I Can't Believe Medical Research Hasn't Got My Back

Let the record show that if medical research teams ever develop a total back replacement, or a back transplant...Mrs. HM wants to be first on the list!

I had JUST RECOVERED from hurting my right side butt-back while feeding the goat and mini-pony. Friday morning, I injured my left butt-back. It's not nearly as severe as the right side. I don't think there's a nerve involved in this one. Just muscle. Heh, heh! Don't you all be visualizing my MUSCULAR butt-back!

Once again, I was in the midst of a good deed when the injury befell me. Okay...it was a few minutes after the good deed. I had just finished scrubbing the toilet in the master bathroom. I sat down on the toilet to clip my toenails. DON'T JUDGE! That's where I always clip my toenails, bending over while sitting on the toilet. What? Did you think I chewed my toenails or something?

Anyhoo, I felt that twinge on the second clip. It was the little piggy that stayed home. No doubt due to a sore back, not feeling like a trip to the market, and planning to eat something other than roast beef for lunch. And most certainly the introspective type, with no intention of drawing attention to himself by squealing WEE WEE WEE all the way home.

Dang it! I'm hobbling around again, favoring the other side. It doesn't hurt getting into T-Hoe, though. And I can climb steps with moderate pain. Before leaving for town, I slathered some BenGay on that area, and turned on the backrest-part-of-the-seat heater in T-Hoe. Ooh! That felt amazing.

Of course, that BenGay had worn off by the time I stopped twice for scratchers, traipsed into the post office, withdrew money at the bank, and stopped for gas.

If it's like last time, I should be better in about 3 days. Already I'm planning on the heater and vibrator in my OPC (Old People Chair) while watching TV, the heating pad in the La-Z-Boy when I get up, and BenGay combined with T-Hoe's seat-heater for town trips.

I'm pretty sure I'm going to pull through.

Moving Foliation

Thursday morning, kicked back in the La-Z-Boy with Shiba on a pillow on my lap, I was distracted by the strangest sight ever in the front yard/field.

A HEAP OF ASSORTED TREE LIMBS WAS CRUISING TOWARD THE ROAD.

I was so flabbergasted that I didn't think to grab my cell phone and rush to the door for proof. It takes me a while to get up from the La-Z-Boy. It's not called an Energetic Gal, you know. And that Heap of Assorted Tree Limbs was moving at a good clip. I have to be careful not to forget the TREE part of that label. Because a heap of assorted LIMBS would be OH SO WRONG.

Even in my dotage, I know that a Heap of Assorted Tree Limbs is not ambulatory without help from another force. Floodwaters, winds, tractor beam from a hovering flying saucer...all of which were absent from my front yard/field. However, I remembered Farmer H telling me in a text that woke me at 9:20 a.m. (DON'T JUDGE), that HOS (Farmer H's Oldest Son) would be trimming some trees around the Mansion. About 30 minutes later, HOS came zipping across the yard in the Gator. Mystery solved! He had loaded all those severed boughs on the back of the Gator to haul them over to the BARn field burn pile.

HOS wasn't around when I left for town. I was going to offer to bring him a BIG SODA, or some lunch. I guess he went home for lunch. Anyhoo...when I returned, as T-Hoe was coasting down the driveway, I saw HOS on the Gator. He was pulling another Heap of Assorted Tree Limbs. This time, they were on a come-a-long behind the Gator. That's a flat strap used for tying down stuff on a truck. This Heap of Assorted Tree Limbs looked like it was on a trailer. But there was no trailer.

Just as I was opening the garage door, I saw the pink hose flapping around. It's the one Farmer H leaves hooked to the outside water pipe, the other end being at Poolio now. HOS's Heap of Assorted Tree Limbs had caught on that hose, and pulled lose from the Gator. Poor HOS. He had to pull that load like a mule towing a barge down the Erie Canal, to get it moved off enough hose to get slack for untangling.

I stopped to talk to HOS, and I think I left a puddle like that dissolved Wicked Witch of the West. It was freakin' HOT out there, and I was just standing still. I don't envy HOS his labors. Even though Farmer H is paying him for his trouble. 

SOLD RAGE II: The Angering

Yes, there's a sequel to last week's Sold Rage!

Sweet Gummi Mary! I might have to look into some rage management classes. To teach them! Heh, heh! To teach other people how to have rage. Just a little rage humor there. Very little.

Disappointed with my most recent new treat of Birthday Cake Cotton Candy, I picked up some of my old standby, Original Gourmet Lollipops. OM-effin-G! When I searched for the link, I saw that THEY HAVE A BIRTHDAY CAKE FLAVOR! I've never seen one of those!

Anyhoo...The Devil's Playground no longer has those bags of lollipops with the little round window so you can scope out the flavors inside. The only place they have my lollies is in that wooden stand up front, in one of the checkout aisles. I harvested a few of my favorites, those being Bubble Gum, Cotton Candy, and Pina Colada. Nom-nom!

Here's where the rage comes in. I'll be ding-dang-donged if that Devil's Handmaiden didn't hold my first lolly by the stick, and drop it from shoulder height into the plastic bag on the metal stand! I swear, it was like she was playing that clothespin-into-the-mason-jar game at a birthday party. I heard it hit bottom. A thin layer of plastic isn't much protection. I was about to come unglued.

Seriously! I picked out the lollies I wanted, checking to make sure they weren't cracked or misshapen, and THIS is how that Handmaiden treated them???

She must have sensed my discombobulation. Or heard my patience whistle out my ears like an overheated tea kettle. Because the NEXT lolly she picked up, she set in the bag carefully. I was ready to tell her to forget it, that I didn't want them if she was going to throw them in. However, I thought she might tell me to take it and the receipt over to the service desk for a refund. Since she seemed recalcitrant, I let it slide.

Once I got home, I saw that I shouldn't have.

Look at my favorite, the blue-and-pink cotton candy flavor. That's a big freakin' CRACK in it, by cracky! I guess I'll save that one until last, and I'll be so happy that I still have one left that I might be able to overlook its deformity, and not fly into a rage all over again.

Sure, it's just a sucker. But it's an Original Gourmet Lollipop. Not a common Dum Dum. I paid good money for it, and I fully expected to take it home in the same shape as when I selected it and put it in my cart. To me, this sweet-treat abuse is akin to smashing a fist into a cake as you ring it up. I really should have complained right then, and not let her get away with this shoddy service.

I guess there's one of me born every minute...

The Plot THINS!

Brought to you by Mrs. HM, who looks for zebras when she hears hoofbeats...today's tale of non-intrigue involving mail delivery between Hillmomba and Oklahoma.

As you may recall, on Monday, I proposed a theory for such poor mail service. It involved possible student workers in the campus post office. AHA! Looks like ol' Sherlock HM was on the right track. Investigation over the innernets revealed that the facility employs two regular postal workers, and two work-study students. So it IS conceivable that the student personnel changed at the end of spring semester, and somebody doesn't know what they're doing.

I took my case to the main post office in Hillmomba on Tuesday. Under the guise of buying stamps (it only cost me $10 for my entire investigation) I interrogated the counter man who once gave me a free three cents worth of postage due to lack of coinage.

Sure, I didn't have to buy stamps. But I'll be needing them by next week anyway. So I led with that, and then the unassuming statement,

"I also have a question. It's not really your problem, but you might be able to give me some information."

See? I was not accusatory at all. I explained the recent 10-day delivery span, my 3-week-old returned letter, shoved it across the counter for his perusal, and ventured my possible theory of mail delay.

The counter clerk peeled that yellow strip off the bottom of the letter. Looked perplexed for a moment. Digested all my facts. Then said, "We've been getting a lot of returned mail lately. It's possible, what you say. But I'm more likely to think it's a problem with the scanners. They go through so many pieces of mail per second that it's unbelievable. I think it kicks some of the mail out, just because it scans too fast. See here? They tried to forward it, but were unable."

I don't know what he meant by that, but I didn't want to tie up the line for a detailed Q & A. He suggested that I call that specific post office, and ask about the validity of the address, just in case it's been changed. I told him I would, if the letter I gave him today did not arrive in a timely manner. He said, "I do agree that 10 days is excessive for first class mail."

I was almost home, tooling up the gravel road in T-Hoe, when I got a text from The Pony.

"The letter from the 13th came today."

So...the most recent letter, with the exact same address, mailed on Friday the 13th...got there in three business days, on Tuesday the 17th. Very timely. One of the fastest turnarounds ever from Hillmomba to Oklahoma.

I think the post office needs a quality control investigation. Oh, wait. It's a government entity. That'll never happen.

Did I Tell You I Was Noshin' On A Treat Made Just For Me?

Yes, I stole that title. Since I'm pretty sure you're not all fans of 1980s country music, here's the song I stole it from. "The Bed You Made For Me," by Highway 101. It has a line: "Did you tell her she was sleepin' in the bed you made for me?"

I would have done a whole song parody. Because, you know, I have nothing better to do, and I like that sort of thing (stealing from other artists). However...I didn't think you would recognize it, which kind of defeats the purpose. We wouldn't want me wasting my unlimited time.

Anyhoo...did I tell you I was noshin' on a treat made just for me? Because I was, Sunday night/early Monday morning, shortly after 1:00 a.m.

Can you believe this ambrosia? BIRTHDAY CAKE cotton candy!!! You might recall that I am a birthday cake flavor aficionado. In fact, I went without my daily individual cup of birthday cake ice cream, just to I could have this treat as my nightly sweet. That's the thing about cotton candy, though. You have to eat it all at once, because I've tried saving part of it, only to find it shrunken down like beef jerky the next day, the air gone out of it, the humidity making it tough, even in a sealed ziplock bag. Not a big deal, though, because the whole bag says it's one serving, at 230 calories.

Once I opened the bag, I saw that my birthday cake cotton candy was two hues.

It was actually fluffier and prettier than it looks in that picture. I guess a hunk of cotton candy doesn't photograph well.

Sadly, it was not the taste treat I had anticipated. Oh, it was good enough. As long as I reminded myself that it was BIRTHDAY CAKE flavor, I could taste those notes. It's nothing to write home about, but good enough for a blog post.

I bought two bags, because it was at Save A Lot, and those special displays don't last long, and are rarely seen again. However...I don't think I'll look for any more. In fact, tonight I'm planning on my old standby, the individual cup of ice cream. I'll get around to eating my other bag of cotton candy soon enough.

An Illogical Explanation

Perhaps you recall that there seems to be a problem with the U.S. Postal Service between Hillmomba and Oklahoma. The Pony has not been getting his mail. Or he's been getting my letters two weeks after I send them. I expect more from my 50-cent stamp.

Thursday, I think I stumbled upon an explanation. I stopped T-Hoe at the side of the county blacktop road (as all denizens of Hillmomba are wont to do) so I could get the mail out of EmBee. This is what I found inside.

Uh huh. It was my letter to The Pony. The one from JUNE 21st!!!

Let the record show that Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's handwriting is perfectly legible. Emphasis on PERFECT. As you can see from the photo, my zip code and state are representative of my penmanship.

The Pony has lived at this address for TWO YEARS now. I've used the exact same address each time. The one The Pony gave me when he moved in. He used to get his letters on Wednesdays, after I'd mailed them on Fridays. Then they started coming later in the week. Then they stopped arriving altogether. He finally got the one I was worried about, with his new health insurance card. In fact, he has gotten other mail, and a couple of letters, since this one was returned.

I didn't show the top, but the stamp was cancelled out of St. Louis on June 22nd. This return label date is July 10th. Where was this letter languishing all that time? It hasn't been opened or tampered with. The enclosed allowance I send The Pony instead of scratchers was inside, unharmed.

Here's my theory. Since this apartment complex is considered campus housing, and their mail gets sorted at a campus post office...I think at the end of spring semester, somebody new took over sorting duties, and is MORE THAN incompetent.

Good thing I always include my return address.

THIS Good Deed Did Not Go Unpunished

With Farmer H away for four days, I volunteered to feed his animals. Yes. They're HIS. I think they would benefit from being given to people who are inclined to spend more time with them. But Farmer H likes his critters. In fact, he took in the goat as a favor, after I (and Mother Nature) [and perhaps a well-intentioned not-angel of not-life] succeeded in getting rid of the other 11 of them at various intervals in various manners.

Anyhoo...we normally have HOS (Farmer H's Oldest Son) feed the animals when we're gone. Since it was only those two critters, and they wouldn't require me to carry buckets of water as in the past, I volunteered. Farmer H has a big water tub for them now, and keeps a hose down in it, hooked up to the outside water spigot. All I had to do was turn it on as I walked past, and off when I went back to the Mansion. The dogs' food and water are on the back porch, right outside the laundry room door, so they were easy enough. And the cats' pan is by the garage door. It was really not a problem to dump two scoops of sweet feed for a goat and mini-pony once a day.

Or so you would think.

He's a cutie, that mini-pony.

I would show you a picture of the goat, but he's not as cute. He's bigger than the mini-pony. And I couldn't get a shot of his rectangular pupils for blog buddy Sioux. I know how she enjoys her goats. However...I WILL show you a picture of their food container.

Yes. That's a metal garbage can. It keeps the food dry and pest-free. However, Farmer H had to attach a bungee cord to each handle, to keep the food squirrel-free. They're scheming wizards, those squirrels, and can get the lid off. They used to do so regularly to the chicken feed can, so Farmer H kept a heavy metal auto tire rim on top of it. Uh huh. He's a scheming wizard at re-purposing items that other people might consider trash.

Anyhoo...on Wednesday, as I bent down to reach the dregs of the sweet feed with the scoop...I felt a twinge in my butt-back. The part of my back above the right butt cheek, but not quite over to my spine. YOWSA! That little twinge progressed throughout the day, turning into a sharp, shooting stab of agony.

I guess that part of my body is involved in just about every move I make. It hurts to breathe deeply. It hurts to cough and sneeze. It hurts to walk up steps. It especially hurts when sitting down and sliding behind T-Hoe's steering wheel. It hurts to get on and off the toilet. It hurts to sit in my OPC (Old People Chair), and arise from same, even though it has that remote lifty thing to tilt me up partway. Oh, and it hurts to lie on my left side to sleep, and to lie on my back to sleep, and to get into and out of the bed. The pain is not lessened in the least by aspirin, acetaminophen, or ibuprofen.

I told Farmer H about my debilitating injury on the phone while he was in Iowa, and he brushed me off with, "Eh. It'll be better in a couple of days." So sayeth the man who drove himself to the emergency room with a sore throat, and again with an earache.

No, I don't have any intention of going to the ER, or a doctor nurse practitioner. I'll wait it out. But that butt-back pain sure does smart. If I try to massage it, I hit a spot that sends an electric shock through my body. I guess I've irritated a nerve.

Welcome to Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's Unofficial Club of Irritated Entities, nerve.