The Universe Throws The Pony A Brick

During the random minutes throughout the day when I am not feeling sorry for myself because I've HAD NO ICE CUBES FOR A WEEK, and was TRAPPED IN THE MANSION WITHOUT SCRATCHERS because of flash-flooding... I have been worrying about The Pony.

You know that pouring rain that caused the flash floods also fell on The Pony, right? During his 8-hour work day walking 11 miles to deliver the mail. We got no mail. That's understandable. A car is not a boat, so our rural carrier could not get to Mailbox Row. At least the temperature was in the mid-60s, a range that The Pony finds comfortable. Let's hope The Pony was not wearing a windbreaker and a jacket. Another rash would be the icing on this unfortunate spite cake from The Universe.

The Pony sent me three short videos Monday night, of his travels through his own flooding. Oh, and one that morning before work, as well. I'd love to share them, but cannot, as they take up too much of something electronic-y transmit-y to send to my blog. I'm pretty sure the problem is with my meager internet.

Anyhoo... before work, I got a video from The Pony looking out his back door at his Rogue in the driveway. Which was sitting in three or four inches of water that also covered The Pony's back porch.

"Well! So much for keeping my shoes dry!"

I advised The Pony to take off his shoes and carry them to the car. Alas, he had already left for work by the time the video loaded on my phone. It would only have delayed the wet shoes by about an hour, until The Pony had his mail cased and loaded in his Metris for delivery.

Later in the evening, I sent a text asking if The Pony was okay. It was 4:58. The Pony was home from work, but sent me the three videos. Which showed those poor shoes, slogging through ankle-deep water, in what looked like a shallow lake. When crossing a bridge, The Pony showed the rapidly-flowing water, and caught a BRICK bobbing along. Crossed to the other side of the bridge, and showed that brick sailing down the stream. Water has to flow pretty fast to carry a BRICK on the surface!

Anyhoo... The Pony was home, and drying out, trying to decide what to order to have delivered for supper. No shade here. The Pony deserved to have delivery, after such a hard day of work.

The Universe Is Laughing

Still no ice at the Mansion. We'll get to the rest (hopefully!) of that story another day.

Farmer H had three days of the mostaccioli. That's three days for him. It would be six servings for "normal" people, but I don't begrudge Farmer H his appetite. Since he went to bed (in a fit of pique) without supper on Saturday, that left Sunday and Monday to finish out his mostaccioli. However... Farmer H declared that he was going to the auction on Monday, and then reminded me that he had election duty on Tuesday. So there were two meals I didn't have to prepare for him.

I fed Farmer H the mostaccioli on Sunday evening, then put the rest in two smaller containers in the (non-ice-cube-making) freezer of FRIG II. Oh, the freedom! Such anticipation. Two evenings without Farmer H!

But no. The rains came, and flooded out our bridges, and Farmer H could not get to the auction on Monday evening! WHYYYYYY?????? That meant I had to make supper for Farmer H. Oh, how simple it would have been to warm up that mostaccioli, which was now rock-solid in FRIG II. 

Almost as simple was the fried SPAM sandwich (make that two) Farmer H was provided instead.

Anyhoo... here's a look at that mostaccioli, in the container straight out of FRIG II, before freezing.

If I was eating this, I would add more sauce! Even if it was poured directly from a can or jar. Enough sauce to make it red, and moist, to be eaten with a spoon. Farmer H prefers his pasta on the dry side, like this. He eats it with a fork. I did sprinkle in some shredded cheddar to melt. And gave him a couple slices of garlic toast from a box in the little freezer in the laundry room. 

It looked more appetizing in a bowl, heated up with the cheese, than it does cold in this container! After all, Farmer H declared it was the best I ever made. Which perhaps says more about my cooking than it should.

Mrs. HM Does Not Fulfill Farmer H's Model Needs

Well. The Mansion still does not have ice. Are you shocked? I didn't think so...

Around 5:20 on Saturday, Farmer H called and said he was looking at the filters for ice makers at Lowe's, and there were about 10 different kinds, and did I know what was FRIG II's model number.

"How would I know that?"

"You have to look for it."

"Where?"

"I don't know. Inside?"

"You'll have to wait until I can get up and get over there."

Mrs. HM is not spry. It takes a couple minutes of standing to unstiffen her knees so she can walk. I tried to hurry from the kitchen table to FRIG II. Nothing in the freezer side that would apply. Nothing on the door, or the wall inside, or on the ice-making unit itself. No metal plate like inside the stove. But the refrigerator side had writing on the wall!

"It says there's an optional icemaker kit, Model JSI-26."

"No. That's not it."

"Or there's a model number FFHS2611PFAA."

"Just a minute. Let me ask this gal for a pencil. Okay."

"Model number FFHS2611PFAA."

"You don't have to have an attitude!"

"So you called to ask for the model number, but you didn't even have something to write it down?"

"Don't talk to me like that! BYE!"

Yes, I'm sure my tone conveyed my annoyance. But that's no reason to hang up on the person who got up to read you the numbers you asked for.

Farmer H came though the kitchen door a half-hour later, NOT carrying a filter for FRIG II's icemaker.

"That's no way to talk to me! The Lowe's gal heard everything you said, and I had the phone up to my ear!" [Said the man who is deaf, with his phone turned to maximum volume, so I can hear every word in the kitchen when he has it to his ear in the living room.]

"I just gave you the model number. TWICE! You're the one who hung up on me."

"I did not hang up on you! I said BYE!"

"So you went off to buy a filter for the icemaker, but you didn't write down the model number?"

"I looked at it this morning!"

"Then why did you have to call me?"

"I didn't have the number!"

"I thought you looked at it this morning. But you couldn't even tell me where it was."

"I TOOK A PICTURE of the refrigerator this morning!"

"You didn't even look inside?"

Farmer H threw up his hands and declared that it wasn't worth talking to me! He went to his recliner mouthing that I should just go get a divorce. Then he stormed into the bedroom and slammed the door. Because, you know, him going to bed without supper is the worst punishment he could ever give me!

Don't take it out on ME because you were unprepared to buy a filter for the ice-maker. WHO takes a picture of the OUTSIDE of a refrigerator to use as a reference for buying a specific part??? (Except maybe Blog Buddy Kathy's HeWho.)

Farmer H is the one who should be embarrassed about what that Lowe's salesgal thought of him. Not me. She's never seen me. Who gives a fat rat's rumpus what she thinks of me, from hearing my frustrated voice read Farmer H the model number that even a legally-blind person could have found inside FRIG II before going off to look for a part.

The Mansion Is Falling Down Around Our Ears

You may recall that I was having stove problems. Nothing has changed. Farmer H bought a thermometer to check and see if the built-in oven thermostat is working right. But it sits on the counter. I'm not doing the experimenting. That's Farmer H's job!

Now FRIG II's icemaker is on the fritz. I have been telling Farmer H about it for at least five days. From the very first day I noticed. It had been in a frenzy, making lots and lots of ice, which was just fine with me. It would stop when that little lever thingy was resting on the pile of ice built up in the bin. When I'd use ice, the lever would go down, and a new batch of ice would form and be spilled out.

I told Farmer H that the icemaker didn't seem to be working. He grunted. Didn't do anything. I told him a couple times on each of the next few days. He would swear that he just heard a batch of ice dump out. Since there was still a supply of ice in the bin, it was hard to tell. But I did NOT hear the usual humming and grinding and popping noises that the icemaker emits.

Finally I took out the bin on Friday evening, and chopped out a small iceberg, and returned the usable cubes to the bin. Grumbling all the while about how I guessed I'd just buy a bag of ice every day to put in the bin. I'd done that before when there was a malfunction. Farmer H came to the kitchen about an hour later, and peered into the freezer. He said he would go by Lowe's on his way home Saturday evening, and get a new filter. I think that's what he did before to fix the problem.

Farmer H asked if I was still able to get water out of the door spout, because if I could, the filter wasn't the problem. No. I don't get my water out of the freezer door, but out of the kitchen faucet. Did Farmer H try to get water, to see if it worked? Nope. I guess he's just going to put in a new filter anyway. I hope that's the issue. We DO have hard water and no water softener. So very likely it could be mineral deposits in the filter.

A Rare Compliment To The Chef

Friday, I made pasta for Farmer H's next three suppers. Even though I don't normally eat it, I don't buy spaghetti noodles because I don't like them. Too hard to eat, too messy to eat, annoying to scrape off the sides of the pan they're boiled in. When The Pony was here, he liked macaroni noodles. I prefer a rigatoni, or a penne. I don't really know my noodles all that well. I just look at their shape before buying them. This time, I got mostaccioli noodles.

I don't like taking 90 minutes out of my evening time to make Farmer H's supper and clean up. So I made them during the morning. That's fine with Farmer H. Unlike The Pony, and sometimes me, Farmer H prefers his noodles without much sauce. He says they're better the second day. You know, after they've absorbed all the sauce, and are practically just moist noodles.

I boiled a whole bag of the mostaccioli noodles. Made the sauce from a jar, minced garlic, black pepper, ground beef, and canned mushrooms. Also a dab of butter, and a teaspoon of sugar. When the noodles had been drained, I mixed everything together in the pot I used for boiling the noodles. The concoction looked too dry for me. So I added another can of sauce. I put Farmer H's pasta into two large containers, let them cool a bit, and put them in FRIG II. Then I was able to wash up the pot and pan and utensils and strainer and skillet I had used for frying the ground beef.

That evening, I asked Farmer H if he wanted just one bowl of his pasta, or a bit more. He said a bit more. So I took out enough for two bowls. He wanted two pieces of (frozen) garlic toast. It was easy enough to warm his already-cooked pasta, and put the garlic toast in the oven.

Farmer H said after eating: "That was some of the best spaghetti you ever made!"

Well. Glad he enjoyed it. He's got two more days to go. Looks like I won't have to freeze any leftovers after all.

A Trite Confession From Mrs. HM

In the midst of my current scratcher losing streak, I wanted to kick myself on Tuesday for being so careless. I had gone to Save A Lot for raisin bread and salsa and the individual potato chips that I can't find elsewhere. Of course I stopped on the way in, to get some scratchers out of their machine.

First of all, there was a woman standing in front of it. Not enough to block me. She was talking to her buddy, who was playing one of those illegal slot machines next to the lottery machine. "Oh, I'm sorry. Let me get out of your way."

"That's okay. I can get to it."

She moved over, and I scanned in my meager winnings. I think I had a $5 winner, and two $3 winners. Anyhoo... the machine was cantankerous about scanning them. I had already pushed the button for one ticket, which was in the tray. I got my other winners to scan, and then pushed the same button again! I only buy crosswords or the three-dollar tickets consecutively, and this machine was not stocked with crosswords. So I was mad at myself for that. I fed in some actual money, to get two of the new Christmas three-dollar tickets. People entering the store were passing by me, getting carts from the cart corral behind me. I made sure not to stick my ample rumpus in their way before bending over to get my tickets.

The ladies continued their conversation as I did my shopping, and one was just leaving as I got in line to pay. Looked like she had bought some scratchers, because she was standing up from the tray when I looked over.

Once outside in T-Hoe, I wrote down my purchase in the checkbook register. Then I wrote initials on the back of my tickets, so I'd know where they came from. Dang it! I only had ONE of those three-dollar Christmas tickets! I guess it had been caught in the machine, having not fallen into the tray when I picked up my other tickets. I know I had used up all the credit I had in the machine, because it showed a zero balance when I picked up my tickets.

Huh. I guess that woman got my other three-dollar ticket. Not that I expected it to be a big winner. They don't win often, and when they do, it's usually just $3 or $6. I couldn't really be mad at that woman, even though she had seen me buying tickets, and had glanced over to the front of the store as I was checking out in the register closest to her.

After all... when I was in 10Box last week, two crosswords fell down into the tray as I was picking up my tickets. So there were four crosswords, when I had only bought two. I took them!!! There was nobody at the lottery machines. Nobody coming or going from the time I had entered the store. So nobody to return them to. I've tried to tell the cashiers when I've found a ticket there before, but they said there was nothing they could do. Other times, I've just left them. But these were CROSSWORDS! I took them. Both were losers.

I'd think this was the reason for my losing streak, but it was well underway before that incident.

Sweet Gummi Mary! Now She's A Kidnapper!

Our adopted dog Scarlett has been gradually getting better with her manners. She will almost always go to the spot on the side porch by the chair now, and await my pats. Not so feisty during petting. Actually sits down sometimes, and gazes into my eyes. Sadly, I must neglect my little Jack during these times, lest Scarlett shove him off the porch to regain sole attention. Don't you worry about Jack. He gets his pats before I leave. Even Scarlett understands this schedule. She stands back and doesn't crowd in at leave time.

Tuesday afternoon, I had to be cross with Scarlett. She always runs into the garage when I get home. Stands and watches me, all wiggly, while I slide out of T-Hoe. She doesn't jump. She waits for me to close the T-Hoe's door before she edges past me to go to the front of the garage, and await the opening of the people-door. If I'm getting stuff out of the back, I push the button that open's T-Hoe's hatch. Scarlett goes back there and puts her front feet on the bumper. I pet her a few minutes, then say, "We're done!" and she gets down and goes out to bark at Copper Jack.

The reason for the crossness Tuesday was that I had the hatch open, and was walking back there, but Scarlett went past me towards the front. Not a problem. EXCEPT... she ran back and BRUSHED AGAINST MY LEGS, getting me off-balance. Good thing I was holding onto T-Hoe with my left hand as I was walking.

"NO! BAD DOG!"

Scarlett might be goofy (heh, heh, MIGHT), but she is not stupid. She knew she did wrong. She ran out of the garage. Not to bark at Copper Jack, because he's been tied up for a week. Hunting season is starting, and he is deer-looking enough that our neighbor doesn't let him run during hunting seasons.

Anyhoo... when I got my box of groceries, and went out the people-door, Scarlett was LYING on the side porch, looking embarrassed and sorry, reaching her head occasionally for a bite of dry food from her bowl. I've never seen her eat while lying down! I set the box on the chair, and called her over, and we had our pats. 

This is her biggest transgression lately, brushing against my legs while I'm walking. She did it a couple weeks ago on the porch. I can't put up with that. She can hurt me. It gets her an angry NO and BAD DOG and scolding. She gets the message, at the time. Let's hope she will remember.

Now for the latest questionable behavior... Wednesday around noon, as I was sitting at HIPPIE at the kitchen table, I saw Scarlett heading around the kitchen nook on the porch, going to the water bowl. BEHIND HER WAS A PUPPY!

What in the Not-Heaven??? Where did Scarlett get a puppy? It was big enough to be weaned, but still very puppy-ish. Looked like a beagle. The white, brown, and black markings. White-tipped tail standing up like an exclamation mark. Trotting along after Scarlett, through the crunchy leaves that fell in the past two days, and sailed directly onto our porch from the 20-feet-away treeline.

Scarlett came back around, completely ignoring the pup, who pranced along as happy as could be. I sent Farmer H a text about it. He said

"Well maybe we now have another dog"

"Maybe. Or somebody might be on Facebook looking for it."

If it's still here when Farmer H gets home, I'll make sure he checks our enclave's Facebook page. I sure don't want to steal anybody's puppy. Don't know how we'll keep Scarlett from kidnapping it again, though.