Mrs. HM, The Inadvertent Magician

I never had dreams of being a magician. I still don't want to be a magician. Watching David Blaine specials are the extent of my interest. I don't even like David Copperfield or Penn & Teller.

Monday morning, I became a magician. I am still paying the price. 

I had just sat down at the kitchen table and fired up HIPPIE. My vision wasn't clear, so I pulled off my glasses and took a look. There was a giant smudge on the left lens. Well. Don't get me started on where THAT came from! I don't believe I made it appear. My glasses had been lying on the TV table next to the short couch. Farmer H was gone. I'd worn them while playing Wordle and checking The Pony's daily Cash4Life ticket, without any smudges. From there, I'd put them directly on top of my head after picking them up by the earpieces. Then I'd lowered them to my face at the table, also using the earpieces.

Anyhoo... I have a bottle of glasses cleaner that my mom gave me. It's four or five inches tall, full of clear liquid. It's incredible how LITTLE of this stuff you use. My mom died in 2015. So I've had it 10 years! She was so excited to give it to me. "Honey, if you run out, they refill it for FREE!" I think she got it at the optical shop in the Devil's Playground.

Anyhoo... this bottle sits on the chair next to me, in a box with my "files" for the flip houses. I took it out and set the clear cap on the table. As I reached for a half of a Select-A-Size paper towel to use after spritzing the cleaner on my glasses, I knocked the cap over the edge of the table. I heard it hit the floor. I was careful not to move my feet. I didn't want to break that clear lid.

I MADE THE LID DISAPPEAR!

It has to be somewhere in the kitchen. I spent 15 minutes looking for it. Kind of hard to see, because it's CLEAR! In my younger better-knees days, I would have gotten down and looked across the floor. Now I have to look from above. The lid is gone! I've looked behind every chair leg, around the pedestal of the table, under my heater, behind me, across from me into Farmer H's table territory, in the box of files, in the edge of my purse. It's like that lid has vaporized.

I don't want all my precious mom-given glasses-cleaning fluid to evaporate! My next step is using the broom to sweep the entire kitchen, and hopefully find that clear lid. If that doesn't find it, I will wrap the top with plastic wrap. And start looking at the store for similar bottles with similar lids. Just to get a lid!

Spilling Tea On A Denizen

You may recall from my not-so-secret blog that Farmer H has been having trouble with a Denizen of the place he likes to have lunch. Once they were fast friends, but for a while now, she has not treated him nicely. Ignoring him is a favor, according to Farmer H's tales of her slights.

Anyhoo... now that Denizen has been banned from "working" there for free, Farmer H has been approached by other eaters, and asked if he might want to play bar bingo again. You may recall that Farmer H enjoyed his Wednesday nights out, though I probably enjoyed them more!

Farmer H said that yes, he liked playing bingo, until the strife of the broken relationship, the reason for which he still has no clue.

"But won't you still run into her there? Doesn't she still play bingo?"

"No! They got mad, and quit going. It seems like they do something, then expect favors, and get mad if they don't get them."

"Why would they get mad playing bingo?"

"Well, you know we used to eat our supper there. That's why places have the bingo for free. To bring people in, and hope they buy drinks and food. I liked their food. I had no problem ordering supper there. But I guess Denizen quit having food. They said she would just order a soda, then get refills. And she had cherries in her soda. So when she asked for a refill, she asked for more cherries. Finally, they told her that only the first refill was free. Then she's have to buy another soda. And they said they would have to charge a quarter for each cherry after the first time. Someone said she was eating a whole jar of cherries during the bingo."

"Huh. I guess she'd rather give up bingo there rather than pay for food and drinks."

"Yeah. Seems like it."

I can understand the business policy. They say that bingo is free. That doesn't mean they are giving away soda and cherries! After all, they have to pay to be a part of the bar bingo, and for the prizes. It's one thing for people to come in just to play bingo. They don't have to buy anything. But when they expect "FREE" soda and cherries, that's something else entirely.

Recent Rains Wreak Havoc In Hillmomba

Four days of rain is taking its toll in Hillmomba. We are able to get out, though an alternate route to town must be used. It only adds a couple miles to the journey. Better safe than drowned!

Farmer H said there was a water rescue on Friday night. Over on the other road out of our enclave. The route we take when going to the city. There's a low water bridge on that county road. I can't believe people will drive into running water. Be safe! Turn around, don't drown! That's the slogan here in Missouri. It's probably used elsewhere, but it's always on the news channels and websites. I hope whoever it was really got rescued. I haven't seen anything on the news about fatalities in this area. So that's a good thing.

On the way to town Saturday, an emergency vehicle came up behind me on the county lettered highway. Let the record show that I was going the speed limit of 55 mph, and this auto was in a very big hurry, with red and blue lights flashing. There's no shoulder, but I signaled and pulled over as far to the right as I could get. The emergency vehicle flew past me. Good thing the oncoming traffic was slow. It was a tractor. He couldn't get over, but stopped to let the emergency vehicle fly past. I couldn't even tell if it was an ambulance or law enforcement. I was too busy getting out of the way. It looked like an SUV that the county sheriff's department uses.

In town, Fave reported that she was having a boring shift at the Gas Station Chicken Store. People stay home during bad weather on a Saturday. 

Two employees at 10Box passed on the sidewalk as I was going in. One told the other to make sure some guy brought in the plants before closing. Heh, heh. Always the comedian, I said: "To make sure they don't get wet!" The gal laughed, and responded, "To make sure nobody STEALS them!"

While I was getting my tickets out of the machines, there was a kerfuffle as other employees rushed to deal with a LEAK that was coming into the building. The carpet between the double doors was soaked. I assume it's because water pooled and was running in. The parking lot kind of slants down to the building.

Sunday, the rain is supposed to finally end. Not soon enough for me!

A Sticky Predicament

You may recall that last Thursday, I gouged out a small portion of my arm epidermis while trying to put away Farmer H's mini cheeseburgers that he takes for lunch at his SUS2.5. In stemming the flow of blood from this (possibly) attempted murder plot, I put on a bandaid.

I left it on for two or three days. I felt like that wound was healing. It had a little itch. So I took off the bandaid. Well. The wound itself looked good. The injury happened on March 27. The bandaid did more damage than the cheeseburger box!

This picture is from Monday, March 31. The itch was NOT the healing of the gouge, but the reaction of my skin to the adhesive on the bandaid. It got more and more itchy over the next few days. As I type this on Saturday, April 5, the itch has gone. But the red splotches still remain, and the wound itself has just the tiniest scab particle that is hardly noticeable.

It was not a brand name bandaid. Just a store brand. It was the only choice, unless I wanted a giant patch about 3 x 4 inches. I am loathe to throw them away, because Farmer H is often nicking himself on metal or wood, and needs them. I just can't remember which bandages do this to my skin.

Hmm. Surely Farmer H doesn't plant these bandaids where I'll be sure to use them...

Farmer H Reclines To His Own Drummer

We had storms again on Friday. Hillmomba was under a flash flood warning. Supposedly we will get between six and eight inches of rain by Sunday afternoon. That's okay. The Mansion sits high upon a hill. We know to take alternate routes when the creek is up. The worst part is for The Pony, out in the deluge, delivering the mail. You're welcome, all you people expecting your check at the first of the month.

Wednesday, we also had storms. Severe storms. Lucky for Hillmomba and Sis-Town, we were in the middle of two violent thunderstorms that spawned tornadoes. One hit a town 30 miles to our east. A town that's only 10-15 miles from Newmentia, where I used to teach. It must have been quite scary for students and staff, coming about the time school lets out. I can remember a day when we had such a scenario, and how we lined up in the hall on all fours, with heads to the wall. Some students crying. One freshman boy putting his arm around a cafeteria worker, telling her it would be okay. And another day, when we all crammed into the locker rooms on the lower level off the gym, to the point of some students being the toilet stalls because of the crowding.

Tornadoes are unpredictable. The terror is warranted. Pictures on the news Thursday showed houses that looked like they exploded. Yet the residents were safe, though they had to be rescued from the basement. They were lucky. Sometimes a tornado scours the ground, and rips up pavement from the road.

Anyhoo... on Friday, the excess rain was the main worry, though regions south of Hillmomba were on alert for pop-up tornadoes in the afternoon. Farmer H got home at 5:00. The rain had just started up again, after a 3-hour lull. The skies were dark. I figured Farmer H would sit in his recliner, and check the news stations for updates.

Instead, I heard singing. Like opera kind of singing. What in the Not-Heaven? Farmer H is no fan of opera. Then the lights flickered. The TV and internet went off, as they reset, but the lights came back. I asked Farmer H what he was watching with the opera singing.

"That wasn't opera. That was Gomer, on The Andy Griffith Show."

Oh. Well. Does that make sense? That in such a weather situation, instead of checking with the news for the current radar, and any warnings to take cover, Farmer H instead was watching 60-year-old reruns?

Farmer H reclines to his own drummer.

Pupsie Is Canine Non-Grata

Farmer H is quite displeased with Pupsie this week. He discovered that she'd chewed up the seat on his lawnmower. Which came a few weeks after discovering that she'd taken his key out of the ignition, so he has to use the Gator key in it. Good thing it works for both.

"You can duct tape it! Doesn't that work for everything?"

"It's chewed down to the metal! It has a big hole in the middle!"

"Stuff something in there, and THEN duct tape it! Maybe that'll keep her from chewing."

When Farmer H was carrying in groceries, Pupsie followed him.

"Yeah. There you are! Stop chewing up my seat, you stupid dog."

"Oh, that's going to make her easier to catch, isn't it."

"Well, she needs to know that she's a bad dog. Bad dog!"

Farmer H later said he sprayed some ether on the seat. In hopes of discouraging Pupsie from chewing on it.

"Doesn't that evaporate really fast?"

"Yeah. But I sprayed it down in the stuffing in the hole in the seat. So maybe the smell with hang around, and she won't want to eat it."

"If it doesn't kill her!"

Wednesday evening, we heard Pupsie on the front porch, thumping something around.

"She's out there chewing on my dog statue. She's got it about eat up." Farmer H went to the front door. "Stop that. Leave that dog alone. Quit eating my dog. Bad. Bad dog."

"There you go again. Like she's going to understand all that. Just tell her NO! I did that with the grocery box today, and she moved away from it."

"Huh. You want to get petted? Come on. There you go. Now leave that dog alone." Farmer H came back to his recliner. "She come up and sniffed my hand! And she let me pet the side of her mouth."

"That's what she does to me."

"She ain't never got that close to me before. Oh, and when I went out a while ago, to get my Senior Center cherry crisp out of the truck... I found the lawnmower key on the sidewalk! The keychain thing was gone, and part of the rubber coating on the key. I guess she ate them."

Maybe there's some hope to catch Pupsie. Maybe she's slowed down, being full of seat cushion and keychain and fake dog.

Sometimes I Think Farmer H Does This On Purpose

Farmer H does not communicate in a manner that I find logical. He will make a statement that leaves out pertinent details, and expect me to know what he's talking about. This week he had to fix a leaking sink for one of the elderlies at the Senior Center. He was telling me about it that morning.

"Yeah, we'll go by and fix the sink for the 88-year-old gal. Then I have to put in a garage door for Agnes [not real name]."

"Who in the Not-Heaven is Agnes?"

"The old lady. The one who bought the QuickFlip house. But she's paying me for that."

"You can put in a GARAGE DOOR?"

"Yes. It's just like any other door. A door in her garage."

"You mean like a people door?"

"Yeah. A door to go in and out of her garage."

Well of course. Because any time I hear "garage door" I automatically think of a regular door going in and out of a garage. NOT. That's why in my boring tales of my travels to town, and my adoring fleabags, I always specify "people door" when I talk about the entrance/exit to the garage, rather than the big segmented door that raises and lowers to allow T-Hoe egress and ingress.

I swear Farmer H does this on purpose, so he can tell me I'm wrong, and I don't know nothin'. Then again, maybe he just thinks everybody's brain works like his. What a scary thought!