Another Convoluted Effort To Dispose Of Me?

For many years, I've been convinced that Farmer H is trying to kill me. Not in a methodical, logical manner. That's not his style. So many things he does affect me in a detrimental way, with him not giving a fat rat's rumpus, that I figure maybe it's a plan. Maybe Farmer H is an evil genius, finding untraceable ways to hasten my demise! Well. No. But I might be half right...

You may recall that FRIG II's icemaker quit working again. After early talk of getting one of his buddies to look at it, the project has been abandoned. When Farmer H is questioned, the answer is: "It started working on its own last time. Maybe it'll do that again."

Meanwhile, I have been buying a bag of ice once a week at 10Box. It's $1.88, plus 10%, plus tax. PLUS, I have to carry it myself!!! I can push it in the cart from the freezer outside over to T-Hoe. But still, I have to lift it out of the freezer and into the cart. Then from cart to T-Hoe's back seat. Then carry it from the back seat to the kitchen counter. Then over to the cutting block, where I cut the bag open, and lift it to dump into FRIG II's ice bin which I have pulled out and set on the cutting block. Then when full, I have to lift the bin back into the freezer. That's a lot of lifting! Even though that bag of ice is "only" 7 lbs. By the time the ice is in FRIG II's freezer, I have lifted it six times. That's 42 pounds!

Anyhoo... Sunday I bought the bag of ice. As I was lifting it from the cart into T-Hoe's back seat, I felt a TWINGE in my right shoulder-neck. Dang! It really hurt! Like take-your-breath-away hurt. But I needed a big breath to try and deal with the pain. I only had two other bags. One with bananas, and the other with instant oatmeal, protein breakfast bars, and two little jars of hot Chinese mustard. I got them into the car, parked my cart in front of the store for the next handicap parker to use as a cart/walker to get inside, and hoisted myself into the driver's seat. Which required me to use right arm and shoulder/neck to grasp the door frame to get up on the running board.

Oh, THEN I needed to be able to turn my head to back out of my rightful handicap space. And also to look for traffic on the way home. And wouldn't you know it, there was a WRECK at the stoplights just before I go under the overpass. 

It had JUST HAPPENED while I was sitting at the main stoplights by Dairy Queen, the Liquor Store, and the Gas Station Chicken Store, waiting to make my left turn. At the wreck light, people were getting out of a white sedan, which was blocking my lane, and a silver pickup truck that must have hit it, knocking the front bumper off and denting the side. The car in front of me eased around behind, and I followed. A guy coming from the other direction had parked his car to block traffic, and was on the phone. I couldn't even rubberneck(shoulder) to see what was happening.

Either Farmer H found a way to lame my shoulder/neck and make me vulnerable to reckless (and wreck-full) drivers... or the delay kept me out of that accident.

Every now and then, it's hard to tell if he's good or evil.

I Cain't Have Nothin' Of My Own! Tale Of The Tape.

I'm pretty sure I've casually (heh, heh) mentioned that nothing in this Mansion is truly mine! No matter WHAT I have, somebody else wants it. That somebody is Farmer H, now that Genius has moved to his own household. Genius's favorites used to be occasional foodstuffs, but mainly my scissors. I can't recall how many pairs of orange-handled Fiskars were ruined by that boy!

Anyhoo... you may recall that The Pony was out here last week to help Farmer H move the short couch to the basement, and one bed out and a new bed in to Genius's old bedroom. I hate change. I hate commotion. I'd rather they do such things while I'm gone, but Farmer H chose 1:00 in the afternoon. I stayed at the kitchen table with HIPPIE and my innernets, trying not to notice what they were doing. It's bad enough that I had to hear and then glimpse the short couch going over the stair rail.

Anyhoo... next thing I know, Farmer H is trudging through the kitchen door, awkwardly carrying two pieces of bed frame in from the side porch. The Pony was standing outside asking what to do, since Farmer H had not yet given the commands. Yes. The Pony was supposed to also be carrying pieces alone. I don't get Farmer H's logic. Maybe because those two things don't really go together, even in a sentence.

Anyhoo... next thing I know, Pony is at my left shoulder.

"Mom. Do you have a ruler? Dad said you had one the other day, and to get it."

"RULER? That would be down in my office, so I definitely didn't 'have it' the other day. Oh! I bet he means my tape measure that I ordered. I was measuring his knees to get him those CopperFit braces. It's right there on the counter."

"Oh! This?"

"Yes! Wait! You don't have to rip it open! It's already open!"

"Well. I see you opened the BOTTOM, instead of the top like a normal person."

I let that go, because it was The Pony. Who IS half Farmer H. And loathe to accept responsibility. I assure you that I most certainly did not open the bottom of the package.

Clearly, that is THE TOP. I don't think the "top" would require people to read upside down.

That is the back. Where The Pony had been opening a flap. Nobody wants the bottom of their package opened and closed time and again, for the contents to fall out.

Now that I read it, somebody in China ASSUMED I was using this product for BODY WEIGHT LOSS! That is quite presumptuous.

Anyhoo, I took these pictures after The Pony returned my tape measures. Of course the measuring tape was folded back on itself. So I'll have to undo it all the way to measure from the beginning next time I want to use it. Or else tax my noggin to do some math.

I cain't have nothin' of my own!

A Little Too Much (More) Information?

You may recall that back on August 13, Farmer H had some minor surgery. What he referred to as "roto-rootering my prostate." Since then, he has not been pleased with the results. Not satisfied. Not even resigned. It did not turn out the way he was led to believe. He's been back a couple times with issues that couldn't wait for a follow-up appointment. Sometimes for pain and inability to pee, or for unexpected bleeding. He never got a good explanation or relief.

On Wednesday, Farmer H went back to see the traveling urological NP that he had last time, and really liked. Enough time had elapsed to use a scope to look inside and see what was causing his problems. According to Farmer H:

"I seen it right away. Even before he pointed it out. There's some scar tissue, and one piece has something attached to the end of it. The guy called it a crystal or something. It wiggled all around as he was moving the scope. He says the movement is irritating some blood vessels, and that's why I still pass little blood clots. And that this scar tissue thing flops down and blocks the opening. That would explain it. 

They pumped me full of saline to run the scope, and when I peed afterwards, I actually peed a stream. He said it might work out, and I might pass it. But that he's looking to go in and cut it out. Maybe Friday, or next Friday. And he'll burn the blood vessels so they'll quit bleeding. They're going to call me. I was hoping it might come out, after having the scope up in there. I went pee when I got home, and I had a stream going, but then it stopped all at once. Like that thing flopped over the hole again."

Hopefully this will solve the problem, and Farmer H can get back to "normal." The bad thing is (in my opinion, but he doesn't care) is that he'll have to be under general anesthesia again. He got the call, and it's scheduled for Friday. He has to be there at 5:00 a.m. The Pony is going to be his driver.

I'm not real happy that it's on Friday the 13th.

Skullduggery, Phantom, Or Nearsightedness?

Last Sunday, there was a tiny bit of panic in Hillmomba. It may or may not have been solely in Mrs. HM's noggin.

I came home from town like normal. The dogs ran to greet me. I took off Pepper's collar for charging, and gave them a treat of a cut-up cold hot dog. As I was putting away groceries, I heard them barking their fool heads off in the front yard. What in the Not-Heaven? I went to check on them. Both were facing Shackytown Boulevard.

I opened the front door and stepped out on the porch. They ran up the steps, wriggling with joy for an unscheduled petting. Then turned to look towards the BARn area, and bark some more. 

Nobody had been at the BARn as I passed on the gravel road. I always look, to see if Farmer H might be home, and have SilverRedO or the Gator parked over there. Even though I knew that today was Sunday, and he was at his SUS2.5, not coming home early. It was just the white truck that HOS is buying by working it out. Parked by Farmer H's burn pile, where they had moved it a couple weeks ago.

Now I saw a vehicle parked on the lower side of the burn pile, facing the Mansion. It was kind of coppery-silver, like the truck with the red door that Farmer H's junking buddy has. Only this vehicle was lower. Like a sedan, maybe. Or a mini van.

Of course I got on the phone to Farmer H.

"Is anybody supposed to be over at the BARn today? I see a car or something parked by your burn pile."

"No. There ain't nobody supposed to be there. My one buddy might deer hunt sometime, but he just left here a couple minutes ago. So it ain't him. Or my squirrel buddy, but he parks by the driveway, and comes in the mornings. So nobody should be there. I guess it could be HOS, if he came to work on the truck. I don't know what he'd be driving except his mom's car, but I don't know what she has now."

"The dogs are going crazy, looking over that way. Do you want me to drive over and check? Can I get through by your sheds?"

"No, I have my trailer parked there. You'll have to go around up by the sinkhole. But you don't have to. It should be okay."

"I don't mind. I haven't changed out of my town clothes. I'm just afraid Pepper might get into trouble following me. I'll put his collar back on, and drive over there."

I drove to check. There was nothing in the field except that bright white truck HOS has been working  on. The dogs followed and came back with me. I called Farmer H to report my findings. Of nothing! I looked out the front door again, and didn't see anything but that white truck.

Now I don't know if I was seeing things the first time. Or if somebody had been there and heard me hollering at the dogs, "WHAT are you barking at?" Then left while I was in the house calling Farmer H. I didn't notice any tire tracks in the grass. Maybe it was just a late Halloween phantom.

Errand Day Drama

Errand Day started off like normal. I picked up The Pony one minute early. We passed by Casey's because they looked busy, and went to the bank first. The only car at the only open drive-thru lane pulled away as soon as I put T-Hoe in line. The gal inside was prompt and polite in giving me my weekly withdrawal. 

We made a short stop at the Save A Lot, so The Pony could run in and get four scratchers out of the machine. Two for me, one for Genius, and one for Fave. There was a lady lurking at the side/front of the building, but she wasn't blocking my handicap space. She was waiting for an Uber, and was picked up before The Pony returned.

Back to Casey's, which now had my preferred Pump 4 open. Little did I know how exciting this visit would become. 

"Why are those people still standing in front? They were there when we went by the first time."

"It looks like that group who sets up a table to sell things or ask for donations."

"Dang it! Why are they RIGHT BY THE RAMP? Now I have to walk right up to them and get accosted."

"I don't know, Mom. They're usually down by the doors."

"Well, I'm not looking forard to this, but T-Hoe needs gas. What did we get last time? Was it $35? I think I'll get $40, because the gauge is a little lower."

Let the record show that this is less than half a tank, to top off T-Hoe every week. Maybe 3/8 of a tank. I don't measure the gallons, I just pay a round amount that I think T-Hoe will hold.

I went inside to pre-pay for T-Hoe's gas, and The Pony waited until the credit showed on the pump, to start filling T-Hoe while I used the bathroom inside. I thought I could skate by the beggars, since they were talking to a man who was buying something. I tried not to look, lest they wrongly assume interest and philanthropy. It looked like different t-shirts, and maybe some keychains or lanyards. Three women were stationed at the table.

"How are you today, Ma'am?"

"Good!" I kept walking. Several other people were passing by me, headed back to their cars.

Inside, only one register was open. It was the purple-haired lady, who is really nice. She had to get my tickets from a big box off to the side. She said they were getting a new ticket system. And that all the numbers were one off from the numbers on the display I was choosing from. She asked me if each ticket was right as she pulled it out. I helped by describing which one as I said the numbers. She was pretty efficient. I paid for $40 worth of gas, and my scratchers. Then I headed to the bathroom.

When I left the store, I knew I had to run the gauntlet of the beggars again. I steeled myself for the interaction and took two steps--

"Mom! Mom! Wait!"

It was The Pony, trotting across the parking lot to intercept me before I got to the beggars and the ramp. This scared me. Was something wrong with The Pony? A robber? Locked out of T-Hoe? Sick?

"I wanted to catch you before you walked all the way back! The pump shut off and said to see the cashier. I couldn't get any more gas in. I think there's about six dollars and something you should get back. Since YOU are the one who paid, I doubt they'd give the money to me."

"Yeah. Okay. That's a relief." We went inside and got in line for the $6.45 refund.

Coming out the door, the drama unfolded. A man on the sidewalk said, "Ma'am, it's not safe for you here. I'm calling 9-1-1." He wasn't talking to me. I think it was to one of the beggars. She was coming towards us, away from the table.

A stocky man stood in the empty parking space where The Pony had just come across a few minutes earlier. "Go ahead, then. CALL the police! Do you think I care? Come out here and do what you said you were going to do! You don't want none of this! Come on! Right now! Do it!"

The Pony and I continued unmolested. I passed the table without any begging. The Pony cut between a couple of cars. The stocky man was milling around in the empty spaces. He slammed his hat down on the pavement, still yelling, then picked it up and moved toward the slim guy with glasses who was calling 9-1-1. 

A man came out of Casey's, who I assume was some type of regional manager. He had been dealing with the register area, and had asked Purple Hair to sign something on his phone with her finger in the middle of my transaction. He was wearing black slacks and a red polo shirt with the Casey's logo. As I glanced back, he was telling Slim to go inside the store. Stocky continued to rant.

I wish I knew the outcome! We guessed that maybe Stocky had insulted the beggar-women, and Slim was going to be their hero. Slim didn't look like one to start something. 

Our business was done, and I left. No need to hang around and get in the middle of something "we didn't want none of!"

Such excitement on this Errand Day.

I'm Pretty Sure This Is Some Kind Of Irony

The Pony came out on Tuesday, courtesy of SilverRedO and Farmer H, to help move furniture. Farmer H wanted to take the short couch downstairs, and move a bed frame into Genius's old bedroom. Which first meant moving the other bed frame out of Genius's old bedroom. 

I'm not sure where Farmer H got the big wooden bed frame. Maybe out of Cheap House. He had HOS (Farmer H's Oldest Son) help him load it and unload it last week. It has been sitting on the porch by the steps to the garage, leaned up against the Mansion. Never mind that I told him this was a stupid idea. I would imagine Jack has peed on it several times by now...

Anyhoo... The Pony wanted to take the couch out the front door, and drive it around back to the basement door in SilverRedO. But Farmer H said it would be no problem getting it down the 13 rail-less basement steps. He said the legs screw off. They're round, about four inches high. Then it should fit right down the stairs.

The Pony figured, as did I, that they'd stand the short couch on end, at the landing at the top of the stairs, then tip it over in an inverted V, with one person at the bottom (Pony), and the other up top. That way they could get a grip on the couch and maneuver it down slowly.

Oh, no. Farmer H had The Pony standing midway down those steps, and was balancing that couch over the banister that lines the rectangular entrance down to the basement. I almost flipped out when I glanced toward the living room and saw him! He was ordering The Pony to step down another step. Then he heaved the couch. That meant The Pony was bearing the weight of the whole thing. It put a gouge in the wall above the steps, because The Pony couldn't grasp it right. Then Farmer H moved to the landing, and followed it down, telling The Pony to let it slide to the bottom.

Thankfully, nobody was injured. They got the short couch set up in the basement. The Pony came upstairs, grousing quietly about the change of "plans." Apologizing for the wall, which was entirely Farmer H's fault. 

Anyhoo... at that point, I heard Farmer H say, coming up the stairs:

"This is terrible. I need a handrail here."

To which I said, "If only I had asked for such a thing 28 years ago!"

Poison, Apple

Who knew that a single trip to the Devil's Playground could provide me with so much material to waste your time! I wish I had taken pictures of Farmer H's flatbread pizza, and the pasta. I guess I was just in a hurry to get his supper over with.

Once I had served him half of the Chicken Fettuccine Alfredo, I felt a stab of conscience. Wasn't there some kind of pasta recall at the Devil's Playground recently? Nationwide? With a possibility of DEATH due to listeria??? 

I recalled asking The Pony, a pasta aficionado, about it. And was assured that The Pony's favorite was bags of refrigerated Rana brand 5 Cheese Tortellini. Never fettuccine. Well, this was not good. Farmer H was already eating his supper. I consulted my estranged BFF Google.

Whew! That was a close one. I had bought Fresh Market Chicken Fettuccine Alfredo for Farmer H. It came from the refrigerated section of the deli, in a tray with a cellophane top. And the recall had been for Bettergoods Lemon Alfredo Fettuccine, which was frozen, in a bright yellow bag. Farmer H would live to berate me again!

Speaking (technically typing) of berating... When I arrived home that day, Farmer H came out to the garage to carry in the groceries.

"Be careful getting those bags out! I have apples again, and I don't want you letting one fall out like last time!" 

The week before, when I heard an apple hit the concrete garage floor, and saw Farmer H stoop to pick it up, I told him that was HIS apple! And made sure I sent it in his lunch for the SUS2.5. I didn't want a repeat. Those apples were kind pricey.

Farmer H carried in the bags without incident, then went about his business of doing who knows what outside (though I'm sure it was something to annoy me in the future).

While taking items out of the bags, I DROPPED AN APPLE ON THE KITCHEN FLOOR! It bounced and rolled. Dang it! I picked it up and set it on the counter. To become my nightly apple after supper. That was only fair. It didn't have time for the bruise to develop much.

I confess that the thought of making it Farmer H's lunch apple crossed my mind.