What We Have Here Is A Failure To PreMedicate

I don't mean to speak ill of Farmer H while he's in the hospital getting his back rebuilt, but... On Sunday evening, Farmer H brought me an empty box.

"You need to take this by CeilingReds and get it refilled for me."

"Why didn't you do that already? You knew your surgery was Monday. You've known that for weeks now."

"I don't need it until Friday. It's just time to refill."

That's the thing. Farmer H takes this medicine once a week. He NEVER gets his refills like a normal person. First of all, he won't call them in. He drops off the empty bottles at the pharmacy itself. After he runs out. When he needs them the next day. Then he goes by to pick them up, even though sometimes it takes an extra day to get some of them. I call mine in three days before the last refill date. I always have a few pills left, as a cushion, in case they're not available until the next day.

Anyhoo... I parked at CeilingReds after visiting the Gas Station Chicken Store. There were about 10 cars on their parking lot. Once I got inside, I was the only customer! I could see several employees wandering around the pill shelves behind the counter. There was no section marked for DROP OFF. Only pickup, and shot-getting. A stout woman in a work uniform passed me as I came in. As if she was going out for a smoke, perhaps...

I wandered along the counter. There was no real space to do anything. Plexiglass all along it. Not even a decent opening to shove in money, like they have at the credit union.

Grouchy Stout came back. "I can help you at the middle register."

She seemed none to happy to do so.

"Do you just want a refill?"

"Yes. For my husband. He usually gets Trulicity, but you were out last time, so you gave him this." I looked for a place to put in the empty box. Finally turned it sideways, and stuck it through a gap in the plexiglass.

"This prescription is out of refills."

"Oh. He told me to bring it. Do you call the doctor's office?"

"We can send a fax."

"Okay. Then do that. I can't ask him. He just got out of surgery."

"We will send it to Mrs. Nurse Practitioner."

"Yes. That's who he sees. But she only works one day a week. Tuesdays."

"So we'd better send it tomorrow."

"Yes."

"Do you want me to throw away this box?"

"No. I'll take it back."

We'll see if Farmer H gets his prescription. I am none too thrilled about going back in there to ask for it.

The Chilliness Of The Pre-Operative Farmer

Farmer H came home from his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2) a little early on Sunday. It was barely 1:00. He said he was going to watch a race on TV. He wanted supper early, since he had to stop eating for his early-morning surgery on Monday.

When I got out of the shower, I put on my shoes for town, and promised to fix his supper of pulled pork sandwich and green beans as soon as I got home.

"I wore a long sleeve shirt yesterday, and almost fried! I had to put down T-Hoe's windows! So I'm going with short sleeves today."

"You'll need a jacket! It's cold out there!"

"Great. I could have just worn long sleeves again. But I don't want to freeze."

Off I went with my jacket. Which was a mistake! It was only two degrees cooler that the previous day! 54 instead of 56. I don't know what Farmer H was thinking!

When I got home, Farmer H was kicked back in his recliner, UNDER AN AFGHAN!

Hope he's not getting cold feet about his surgery!

THUMPbelina

Sitting here at the kitchen table Friday night, I heard the dogs start barking. They're so weird. No idea what they bark at all night. Usually, it's later, around midnight or 1:00. This was shortly after 9:30. Farmer H had already gone to bed at 7:30, not long after supper. I was watching the time, because I wanted to be done computing by 10:30 to watch TV.

The dogs were somewhere out front. Maybe near the garage and driveway. Maybe in the front yard/field. They were pretty close, but not up on the porch. Then I heard it:

THUMP!

THUMP!

About two seconds apart. I looked at the time on HIPPIE. It was 9:38. Huh. That was curious. I couldn't tell if the thumps were inside the Mansion, or outside. It didn't sound like anything I'd heard before. Not something falling on the porch. Not somebody banging on the door. Not the hollow bump of something falling in The Pony's bathtub.

Hmm. Maybe I should check on it. NO! Not by going to look in the spooky end of the Mansion by that bathroom! But perhaps Farmer H had fallen going from bed to bathroom at the other end of the house. Though you'd think he would make a louder noise, and only one thump.

I waited. The TV had gone off from lack of switching channels. It does that. The DISH Network screen comes up, telling you to push the SELECT button to continue watching. So there was NO noise in the Mansion. Just the intermittent barking of Jack and Juno. Not even Copper Jack. So they weren't barking at HIM. When the thumps came, they were not barking.

By 9:42, I could no longer sit and wonder. I got up and went to the master bedroom. Farmer H was snoozing in bed, tethered to his breather. So he had not fallen and bounced, and had not been lying on the floor, trying to get my attention by thumping something.

No idea what it was. Perhaps a new spook clamoring for attention.

The Awkwardness Of The Long-Distance Cart/Walker

I parked way down at the right end of Country Mart on Friday. In the indented parking space where a gal on a bicycle once blocked me in by standing so close to T-Hoe's door to fiddle with her child-seat. Not that I wished any harm to her child, but there were acres of space to do that while leaving room for T-Hoe's door to open.

Anyhoo... I was dismayed to see NO carts left along the front of the building. Of all the days for the staff to be efficient at bringing in the carts! I hobbled inside and grabbed one out of the indoor cart corral. When I came out, I was dismayed once again. There was a man walking from nowhere, coming across the lot from the area of a mini mall with my pharmacy, a Chinese restaurant, and a storefront that has housed assorted businesses. Even worse, Dude was walking towards the back of T-Hoe.

I paused on the sidewalk, leaning on my cart/walker. I was not going to be standing in his path, my purse exposed in the child seat. I momentarily considered popping up T-Hoe's back hatch with my clicker, right as Dude walked by. That could be amusing, hitting him with the door remotely. But Mrs. HM is a good egg, ever cognizant of her permanent record, and not one for playing rude pranks on strangers.

After Dude passed by T-Hoe, and then by me, I proceeded to T-Hoe's rear, and unloaded my groceries. Oh, great. Here came a Man and Wife across the pavement. At least they were parked on the lot, and seemed to be heading inside to shop. But WHY were they not taking the most direct route? And instead steering themselves towards T-Hoe's rear?

I was ready to park my cart/walker and get on with my errands before picking up Farmer H at Mick the Mechanic's shop. I heaved a heavy sigh. Waited for those two to get out of my way. Reached up to push the button and close T-Hoe's hatch.

"I'll take that."

"What?"

"The cart. I can take it."

"Oh! Okay. Here. I like to use it as a walker!"

 

"Are you going in?"

"No. I'm done with it. I push one in, and then leave it by the building when I come out. I figure we're even."

Man looked confused, and Wife was encouraging him to come on. Acting like I was the weirdo!

A Taxing Time For Farmer H

I've been waiting to file the taxes this year. Waiting for all the pertinent documents to arrive. The law says they have to be here by January 31. As you can see, I have given them an extra three weeks grace period.

Thursday afternoon, I had a phone appointment with Social Security. In gathering information that I might possibly need, I noticed that we did not have a 1099 income statement for Farmer H in with the tax documents. So at the end of my appointment phone call, I asked the gal if Farmer H needed that 1099, or if the information would automatically pop up in the system when I was filing.

"He will need that 1099. They were sent out in January. It doesn't look like an actual letter. I can't describe it. It's different. But if he didn't get it, he can stop by our local office and ask for one. We can print it here."

Yes. I remember from last year. This form comes in a postcard-like folded form, where you have to tear off end tabs and unfold it. We did not get one this year.

I called Farmer H, who just happened to be driving home from Bill-Paying Town.

"Where are you now?"

"Almost to the Sis-Town exit."

"Can you go by the Social Security office and get a copy of your 1099? I'll need it to file the taxes."

"I didn't know I needed one of those."

"Everybody needs one to show their income, to file taxes."

"Well I know how much I get every month."

"You don't get a statement every month. You don't know the withholding for Medicare. You THINK you know. But you don't have exact amounts."

"Okay. I can go by there."

"Don't take in your pocket knife! They'll make you put it in a tub."

Anyhoo... Farmer H came home with a printout of his 1099 form. I didn't ask about his experience. But he DID volunteer that the guy he talked to said they'd been printing a LOT of them. Apparently, those forms didn't get sent out as normal. 

Heh, heh. If you can't trust the government, who CAN you trust...

I Know This Is Hard To Believe, But I'm A Little Annoyed With Farmer H

I have been faithfully watching Tough As Nails the whole season. It's on Wednesday nights. The only episode I missed was when we were at the Oklahoma casinos. It's a competition show with two teams of six men/women who compete for team money and an individual grand prize of a new truck and $200,000.

Last night, I was getting Farmer H's supper ready, warming up the pot of green beans/bacon/potatoes that I had cooked for a couple hours earlier in the day. I had his chicken patties in the oven, and was setting out his sliced pickles, cheese slices, and preparing to slice an onion.

"Hey, I think tonight is the finale of Tough As Nails. Check the guide and make sure of the time." 

Farmer H was kicked back in the recliner waiting for supper, playing with his phone, and watching Moonshiners. So I didn't really think I was troubling him to check one quick thing for me.

"Yeah. It says season finale."

"What time, 9:00?"

"Yeah. 9:00."

So I got his supper ready, and went back to the kitchen table with HIPPIE. At 8:00, I got my own supper, and ate it leisurely while computing. Farmer H went to soak in the big triangle tub in the master bathroom. He came back around 8:45. At 8:52, I got my water bottle filled with ice and water, and went to set it down on the table beside the short couch.

"I'm heading to the bathroom, then we'll watch Tough As Nails."

Farmer H switched channels to have it ready.

"WAIT! What is that? That's Tough As Nails! Why is that on early? Did I miss it?"

"It's what's on. Maybe they're showing last week. It said season finale for 9:00."

"Put on the guide information RIGHT NOW! Look. It says season finale. And the time is 8:00 to 10:00. I missed half of the show I've been watching all season! Because you didn't tell me it was on earlier! It's a two-hour finale, and I missed half! I didn't see if that one team earned money for the final challenge. And how the last person went out before the four finalists. I could have been watching it, instead of sitting at the kitchen table!"

"Yeah. You could have watched it. I was in the tub."

GRRRR! Farmer H is so maddening!

Liars, Dang Liars, And FedEx

We were expecting a package on Tuesday. Not just your everyday package of assorted sundries from Amazon. This was a once-every-couple-of-years package. CHECKS! The package that arrived one time when we were eating dinner in Oklahoma! Arrived two days early! Necessitating HOS (Farmer H's Oldest Son) to drive down on his 4-wheeler and look for it after dark. He couldn't find it. So I stewed over it for two nights and a day. Then we found it upon arrival home, flattened in the driveway where it had been tossed out, and run over by HOS in the dark.

Anyhoo... I held off on making this order, because we had our recent Oklahoma casino trip planned. And then I knew we'd be away from home all day on Valentine's Day. So I made the check order, and saw the estimated arrival window. It was a time I knew I'd be home.

Here's the thing. That doesn't always matter! Since that time FedEx delivered a pair of shoes for Farmer H by leaving them on top of Mailbox Row! I was hoping that fate would not befall my checks! And that they wouldn't be delivered to a house down the road like Farmer H's medical supplies one time.

Anyhoo... I got a notice by email that my package would be here on Tuesday. Then an update that it would be here on Tuesday, before 8:00 p.m., but scheduled for a window from 10:30 a.m. to 2:30 p.m. I got an email Tuesday morning that my package was out for delivery. And should be delivered between 10:10 a.m. and 2:10 p.m.

Every time the dogs barked, I got up to look out. No package. Farmer H came home at 1:00. He didn't see a package. He had to go right back to town to exchange a piece of hardware. Got back at 2:00. No package. At 2:30, I told him I was getting in the shower. That if he heard the dogs, it was probably our delivery.

At 3:10, we still didn't have the package. Farmer H left for a far-away auction, and I left for town. At 3:50, as I pulled up to Country Mart, I got an email that my package had been delivered! It only takes ten minutes to get home. But I had 20 minutes of errands left. Of course the lines were longer than usual. I was hoping my checks were not resting atop Mailbox Row!

As I came up the driveway, I could see the white envelope package on the front porch, atop a red canister heater thingy, next to Farmer H's wooden Indian. That was a relief.

I guess the trick is to act like I'm leaving home, and then double back and wait a few minutes for my package to arrive.

Juno Is Smarter Than Farmer H

Poor Juno. She is too smart for her own good. You may recall that she has been having some health problems. Because she was so very thin, Farmer H thought she might have worms (we are avid viewers of The Incredible Dr. Pol), and bought some de-wormer. Or wormer. Anyhoo... for a little while Juno would look a little better, then she'd be all bony and ribby again. Right now she is her sleek self, no ribs showing, but you can feel them if you pet her.

"Do you think that's what was wrong with Juno? Are you finished with the worm medicine."

"I still have some. She wasn't eatin' her food with it! So I had to stop. Then I started doing it again."

"Is it a pill? Do you need me to hold her mouth open?"

"No. It's liquid. I was putting in on her food, but she must of smelled it, and she wouldn't eat her food."

"Of course she smelled it! She has a DOG NOSE! I can't believe you just poured it on top of her food. THAT'S why she was eating Jack's food all the time!"

"Yeah. I guess. Then I started putting it in her canned food. Like down in it. And she ate it."

"She must like the canned food a lot more. Because I'm sure she could still smell it."

"Sometimes she'd just eat part of it. And now she's suspicious."

"I saw her yesterday when you were by the laundry room, thumping the can. She came halfway around the porch, and waited. Then when you came in, she went to eat it."

"Yeah. If she sees me do anything other than dump out the can, she won't eat it. She knows I'm doing something to it!"

Anyhoo... Juno has filled out a little. Food is always in her dish, and Jack's too. The dry food. In case she's hungry. Problem is, Juno is just OLD. We got her as a tiny pup in the fall of 2010. So she's 12 years old! That's pretty old for a big dog. Actually, Juno is medium. I'm pretty sure she's a border collie/labrador mix, from her behavior as a young dog, and her coat, and the shape of her head and color of her eyes.

Juno's other problem is peeing. I'm afraid she might have stones in her urethra. For a time it seemed difficult for her to pee. She'd squat and whine. Now she pees all over the place. Like she can't hold it in. Not a lot, but it drips here and there and everywhere. The feathery fur on her haunches gets soaked. 

Farmer H has debated taking her to the vet. Thing is, she's still faster than him, and strong when she doesn't want to do something. She is not leash-trained, because here in the country, we don't parade our pets around, and after their initial shots and special operations, we consider them healthy enough. So even if Farmer H could catch Juno and hold her somewhere overnight to have her here for a trip to the vet... once there, he couldn't carry her or drag her on a leash to get her inside. I've also decided I don't want any surgery for her, if that is a recommended treatment. She is 12 YEARS OLD! I wouldn't put her through that. It would be different if she was 4 or 5. But I don't want her stressed in her old age. She seems happy enough now, and runs and barks with the other fleabags. Chases the Gator.

Speaking of the Gator... Farmer H was gone when I got home from town on Monday. I sent him a text: "I suppose you're at the BARn, since my dogs are not here for their treat."

He sent back that he had been to the other property up on the hill, and was almost home. I thought he might have been out looking at the roads, since some of the road crew actually worked on them Sunday! But no.

"I was at the other property, and took the Gator down to the creek. I was hoping Juno would wade in and clean herself, but she didn't!"

"It's FEBRUARY!"

"Yeah, but it's 66 degrees today. And them other two went in. Just not Juno."

She's pretty smart, our Juno. The best way to get her in the creek is to act like you don't want her in the creek...

Farmer H Sees The Light

As I was getting supper warmed up on Saturday evening, I noticed that the kitchen looked kind of dark. Yes, the weather was cloudy, and it was after sunset. But something was off. I called to Farmer H, who was biding time until going to the auction with the hopes of getting some fishing tackle.

"Looks like the light over the kitchen table is out."

"Has it been on?"

"I don't know. I turned on the switch when I came in from town, like I always do. I didn't notice if the light came on. It was more daylight then."

"I mean, has it BEEN on? Other days?"

"Yeah. It was on last night until I turned it off. I guess I'll just try to see my scratchers, and my food when I sit down at the table..."

"I'll get the ladder out of the garage and fix it now. I think I have a bulb down in the basement."

"You don't need to be climbing on a ladder!"

"I'll be fine, HM."

Farmer H returned with a bulb and the stepladder my mom gave us. It's more of a stepstool kind of ladder. It folds open, and has two black plastic steps, and a little platform near the top. Farmer H set it by the kitchen table, and held onto the counter while climbing up those two steps. Then he went onto the top step, and reached up to unscrew the screws holding the glass globe of the light assembly under the ceiling fan.

"Be careful! I'm coming over. I'll take the old bulb, and give you the new one."

Farmer H took out the twisty bulb and handed it to me. I gave him the regular lightbulb-shaped bulb. When he screwed that in, it was BRIGHT! 

"I know you don't have the other part on yet, but this is so much brighter than the twisty bulb! I've always hated those."

Farmer H had a bit of trouble getting the glass globe back on. The screws were not lining up, then were too tight or too loose. Finally it came together.

"I'm standing over here by the sink. As you start down that ladder, you hold onto my shoulder to balance yourself!"

Farmer H gets dizzy when he tilts his head back. I didn't need him falling off that stepstool ladder breaking his back two weeks before back surgery!

He made it down unscathed, and now I have light! 

Spare The Rumpus, Spoil The Child

Sweet Gummi Mary! We have a generation of young adults headed for sudden (and gruesome) death! All because their parents did not love them enough to teach them life skills, and mete out corrections as necessary.

For two days in a row, I almost RAN OVER young adults darting into the path of moving T-Hoe! Good thing the brakes work, and that I am a cautious driver.

The first was Friday, at Orb K. I had just turned onto the lot, so was going slow enough to react to errant cars backing out from parking places in front of the store. The late afternoon sun blared into my sunglassed and window-visored eyes. But I am ever-vigilant behind the wheel.

As I steered T-Hoe between the row of parked cars and the gas pumps, a plump 20-something gal jiggled herself into T-Hoe's path. I don't say that as plump-shaming. She was jiggling and giggling, prancing sideways and backwards, joking with somebody in the car at the pumps. Then turned and darted RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME, within about 10 feet of T-Hoe's bumper.

I jammed on the brakes, shaken, then shocked. I threw up my hands like what the actual eff? My heart was racing as I continued to my preferred parking spot.

The second event was Saturday. I was parked in the handicap space at the Gas Station Chicken Store, facing away from the FREE AIR hose. I could see the gas pumps and the stoplight and the Liquor Store across the street. 

A black pickup truck crossed the lot, and pulled up beside T-Hoe. He was not in a parking spot. Just sitting in the drive area between those two parking spaces beside the building, and the diesel pumps on the side. I thought perhaps he needed the handicap space, and started up T-Hoe to pull away.

YIKES! A young man darted from behind that black pickup truck, RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME! Again, I jammed on the brakes. At least this fellow had the shame to wave his hand at me, in a kind of "sorry" motion. And he sped up to get out of the way.

Both of these young people were about The Pony's age. The generation that was pampered with trophies and awards for simply breathing. Thanked for doing the most mundane things. Catered to and excuses made for. Yet not taught responsibility.

So sad that their parents did not swat a tender rumpus, nor sit that rambunctious rumpus on a naughty stool for an age-appropriate time-out to promote self-control and prevent them from running into traffic all willy-nilly!

A Freak Injury For Freaky Mrs. HM

Welp! I've hurt myself once again doing a routine household task. No blood this time. It's not like Blog Buddy Kathy's sliced pinky! 

Thursday night, I made a pot of noodles/chicken/peas/mushrooms/alfredo sauce/parmesan cheese. I had it all stirred together. Farmer H had already taken a generous portion. I put the rest into a long flat plastic container, and was attempting to move it from the cutting block to FRIG II when it happened. That container was so heavy that my wrist started to give out. In trying to adjust my grip, that container slipped!

No way did I want my efforts to end up on the kitchen floor. Some people might say you could eat off my kitchen floor... but that's only due to a crumb accumulation! Not its state of cleanliness.

Anyhoo... I was juggling that container like a fumbled football, not having time to think, just grasping and grabbing and bumping it all around. I saved it! But my left hand took a beating. I'm still not sure what I did to it.

My left index finger is extremely hurty, from the middle knuckle down past the punching knuckle and into the middle of my hand. I can't grip with it. Can't lift my water bottle. It aches like the dickens. Although I have an ample rumpus, my hands are more of a skeletor style. You can see the tendons and veins through the thin skin. Except on the thumb side of my hand now. It's puffy and cartoony. A little purple.

I'd suspect a broken bone, but when I tap the bone above and below where it hurts, it does not set off a sharp pain in the middle. So no referred pain, no broken bone. There's a big knot, though. I can't close my hand all the way.

Thank goodness I have a little jar of Hempvana cream that I got off the internets from a recommendation by my old blog buddy Joeh. It takes way the pain like a miracle. When it comes back four or five hours later, I apply more.

I'm hoping to regain function soon. At least it wasn't my scratcher hand!

Ice, Ice, Pony

A storm moved through Wednesday night. I know, because I had fallen asleep sitting up on the short couch, and awoke at 2:45 to the POUNDING of hail on the metal roof of the Mansion. I hope we didn't get hail damage. I'm not posing such a question to Farmer H, because he would balance a ladder on the back porch and climb up to have a look. He doesn't need to be on a ladder right now.

I could hear those ice pellets beating against the metal front door. That means they were blowing sideways, across a four-foot span of porch, and an additional foot of roof overhang. I looked out after the hubbub died down, and saw the front yard/field white with hail. The front porch was covered. The brick sidewalk. It was pretty. Yet not healthy for man nor beast. I was grateful for T-Hoe and A-Cad's garage lair, and the carport roof over SilverRedO. My thoughts turned to my little Pony, but I daren't disturb him in the wee hours with a text.

By 8:38, I knew The Pony was still alive. I'm pretty sure he sent the text earlier, but that's when it came in on my metal-roof-sheltered phone:

"Holy hailstones!"

That's an accumulation on The Pony's car. I can see that he's parked at work. Looks like he didn't bother to use the windshield wipers on the way there. You'll also see that The Pony's nail polish is no longer chipped. He applied a fresh coat before our casino trip. It's highlighted even better below:

That looks like an almost perfect murder spear. Though it could possibly crumble before its goal was achieved. Pony described the hail at his house as "Thumbnail size." He said it woke him at 2:00. Ours was grape size.

When Farmer H got up, he threw open the front door in his underwear, and exclaimed that it had snowed.

"No. That's hail. Snow would have melted way before now. It was 70 degrees yesterday!"

When I went to town at 3:00, there were still pockets of hail piled alongside the road. Though it had melted off most of the porch, and the entire front yard/field. Winds were blustery, and the high temp in the low 40s. Five more weeks of winter. Or summer-like temperatures. Until spring officially arrives.

No Line Moves As Slowly As That 1-in-1000 Time You're In A Hurry

Let the record show that Mrs. HM is never in a hurry. No pressing appointments, nowhere to be by a specific time. She makes her trips to town with a cushion of time before closings. Can skip certain stops to be where she needs to be.

Thursday evening was a rare occasion when I was trying to hurry back home. We returned from the casino around 5:15. The sun was low in the western sky, wreaking havoc with sight behind the wheel. I figured the sun would have set by 5:30, and I'd have time to get to town and home before full dark.

The drive to town was fine. No glaring sun rays impeding my vision. I popped into the Gas Station Chicken Store first. Of course the lady at the counter had trouble using the card scanner. Then she contradicted the clerk about how much gas she was buying. So they had to void the transaction and start over. All the while, dusk was getting duskier.

I traded my winners for scratchers, and headed over the moat and across the side street to the Casey's. Again, a customer, man this time, was debating the charges, and getting a re-do. The next guy was routine. A dude waiting off to the side told me to go ahead. But no. It was HIS turn. So I told him to go ahead, because I was going to get scratchers.

Dude stepped up and gave his name and said he was there to pick up two pizzas. The Old Clerk hobbled to the kitchen, came back with three boxes. She started ringing it up.

"I don't think those are mine. I should have TWO boxes."

"The other box is breadsticks."

"Oh."

Ringing it up...

"Wait. I didn't order breadsticks."

The guy who was waiting behind me said, "Those are probably MY pizzas."

Pizza Dude repeated his name. "Are you sure those are mine? Want me to go over to the kitchen and ask?" At least he moved faster than Old Clerk.

Off he went to the kitchen area. And then, Old Clerk motioned for Behind Me Dude to step up. What in the Not-Heaven??? Why was he special? Those pizzas weren't going anywhere! He could wait his turn! He even looked at me like ??? was this okay. I motioned him ahead. Not HIS fault.

Behind Me Dude paid, and said, "Can I get that receipt?"

"No."  

I don't know why this policy. But he accepted the rebuff, got only the register receipt and not the kitchen receipt, took his pizzas, and left. Now the original Pizza Dude was back, standing off to the side with his rightful pizzas. I motioned him forward, too. He had actually been ahead of me. Not his fault they messed up his order.

By the time I got my turn, it was FULL DARK! I am not usually out after dark. I made it home fine. Though a bit out-of-sorts, because I had forgotten my cell phone back at the Mansion in my gambling purse. Good thing no evil befell me...

The Pony Takes A Stab At Deceit

When we got home from our birthday casino trip on Tuesday, The Pony went into the Mansion ahead of us. I'm just slow, and Farmer H was parking A-Cad after letting me out behind the garage. Heh, heh, all those years I told him the garage was too small and he didn't believe me! Nobody can open a passenger door when A-Cad is parked inside, because the wall is too close.

Anyhoo... The Pony had to get his birthday card, and the Valentine's candy that Farmer H had gotten for him. He also wanted the key code off my TurboTax, so he could file his taxes. And to make a quick bathroom visit before driving home.

I came in the kitchen door and saw The Pony coming across the kitchen by the cutting block. He had a funny look on his face. Kind of sheepish. Then I saw him put a knife on the counter beside the sink. I thought it was the butter knife I keep on the cutting block to jab at wayward ice cubes in FRIG II's freezer.

"What's going on with my knife?"

"Umm... nothing?"

"What do you mean?"

"Okay. I found it in my room."

"What?"

"I went in my bedroom to get something. I was looking for my tweezers. And I saw this knife."

SWEET GUMMI MARY! That butter knife has been in The Pony's room since he moved out last May. Probably before that! And I hadn't even noticed. We don't go in The Pony's room. I don't count my butter knives. Now if it had been a FORK, I would have known one was missing.

Let the record show that there was still some butter clinging to that knife, along with some toast crumbs.

The Gas Station Chicken Store Becomes An Inconvenience Store

Monday I went to town a couple hours early to cash in a special scratcher winner. I was lucky enough to arrive at the Gas Station Chicken Store a few minutes before 2:00. That's when their shift changes, and when the Man or Woman Owner leave. Only they can cash a ticket of this magnitude! (Picture on my not-so-secret blog.)

Anyhoo... I couldn't park in the handicap space beside the building, because a pickup truck had just pulled in there, and was waiting for a car to vacate the FREE AIR hose area. So I parked by the moat. A dump truck was at the diesel pumps on that side of the building. The driver finished getting gas, and BACKED UP towards T-Hoe! I know he saw me there. Yet he came within about 15 feet. Quite disconcerting, not knowing if he was going to stop!

Trucker then walked into the GSCS. I was getting out of T-Hoe when I saw the pickup pull forward. So I drove over to park in the handicap space.

When I got inside, Trucker was third in line. I got behind him. Woman Owner was manning the register. A lady was buying three giant jugs of whiskey! Not just a fifth. A JUG! THREE of them! Of course she was using a card, and didn't know how to use the card-reader. Then she forgot how much gas her husband pumped, and had to go outside to ask, because she didn't agree with what Woman Owner read off the thingy. 

Once the transaction was finally complete, Woman Owner had to put all that whiskey in BAGS. Plastic bags. Which, as you might assume, are wont to stick together. So that took a while, what with double-bagging because they were so heavy. Not all three could fit in one bag, doubled or not.

Finally Whiskey Woman left, and the next lady wanted cartons of cigarettes. So that took some time. Man Owner wandered up front from behind the soda fountain aisle. Woman Owner asked him to help out on the second register. So he called to Trucker.

Farmer H knows Trucker. I know where he lives. His wife works with The Pony. I've seen Trucker in the GSCS many times. Trucker fancies himself to be a bit of a comedian. He said he would go to Man Owner's register, but that he had hoped to be served by Woman Owner. That she was always mean to him and charged him a dollar to use the bathroom. If she could, she would, but this tale was fabricated. 

Anyhoo... while we had all been waiting, I saw a hand with a soda appear on the soda fountain aisle. You can't see through the shelving. So I knew it would be a big kerfuffle over who was next. In fact, Woman Owner said she could help someone, and I said,

"I'm not sure who was next." Even though I knew it was me. If the Soda Hand had common sense, she would have realized that the door had not made its opening sound since she had stepped up to the counter area. So obviously everyone had been in line ahead of her. But before she could demur, and let me take my rightful turn, which the expression on her newly-appeared face projected... Trucker said:

"Right here. She's another regular." And he nodded at Soda Hand, standing off to the side, late to the line.

AS IF he was in charge of who took what turn. AS IF I haven't been frequenting the GSCS almost daily for the past 20 years. AS IF he and Soda Hand should get special treatment. Which I guess also includes backing your dump truck into cars parked by the moat in regular parking spaces.

Anyhoo... Trucker finally left, and Man Owner asked if he could help me.

"I hope so. I came to town early to see if you could cash this ticket for me."

"Oh. I wish I could. But I only have $12 in this register!"

"Well, I'm not going to trade my ticket for $12. But you can cash in this $10 ticket, and sell me some more."

So Man Owner did my regular transaction, although he charged me a dollar too little for The Pony's Cash4Life ticket. So I reminded him before he rang it up. Good thing their policy is to say the amount of each ticket as they're ringing it. Man Owner thanked me for not cheating him, and said, "This is the only business in town where you have to work when you buy something!"

Soda Hand was buying some weird stuff like chewing tobacco. But when she finally got done, Woman Owner cheerfully said she could cash my ticket. It's a good day when you get her in a good mood! She scanned my winner, and opened the cash drawer, and said:

"Oh. I hope I have enough in here to pay you!" I'm pretty sure she was joking with me.

"I hope so too! Or you'll have to come home with me and do some work at my house!"

"OOH! You have a farm, don't you?" said Man Owner.

"No animals anymore, but we used to have goats and chickens and a mini pony."

"I was raised on a farm. I could do it," said Woman Owner.

"Well, it has to be YOU! Don't send HIM!" Man Owner is good about being the butt of everyone's jokes. So I knew I wasn't hurting his feelings.

Anyhoo... I finally got my special scratcher cashed. But it wasn't easy.

Hey, Pony! What's For Supper?

It's not always steak for The Pony. He has regular meals that don't take a lot of preparation. Like a few days ago.

Little chicken sandwiches! Doesn't look like he had any sides this time. The state of the biscuits makes me wonder if his oven is cooking evenly. Or maybe he had the chicken on a pan that was on a rack over his biscuits, so parts didn't get all the heat. To be fair, The Pony DOES prefer his biscuits to be doughy in the middle. So either way, they were not all done to his liking. Looks like they had pepper jack cheese, and his sauce of mayo/ketchup.

The Pony said he was making a different version of chicken sandwiches for Sunday night. On Texas Toast, with cheese and sauce. Lettuce would have been included, but he's out.

No Steps Forward And 8 Steps Back

We've had the same cell phone service since the boys were pre-tweens. Genius chose it for us, because it had unlimited internet usage and texting. The company is SPRINT, and it has worked well enough for us. They changed the unlimited policy, but anybody already on it was grandfathered in. For that reason, The Pony is still on our bill, though he pays his part every month.

A while back, SPRINT was bought by T-MOBILE. We had to get a new SIM or something for our phones. Our service seems to have declined, though to hear the commercials tell it, we have better coverage now. For a couple months, I've been getting emails that our bill will look different, now that it comes from T-MOBILE and not SPRINT.

I was none too fond of the SPRINT bill anyway. They sent it in an envelope that had to be carefully unfolded, then used to remail the payment. It was time-consuming. The bill itself was two pages of itemizations, and a stub to mail back with payment. Concise and to the point.

The new T-MOBILE bill came Saturday. The good news is that there's no reusable envelope to deal with. The bad news is everything else!

This new bill came in a giant 8.5 x 11 envelope! Inside were 10 pages of itemizations!!! Showing every text and phone call over the month. Even texts to a number I don't recognize! AND there's a little envelope to mail back the payment stub.

So... we go from conserving paper to the point of deconstructing one envelope to send back in return, to receiving a giant envelope containing a small envelope to return payment. And from two pages of itemizations to 10!

I can't see any benefit in this new billing scheme. None at all for T-MOBILE. While slightly more convenient for ME, it destroys the environment 8-fold!

Mrs. HM Almost Becomes Thronebound

When we stopped at the rest area on the way home from our Oklahoma casino trip, I used my cane. My knees stiffen up severely when riding in the car. Farmer H was yards ahead of me. Not because he had to "rest" so bad, but because that's always how he walks. Many paces ahead of me. He was across the little lobby area with the drinking fountain, and in the maze entrance of the men's room before I crossed the open threshold.

A janitor was coming out of a suppy room on the left. He saw me caning along.

"There's a family restroom right there, ma'am. You could save yourself a few steps."

"Oh. Thank you. I remember that now."

Yes. I DID remember, because The Pony and I had utilized just such a family restroom at the rest area on the southbound side of the highway, on a previous CasinoPalooza, after I closed my leg in A-Cad's door and ripped out a chunk of flesh. He had bandaged my leg as best he could.

Anyhoo... I caned over to the family restroom. I will probably never utilize it again, unless I rip a chunk out of my leg.

There was a handrail on the concrete-block wall on the right of the toilet. It was pretty close to the wall itself, but I could still get my hand around it for a grip. The problem was that the rail did not extend far enough forward. The giant toilet paper dispenser was mounted there in front of it. So I couldn't get good leverage to pull myself off the throne. It took several tries!

In fact, I was beginning to worry that I might be thronebound! How would I be rescued??? I'd have to call Farmer H, hoping he actually answered his phone. Then he'd have to find the janitor to unlock the door. And there I'd be, waiting for a hand to hoist me off the throne.

Yeah. I probably won't use the family restroom again for "resting" purposes.

The Honey BBQ Frito Ladder

On the way home from our recent Oklahoma casino trip, we stopped at a rest area along the highway. Technically, it's called a visitor center, but people don't just pull off the highway to get pamphlets for tourist attractions. They stop to do their business. The facilities are maintained by the state. Inside are restrooms, snack and soda vending machines, and a little shop that I presume sells small souvenirs, and offers pamphlets. I've never gone into the shop area, nor seen others go inside.

This time, there was a worker doing something in the main entryway. He had a ladder set up, and was talking on a radio. Not sure what he was doing. I presumed he was repairing the vending machines, since everything else is granite and concrete. His ladder wasn't high enought to reach lights in the ceiling.

Anyhoo... Farmer H always gets done with his business before I do. I find him at the vending machines on my way out. Even though it was only 90 minutes after a hearty breakfast before leaving the casino, Farmer H needed his snack. He was under that ladder (!), fishing something out of the tray of the vending machine, while the worker stood back. He joined me for the walk back to A-Cad.

Once in the car, I saw that Farmer H had a Twix candy bar, and a small bag of Honey BBQ Fritos. It's not like he ever offers me anything! He set the Fritos on the console between us.

"Oh, I've had those before. They're pretty good."

"We'll have them after while. They was FREE."

"Are they past date? Did the worker guy give them to you? The vending machine guy who came to school used to set the past date items on the table in the teacher workroom."

"No. They was layin' in the bottom of the machine. So I took them."

"Maybe that guy was working on the machine, and put some money in to see if they came out. Nobody would just buy Fritos and leave them laying there."

"That guy stood and watched me. He didn't say nothin' to me."

I'm pretty sure Farmer H stole a bag of Honey BBQ Fritos from the rest area! Let the record show that we heard no sirens chasing us, once back on the highway. I opened the Fritos 84 miles later, as we were getting off the interstate, and onto the curvy 2-lane blacktop part of our journey. They were a tasty snack. All the sweeter to Farmer H, I'm sure, due to their FREEness.

Farmer H Almost Gets Some Road Treasure

We had rain most of the day yesterday. A steady downpour, not as heavy as some in the past. The road was dull, yet shiny. I couldn't see the line markings in town at the lights. They seem to have lost their reflectiveness. Good thing I drive through there every day, and know how the lanes jog sideways to go under the highway overpass.

On the way home, after crossing the low-water bridge, I was startled to see something bright green on the left side of the road, near the driveway of the guy we bought our long-ago rental duplex from. It hadn't been there when I went to town. Farmer H went to the funeral home later that evening in A-Cad. When he returned, I asked him...

"Did you see that bright green hose near the Rental Guy compound? I guess it fell off the poop truck."

"Yeah. If I'd been in the truck, I probably would have stopped to get it."

SWEET GUMMI MARY!

Why would Farmer H want a 4-inch diameter bright green hose about 12-15 feet long? Especially one used to suck up and spit out poop! What use could he possibly have for that? It's not like a garden hose. No nozzle on either end. It looked like it was to connect one thing with another.

I'll tell you why Farmer H would want it: BECAUSE IT WAS FREE!

Mrs. HM Opens Her Mouth And Embarrasses Herself

Everybody knows that Mrs. HM is a shrinking violet. She wouldn't say doody if she had a mouthful. Spit it out, yes, but say doody, no. She doesn't like to make a scene. She will suffer silently, then rip the offending party to shreds with her vicious blog fingers.

Monday I went to Country Mart for bananas and cheddar slices and bread and butter and trash bags and paper towels and mayo and dill pickle spears and garlic toast and soda for Farmer H.

For the past two weeks, his Diet Mountain Dew has been "on sale" at 3/$11.00. This is not all that great of a sale, but when not on sale, each six-pack of 20 oz bottles costs $4.68. I won't pay that. Any little bit off feels like I am outsmarting them.

One of the newer girls was working the register I went to. She was pretty fast, though not that great at bagging. She put my box of 28 trash bags on top of my bunch of 8 bananas! Everybody knows bananas are tender, and don't need box corners poking them!

Anyhoo... as I was setting my stuff on the conveyor, I only set one six-pack of soda.

"I have three of these."

The checker nodded, and continued scanning and badly-bagging. She put my garlic toast in with the pickles and mayo, when obviously it was cold and square and should have gone with the butter and cheddar slices. Still, she was friendly and quick. I wheeled my cart/walker out to T-Hoe and rearranged a few items into their proper bags.

Once in the driver's seat, I wrote down the amount on my receipt in my checkbook register. That's when I saw that my Diet Mountain Dew rang up as 3 @ $4.68! 

For $14.04.

Sweet Gummi Mary! I was not going to take that! Even though it meant marching back inside, from my parking space way down at the right end of the building where a bicycler had once blocked me in... I slid out and began my march of indignation.

I stepped up to the service desk. The friendly lady was working.

"Oh, do you have a lottery winner you need to cash?"

"I WISH! No, this time I'm here to complain. It's usually my favorite pastime, but I hate to do it here. I just bought three six-packs of Diet Mountain Dew. The sign says it's 3 for $11.00, but it rang up as 3 at $4.68. See?"

Friendly Lady perused the receipt. "Oh. Here it is. Right here. Your discount."

At the very bottom of the receipt, there was a "Promo - $3.09." Nothing indicating what it was for. Just that amount subtracted from my total. The Diet Mountain Dew was midway down the items. Not near the discount.

"Huh. Why is it way down there? It doesn't say what it's for."

"I don't know why it does that. Maybe just to make people complain!"

"Well, thank you. Now I know."

"I can handle a complaint like that!"

"Me too."

So Mrs. HM made a fool of herself, and subjected her knees to extra walking, to find out that she had NOT been cheated on soda, even though the discounted amount didn't exactly match up with the advertised price.

Another Day, Another Journey Under HM's Skin

Farmer H has a variety of ways to annoy me. I think he has a little black book where he lists his tactics, and gives them starred ratings for effectiveness. He tried a new one on Sunday night.

Let the record show that Mrs. HM's nose drips now and then. I always have some Puffs With Lotion on hand, to dab or blow my nose. I'm not sick. It's just a drippy nose. My mom had it, too. I even tear the Puffs in half, so as to use only half as many. It's a drip. Not a snootful of snot like you'd get mid-cold.

Anyhoo... as I was getting up from the table Sunday night, I put my used half-Puffs on my plate as usual, to set on the counter and then throw them in the wastebasket when I went around. I guess one of them blew off the plate, because while I was standing on the other side of the counter throwing the half-Puffs away, I saw one on the floor by the leg of my chair. It was not worth the effort to walk around and get it. That half-Puff was not in the walkway. I could pick it up the next morning when I went to sit at the table again.

Sweet Gummi Mary! I went to the kitchen to take my morning pill after Farmer H had left, and saw a sight that made my blood boil!  

MY HALF-PUFF WAS ON THE KITCHEN TABLE BY MY COMPUTER!

I know a half-Puff doesn't jump up on the table by itself. It was obvious that Farmer H had put it there. WHYYYYYY? (In the iconic word of Nancy Kerrigan) 

The only purpose this serves is to trash-shame Mrs. HM! We all know that Farmer H does not pick things up off the floor. Not the dead leaves he tracks in, not the pills he drops in the master bathroom, not the bare toilet paper tube that he knocks off when bagging the full trash. He's not a picker-upper. UNLESS he has an evil agenda...

Of course I confronted Farmer H with his spiteful action when he got home. Didn't even wait for This Is The Time Of Day We Talk About The Most Recent Thing You've Done Wrong.

"Why in the Not-Heaven would you put my used tissue on the table? What's the point of that? You could throw it away. Or lay it on the counter for me to throw away. Why would I want a used tissue on the table by my computer?"

"I picked it up for you."

"I knew it was there. It wasn't hurting anything. I was going to get it when I sat down there this morning. All you did was put it in my way. TO POINT OUT THAT I DROPPED IT ON THE FLOOR!"

"Actually, your chair towel was laying there too. I picked it up and put it on the chair, because I was afraid you'd say I knocked it off."

[I fold up a bath towel into quarters to sit on, since those hard wooden kitchen chairs seem even harder after a couple hours of ample-rumpusing.]

"If your real plan was to 'help me,' you should have just put that tissue on the counter, where I could reach it and throw it away."

No answer from the devious picker-upper.

While I didn't accuse Farmer H of knocking off my chair towel, I could see that it was folded differently. And it was NOT on the floor the previous evening when I saw the tissue. Still, it could have fallen on its own, due to gravity overnight, or something else. Stranger things have happened in the Mansion...

The Pony Gives The Cook A Day Off

The Pony keeps me updated on his day-off activities. Like Sunday afternoon:

"Made a sandwich."

"I have decided I do not like cold sandwiches."

"What meat?"

"Shaved beef thing from Country Mart."

"You could grill it next time."

"Yeah. This was because I didn't feel like actually cooking. Next time toasting the bread with mayo or butter and then heating the meat might make it much better to me. It's not bad! Just a bit lackluster."

"Horseradish mustard is good on beef."

"Mustard, mayo, and a bit of hot sauce is what I used."

"Your garlic aioli sauce with mustard might also be good. I don't think hot sauce goes with beef."

"It went pretty well."

Huh. To hear him tell it, the sandwich was good after all! Oh, and don't worry that The Pony had a horrible smashing accident and hurt his thumb. That's just unkempt nail polish.

Bamboozling At The Country Mart Deli Counter

We got home from a three-day casino trip on Thursday evening. The Mansion was depleted of bananas and bread, and food worthy of a quick supper. We didn't need much on Thursday evening, having had a large breakfast. Chicken nuggets and mashed potatoes sufficed. Friday, I headed to Country Mart for provisions.

Still tired from our trip, I told Farmer H that I would pick up something from the deli for our Friday supper. He didn't care what it was. I saw the special was a 3-piece chicken tender meal with two sides and a roll, for $8.99. Not all that cheap, but considering that Farmer H had been discussing a Steak N Shake meal he had with The Veteran's two young daughters, which cost him $47, it seemed reasonable enough.

For Farmer H, I got the tenders and mashed potatoes with brown gravy, and macaroni and cheese. I had also planned on getting the mac and cheese for myself, but the gal (my bargain dude was not working) had scooped up almost all of it for Farmer H's meal. So I got the tenders with mashed potatoes and white gravy, and green beans.

"Okay. I'll just put the stickers on this and we'll be done. I'd put a roll with it for you, but they didn't put out any rolls today."

It was the nice lady who won $1000 on a scratcher the other day. The one who always speaks to me. So I didn't say anything about the roll. In retrospect, I wish I had! They broke the deal on their advertised special! So I should have asked for a discount, to deduct the price of the roll. It's not like the store would casually toss in a roll when it wasn't part of the special. So why should they subtract a roll and charge the same price?

I'm not mad at the gal who served me my deli specials. I'm mad at the deli manager who did not have items prepared to support the advertised special.

If my Bargain Dude had been there, I'm sure I would have been compensated in some way for the lack of a roll!

Farmer H Always Finds A Way

Friday is Farmer H's day out. Heh, heh! ALL days are Farmer H's day out, but particularly Fridays, when he goes to his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2), then to lunch, then gets a shot at the doctor's office, then sits around with his cronies shooting the bull at an electrical supply business. He says he'll be home between 4:30 and 5:00.

Mrs. HM is no fool. She plans her town trip with shopping so that she gets home between 4:30 and 5:00. Yet Farmer H always shows up mysteriously RIGHT AFTER she carries in all the groceries and puts them away! 

Yesterday I pulled into the garage at exactly 5:00. SilverRedO was NOT parked under the carport. I carried eight bags and a 12-pack of soda to the side porch. Three bags were really heavy, the rest medium-heavy. I couldn't loop a bunch on my arm like I can if they're light. It took me three trips from T-Hoe's rear, and another to get my purse and water bottle and the bag with our deli dinners.

Once up on the porch, I started moving the bags into the house. On my last trip to get bags off the side porch, the dogs went crazy. SilverRedO was coming down the driveway. I waited.

"You can carry in these two heavy bags. I've got everything else in. But you're going to help this time!"

You know. Because if I didn't say it, Farmer H could have waltzed right by and claimed that he didn't know I needed help.

He carried in those two bags. Set them on the cutting block. THEN WENT OUT THE DOOR, saying, "I've got to carry in the dog food that my buddy gave me."

Seriously? Like that was a pressing matter? Like it would hurt dog food to remain in the truck for a few more minutes?

I started putting away the groceries. When Farmer H came back, he walked past me to the bathroom, saying he had to take his medicine. Medicine so important that when we were in Oklahoma, he didn't bother to take it until after supper, around 8:30, when he went up to our hotel room.

"I can't believe you're actually HERE, but still not helping me put things away!"

Farmer H went to the counter and picked up two bags and put them on the cutting block. Then he grabbed a can of dog food and went out through the laundry room, calling for Juno. Juno. The dog we left for three days, going with only dry dog food from Tuesday morning until Wednesday night when The Pony drove out to feed her. So five minutes waiting for food would not be a hardship for her. Once back inside, I had a few more words for him.

"You're STILL not helping me? My back hurts from bending over picking up those bags. Oww!" said I, as I grabbed the cutting block to maneuver myself from FRIG II to more groceries.

"I put two bags over there for you!"

"They have stuff that goes on the kitchen table. So now I have to carry it back!"

"You can quit your moaning. My back hurts too, but you don't hear me carrying on like that."

"How about THIS? You go to the store and walk around picking out groceries. Load them in the car. Unload them at home, carry them in, put them away, and get my supper ready. I will go hang out in town, then come home and wait for my supper to be served. For that, I will be quiet, and YOU can moan. Do you want to try that?"

"I don't know what you're yelling at ME for."

"You were actually HERE, and instead of helping, you kept avoiding it."

"I had things to do."

"Yeah. Things to do until I was finally done putting everything away!"

"Don't be like that. I didn't do NOTHIN'!"

"Truer words were never spoken!"

Heh, heh. 

Nothing Keeps Mrs. HM Home On MO Money Monday. Nothing.

Have you heard? Mrs. Hillbilly Mom enjoys playing the lottery! Yes. It's such a well-kept secret...

The last Monday of the month has been dubbed MO Money Monday by the Missouri Lottery. That's when they release new tickets. You never know for sure which denomination, unless you check out their official website after midnight on the Sunday before MO Money Monday. Sometimes you can get a glimpse on their Facebook page the week before, when they have a giveaway for a random person who comments. Mrs. HM doesn't do that. She's not on Facebook.

Anyhoo... I was all excited to go get some new tickets on Monday. I've had some extraordinary luck over the past week. So there's money to spend. Imagine my dismay when I turned on the news at 6:00 a.m., and saw loads of traffic accidents, and reports of ice-covered roads! That's no way to usher in MO Money Monday!

I waffled all morning. Should I risk a trip to town? Wind chill in the teens. I could slide off the road and die. Even worse, I could slip and injure myself and miss out on the Oklahoma gambling trip we had planned for Tuesday!

Farmer H told me that the lettered highway was clear. And that most town roads were clear. My sister the ex-mayor's wife also told me that.

"We drove over to Bill-Paying Town, where Ex-Mayor says they never take care of their streets. It was pretty bad. But we're fine over in Sis-Town. Even the road in front of our house is clear."

Let the record show that it's a blacktop rural road that curves around and goes nowhere. I'm suspicious that it was clear because... oh... I don't know... maybe... THE EX-MAYOR LIVES ON IT!

Farmer H looked across the moat while he was at his pharmacy, and told me that the Gas Station Chicken Store's parking lot was spotty, but clear by the building. I asked him about the Liquor Store.

"It's covered! But while I'm looking, somebody just came out to sprinkle salt. I don't think that's gonna work."

"What about Country Mart?"

"I don't go there. But I would imagine it's clear. They usually take good care of it."

Anyhoo... I also had two prescriptions ready to pick up. So the lure of town was too much. I told Farmer H my planned route. You know, because he won't get out of his recliner to answer the phone should I call. So if I didn't return, perhaps he could come looking for me. I put T-Hoe in 4WD, and headed to town. 

I took the alternate route, like when the bridge is flooded, because the hills are not as steep, and there's less traffic. The lettered highway was NOT clear! But it was clear enough. I made it into the Gas Station Chicken Store to cash in a $100 winner. I got a new $30 ticket, which won back my $30. And a $20 ticket I'd been wanting, knowing they'd just started a new roll. And it won $100! The two new $5 tickets I got were losers. But I came out pretty good! Doubled my money.

Over at Country Mart, I found out that Farmer H was wrong again:

Of course I didn't park way out there! I got this picture as I was leaving. They had part of the sidewalk cleared, down on the left end. So I got in and out without slipping. You can't plow sleet off a parking lot, and the salt won't work with temperatures in the low 20s.

The new $5 ticket I bought from the machine was a loser. I got three of the $3 tickets. Two lost, and the other won $9. So it was worth the effort to play. I picked up a new $30 at Orb K for what I owed The Pony, and got him a new $5 ticket just because I love him. No word yet on if they were winners or losers...

On the way back to the Mansion, I got a picture of the road coming down towards Mailbox Row:

There's the turn onto our gravel road.

Which was covered, but not so deep that you couldn't get traction on the gravelly bits poking up through parts of the ice.

The Best Job In The World. And I'm NOT Talking About Mail Carrier!

They did it again! Those TV meteorologists were on the wrong side of 50-50 once more. What a good job to have, never being held accountable! I used to get so mad at them when I was teaching, for hyping me the kids up for a snow day, and then having NOTHING appear on the predicted day. More than once I stayed up all night enjoying my free time, only to discover that I had to get ready to go to work! Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, and you'll keep fooling me forever and ever!

Anyhoo... all the hullaballoo about last week's snowstorm, making us change our Oklahoma casino reservations, only to have the snow show up later than predicted. Sure, it was 8 inches here. But it was fluffy and melted the next day. We could have made it to Oklahoma before hitting that weather. This time, there was nothing mentioned about a storm. Just a passing reference to a winter storm watch. Then VOILA! Sleet coating the roads overnight! Many traffic accidents in the city. All the local schools called off classes. 

Farmer H started seeing stuff on Facebook about the roads on Sunday evening. He sent The Pony a text to put up his windshield wipers in case we got ice. No need to have them freeze and break, like the one on his back hatch last time.

Anyhoo... I sent him a text around 6:00 a.m. to warn him about the roads and the wind chill. It's the least I can do with my helicopter grounded.

"All the schools closed for ice. Be careful. Wind chill in teens."

"I know. Layers on layers today."

"Yes. Be safe. Don't go on uncleared steps! Where are you working?"

"Don't know. Mondays aren't consistent."

"Okay. Looks like weather moved on, another round coming about 3:00 THEY SAY."

"Yeah. But it's not getting over freezing today."

"Chemicals might start working."

"Car's defrosting. It's a solid coating on the roads. Guess I should have backed in when I flipped the wipers up."

"Yeah. They missed the forecast with this one. Be careful. Take it slow."

"Had the defroster started as soon as I got out of the shower. My windshields should be fine. Since it's just a short drive I'll keep my windows down so I can see the mirrors."

"Windows might not go down with ice on them! Don't burn up a window motor!"

"All cleared. Going in."

An hour and a half later, I heard more.

"No actual letter mail came in today. Some people are doing the hand-cased stuff. But I'm just gonna do two routes of packages and call it early, I think. Highways are fine according to the manager. It's the backroads that aren't."

"Looks like you're in an LLV (Long Life Vehicle) today. I can tell by the filth!"

"Yeah. I'm being careful. No sliding in this, but I slid at the bottom of my street and the railroad tracks stop sign in my car."

"Only thing you can do on ice is go slow so you don't have to jam on the brakes."

"Yeah."

The Pony got home around 2:30. He had the next day off as regularly scheduled. So that helped.

The Gorger Calling The Scratcher Greedy

I made tacos for Sunday night supper. We call them tacos, but in reality they are burritos, made on big soft flour tortillas. Of course I had to caution Farmer H not to take the whole pan of meat. You know how he is...

You wouldn't think that should be necessary. It was 2.28 pounds of ground beef. Of course it cooks down to less. I put stale bread in the pan to soak up the grease for the dogs' treat. Then stirred in two packets of taco seasoning, and called Farmer H to the kitchen to assemble his own supper.

"Keep in mind that this is for TWO NIGHTS. So the two of us are eating two meals each from it. That means you can't take half the meat tonight! Only 1/4, so we have enough for tomorrow."

"Huh."

"You know I have to tell you that, or you'd take all the meat! You've done it before, and we didn't have our leftovers!"

"Whatever..."

"You can have as much of the refried beans as you want. I don't really like them, and I have more in the pantry. Also, as much of the cheese, lettuce, onion, sour cream, and salsa. We have more."

Farmer H started spooning his meat onto his two large tortillas.

"That doesn't look like 1/4. You can have some more."

Yeah. When I said that, Farmer H took a little more than 1/4 of the pan. Almost as if he'd planned that scenario! You'd think a man who builds themed sheds without plans, and can redesign a flip house in his head, could estimate what 1/4 of a skillet of ground beef would be.

Anyhoo... there was plenty of taco meat left for me, and for leftovers. Farmer H was done within 10 minutes, and back in the kitchen while I was still finishing my scratchers.

"Hey! Don't go bringing your bad luck in here! I still have my little crosswords to go. And I've haven't won anything since I you came out of the bathtub earlier. I've only won $170 so far! I had a $100 winner, a $40, a $20, and a $10..."

"You're too greedy." 

Said the man who has to be warned not to eat a pound of taco meat at one sitting.