H took his scratchers to the living room. We heard him exclaim something about having a winner. The Pony went to investigate.

"Yes. You've won $50."

Farmer H scratches off the prize as soon as he hits a winner, rather than waiting until the end to reveal the prize like I do. When The Pony came back to the kitchen, we heard him exclaim again. Off went The Pony. Back. Another exclamation. And the same scenario again.

By the time he was done, Farmer H had won $200 on a $10 ticket. He would have been happy with the first $50 that he uncovered. He was ecstatic about the $200.

I'm happy for Farmer H. Really. He never wins. This might actually be his biggest win ever.

What's that? You want to know what Farmer H got me for our 35th anniversary? A card. Yes. It's the thought that counts. And I sure didn't want any candy, since I've been cutting back, and we had our Thanksgiving feast looming on the horizon. But Sweet Gummi Mary! Farmer H gave THE PONY a gift! It was a little replica of a U.S. Mail car, like an LLV (Long Life Vehicle), only blue instead of white.

I really didn't expect a gift. But I also did not expect Farmer H to give something to The Pony on our anniversary, and nothing to me!

Thanks, Even Steven, For Giving

Of course I am thankful for the health of all the Hillbilly relatives, and our Mansion, and my fleabags and the new pup that has decided he lives here. I'm still able to hobble around, and have a voice with which to complain as the whim strikes me. The cherry on top of my thankfulness sundae is the luck with which Even Steven has provided me this week. Luck that found me in the form of this little treat on Tuesday:

That's a $3 Christmas ticket. I buy two of them every day at the Gas Station Chicken Store. I usually win nothing, but I have won $3, $6, and $9 since the ticket has been out for about a month. I've even hit the STAR and the CANDY CANE symbols. It's kind of a boring ticket.

NOT NOW! I hit three like symbols on the very first game. Waited to scratch off the prize until I'd uncovered all the games. I was expecting to see a prize of $3. Imagine my excitement when I uncovered a large zero. That means it's not cents. It's a bigger prize!

It was a $100 WINNER! Can't beat that on a $3 ticket. Well. Unless you win the grand prize, maybe. I'm satisfied with the hundred.

Unintentionally Agitating The Birds

Tuesday morning, I boiled 30 eggs. Two cartons I had bought for that purpose, and six others that had been in FRIG II for a while. One of them floated to the top of the pot, so I took it out. Technically, I only boiled 29 eggs. One of them split open and emitted a bit of cooked yolk. I took it out while cooling the rest in cold water. So I ended up with 28 eggs. Eight will go into the 7 Layer Salad. One will go in The Pony's individual salad. So there's 19 eggs to be deviled. Eight fit into the container. Five will go home with The Pony. Two will be used to scoop filling out the bowl for taste-testing. One will be given to Farmer H to sample before Thanksgiving Dinner. That leaves three eggs unaccounted for. I'm sure The Pony and Farmer H will not reject another sample. Besides, sometimes the whites tear apart during peeling. So I will have a cushion.

Anyhoo... that first paragraph was mainly for my own benefit, so I know how many eggs I have to deal with. 

The floaty egg I tossed off the back porch. I heard it crack. The dogs will probably lick it up, though they don't know what to do with an egg in an intact shell.

The burst-open boiled egg I tossed onto the back porch. It broke in two pieces as I took it out of the shell. I called the dogs, but none showed up. I went about cooling the other boiled eggs, and set them on my dish drainer to drip dry, before I put them back into the cartons until Wednesday, when I make my 7 Layer Salad, and Thursday, when the deviling begins.

I sat back down at HIPPE at the kitchen table, and heard crows cawing. LOUDLY! Two giant shiny black crows landed on the porch rail. That's unusual. Sometimes they land in the trees by POOLIO, at the edge of the woods. But not on the porch rail. That is for squirrels. I noticed that the boiled egg pieces were not on the porch. I suppose maybe the dogs had come around and eaten them while I was not watching.

Surely those crows didn't eat the boiled eggs! That would make them kind of cannibalistic. I know crows are scavengers. But for the love of Gummi Mary! You don't eat a close relative's unborn offspring! No matter how they're cooked!

I don't know why those crows were so feisty. It was unusual behavior for the Mansion porch. I can only surmise that it had something to do with the egg. Maybe not cause and effect, but surely a correlation.

A Good Day For Mrs. HM

You were almost robbed of a post today, because Mrs. HM has nothing to complain about. Instead, I will share how The Universe took a day off from conspiring against me.

I left home Monday ten minutes before I had planned. 

The sky was overcast, with rain supposedly coming, but it never appeared. 

I hit the stoplight green. 

Pump 4 was open when I stopped for T-Hoe's gas. 

Nobody was in line at the register.

The closest handicap space at the bank was open. Two cars in the lot, one in the other handicap space. As I was walking in, two women came out. So I had a teller ready to wait on me when I stepped through the door. As I left, there were two people waiting inside, and four cars parking.

I got the second handicap space at Country Mart. But wait! As I was picking up my purse, the car in the closest space backed out! So I moved T-Hoe over. It matters when coming out with a full cart, the cold wind whipping around. There was a CART sitting on the sidewalk by the building! I found two big salads that had all the regular ingredients, including the two halves of boiled eggs. My groceries were bagged logically, and nothing was smashed. 

Back in T-Hoe, I checked my phone, and Farmer H had sent a text that he was on the way home, and could carry in groceries.

When I scratched my lottery tickets, I had a $100 winner.

It was a very good day.

Genius Consults The Source For Some Devilish Advice

We rarely hear from Genius these days. Just a picture here and there from a trip he's on. I write him a letter every week. Sometimes I'll get a couple texts asking for more specifics. He will be here for Christmas, and we'll get to see him for a few hours. I know Genius has his own life to live, so I try to survive on these scraps tossed my way.

 

Saturday night at 11:00 (midnight in Pittsburgh!), I heard my phone buzz with a text. I figured it was The Pony, having woken from an after-work nap, checking in with something about investment houses, or his job. But no. It was Genius!

"Can you send me your deviled egg recipe when you have a chance? I want to make them later this week."

For Thanksgiving, I presume. And what else do I have but time to send an unwritten recipe? For about the third time.

"I don't measure, but I can give you the ingredients now. Yolks, ground black pepper, dill pickle juice, yellow mustard, mayo. Not much mayo."

"Pickle juice is the thing I was noticing missing. We were at a dinner tonight with friends and they just weren't as nice. I thought it was not enough mustard but now that you say that this was definitely the missing acid."

"Slice the green olives in thirds. Mustard is more important than the mayo, but pickle juice is vital. I usually do about 18 eggs, and start with 4 or 5 serving spoons of pickle juice. Lots of mustard. And maybe 1 serving spoon of mayo, another half if it's too dry."

Surely Genius can figure out how to make tasty deviled eggs with that description.

A Stray-Walker With A Conscience

It's no secret that Mrs. HM despises looks askance at people walking across parking lots directly into the already-moving path of T-Hoe. A giant vehicle, already in motion, has the right-of-way, unless the pedestrians are in a clearly-marked crossing made just for that purpose.

I was backing out of my rightful handicap space at 10Box on Friday afternoon. It was not the space right by the door, but the next one down, past the striped area designated for the cart-return. I was about halfway into the driving lane that passes across the front of the store, when I saw a small woman on my left, on the other side of a car parked in the closest handicap space, pushing her cart out the doors. I was rolling slowing in T-Hoe, my head on a swivel, because these stray-walkers have a way of darting out, and T-Hoe's sensor beeper doesn't work.

Stray-Walker kept pushing that cart. Cutting at an angle from the door, taking a long route that crossed T-Hoe's backing path. She kept coming, even though she looked right at me. Must have seen my eyes roll back in my head with contempt as I slammed on the brakes and came to a complete stop, halfway out of the parking space. Because she started jogging with that cart!

I think it would have been easier to simply stand and wait until I was out of her way. It wasn't raining. It wasn't freezing. Just a sunny mid-40s day. But no. She continued to insert herself into MY way, with that long angled path from door to her car that was parked up in the regular rows. Not even in the row behind me, but the next one over.

At least I see this as progress. A feeling of guilt from a stray-walker. Showing a little hustle, rather than moseying along like she owned that lot, and I was the intruder.