Speaking (Two Days Ago) Of Parties...

We had a flier in our mailbox on Monday. In true Farmer H fashion, he did not bother to read it. Just put it down on the table with the rest of the mail.

"Hey, did you see this? Looks like they're asking for money again for the road gravel."

"No. I didn't see nothin' about that."

"You might want to look at it. It says it's the "Annual Gravel Fundraiser." Our neighbors across the road are hosting a BBQ at the end of April, and they're asking for donations for gravel. They're having hamburgers and hot dogs, and say to bring a side dish. I'll make something if you want to go."

"I don't want to go. I'm too old to hang out around a bunch of drunks. I don't like most of the people out here now."

"Well, we'll give money for the road."

"Yeah. I'll give it directly to Neighbor."

"That way when the drunks start complaining about how 'The Hillbilly family never shows up or donates nothin',' Neighbors can say, 'Oh, they already gave us their money.' I don't know how much it is these days, but we'll give enough for a load of gravel."

"It's $250! Neighbor [from next door] got a load yesterday. That's why he borrowed my tractor, to spread the gravel. Didn't you see it?"

"That seems like a lot. Who did he use? I DID notice some lighter color small gravel down by the creek."

"He called me askin' who I use, but he ended up callin' around and said that $250 was the cheapest he could get. Funny how I don't remember him never donatin' gravel money before."

"Well, he DID do the work of spreading the gravel. On your borrowed tractor..."

"Yeah. The last time we got gravel, it was $165. But it's gone up."

We like both these neighbors, and the one down the hill. That's about it. The other people are newer, not the same as when we all moved out here 25 years ago. They are the hard-headed people who don't want to listen to Farmer H's ideas of how to improve the road. I doubt they will kick in much of a donation for gravel. They seem to think "other people" are responsible for that.

More Training Is Needed

No. We're not talking about new puppy Pepper. We are talking about Farmer H. Oh, how I had hoped he was successfully trained to notify me of impending visitors of his doing. 

Even though I found out by eavesdropping in the right place at the right time about the stranger coming to get the file safe, I was fairly confident that this matter would not concern me. I heard Farmer H myself, telling that guy on the phone our address. In fact, I even asked why he was giving our address to a stranger. Well! Because "he's never been here before, HM." 

Silly me. I thought surely the matter of this file safe had been discussed before. After all, the phone call was just to specify the time. And give the guy the address.

Here's the deal. Farmer H was home around 3:00, carrying stuff in the Mansion, and saying that he had to go over to his Freight Container Garage to meet the stranger at 3:30. Off he went. I don't know if he drove the Gator or SilverRedO, because I didn't watch. I went to lie down for my 20-minute nap before town. 

THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP!

What in the Not-Heaven???

THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP!

That was the front door! About 10 minutes into my nap. Good thing I use my phone for an alarm, and had it right there on the bed. No way was I getting up to hobble to the front door and greet Farmer H's stranger. I called Farmer H.

"Somebody is over here banging on the front door."

"Oh. Huh. I guess I'll come over."

You'd think Farmer H would have mentioned to the stranger that the file safe was in an outbuilding. Tell him he'd be over by the BARn, which is big and red and can be seen from the gravel road as you go by headed for the driveway, whereby a metal pole holds our address. Farmer H could have just told the guy to drive directly into the BARn field from the road. Then they could greet each other and get the file safe loaded.

Clearly, Farmer H needs instruction on how to give strangers instructions for showing up to buy his junk.

The Mansion Is Party Central

Let the record show that Mrs. HM enjoys a quiet, peaceful life. I'm fine with not having visitors. In fact, I don't WANT visitors. I like my routine. Don't come a-knockin' on my door looking for hospitality.

Farmer H is a people person. He likes interacting. He's probably in the dictionary (remember those?) as an artist's rendering, next to gregarious. Farmer H never met a stranger. And most often, what's his is theirs. Except for money. But you may recall the trailer-lending ending. Twice.

Because Farmer H has a penchant for inviting people to partake of his junkalicious bounty, he is under strict orders to LET ME KNOW if somebody will be popping up at the Mansion. He's been pretty good about that lately.

Monday was Party Central day at the Mansion. At least I got texts.

9:04 a.m. 

"Neighbor is going to use the tractor"

Okay. So I knew that when Jack started barking and running over to the BARn, there was a logical reason. Nobody was stealing one of Hick's tractors. It was just being borrowed. Neighbor had permission, and wouldn't need to bother me.

10:08 a.m. 

"HM HOS [Farmer H's Oldest Son] is looking for mushrooms in the woods"

Okay. HOS had been a bit estranged until the past couple weeks. I don't know his current vehicle. So when Jack started barking and running over to the BARn field again, it was only HOS, and not some stranger prowling around in the woods.

3:30 p.m. 

A complete stranger was coming to the Freight Container Garage. Farmer H didn't text me. I overheard him the night before, making the deal. Supposedly Farmer H knew a relative of this guy, and he was getting some kind of file safe that Farmer H didn't need. I'm sure there was a sale or trade taking place.

That let me know I shouldn't be concerned if I saw somebody parked over in the field by the Freight Container Garage when I went to town. They weren't breaking in and stealing Farmer H's treasures. They were waiting to complete a deal with Farmer H.

We might have to put in a roundabout if we're going to have so much traffic...

Pepper Must Have Been Listening Outside The Door

I had everything ready for my "training session" with little puppy Pepper. The squirt bottle of water had been set on the counter by the door, ready for use the next day. I told Farmer H of the plan, and how to be brief with a "Pepper! NO!" and not give a wordy lecture. All systems were GO.

Sunday, I started out with my purse on my arm, a grease-bread treat for each dog in hand, and the squirt bottle in my elbow. It was ready for quick-draw with my empty left hand. I went past Juno's dog house (now used by Jack and Pepper) and around the corner of the porch. I could hear Pepper gallumping toward me from the front porch. Jack is more of a slow trotter.

I drew the squirt bottle, ready for action. Little Pepper stopped by my right side. Stood on his hind legs, hopping. He didn't put his feet on me! I proceeded to the top of the steps. Tossed each dog a treat. Went down the steps as Jack carried his off to the front porch, Pepper sniffed, came to me, then went back to crunch his treat.

"See you later, alligators!"

I opened the people door of the garage. Got my squirt bottle ready. But Pepper didn't run in! Pepper came down the steps and sat on the sidewalk, watching with his head tilted as I closed the people door. Well! That exercise was a bust! Pepper ran back up the steps and went looking for Jack. I opened the people door and set my "weapon" on the shelf of the side porch.

When I got home, Farmer H carried in groceries. Pepper came in the garage, then followed him out. And all the way to the kitchen. Inside, actually. I could hear Farmer H telling Pepper, "No. Go back out. Mom's not in here now."

I used the time to pet Jack on the side porch. I had picked up the squirt bottle again. Here came Pepper. He sat down beside Jack. Pepper didn't bite at my hand or wrist! Just sat to be petted. Didn't even squirm as I was trying to loosen his collar. But THEN, Pepper jumped up on Jack's shoulders, and took a nip at Jack's ear.

"PEPPER! NO!"

I gave a squirt, but Pepper was already running towards the kitchen door because he heard Farmer H coming. The water barely sprinkled across Pepper's back as he was in retreat. He turned to look at his back, puzzled, then went on his way.

I swear, Pepper must have been listening at the door the previous day, when I told Farmer H of the plan!

Pepper Is In For A Rude Awakening

My sweet little puppy Pepper is about to have his world rocked. He is growing fast, and acting like an adolescent. No more morning cuddles on the short couch. At best, he'll run in and throw himself against my legs, put his front paws on my lap, take a half-hearted nip at my hands and wrists as I pet him, then scamper back to the laundry room for his FOOD. 

That's okay. Pepper is growing up. But his rambunctiousness needs to be toned down. I am worried about him jumping up on me as I try to walk across the porch. He's pretty good about not launching himself at me. He'll jump up and put his paws on my leg. Then get behind me and follow. A true heeler. At least he is not yet poking me with his nose, trying to steer me.

Pepper had a few days of darting into the garage through the people door as I tried to leave for town. That got him a scolding. And then dragged by collar right back out that door, along with, "Pepper! NO!" Then praise as he sat on the other side, whimpering. Pepper is a pretty quick learner. He only went into the garage like that ONCE in the past several days.

I know it's hard for Pepper to understand why going into the garage is forbidden when I leave, but allowed through the garage door when I come home. Jack sometimes runs in then. No harm done. Sometimes we talk. Sometimes he gets a pat. But we can all exit through the people door.

Anyhoo... Pepper has started being MEAN to Jack. His nips are growing more serious. Jack endures it until he can't, and then returns a nip with a growl. Whereas before, just the growl would suffice.

My plan for Pepper's improper behavior employs an aid. An empty bottle of dishwashing detergent. Which isn't empty anymore. It has been rinsed of all soapy residue, and is now full of lukewarm water on the kitchen counter. 

As I leave for town, I plan to take the bottle with me. When Pepper jumps on me, he will get, "PEPPER! NO!" And a squirt in the face. The temperature is in the 60s to 80s these days. Pepper won't get a chill from being wet. He won't be blinded by suds. He will be startled. Hopefully, this will be unpleasant for Pepper. And help him learn to control his actions. He will aslo get a squirt for biting Jack. I hope Jack isn't hit with too much collateral "corrections."

If I can only get Farmer H to follow this plan, Pepper should catch on quickly what is not allowed. Unfortunately, Farmer H likes to give the dogs a lecture, rather than a clear, concise, NO!

Mrs. HM's KNEEds Are Not Being Met

Same old broken record. Since my orthopedist appointment about a knee replacement on March 5, I have not heard anything about a strategy to remedy his reason for declining such surgery. 

You may recall that the orthopedist was concerned about the redness in my lower right leg, fearing it might turn into cellulitis and spread to the joint with surgery. He advised me to see my regular practitioner as soon as possible to evaluate the situation, and get a referral to a cardiologist or lymphatic doctor.

I got an appointment with my NP on March 9. He said it looked like lymphedema, and was going to refer me to the Wound Care Clinic for evaluation and possible remediation such as pressure stockings and exercises. While in the exam room, I twice asked him if I should call there for an appointment. He said no, that THEY would call ME.

So I waited for my call. And waited. Gave them a week. I know these things don't happen overnight. Then sent a message through YourChart on March 18 to make sure that was the plan. His nurse's response was that she saw it in my file, and since they didn't seem to be able to reach me, that I should call them. 

I called the Wound Care Center on March 20 and left a message. Then called back later in the afternoon when I had no response. The gal said they didn't do lymphedema at the Wound Care Clinic. That it should be Physical Therapy. She said she would talk to my NP about it, and that somebody from Physical Therapy would call me about an appointment.

So I waited for my call. And waited. Then sent another message through YourChart on March 25, asking again if I was supposed to be getting some kind of appointment for treatment, per my discussion with NP and Wound Care. YourChart says to give 48 hours for a reply. That passed on Friday afternoon.

So I am waiting. For any kind of response. Even Farmer H has quit nagging me, and says he has no idea where to go from here, since I have tried and tried to get a response and advice.

I suppose I will call on Tuesday (March 31) to talk to a real person, who will listen disinterestedly and type up what I say and put it in a message for my NP, whose nurse will look at it and give me more useless instructions, or ignore it altogether.

It has now been three weeks since the orthopedist said I should get an appointment right away to deal with the issue. I am supposed to go back to the NP in May, to see how two months of intervening therapy have affected the problem. Right now, I don't see any point of that appointment, since it will just be the passage of two months.

I know this is not an emergency situation. But you'd think by now, I would have encountered at least one person who can do their job.

Rules For He, But Not For Me

Time to vent again. It's more of the same. Mrs. HM is tired of having one set of rules while Farmer H makes his own as he goes along. While usually I slowly simmer, today my angst has boiled over. The papercut on my left ring finger second knuckle incurred while stuffing the Lowe's payment in the envelope was the tipping point.

I was paying bills, specifically the Lowe's bill, which is hard to decipher because of how they space the itemizations. Turns out NONE of this $964 bill was for anything related to our flip houses or household  or Farmer H's SUS2.5. Nope. It was for materials Farmer H used to renovate one of the senior apartments. Now I have to wait on the reimbursement check, and make sure Farmer H deposits it in our checking account. Oh, and I just found out he is being paid EXTRA money above his more-than-$300 a month salary. 

I don't begrudge Farmer H working extra for extra money. HOWEVER... from the beginning, as a married couple, filing taxes jointly, all salaries and monies have gone into our joint accounts. Then Farmer H started his business, and decided all that was HIS money. Despite what my mom bequeathed me being OUR money. It should be one or the other. It's all ours, or we each have some separate. It's not that I NEED my own money. Just that fair for one should be fair for the other. 

I know Farmer H does all the work on the flip houses and doesn't charge "us" a fee for his labor. And the proceeds are split equally. But I also do uncompensated work, like the finances and taxes and waiting on him hand and foot, and pay the bills for his business without even a thank you. I resent that Farmer H feels entitled to have his separate money. Which is mainly fed into hoarding merchandise for his SUS2.5. Which certainly doesn't need THREE storage units for which he pays rent and electricity. Eventually, he will probably control the entire flea market!

Still, I don't need anything which I can't afford. It's not like Farmer H is spending it all on casinos and strippers and vacations. The idea of only separate funds for him is what rankles me.

When paying our lone credit card that we use for household expenses occasionally, I saw three charges to Casey's. This usually means GAS. Unless we order pizza there, which we haven't in several months.

"Hey! I see three charges to Casey's on this credit card bill. I didn't know we were paying for your gas. That's why we have our weekly cash allowances."

"I don't charge my gas to us, HM! I drive my truck all the time doing things for us and don't charge the gas. Them was when we went to the casino. In the Acadia. And when I went to the doctor. And for lawnmower gas."

"In SPARTA, ILLINOIS???"

"What? Oh. Um. I forgot to put gas in my truck before I went to Illinois. So I had to get some there."

Sure. And he had to use the credit card? Instead of the cash he always carries around? I'm not buying it. Farmer H knew exactly what he was doing. Scamming gas out of OUR money, on a trip to buy stuff for his business. I guess he doesn't know that the location of the Casey's comes up on the bill.

"Well, YOU owe US $45.85 for gas."

Am I being petty? Probably. But if a man has his own money from his business and side jobs, I think he should use it for expenses related to his business and side jobs.