Suddenly, I'm More Persuasive Than Usual

During the frigid weather and windy snow on Saturday, I looked out the laundry room door window, and saw ICE covering my little Jack's water bowl! It wasn't solid yet. A cracked layer on top. The thing is, it's a HEATED water bowl! And it was plugged in.

There had been two heated water bowls. Unplugged, for summer. When we got Lucky (the still missing rescue dog), I told Farmer H to take one of the water bowls out to his house. That's because Farmer H said that on one day, Lucky had stepped in his water bowl and turned it over. These have sloped sides. Not easy to tip over. Even when Pupsie (the still missing dog Scarlett [the happily re-adopted Australian Shepherd] had stolen and brought home) used to dig all the water out with her paws.

Anyhoo... I told Farmer H in a text. He replied that he'd have to take a look at it and see why it wasn't working! Well. That would do my little Jack no good when he was thirsty! The fake fish pond has had ice on it for a few days, never thawing during the day in the shade. So he couldn't drink there.

Also, I'd been telling Farmer H to put more cedar shavings in the doghouse outside the kitchen door. It used to belong to my Sweet, Sweet Juno. But both The Pony and Farmer H said they'd seen Jack come out of it. He used to prefer sleeping in the haybales over on Shackytown Boulevard during cold weather. Maybe he wants to stay closer to us, now that his companions are gone.

Anyhoo... Farmer H had been putting me off. Saying, "I'm pretty sure I have part of a bag in the garage." Yet he never brought any out.

I told him by text:

"Please get cedar shavings and a water bowl! I'm worried about Jack in the cold."

AND HE DID!!!

On the way home Saturday, Farmer H stopped by Rural King, and indeed came home with a bag of cedar shavings, and a new heated water bowl.

I wish I knew how to be that persuasive all the time! I think Farmer H might feel a bit of guilt for not yet getting me another dog.

The Never-Ending Day

Sweet Gummi Mary! This day seems 72 hours long! It's Saturday. As forecast (for once), our snow showed up in the wee hours this morning. It took Farmer H 45 minutes to get to his SUS2.5. Surely you didn't think he'd stay home! On his way out the door, he said,

"I probably won't do much business, but my people will be there!"

We were supposed to get two inches. I could see that when daybreak came shortly after 7:00, being delayed by the gloominess. By 9:00, I could see where the squirrels had scampered away part of the snow on the porch rail. At 11:00, a melt was in progress. Now it's 1:21, and there's still a bit of snow on the grass, and on the porch deck.

Even worse, it's now RAINING! Not a lot. Just enough to be sloppy. The temperature is up to 38. But I'm NOT GOING TO TOWN! The wind is gusting to 33 mph. I'm cold just sitting here with my undertable heater. I had planned for this scenario. I got some extra scratchers yesterday, and asked Farmer H to pick me up some crosswords and Christmas Lights tickets before he comes home.

I would survive a trip to town. I'm pretty sure the snow is melted off the pavement. T-Hoe has been refurbished. I regret missing one of Fave's days at the Gas Station Chicken Store, since they were also closed on Thanksgiving. But I don't want to get wet. I don't need a chill.

I've done a load of laundry. Washed the dishes. Added a can of green beans to the leftovers so they'll last longer. Built and ate a delicious bacon/turkey/salad wrap. Wrote out checks to pay the Lowe's bill, and our personal credit card bill. Typed up two blog posts on still-kickin' HIPPIE with his cantankerous space bar. I'm thinking about filling out Farmer H's business tax form, to get his business license for next year. Nothing good is on TV. I conquered Wordle.

There's only about 4 hours left until Farmer H is home with my scratchers...

A Routine Thanksgiving Ritual

I'm off to town in a couple hours. On my way to The Pony's house. Once again, The Pony has forgotten some leftovers from our Thanksgiving feast. It happens every year. Some things are packed ahead, like the "vinchtables" The Pony loves. Others are gathered after the meal. There are designated containers that don't need to be returned. And a box from Save A Lot to haul everything in as Farmer H drives The Pony home.

I even went through a checklist before they departed.

"Do you have ham? Your bag of salad? Dressing? Deviled eggs? Stuffing? Your rolls? Oreo cake? The red onion, and boiled eggs for your salad? The bread? Any little pickles? Do you want pickles? Or olives?"

Yes, The Pony had everything. Quite sure. Off they went.

I called Friday morning. Because Thursday night, after reminding The Pony by text to send me the pictures of everybody's plate, I also received this reply:

"You forgot to give me a bread loaf!"

Well. It was right there in the cabinet, where we've kept the bread since we moved into the Mansion. And I HAD asked if the bread was among the leftovers packed. Silly me. Perhaps I should have presented that half-loaf of Hawaiian Bread on a silver platter!

Anyhoo... I love The Pony. And I will drive that bread over to Pony House. Along with the used-once bottle of Caesar Dressing that was forgotten on the door of FRIG II.

After all, I have them here. I don't need to fight the non-Black-Friday shoppers clogging the grocery stores, stocking up on bread and eggs and milk ahead of the supposed winter storm that might bring us 2 inches of snow on Friday night.

Mrs. HM's Work Is Never Done

It's three minutes 'til midnight, and I'm tired. Tired from Thanksgiving preparations, and tired of fighting with HIPPIE's space bar. I just finished washing half the dishes. I would have done them all, but there's not room in the other side of the sink to put more for draining. Don't you dare suggest I use a towel to dry them! The air can do that. It's enough that I hand-wash them.

I'm so tired I could lay my head down on the table and sleep right here. My heater is nice and toasty on my legs. I fear my rumpus might revolt over sitting on a hard wooden chair the rest of the night. So I'll go to the short couch to watch TV. I might make it five minutes before I nod off. I hope there's a good program on...

HIPPIE Is Dying

I fear that my loyal laptop, HIPPIE, is not long for this world. Soon he will be shooting through that invisible techno bridge, to live on a big data farm upstate.

HIPPIE has not really recovered from his near-drowning, when I spilled my morning medication water across his keyboard. A full red Solo cup!!! Oh, I thought I had drained and dried him out. But now HIPPIE is overheating. It started a couple days ago.

BLACK SCREEN OF DEATH!

Then a message on a DOS screen upon restart. I swear it said HIPPIE had reached 900 degrees! Wouldn't that set my wooden kitchen table on fire? And my lying pants? Perhaps I misread it. Seems that while I might be comfortable computing on the surface of the sun, roasting my achy knees... HIPPIE, himself, would not.

I seem to have about 2 hours before HIPPIE gets hot under the keyboard. I hear the fan running, but I suppose it's not effective.

NOW, today, HIPPIE has a new old idiosyncrasy. The space bar is cantankerous. That happened right after the near-drowning. Went away. and is back. You think you're typing right along, but then see you've created a 237-letter word. It's slow going when you have to watch what you're typing onscreen. And double- or quadruple-hitting the space bar before it works. Plus backspacing when you move on too fast.

I need to tell The Pony to bring out the "new" computer we got for me two Christmases ago.

I'll leaveyou with an exampleoftypingalong whileI think the space barisworking normally...

What Do You Give A Woman Who Has Everything (If You're Farmer H)

Farmer H came home with my anniversary present on Monday evening. He had a nice card, and even wrote something meaningful in it!!! My gift was quite a surprising sight. Not because of what it was, but because of how BIG it was!

Yes. Farmer H brought me a giant box of candy. I'm not complaining! I'm not a plant or flowers person, and I don't want jewelry or clothing. Candy is good. But maybe not quite so much...

Of course I thanked Farmer H. I DID tell him I like the gift, but that I may not open it until after Thanksgiving. You know, because I sure don't need CANDY during four (or more) days of feasting. Yes, I will share the candy. But I get first choice of my favorite kinds!

Moving that box around was like carrying a surfboard! Though I've never actually carried a surfboard. That's how I imagine it would be. Awkward. Do I NEED 33 pieced of candy? Not-Heaven, NO! Do I WANT 33 pieces of candy? Well, maybe 20, heh, heh.

Lucky for me, the back of the box shows the flavors. That's good! You wouldn't want a box of chocolates to be like life!

My favorites are the Dark Chocolate Coconut Cluster, Dark Chocolate Coconut Creme, Dark Chocolate Truffle, Dark Chocolate Orange Creme. For sure, Farmer H can have the Dark Chocolate Vanilla Creme. Everything else is pretty good for me, but those I will share. The Pony doesn't like dark chocolate. Nor strawberry. I imagine the Milk Chocolate Pecan Delight will be one of the first to go.

Thanks, Farmer H. It's the thought that counts. And chocolate is pretty good, too!

It's Been A Long Time

Another milestone has been reached here at the Mansion. I said milestone. Not millstone. I'm not sure how Farmer H might read that. 

Monday was our 36th wedding anniversary. 

I know that Farmer H remembered. Because Sunday evening, he said, "Well, tomorrow is our anniversary." That's before I said anything about it to him. And after I got him a card and a cookie-cake at Country Mart that morning, to keep hidden.

We are simple people. No grand celebration is needed. Not even special writing on the cookie. Right off the shelf. 

Farmer H loves a cookie-cake. It was a gift from the heart, not an attempt to kill him. He seeks out sugar on a daily basis, and would have gotten his allotment elsewhere if I didn't bring it into the Mansion. I used to give him a box of sugar-free chocolates, a Whitman Sampler. But he'd eat it as well as sugary treats.

The card says, "I'll love you until I croak." Heh, heh. I think that's a pretty good likeness of us on the front.

Farmer H liked it when he discovered it Monday morning.

"I haven't got your card yet. I've been busy. But I'm getting it today. It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

I'm pretty sure he meant that in a good way...