You'd Think Some Of That Energy Could Be Directed At Operating A Single Drive-Thru Lane

It is now six months since my bank had drive-thru service. Is that any way to run a money business? I think not. I would have changed banks by now, if it wasn't so much hassle to get new checks, debit cards, and set up new payment options in case I have to pay a bill online. They keep saying they can't hire enough people to cover both the counter and the drive-thru. It's quite an inconvenience for crippledy people like Mrs. HM!

Monday I went to the bank to deposit a check from The Pony for his half of the flip house expenses, and to withdraw cash to repay Farmer H for money he'd spent on such flip house accoutrements out of his own pocket. I was lucky to get the handicap space way down at the end of the building. And only one truck was in the parking lot. As I hobbled the distance of the building, another truck parked, a man got out, greeted the first truck driver, who was exiting, and went in ahead of me. Believe it or not, that second truck driver was already leaving, and held the door open for me as I entered. Mrs. HM is not a fast walker.

Two tellers were at their slots in the counter. Two other slots were empty. A lady sat at a desk to the right. I suppose she was the loan department. Another lady was walking around in the back. So that's four gals working. None at the drive-thru.

Left Lady said she could help me, even though she was spraying her slot like an exterminator. The Other Gal was just sitting at her slot terminal. Left Lady finished wiping that spray liquid all over her slot, then squirted a giant bottle of sanitizer on her hands. I was reluctant to set my check, deposit slip, and withdrawal slip down until that liquid evaporated. When I finally did, leaning on the front part of the counter to ease the burden on my cranky knees, Left Lady said:

"Whew! There was a guy just in here who coughed all over everything! I couldn't get out my sanitizer soon enough!"

"Oh. Great. I just leaned my hands on the counter!"

"I sprayed it!"

Well. She sprayed everything within the stream of that can of sanitizer. I don't think it could turn corners once it left the front of her slot. Anyhoo... I made note not to touch my face while out and about, until a good surgeon-hand-scrubbing when I got home.

Background Gal came out to Other Gal's area, and asked for some hundreds. Six.

"I need them because it's time to pay my mom rent. Isn't that sad? I live in my mom's house. At least I'm not in the basement in my underwear, eating Cheetos."

There was a bit of a kerfuffle when Other Gal couldn't find Background Gal's account. Then she started counting out the money. Heh, heh. I told them I WISH my kid lived in my basement. (Again.)

You'd think one of those four workers could have operated a drive-thru lane. They would only be steps away from the counter. It's a big long window, with computer terminals back there, and their own money drawers. Really. Seems like four workers is enough, to provide that service. They could still have their jokes and interactions with each other. 

AND there would be no germs all over their work area!

The Continuing Saga Of Trying To "Put Pupsie To Sleep"

The appointment for Pupsie's very special operation looms next week. I'm sure you will be shocked to learn that Farmer H has not been following the protocol I devised for trying to tame Pupsie. He might have spent five evenings over the past month, consciously encouraging Pupsie to take a treat, and allow petting. He has not moved the pet carrier to the location it will be needed. So Pupsie will no doubt be suspicious when it appears.

You may recall that Farmer H gave Pupsie some Benadryl. More than you'd think she would need by her supposed weight. Then a few days later, he gave Pupsie TWICE that amount of Benadryl. Pupsie looked a little out of it, but did not sleep. Did not calm down to be petted. Just walked around, glassy-eyed.

A few days ago, WITHOUT TELLING ME, Farmer H gave Pupsie a "sleep aid."

"The pharmacist give it to me."

"Wait! Are you taking a sleep aid?"

"No. It's for Pupsie. He said it should work. But I couldn't see no difference. I plan to stop by the vet office and ask again for something to give her. Or we'll have to cancel the appointment."

Monday afternoon, Farmer H sent me a text:

"The vet said to give Pupsie 90 mg of melatonin. I'll have to get some, and see what it does. The vet said to give it a couple hours before I need her to be loaded up."

"So you'll practice giving it to her, and sit around watching to see if she falls asleep somewhere?"

"Yeah. The vet said maybe pet her, and she'll wake up with me petting her, and see that it's all right."

"Did you tell them she might bite? Like when you 'pulled her tail' while petting her the other night, and she snapped at you?"

"Yeah. They said if I can get her there in a crate, they can give her something so she's calm."

We'll see how it goes. Pupsie REALLY needs her very special operation.

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom To The Rescue

After hearing of The Pony's queasiness on Saturday, I knew there was something I could do. Of course The Pony is an adult, and knows fully well how to take care of nausea and vomit, and how to use a phone to order supplies that might be needed. Still. The Pony has a mother! Within driving distance! No way could I let my little Pony suffer.

"Have you been taking your vitamin every day? Oh, wait! I remember you saying you were about out. And I forgot to give you another bottle when you were here for Easter."

"Yeah. I was out. I forgot to tell you."

"I'll bring you a bottle. Just in case it's some kind of virus coming on."

"Do YOU take two a day, like it says? Or just the one."

"It's summer now, so I just take one. I only take two (one morning and one night) if it feels like I'm getting a cold. That way it helps you fight off the virus right at the beginning. Like taking plain zinc, or vitamin C."

"Okay. I've been trying to think if I want to eat. Not yet."

"Stay hydrated. You can take a spoonful of water every five minutes or so. That's what I did when you were little. So it's not sloshing around, but you're getting water."

"Yeah. The last time I threw up, it was mostly water. I guess I drank too much at once. But I have that acid burn at the back of my throat. I know you don't want to hear this, but chunks came out my NOSE, too!!!"

"You're right. I didn't want to heat that!"

"I might have some oyster crackers left here somewhere. I could eat them."

"Or toast might be good."

"I don't have any bread. Or a toaster."

"I make toast in the oven."

"I had thought about maybe some crispy garlic toast. I make that in the oven."

I had planned to drop off the vitamins on Sunday, but figured I might as well do it Saturday when I went to town. Even if The Pony didn't feel like taking one that night, they would be there. It's a strawberry-flavored gummi square, not a giant horsepill vitamin. 

The thought crossed my mind about stopping by the store, but it was already 4:00 when I left home for the 30 minute drive. Besides, my knees were acting up more than usual, with the cloudy, sprinkly weather. So I grabbed what I had on hand that might be soothing to a poor Pony stomach. When I got there, The Pony came out to grab the vitamins, which I had put into a bag with the other stuff.

"Here's a care package for you. Also known as Random Expired Food From Mom's Pantry. There are four mini packs of Ritz Crackers. A third of a loaf of Hawaiian Bread. And about half a bag of Garlic Cheese Croutons. I figure you can snack on them for the dry crunch. The bread might not be good for garlic butter, but maybe you could make cinnamon toast. Or sugar toast."

The Pony rummaged through the bag with glee. It takes so little to please The Pony!

"Hmm. I think the sweetness of the Hawaiian Bread might be good with the garlic! Thanks. I love you, Mom! So much!"

"I love you too, my little Pony! Hope you feel better!"

As I type this, it's Sunday afternoon. I have not spoken yet today with The Pony. I figure recovery time and sleep is more important that a chat with me. I'm hoping The Pony is on the mend.

The Pony Was Under The Weather

It didn't rain at the Mansion on Friday. Sunny all day, until I started to town at 4:00. Dark clouds. The casher in 10Box said it had rained off and on all day. There were puddles in the parking lot. POOR PONY! The Pony got rained-on, and I DIDN'T EVEN WORRY! You know that would have made a difference, right? The protection of a mother's worry.

Anyhoo... when I called on Saturday morning, The Pony didn't sound perky. 

"I haven't had much sleep. I threw up at 3:00, and again at 4:00. I couldn't get back to sleep. I even went to my second bedroom, to try and sleep in that dead lady's bed, for a change of scenery."

"WHAT? I didn't know you had a bed in there."

"Yeah. The one Dad took out of the QuickFlip house. He was sure to tell me that it belonged to that dead old lady, but that she didn't die in it. I didn't have to know all that!"

Anyhoo... The Pony doesn't know what brought on the sickness. It doesn't seem to be from the rain, so soon. Doesn't seem to be a cold. Yet. And lest you point the accusatory finger at MY Easter Dinner leftovers, The Pony said they had been consumed or frozen by midweek. 

The Pony did not feel well enough to go to work, after giving it another 90 minutes to see if his symptoms improved. The only good thing was that this sudden food exit was only from one end. So far. 

Oh, well. That's what sick days are for. Can't be puking your guts out while walking 11 miles taking mail from house to house. That tends to slow you down.

A Slow Day At 10B0x

I stopped by 10Box on Friday afternoon, for bananas, baggies, and lemons. The store was not busy. It's the end of the month. I got the handicap parking space next to the door.

My items were all straight ahead from the entrance. Easy peasy. Only two checkouts were open. I went to the closest one, with the lady who suspected me of winning the big jackpot on a scratcher a few months ago. The young man assigned to the other open register was standing there chatting with her.

"No, really. Like Guy. Hunter has one, I think."

Young Man went back to his checkout when I pulled in my cart. My Cashier asked how I was doing. I said I was trying to get out ahead of the weather. The clouds were black. She said it had rained on and off all day. Huh. Not at the Mansion. I shared that I had been caught by surprise with the rain the previous day.

"I know! I was outside grilling hamburgers! I wondered if maybe I should just finish them inside. There was no rain in the forecast!"

I told her of getting soaked while trying to get gas. Then she motioned her head to the entrance.

"That's what we were talking about. That man on the scooter. Is that his real hair? Or fake?"

I took a look. It was a 60-something man on a beeper cart, parking it back in the vestibule between the glass doors. He was wearing a visor. His hair was spiky, and yellow-orange.

"I'd say that's fake hair. I know you could get that color, but the texture looks like it's fake. They make those visors with fake hair. I've seen them on TV. Like boaters on like Louisiana Law. People out on the lake, with visors with fake hair."

Young Man came over and agreed. My Cashier had no idea such a product was made and sold. Now she knows. It pays to watch TV, I guess. I'm pretty sure Young Man had been telling her about Guy's Grocery Games. Guy's son Hunter is on it sometimes, and I can imagine him wearing a visor with fake Guy Fieri hair.

The Universe Conspires Some More

Hard to believe that we could put men on the moon 45 years ago, and the President could talk to them on a landline... but we can't predict the weather a day out, with our current technology.

I started to town on Thursday for my errand day. It was nice and sunny when I got in the shower. Temps in the upper 70s. But when I rolled up the driveway in T-Hoe, I saw black clouds. Huh. That was NOT in the forecast! 

By the time I got to Sis-Town, rain was sluicing down. You may recall that T-Hoe's windshield wipers have two speeds. Or perhaps I should say TOO speeds. Too slow, and too fast. I drove to the Sis-Town Casey's for T-Hoe's weekly gas. The rain was a deluge. So I passed on by, and headed out to my bank. You know, the bank without anybody to operate the drive-thru lanes.

The sun even shines on Mrs. HM's rumpus some days. The rain slowed to a mere sprinkle. The sky was light. Of course somebody was parked in the handicap space. No placard, no plate giving them that legal privilege. I parked on the far side of them, and hobbled inside. Huh. It was an old lady. She seemed spry enough not to need that handicap space. It's not like it put her closer to the door for the rain. That handicap space is at the end of the building. The only benefit is a ramp instead of a step up to the sidewalk to get inside.

Anyhoo... I did my banking business, then headed back to Casey's for gas. I was behind that wave of rain. Only one person ahead of me inside. Yet when I started out, the deluge had returned. I got soaked! It's not like I could wait under the Casey's roof to see if the rain slackened. There are only a couple minutes before the pumps won't recognize that you just paid inside. Then you have to go back in and have the clerk reset it. So slowly I hobbled, drenched to the skin, to get under the roof of at the pumps. While pumping, I heard my phone. A text from The Pony:

"Stopped to take a lunch, because WOW 'sudden very heavy rain' was not forecast on my weather app this morning..."

"Yeah. I'm soaked, getting gas."

At Country Mart, I waited for the rain to lessen. Lucky for me there was a cart/walker to push while hobbling from the handicap space to the front door. Too bad the porch area was taken up by pallets of potting soil, and racks of plants. No roof over Mrs. HM as she had to ambulate on the slanted blacktop of the roadway, to bypass those privileged products under roof. Inside, my hands were so wet that the lottery machine did not want to recognize that I was a human on its touch screen. And I had to dry my debit card on my pants when checking out, because it had gotten soaked in my shirt pocket.

April showers are not Mrs. HM's friend.

Jack Rumpus

I was petting Jack a few days ago, upon return from my town trip. We were at the side porch. Pupsie was being aloof, as usual, after trying to go past me into the garage people door. I think she still remembers how Scarlett disappeared there. 

Anyhoo... Jack had backed up between the metal chair where I set grocery bags, and the rail for the steps. In his wriggling with pleasure, he bumped his every-expanding rumpus into a ceramic/resin dog statue that Farmer H likes to collect and display around the porch/grounds. I think this one is an Irish Setter, sitting. The fake dog toppled over. Jack was startled, and skittered towards me. No harm done. 

Jack is supplementing his dog food and daily treat diet with BABY MOLES! I have seen Jack and Pupsie numerous times in the front yard/field, digging and sticking their snoots into the soil. In fact, Pupsie always has dried dirt around her muzzle. I'm not complaining. We don't want a mole infestation like our neighbor down the gravel road. Better to have a few holes dug by our doggies than a series of collapsing tunnels used by moles. Fewer moles means fewer tunnels.

Anyhoo... the next day I saw that Farmer H had righted the fake dog. I can't wait to hear him blame Pupsie! I do not plan to squeal on Jack.