This Shouldn't Annoy Me, But It Does

Farmer H had a regular checkup a few weeks ago, which included a blood test. He was telling me of the results, which were pretty much the same as usual.

"She says I need to eat more protein. My protein is low. And that I need to drink more water."

"All you eat is PROTEIN! And sugar. But you always have more meat than anything else. Sometimes you ONLY want meat. Not salad or sides. So I don't know how you always come up low in protein. Even when you had a test after a week of eating ham and beans! That's all protein! And we've always told you to cut the Diet Mountain Dew three times a day, and have water."

"I did buy me a case of water for the shop. Maybe you can find me some protein bars or something. To have in the morning with my banana, instead of a donut."

"I can get you protein bars. But I doubt they will be instead of a donut. More like with a donut."

"Well, maybe..."

"Here's the thing. Protein bars are not very big. They're expensive. So you're not going to eat two or three at a time, like they're candy bars."

"I won't."

I got two boxes of protein bars for Farmer H. One flavor was chocolate and peanut butter. The other was cookie dough. They have 12 grams of protein. They were six in a box, for $8-something at 10Box. I'm sure they would be cheaper at the Devil's Playground, but I don't shop there. Anyhoo... I don't object to the cost. Only that Farmer H will treat them like candy bars, and have them IN ADDITION to donuts and candy bars. There would be much more protein if he added a chicken breast to his supper every night. But where's the "treat" in that?

Anyhoo... I don't begrudge Farmer H a daily protein bar. The cost is not what annoys me. THIS is what annoys me:

WHY does Farmer H open boxes like a psycho??? How hard is it to ease your fingers under the flap, peel it back, and then peel the other flap back from the end flaps? Let me answer for you: IT'S NOT THAT HARD! This looks like Farmer H was in a frenzy, trying to get that protein bar to crumble up and shove into a sliced-open artery!

Then again... I'm just an easily-annoyable gal.

Raising A Stink

Thank the Gummi Mary, we have a new air conditioner that is actually working! Kicking on and off like a champ, cooling the Mansion as it should. The temperature outside hit 97 degrees on Friday! I was uncomfortable in town, baking as I hobbled in and out of the Gas Station Chicken Store and 10Box on Saturday.

To make matters worse, an employee was rounding up the carts from the corrals at 10Box! I had a handicap parking space available, but no loose cart/walker in sight. That meant I'd have to walk down to the door, then back across the store to the carts. Which were now right in front of me, INSIDE the building, in their neat rows. I thought of walking under that open garage door, and stealing one. But I figured they probably didn't want people doing that, having the area marked off with orange cones and orange-and-white striped sticks. I couldn't risk such an infraction going on my permanent record!

Lucky for me, a dude came out with a case of beer and two bags in his cart. He was accompanied by another dude, and a worker. They were friends, chatting. Apparently he had just clocked out. The cart-corraller also walked over, having just jammed another line of carts under the garage door. They were chit-chatting, and one said, "Can you believe he's leaving us? AND he's going to leave his cart right here!" Indeed, the second dude had picked up the beer, and first dude was getting the bags.

"I'll take it!" I said, perhaps too excitedly, as I walked by.

The worker was happy with that, and even turned it around and put it right in front of me, ready for cart/walking. Can't beat that with a stick!

Anyhoo... I headed for the bananas. I only needed four, but that would keep me out of the store for two more days. A balding man in shorts, t-shirt, and no socks was standing with the cooler door open, looking at the bagged salads and already-cut fruit. I had to ease past him to get to the banana table. Huh. There was not much to choose from. They are always running low on bananas these days. A few bunches were on the tiered table, with some more underneath in bags in boxes.

I needed some greenish bananas so they'd last. I bent down to get a bag. Opened it up to tear off four of them. WHEW! What a stink! It turned my stomach! Were these bananas bad? They shouldn't smell like that, even when taken out of a bag. I took a little sniff, but they seemed okay. Maybe there was a bad potato. It kind of smelled like that. And potatoes and onions were on the table to my left. I turned to look, and almost ran into Shorts Guy. He was standing right in front of my cart!

I excused myself and moved my cart/walker over to the other table. I also needed some Vidalia onions, in a smaller size than those I had at home, because Farmer H wastes one by using only two slices. The onions smelled okay. I did not pick up any bags of potatoes to investigate. I moved on to the cereal aisle to get some instant Maple Brown Sugar Oatmeal. It has replaced fake honey nut cheerios with my banana every morning (noon).

Dang it! There was Shorts Man again! You know how sometimes you get that person who is on every aisle you go to? That was him. He was also on the cookie/chip aisle. I don't think he was creepily following me. But he WAS creepy. And here's the thing...

HE STUNK!

Every time he was around, I got a whiff of that bad smell. It wasn't sweat or BO. Something so much worse! Like he hadn't washed his rumpus in about a month. Not a poop odor. Just cheesy unwashed rumpus. My stomach churns now at the thought of it. There's no excuse for that! Stores have public bathrooms! They have soap and water! Wash your rumpus! You can even wash your shorts and t-shirt and wring them out and wear them wet out of the store. Nobody's going to say anything.

Other than the stink, he looked like a normal guy. He was shaven. Not scruffy or dirty. Just stinky.

It It Ain't Broke, He'll Break It

I was on the back aisle at Country Mart on Thursday, looking for Hawaiian Bread, when I got a text from Farmer H. 

 

"I'm home down stairs to not working upstairs"

Even I could not decipher this message. I figured Farmer H was telling me he was home, so I could text when I left town, and he would carry in the groceries. The Pony had trotted off to find some pudding for Farmer H, his first effort being Sugar-Free Vanilla, when I had asked for regular chocolate with a stripe. Sometimes, The Pony listens like Farmer H. I called Farmer H to see what he meant, just in case.

"I'm down in the basement watching TV. The one upstairs don't work. The satellite is down."

"What do you mean? It was fine when I left." [I leave it on to discourage possible intruders.]

"When I came in, it was black. I tried to turn it on, but it won't come on. The TV green light is on, but the satellite isn't showin' nothin'."

"The power went off this morning. Just like yesterday morning. I had to reset the microwave clock, and turn the TV back on. But the satellite was fine."

"It ain't now."

"Well, do you think it's going to fix itself? Big Brother is on at 7:00! It's the live eviction! How am I supposed to watch it? I can't get down the stairs!"

"I guess you'll have to call the DISH people."

"Why? Why aren't YOU doing that right now?"

"I don't deal with them. You do every day."

"I do NOT! I don't do anything with the DISH people!"

"I don't have their number."

"I guess you'll have to find it like I would: Google it!"

"I don't know what you expect me to do, HM."

"Find the number and call the DISH people and do what they tell you! Genius used to do it when he was 10. I'm pretty sure you can do it. I'm in the store! I'll barely have time to get your supper before the show comes on."

Farmer H gave a heavy sigh and hung up on me. By that time, The Pony had returned. I explained the predicament.

"DUH! If the satellite isn't working, then neither will the downstairs TV! It's the same satellite for both of them. It might be something with the living room receiver, but it's not the satellite!"

"You know what I think? He came home, and the TV was black because the power had gone off again since I left. Then he tried just pushing the SELECT button on the remote, because that starts the satellite when it goes inactive because nobody has been changing channels for three hours. Since the TV power was ACTUALLY off, because of the power, Dad just saw a black screen. Then when he noticed the light was off on the TV, he pushed both the TV and satellite power buttons. Which turned the TV on, with the green light showing. But it turned the satellite OFF. Then he kept pushing both buttons, which would turn one on, and one off."

"Yeah. I could see him doing that."

We finished our shopping. The Pony was loading T-Hoe's rear with food when he got a text.

"It's Dad. He has it working now."

"Oh. I'm getting a text, too."

Yes. According to Farmer H:

"It's on unplugged and replugged and it's working"

Which was good news, and I returned a text:

"Yay! Thank you!!!"

I'm pretty sure Farmer H just did that on a whim, without calling the DISH people. That's the first thing they do anyway. Tell you to unplug, wait a minute, then replug. I figure Farmer H did the unplugging and replugging while the TV power was still on, and saw the results on the screen, and heard the volume. If something had really been wrong with the receiver, the satellite system would have automatically started the 5-10 minute reloading of the on-screen program guide, which would not have volume and cause Farmer H to declare that it was WORKING now.

Prove me wrong, heh, heh. I'm pretty sure this was a problem of Farmer H's own making. I am not happy that Farmer H was planning to just watch TV downstairs, like this issue would fix itself. Nor that he felt it was unreasonable that I expected him to make a phone call to the DISH people to see how to fix the problem. 

That's Farmer H for you. I AM happy that he felt enough fear of my wrath that he got the problem solved, rather than sitting downstairs in my Old People Chair, watching TV.

The Mind Games Of The Carrier-Inner

I was lucky on Thursday afternoon, to have my grocery carrier-inner at home when I arrived after shopping. Don't get me started on the other issue he had created just before. We'll get to that tomorrow.

Anyhoo... Farmer H was sitting in the metal chair on the side porch, and rushed into the garage before T-Hoe's only-two-working-sensor tires had stopped rolling. He rushed around to T-Hoe's rear and grabbed the five bags. Which, I might add, had to be re-bagged at Country Mart, because young people have no idea that you don't split up cold plastic boxes of food to put one with bread, one with bananas, and one with bags of frozen chicken nuggets. Especially after Mrs. HM has gone to the trouble to set like items with like items on the conveyor.

Anyhoo... Farmer H whisked those groceries to the kitchen cutting block. I had told him that I bought more pudding for him, and a package of bologna that he requested. I'm sure he was excited.

When I got into the house, Farmer H just walked away! Leaving two boxes of frozen mini cheeseburgers, and one box of frozen mini hot chicken sandwiches there on the cutting block. He was fiddling with his phone.

"What was my business address at my lockers? I keep meaning to put it in my phone, but I forgot."

Farmer H sat down on the long couch, waiting for me to find that info for him. Which required going back around the kitchen counter, to the box on the table, where I have filed his business receipts, to dig through and find his business address.

Sweet Gummi Mary! It's not like the IRS was using a battering ram to blow through the door! That task could easily have waited until the groceries were put away, and I was sitting at the kitchen table.

Farmer H always finds a way to SEEM like he's helping me, while NOT REALLY helping me. I don't know what urgency prevented him from putting his mini sandwiches out of the boxes and into the freezer. 

It's About Time For Some Good Luck

Even Steven has been shaking his fist at The Universe! It's time for an EVENING!

Tuesday night, I had some extraordinary luck with my scratchers. The first two tickets I scratched were $50 winners. I'll take that! They were $10 tickets. After taking a break to watch Big Brother, which was on a special night, and interfered with my regular scratching schedule... I went back to the kitchen to finish with two crosswords. They take a long time.

The first crossword was from the Gas Station Chicken Store. They only had one left, which was number 059. It was a loser. But because they'd had only one, I went to 10Box to get one out of the machine. The left-side machine was held up by a guy who had a dollar stuck in it, and was waiting for a manager. That's okay. I wanted the right-side machine anyway, because I knew the crosswords were on a lower number. I bought one. Usually I get two, but with Big Brother, I wouldn't have as much time

Anyhoo... I jokingly told Farmer H on my way to the kitchen, "Let's see if I can get another $50 winner!" He gets jealous, you know, of my scratching success. Imagine my glee the next morning, telling him that I DID win $50 on that crossword! But the joke was on ME, because when I scanned it, I actually had a $100 winner! I had missed one word, which gave me five words total, and with the multiplier, it was $100.

Wednesday was another episode of Big Brother, so limited time again. So I went with the new Tetris tickets, which don't take as long as the crosswords, but longer than regular number tickets. They've been out a couple weeks now. I've won small amounts on them. But this one was GREAT!

You have to uncover the shapes at the top, which have a letter and number on them. Then scratch off that shape below. They're kind of hard to see. In the beginning, I needed a magnifying glass to read the letters and numbers, but now I recognize the shapes.

That's a $200 WINNER!

You have to uncover a horizontal line to win. There are usually unscratched shapes blocking the way. But this was a good one! Yes, I definitely scanned it right away, to make sure!

I got this one at the Hillmomba Casey's. It was number 055. That's pretty late in the roll for a big winner, in my experience. They only go from 000 to 059. I can still buy these tickets there, since they'll be in a new roll by the time I go back. Probably won't have such a big winner there for a while, though.

Yes, Even Steven is riding shotgun in T-Hoe with me this week. But I don't want him to overstay his welcome. You know what happens THEN!

Still No Sign

Pupsie is still missing from the Mansion. I can't remember how long it has been. I'm thinking more than a month, but I don't want to go back and relive the initial disappearance. Back when I still had some slim hope that she would turn up. It's been too long.

Farmer H had consoled me with consent to get another dog. Not that I was looking right away. Now he seems to have cooled on the idea. Not me. Every day, I consult the local cities who put pictures of "found" dogs and cats on their Facebook pages. Animals who need homes, who cannot be kept forever in their facilities. I am not in the market for a cat. But I would gladly take a dog needing a home. Gladly pay the neutering and vaccination charges for adoption. There are conditions, though...

My wish list might indeed be possible to fill. A new pet must be compatible with our needs.

No pit bull mix.

Sorry. I know people love them. I just don't trust hundreds of years of breeding a fighter.

Small to medium size.

Can't have a big dog jumping up and knocking me over. Too hard to transport to the vet.

Enough fur.

It will be an outside dog, so must be able to adapt to cold weather. No chihuahuas or greyhounds.

Any age or sex.

A young female would be most compatible with Jack, but any will do.

Good with other dogs.

It will be a buddy for Jack, so will have to share our love, and not be an only dog.

I have seen several that could work, but have reservations. I'll know when it's right. Two were found together, half-grown pups that looked to be an English Setter mix. They were keeping them in the same kennel at the pound. I didn't want to split them up, and didn't want two dogs.

One was a lemon beagle mix, found at the bowling alley. I figured she might belong to somebody. It's near a neighborhood and elementary school. Somebody adopted her in a few days.

Another was a female beagle mix called "Yapper" by the staff at the pound. Well. There you go. That's a beagle for you. Another issue with a beagle mix is that they run rabbits. Meaning all over everybody's property, which we do not want. We've had a beagle before. He was quite stubborn.

Basically, I want a small furry friendly dog that can enjoy Jack's companionship, regular meals and treats, and be content running around on 20 acres, sleeping outside or in a house on the porch filled with cedar shavings. 

That's not too picky, right? I check those pounds every day for new prospects.

The Half-Rumpused Hick

I swear, sometimes Farmer H is just a half-rumpused hick. Oh, who are we kidding. MOST of the time, he's a half-rumpused hick. Just like my best old ex-teaching buddy Mabel's husband, who leaves a single drop of ice cream on the counter every night. Every. Night. As she's said, Mabel being a former math teacher: "You'd think that just by the law of averages, he'd clean it up once every blue moon."

For the past several days, Farmer H has been enjoying poor man's chicken and dumplings. More commonly called Six Can Chicken and Dumplings. It's fast, except for the cleanup. You just boil two cans of chicken broth, two cans of cream of chicken soup, and add one package of cut-up large flour tortillas. Boil for EXACTLY five minutes. Then stir in two cans of canned white meat chicken. I also add black pepper. 

Anyhoo... this meal is tasty and filling. The worst part is the cleanup, because the residue will harden like glue if you don't rinse out the pan and bowl, or wash them immediately.

Farmer H brings his bowl to the kitchen when he's good and ready. He even wipes out any little particles, if he hasn't sopped them up with a Hawaiian Roll. Then he sets his bowl in the sink and runs water in it, as I have instructed many times before. Here's the problem.

Farmer H only fills the bowl HALF FULL! What a half-rumpused way of doing things!

What good is filling a bowl HALF full of water? The residue above the water line still hardens. We don't have a water shortage here. Plenty of water in the well. Of course rather than just DO IT when I remind him, Farmer H must argue.

"I put it in the sink. I put water in it."

"ALL THE WAY. So the whole bowl can soak, not just the bottom half."

So in retaliation (I am sure), Farmer H set the glass bowl in the sink drain. Right in the middle of the sink. Balanced on the drain plug thingy. It's just awkward, in case I want to put something else in the sink.

Farmer H has an excuse for doing that, too.

"There ain't no other place to put it, to get it full."

"Yes there is. Any corner would be fine. There's very little slant. No more would pour out than how you have it on the sink plug."

"Well you always say I put it in the wrong place when I put it in the corner."

"No. I say not to leave the faucet where it drips in. Because you never turn it off all the way, and I don't want to hear it."

"Whatever..."

In the baby steps department, for the past several days, Farmer H has been putting his paper plate ALL THE WAY DOWN in the side of the wastebasket, letting them nest and take up minimum room.

I might need to get some gold stars for that. But he's only getting a green one for his sink bowls.

Mrs. HM, The Gaslighter, And Loosey

Mrs. HM got a lecture last evening. A lecture on how she should believe Farmer H, and NOT her lying eyes, lying fingers, and lying education.

"Hey! What's with this screen thingy on the sink faucet? It took me 10 minutes to figure out how to put it back on. Because apparently, the universal law of screwing things has been changed to LEFTY-TIGHTY, RIGHTY-LOOSEY!"

"No. It's right. Same as it always has been."

Farmer H grasped the screen thingy with his big paw, and screwed it loose. 

"See? I turned it left to loosen it, and now right to tighten it."

"NO YOU DIDN'T! Look at your hand! Look at the direction you're turning. It's the opposite."

"No. Look."

I swear, Farmer H did that about 10 more times, probably wearing out the threads on the faucet and screen thingy. Each time, he would say, "See? Look. When I turn it right, it tightens."

"NO! That's not what you're doing! LOOK at it. To tighten, you are turning it counterclockwise!"

"Yeah. That's to the RIGHT."

"IT IS NOT! Counterclockwise is to the left!"

"But it's going to the right!"

"NO! So you're saying, if I turn a jar lid counterclockwise, it will TIGHTEN? By going RIGHT?"

"Here. Look at this jar." Farmer H picked up a salsa jar I had washed out for storing leftover spaghetti sauce. "See? I turn it left and it loosens, and then right and it tightens."

"I KNOW! But the faucet screen thingy is doing the opposite!"

"But if you turn this jar upside down, like THIS, it's like the sink faucet. When you turn it right, it tightens."

"NO! It's the opposite when you turn that jar upside down. When you turn the lid right, it loosens. It acts like the faucet then. LEFTY-TIGHTY, RIGHTY-LOOSEY. You can't say it's the same thing, just because you turn it upside down. That's not the rule everyone learns!!! It's NOT: 'Lefty-Loosey, Righty-Tighty and opposite you turn it upside down.' That's not how we learn it!"

"Whatever, HM. It's a standard right-thread screw. That's how they always turn. Just like nuts and bolts. You are turning RIGHT when you TIGHTEN them."

"I KNOW! That's what I have been saying. Counterclockwise is NOT to the right! It's left!"

Really. All Farmer H had to say to explain himself, and the phenomenon, was that if the screwed object is upside down, the LEFTY-LOOSEY, RIGHTY-TIGHTY rule does not apply. That's it. I would have understood perfectly.

Instead, Farmer H had to say the same thing louder, over and over, and still not explain. While trying to make me believe that turning something COUNTERCLOCKWISE is turning it RIGHT! It's NOT, by the way...

Betrayed By Loosey

For a couple weeks now, by kitchen sink faucet has been spraying all willy-nilly. I forget until I turn it on. Which says something about my memory, heh, heh. I keep meaning to take off that little screwed-on screen thingy where the water comes out. I finally did that on Saturday. Well. I TRIED to...

When Farmer H came home and was just puttering around after eating supper, taking up my valuable scratcher time while semi-rinsing out his bowl, I told him.

"Don't you notice the water spraying out? I covers the counter on the left, and the dishes in the drainer on the right. I tried to get the screen thingy off to soak it in vinegar, but I couldn't get it loose. I guess you put it on too tight last time, or there's more lime buildup where it screws on."

Farmer H grabbed that part with his big paw, and it came right loose. Huh. And he's always saying he doesn't have any grip strength any more. I told him to put that part in a little plastic container I was going to wash, and pour some vinegar in it. He did. Just like I said!

When I got up to make my supper, I swished it around. Turned it over. I was in no hurry to put it back. I could still see mineral deposits in some of the openings. I figured I'd let it sit overnight, and put it back on before washing dishes the next morning.

Easier said than done. I gave that part a good rinsing. All the screen openings were clear now. Farmer H had also pulled loose the piece that went inside it, and the rubber gasket. I made sure they were all lined up, and tried to put it back on the end of the faucet.

Huh. That was odd. It would not go on. It fit. Nothing sticking out. It would turn, but not catch hold. I bet I tried five minutes to get that part back on. No luck. I looked at the ridges for the screw part. Nothing in there. It should go right back on.

THEN I tried turning it the other way. WORKED FIRST TIME!!!

What in the Not-Heaven is going on here? Is this a sign of the Apopadopalyspe? Sweet Gummi Mary! EVERYBODY knows that when screwing things on or off, in or out, the rule is always:

LEFTY-LOOSEY, RIGHTY-TIGHTY

We are taught that in childhood! I know my left from my right! But this dang sink faucet was BACKWARDS! You have to turn it LEFT to screw it IN and tighten it! Remember that if you ever come to repair my faucet for mineral buildup. I can't even blame Farmer H, though he DID hook up the water pipes backwards, so the lever goes left for cold, and right for hot. I'm used to it by now, but The Pony is always leery.

Anyhoo... my faucet expels a steady stream now. No thanks to The Universe.

Dodged For Sure (A Big Winner And More)

I found out the reason for Fave's absence at the Gas Station Chicken Store on Thursday. It appears she was not absent at all! Merely late. That's her story and she's stickin' to it! She was there on Friday, but with a different vehicle parked out front.

"Didn't see you here on Thursday. I had to leave! Too many people, and with Man Owner working, it was going slow."

"I DID get here, but not until 5:00! [Cashiers are supposed to be there for 1:00 for their 2:00 shift.] My car broke down."

"Well, I'm glad you're back."

I got my scratchers, but they did not include a big winner! Imagine that. I did win $10 back on a $10 ticket, and $5 back on a $5 ticket. That did not pay for the two crosswords I got as well. I'm sure today will be better...

When I went back to T-Hoe, the red-truck handicap space stealer was walking across the parking lot. Heh, heh, because I'd beat him to that spot! But parked NEXT to T-Hoe, in the driving lane by the diesel pumps, was another habitual offender.

It was the old man who thinks this is his rightful parking spot. In fact, this picture is from last week. This time, the old man was sitting in the truck. I'm not sure what he was doing. Probably just annoying ME (does that sound egotistical?). I didn't want to take another picture with him in it, where he could be out of that truck in an instant, pounding on T-Hoe's window. The picture here doesn't do it justice, but this time he was so close that he was just a door-open away.

Luckier than my lottery tickets, the vehicle that pulled in for the FREE AIR hose was a side-by-side. The only good thing about them driving in town is that they are SMALL. So I had room to pull out in front of that white truck to get to the back alley. Otherwise, I would have needed to back up all the way past that white truck's back bumper (you know T-Hoe's backup beeper doesn't work), and might have accidentally hit the parking space stealer on his way back to his red truck!

We certainly wouldn't want THAT to happen...

Mrs. HM Might Have Dodged A Winner

When I set out to buy my daily scratchers, I have a plan. I know where I'm going, and which tickets I want. Any deviation from my goal throws me off. Is The Universe telling me my plan was wrong? Is there something better waiting? Or is The Universe deliberately thwarting my chances to win?

Thursday, the plan was fine when we stopped for T-Hoe's gas at Casey's. I had given The Pony some ticket money, but The Pony said nothing stood out in the lottery display, and decided to wait for Country Mart's machines. I got my tickets, which later turned out to have a $30 winner.

At Country Mart, BOTH lottery machines were dark. NOT WORKING! So we went without tickets, and bought our groceries. I offered to go to the School-Turn Casey's before dropping off Pony, but after careful consideration, that idea was nixed. I had thought about stopping by myself, on the way home, and use their bathroom while there, but decided against it.

I sensed a bad omen as I approached the Gas Station Chicken Store. Traffic was so backed up at the light, I had to wait two light cycles before I could even make my left turn into the alley. That's never happened before. The parking lot didn't look all that crowded. Just a couple of trucks with work trailers attached, and a couple other cars. My rightful handicap space was available. But Fave's car was missing! AND it looked like Man Owner's truck was there.

Well. This is unusual for 4:45 on a Thursday. I took in the weekly tickets I give Fave, but in my pocket, unseen, in case she was truly not there. She wasn't. I'll tell you who WAS there: Man Owner on the second register, Woman Owner on the main register, and 8 MEXICANS lined up down the middle aisle.

Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against Mexicans. I am just describing, as usual, the people I encounter who affect the smooth running of my life. They were obviously a work crew, all wearing jeans and white t-shirts and yellow vests. Kind of dusty. Sweaty. Each holding a bottle of soda and a snack. One was already checking out with Woman Owner. He was choosing a couple scratchers from the case.

Here's the thing. There was a bit of a language barrier. So the transaction was slower than a regular transaction. At least he was paying with cash, not having to try a card three times in their old-fashioned card-reader. Also, Man Owner is really slow. So I could imagine how it was going to go when he took the next customer.

NO WAY was I going to wait until my turn. I am not a hot-headed hurrier needing instant gratification. It's just not physically comfortable for me to stand for a long time. Not to mention, the GSCS makes me claustrophobic when it's full of people. So I left. I hate to do that, after having my parking space, and expending that knee energy to walk inside. But I could not wait.

I went over to 10Box to the machines. Where I got a few small winners, but nothing special. I wonder what magificent jackpot I might have missed! I called The Pony later to tell my tale of misfortune.

"So you're complaining about the Mexicans for doing what you do? Buying lottery?"

"YES! Nothing against them! They are obviously hard workers, happy to be getting a snack after a hard day before going home. But there were SO MANY of them! At least 15 or 20 minute's worth of transactions! Fave would have been faster by herself than those two Owners. But I've walked out on Fave, too, when it's crowded. Usually five people is my limit. I had no idea there were so many customers inside. I don't know where all the Mexicans fit in those two trucks. I hope they weren't riding in the trailers! I think there were probably lawnmowers and stuff in them."

At least I didn't lose my money or winners in the machines at Country Mart, because they were turned off. The best scenario, besides me getting a big winner at the GSCS, is that one of the Mexicans got a good winner. They are working for a living, you know, while Mrs. HM sits on her rumpus and complains...

Moochers Gonna Mooch

Beware when the Hillbilly family comes to town! Lock up your valuables and assorted and sundry items that might be lying around. They not safe! You have been warned!

At the closing for the sale of our upper 10 acres, the title company had a couple of jars sitting on the table. One held red and blue pens, and the other held peppermint Lifesaver candies, indivicually wrapped. The Pony and I were only a couple minutes behind Farmer H when we entered the conference room. Yet Farmer H already had two empty wrappers in front of him!

I know these items were set out for the taking. Hospitality, you know. And when we are the BUYERS at a closing, we get a little gift bag with advertising merch like magnets and notepads and such. They write it off their taxes, get free advertising, and the clients feel special. Like they've gotten something for nothing, although thousands of dollars have just changed hands.

Anyhoo... when Closer came in, she took three pens out of the jar, and shoved them across the table to us. I had already taken one red and one blue from the jar, because I like pens. But I sure did accept a third one! 

On Thursday, before I picked up The Pony for our errand day, I asked if he would bring his monthly house payment. 

"Actually, I will write it in the car. I don't have a pen."

"WHAT? Didn't you just get one on Tuesday, at the closing?"

"No! I put mine back in the jar. Because I was not a part of this transaction. Only there to help you. So I didn't DESERVE a pen!"

Huh. I hope The Pony wasn't switched at birth! How could The Pony NOT take a pen? A pen that was actually GIVEN by the closer running the closing? Something's fishy here. We are MOOCHERS, by cracky! Maybe The Pony was still getting over last week's under-the-weatherness...

Delicacy Is On The Tongue Of The Chower-Downer

Years ago, while attending graduate school in Springfield, (the future) Mrs. HM worked in an insurance salvage store part-time. It bought railroad cars full of stuff that businesses had declared a loss. We had everything from boots to lumber to bedspreads to toys to furniture. One big deal was the Winter in July sale, where we had winter coats out on the parking lot, hung up in semi trucks, for the shoppers to peruse. To steal a line from a country song, it was hot enough to make the devil sigh, working to hang coats in that heat.

Anyhoo... my boss, the owner, was a big bald man. He kind of looked like Mr. Clean, but without the pirate-y earring. He wasn't around all the time, but when he popped in, he would tell us stories about when he was a kid.

Owner grew up on a big farm, with a big family. They had to work all the time, raising cows and pigs and chickens and crops. His mom "didn't work," what with being so busy cooking all the time to feed that hungry family. Owner said they butchered their own livestock, and his mom was a good cook. But the very best meal, that he didn't get often, was SPAM! 

You know, SPAM, the canned meat that is popular in Hawaii, that was mainly used for U.S. military rations in WWII. Owner said he LOVED IT! That it was so different from the wholesome home-grown foods that he was used to. It was a real treat when his father brought home a couple of cans of SPAM.

Heh, heh. I found this entertaining, because the off-brand of SPAM, like Hydrox Cookies are to Oreos, was a canned meat product called TREET.

Wash Your Produce, People!

That's something I shouldn't have to tell you. Whether you get your fruits and vegetables from your own garden, a farmer's market, or the grocery store, it's common sense. Like washing your hands before eating. You never know what kind of vermin might have been lurking around your produce. So unless it's something like a banana that gets peeled, with the fruit having been hermetically sealed inside, wash your produce!

I was in Save A Lot on Monday. Had just cart/walked in, headed for their scratcher machine, when I heard it. A COUGH. A deep hacking cough. Over in the produce section. The lemons, oranges, and grapes specifically. A family of four (mom and three teenage kids) was standing around a cart, debating what to get. Again, THE COUGH. It was a boy (of course), not bothering to cover his mouth by elbow, hand, or shirt neck. Just spraying out to land on the produce!

Wash your produce, people!

I only bought a half-loaf of Nutty Oat Bread, and seven bananas. I even wiped my bananas with a damp paper towel when I got them home. And washed my hands, of course!

The Squirrels!

Too bad Alfred Hitchcock isn't around to make a sequel to The Birds. He could save on animal trainers and just film our porch for footage of THE SQUIRRELS. 

I don't know why Farmer H's buddy hasn't been out here hunting them. He could have enough to fill his freezer for the winter, just by taking the legal limit per day. I think that's 13, but I'm not sure. I guess maybe he has a real job, and can't be filling his idle hours to fill his larder.

These beasts grow bolder by the day. Saturday, one jumped from the porch rail to the WINDOW SCREEN at my right shoulder. Well. It would have been at my right shoulder, had I been sitting at HIPPIE at the kitchen table. Thankfully I was at the sink washing dishes. I might have had a heart attack. That couldn't be blamed on Farmer H!

That dang window squirrel went up the screen, then back down head first, then up again, making sure to cover every path imaginable across that 4 x 6 foot screen. There are several punctures in it, but no long cuts. I hate squirrels! I clapped, I yelled, I thumped on the wall so it could feel vibrations, but it paid me no mind.

On the side porch, the squirrels have knocked down several items this week. A see-through flat red apple that was part of a wind chime. A big ceramic thingy shaped like a hornet nest, with little colored lights embedded. I think that was made by my grandma, and given to The Pony, though I'm not sure why it was on the porch shelves. Also, Farmer H's BBQ tongs were on the porch, having been knocked off GassyG Jr. 

As I left for town, ranting about those squirrels, who were scattering down the porch posts, my poor little Jack looked sad. I assured him I was NOT talking to him. I know he's a GOOD BOY, and has never bothered the BBQ tongs. Without Pupsie around, I don't want Jack to be blamed for the squirrel shenanigans.

Farmer H's theory that the squirrels would be drawn away from the porch, to eat corn from the feeders The Hunter put in the woods, does not seem to be accurate.

The Giver Of Guilt

Mrs. HM is feeling guilty today, my friends. Guilty! Through no fault of her own! Guilty for losing on a $5 scratcher. That's not under her control, you know! It's the LOTTERY, for cryin' out loud! It's not like she can snap her fingers, or twitch her nose, and VOILA, a winner appears.

Friday I went in 10Box for crosswords and the new Tetris-themed tickets. The day was sunny, so I planned to get some out of each machine. With my recent rumpus/leg struggles, I took a cart from the corral to push inside.

A lady was scanning draw tickets at the right-side machine. She had her cart of groceries parked in front of the left-side machine. I do that, too, because of how the machines are arranged in a corner. I move it if somebody walks up looking like they want to buy lottery. I was not at all annoyed as I might have been with different circumstances. I had a cart/walker to lean on. The lady was polite.

"Oh. Do you want to use that machine?"

"I'm planning to use both of them, but you're fine. I brought in this cart to lean on, because me knees get sore when I stand. I'm okay."

"Here. Go ahead."

The Lady moved her cart over behind her, as I do when at the right-side machine. I went to the left-side machine, and scanned in my winners. We had a pleasant conversation about the new ticket. And how you have to watch those machines, because they will scan in to show how much you won, but they don't always give you the credit when you tap the screen. So you have to scan again.

I got two crosswords and two Tetris. Then moved my cart around to be out of the way, and wait for The Lady to finish at the right-side machine. She did, and moved to the left. We made our purchases. As I was putting the tickets in my purse, The Lady turned. She held out a $5 bill.

"Here. Buy yourself a winner!"

"Oh. Well. You don't have to do that!"

"I want to!"

"Thank you so much! I'll give it a try."

I felt bad. I don't need her $5. But she wanted to give it to me. It made her feel good. Who am I to ruin her happiness? So I bought a $5 ticket that I hadn't planned on.

It lost.

That's not my fault, right? I shouldn't feel guilty. But I wish I could have gotten The Lady some return for her do-gooder-ness.

Helping And Not-Helping The Handicapped

On Thursday, without The Pony as a helper for my errands, I eschewed the Country Mart visit, and went instead to the Save A Lot out by my bank. It's a smaller store. I was a bit shaky when I got there, due to an incident that will be shared on my not-so-secret blog.

Anyhoo... of all days, there was no cart in the cart corral at the end of the building. AND, there was a small pickup truck parked in my regular handicap space. No placard, no handicap plates. I had to park in the other one, giving me a longer walk. That was NOT helping my situation.

I thought about using my cane to walk to the main cart corral. It's out in front of this Save A Lot, on a sidewalk with a roof over it that runs along the mini-mall. Of course I don't like this set-up, because it's PAST the door, and I have to walk farther to get a cart. I went without the cane, because it's awkward to deal with having a cart. It wants to slide through the openings. I was starting to regret my cane decision by the time I got to the sidewalk. Yet on I hobbled. I was already halfway there.

A lady crossed over from the main parking lot, on her way to the cart corral. She backed one out of the line, turned around, and said, 

"Would you like a cart?"

"Yes. Thank you! That is so nice."

"You're quite welcome."

She saved me about 30 feet of walking to the carts, and 30 feet back to the entrance. It might not sound like much to a normal person, but it was very helpful to someone (ME) with sore knees.

THAT is how you help the handicapped!

Every Day Is Brand New For Farmer H

Sweet Gummi Mary! Can you believe it? It's only been two days since I last complained about Farmer H, and it's time to do it again! 

I had told Farmer H on Thursday morning that The Pony was probably not going with me for Errand Day, because of feeling sick. I also asked Farmer H if there was anything he wanted from the store. In addition, the night before, Farmer H had declared out of the blue:

"I think I'm going to get myself some drumsticks."

With him not being in a band, I immediately surmised that he was talking about the little ice cream cones sold in the freezer section in boxes.

"Oh. Well. I guess you'll have to get them for yourself, because I don't think they would hold up very well if I get them at Country Mart tomorrow."

Flash forward to Thursday afternoon at 4:22. I tried to call Farmer H, but only got voice mail. So I sent a text:

"Starting home with groceries on the back seat."

At 4:27, while driving, I got a return text:

"I paid Lowe's bill and at my locker doing some straightening up be by 530"

I couldn't read it, because I was driving home. When I had one foot out of T-Hoe in the garage, Farmer H called.

"I didn't know you were going shopping. You never told me that. Can't you leave it in the car until I get home?"

Well. A couple things I could leave in the car. But not bananas and lemons and bread, which would get all hot and steamy if I left them in the garage for 90 minutes, which would shorten their shelf life.

Funny how Farmer H had NO IDEA that I do shopping EVERY Thursday...

The Loneliness Of The Post-Rumpus/Leg Shopper

It's Errand Day, and Mrs. HM is without her shadow. Without The Pony, who has been accompanying me for the past two weeks as I recover from my mysterious couch injury of my left rumpus/leg. The problem is almost completely resolved now, but occasionally, a knee goes all wonky without notice. I think it's from favoring that injury with different posture.

Anyhoo... The Pony has been riding along, and running back to T-Hoe to put the gas in after I pay, so I don't feel the need to rush. I'd been taking my cane for that longish walk, but was planning to go without it today. Also, The Pony had been bringing out a cart at Country Mart if one was not left outside by the handicap spaces. 

I got a text at 5:30 a.m.

 

"I'm about to go back to bed, but it feels like I might be getting sick. Sore throat starting i think. Will let you know later once I'm up - I just don't want to spread anything to you!"

When I hadn't heard anything by 11:30, I called The Pony. Who sounded a bit nasally and cloggy. I knew right away I would not have my faithful companion for Errand Day.

Better safe than sorry. I don't need anything else wrong with me! The cane will remain.

He Had ONE Not-Job To Do!

As I've mentioned, we've been trying to eat out of FRIG II's freezer for a couple weeks. To get rid of partial packages of stuff, and leftovers, so the shelves will be bare, and we can start over in a more organized fashion. There are several portions of hamburger that will make pasta for Farmer H, and tacos. A big space-taker is a ham bone, and several baggies of diced ham, that are destined for a pot of beans. I'm waiting on the weather to cool a bit for that.

Sunday, I baked some boneless skinless chicken breasts with a use-by date of August. And the Sister Schubert's Rolls, and thawed out a container of roasted vegetables. Monday, I warmed them up again for Farmer H's supper. He didn't have to do anything for himself, except come to the kitchen and put it on a plate.

I had the chicken in the oven, and for the last five minutes of warming, I put in the rolls. Farmer H's plate was on the cutting block, with a paper towel, fork, knife for chicken-cutting, knife for butter. The vegetables were on the back burner in a saucepan. I called Farmer H to the kitchen, and said I was going to change out of my town clothes. I set out the chicken and rolls on top of the stove, over the two left-side burners.

"There's the vegetables, and here's a spoon. That's the hot burner. Don't put the pan back on it."

When I started back to the kitchen after changing, Farmer H was on the long couch with his food. I could really smell the roasted vegetables. Huh. They hadn't smelled that much when I was warming them. I stepped into the kitchen, and saw the explanation.

THE PAN WAS ON THE HOT BURNER!

Of course the residue in the bottom of the pan, and the tiny remnants of onions, carrots, and potatoes were at that very moment charring to the metal as the lid held in the heat.

"You had ONE simple instruction, and you couldn't even follow that!"

"I did too! I heard you say to put the lid back on the pan."

It's not like this is the first time I have told Farmer H not to put a pan back on the hot burner. And it's not the first time he has done so anyway. 

Maybe I should start telling Farmer H the OPPOSITE of what I want him to do...

Maybe A Lesson Learned At 10Box

School is back in session, you know. Which means I really need to get to town earlier, to avoid other people's kids. My regular cashiers at the Gas Station Chicken Store start their shift at 2:00. So that's a good target time, allowing me to miss the after-school rush, buses on the road, and the bus-waiters down by Mailbox Row.

Unfortunately, I have not yet altered my schedule. I've been relying on Farmer H to be home when I come back with groceries. So I found myself at 10Box on Monday, shortly after 5:00. It was crawling with kids! I suppose people had just gotten off work, and picked them up at an afterschool program. 

Before I was out of T-Hoe, a man, woman, two girls, and a boy parked on my right and piled out of a sedan. They were in high spirits, skipping along the sidewalk. It's good to be reunited at the end of a long day. The kids were all under 7. They weren't BAD, just really loud and full of energy. I seemed to encounter them on every aisle. The came right at me on the bread aisle. Cart down the middle with the boy in the seat, a girl on each side. Dad lagging behind. I was waiting for them to veer to one side or the other so I could get by. Just when the dad started pushing the cart, the mom told a girl to get out of the way, and then STEPPED RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME to grab a jar of peanut butter. 

It's really hard for me to stop once I get moving. I had to pull my cart back to avoid hitting the mom. She stood there, made her choice, and then said, "Oh, sorry." Well. That's nice enough, but I'm pretty sure my annoyance was obvious.

Another group of high-spirited young 'uns had also entered the store right ahead of me. A mom and three daughters around 8-11. They got out of a large white SUV out in the main part of the parking lot. I know, because they were quite loud and boisterous. So I had looked that way while getting a cart/walker to push inside. I didn't want to be ahead of them, lest a rambunctious youngster topple me over.

I could hear this group throughout the store, but didn't see them again until the checkout. They were in another lane. It's a wonder that mom had any ears left, because those daughters were talking them off. Talking over each other. It was chaos. Even though they were really doing nothing wrong, it annoyed me.

I was at the lottery machine when the mom came back in with a tale of woe. She didn't have her keys.

"When we got here, we all got out, and I guess she (pointed to middle daughter) clicked the button and closed the door before I could reach back in and get my keys. Now I don't know what to do."

She had the new old lady wastebasket emptier, who wasn't about to do anything. She asked my checker what they should do. My checker called for a manager. Who asked if the mom had a type of door lock inside that could be grabbed with a bent coat hanger. She said she thought so. But asked if they could call somebody for her. I don't know why she couldn't call for herself, unless her phone was also in the car.

The manager and my checker said they COULD try to call the police, but it was unlikely that they would take the time to come try to break into a car, and they didn't want to bother them. But they got a coat hanger and gave it to the mom.

When I left the store, I could see that it was still chaos. Two of the girls were sitting on the hood of the large SUV, and the other was walking around on the running board. The mom was trying to use the coat hanger. Lucky for her, a man got out of a car, and while walking by asked if they had everything under control. NO! There was no control at all!!! He went over and took the coat hanger as I was loading my groceries.

People need to teach their kids how to behave in a store. Neither of these families were setting a good example. Maybe Lost Keys will think twice about controlling her brood next time. But from their actions while waiting to get unlocked, I don't think that will happen.

Yes, I DO Think She's Lucky

You know that Mrs. HM has a favorite cashier where she buys her scratchers. Even though I go there every day, I seem to have more winners from Fave than from the other cashier at the Gas Station Chicken Store. Saturday, I cashed in a $50 winner on a $5 ticket.

"I hit the Instant $50 symbol. Not sure which of your two rolls it was from."

"Oh! Another lady was just in here, and she had an Instant $50 winner on it, too. I don't know if she bought it here, though."

"That's okay. I wasn't going to buy another one of those tickets today, anyway, after just winning on it."

"That lady was really happy to win $50. She cashed it in and got that newest $50 ticket there (pointed to the ticket case) and won $500 on it! She had me scan it to make sure. I said, 'It's a $500 winner, but I can't cash it for you. I can only go up to $300.' Still, she was really happy."

I did okay. Got two $5 crosswords, and a $5 red ticket that Genius won his $1000 on. I won back $25. Not great, but not bad. Now I have to wait until Thursday when Fave is back on duty. 

Oh, I'll still be buying my scratchers. I just won't be so optimistic about winning.

Hindering The Handicapped

After waiting on the cockeyed-parking ne'er-do-well handicap space usurper to vacate my rightful parking place, I did my business in the Gas Station Chicken Store. I walked without my cane. Felt okay in the rumpus/leg department. Still improving with baby steps. Or maybe it's the result of four ibuprofen and three acetaminophen per day.

Anyhoo... I went from there to the Liquor Store. The plan was for Casey's, but the gas pumps were full of customers, and most of the parking spaces taken. I didn't even drive onto their parking lot, figuring I couldn't stand long in line. But the Liquor Store only had three cars, and a line at the drive-thru. They have a separate clerk for that.

I've already made one sortie to the Liquor Store for scratchers, without using my cane. (I have not done so yet at Casey's.) I started in, walking along the building, where I could touch it for support if I lost my balance on the slanted pavement. I got up the ramp, into the door. It always announces my presence with:

"FRONT DOOR OPEN!"

I took three of my baby steps. I was only three more steps from the counter.

Around the end of the aisle, over by the fake slot machines, came a Tasmanian Devil. She was about 10 years younger than me. Should have had gray hair, but it was coal black. Kind of teased up, like a short '60s beehive. She was in shorts and a tank top. CARRYING 9 BOTTLES OF WINE! I know that, because she darted in front of me, and I had plenty of time to count it while I waited.

Here's the thing. Tas could see I was headed to the register. She could also see that I was limpy and slow. That's why she almost ran to get to the counter ahead of me.

Let the record show that I don't expect special treatment. It's my choice to go into a store, and whether I use a cane or not. Nobody has to hold doors for me, or offer to let me go ahead. In fact, on Thursday a lady tried to let me go ahead in the Sis-Town Casey's, when I was using my cane. I told her no, that she had been in line ahead of me, and I was fine. I also told that to the lady after her, because I couldn't see around the aisle, and suspected she might have also been there before I came in. So I'm NOT asking for or expecting favors.

I DO expect fairness! Which I don't think encompasses running to beat somebody to the counter. If we had both been equally-abled in our mobility, and in a dead heat to reach that finish line, I would have motioned Tas ahead, because she was CARRYING 9 BOTTLES OF WINE. But the fact is, I was struggling to walk unaided, and she was in a hurry to drink. IMO.

There's nothing good to lean on in the Liquor Store. At least in the GSCS, there's always a stack of beer cases across from the register, holding the cardboard box for the weekly gas drawing. In the Liquor Store, there are only flimsy wire racks, holding bottles of assorted alcohol. I stood, swaying a bit, trying for my cartilage-less leg bones to balance their rounded ends, and not lock up or slip out of place.

Tas apologized to the clerk for carrying her 9 BOTTLES OF WINE in a black plastic milk crate. "It's all I saw back there. I should have gotten a box."

"That's okay. I'll put them in bags," he said.

Great. How long would THAT take? Was he going to offer to carry them out? That's HEAVY. And he only put them in single bags. An accident waiting to happen. I worried that Tas would make a sharp glassy mess in front of the door, and I would be trapped, standing, for too long. But wait. She wasn't done. She needed three packs of cigarettes that were on the bottom shelf. And two lottery tickets.

Tas picked up those bags like a sturdy Sherpa, and hot-footed it out of there.

I made my knees cooperate, and inched to the counter where I could lean and take some pressure off. My transaction went quickly. I had to use the brick wall for assistance on the way back to T-Hoe. I wished I had brought my cane. The wait would probably have been shorter in Casey's.

I Swear, There's One Born Every Minute

Even if the law enforcement officers who enforce the law in Hillmoma went on a round-up spree and locked away every ne'er-do-well to ever park in a handicap space without reason...there would still be people parking in Mrs. HM's rightful handicap space. It's generational, I think. Those parents must have been begetting huge broods of children 35-45 years ago, and teaching them this entitled behavior.

Saturday, I drove onto the parking lot of the Gas Station Chicken Store, and saw only three cars there. It was Fave, the cashier's car, parked out by the front. Then a car at the FREE AIR hose with a lady airing up her tires. And a maroon small SUV parked nose-in IN MY RIGHTFUL HANDICAP SPACE!

You know from my plethora of pictures of the parking space violators that there are only those two spaces along the building. FREE AIR, and HANDICAP. End to end. The lines clearly show the outline. There is no angle parking. I have no idea why somebody would park nose to the building, at a 45 degree angle. They still used up the whole handicap space. There was no room for me to park like an angled idiot beside that maroon SUV.

As you might imagine, Mrs HM was mighty perturbed with this Maroon. Since nobody else was on the lot, I decided to wait in line for my handicap space. I've got a bad rumpus/leg, you know! And only the day before, I'd made my walk inside the GSCS without my cane! So proud! No way was I going to park farther away. I could wait this time.

I sat with T-Hoe running, my handicap placard dangling in full view from the mirror. A man who looked like a younger Geoffrey Zacharian (the Food Network chef) came out with a cup of coffee. Did not even look my way. He got into the driver's seat. Then opened the door and held that cup of coffee out, wiping it with a brown napkin. 

Heh, heh! Is it wrong of me to find pleasure in that action? First of all, he had to fill his own coffee cup at the GSCS. They only have white napkins there. So not only was this guy a bad parker, but also a bad cup filler, and somebody who has fast food napkins in his car because he's messy!

Maroon finally started up. Backed away from the building. Then squeezed right past me on the left, where there was barely room. He turned to go through the gas pump lanes, but didn't stop for gas. He seemed oblivious to the ire that was emanating from Mrs. HM. Ain't that always how it goes?

Mrs. HM Babies Her Own Rumpus To Spite Her Scratcher Addiction

I am still recovering from my sharp shooting rumpus/leg pain that occurred mysteriously a couple weeks ago. It's a smidgen better every day, but I'm taking no chances on aggravating that nerve again. I have been using my cane to access the Gas Station Chicken Store, and making sure there's a cart/walker within a few feet of T-Hoe when I go in a store.

Anyhoo... a few days ago, I went to town with the plan of cashing in my winners at the GSCS, then heading over to 10Box for bananas and some more scratchers from the machine.

The GSCS was surprisingly busy for that off-time between 4:20 and 5:00. Usually the workers who get off at 4:00 have already done their business, and the 4:30 quitting-time workers are not yet there. The gas pumps had four cars, plus a truck over at the diesel pumps, and a couple of cars on the upper lot past the door. I could have waited for some to leave, except

A TRUCK WAS IN MY RIGHTFUL HANDICAP SPACE!

It was a white work truck, with a guy in a yellow safety vest sitting in the driver's seat. I gave him the stinkeye as I drove past, off the lot, and over to 10Box. I don't know if he was waiting to go in, waiting for a passenger, or if he'd just come out. But he was sitting in the truck, not making any movements that could lead to leaving.

Normally, I might have pulled into the FREE AIR hose space, nose-to-nose with his truck, my handicap placard swinging, and hobbled on past him, hoping to induce guilt. Not this time. My rumpus/leg was having none of that. Not with a CANE, though it would have helped with the guilt trip. Maybe.

Anyhoo... I just went to 10Box, and didn't even feel like going back to the GSCS when I came out. I did not have a good scratching day. Won $30, but I had cashed in more.

I guess I taught myself a lesson about changing plans. But my rumpus/leg thanked me.

If She Was On A Milk Carton, She Would Chew It Up

I am concerned about Pupsie. She is missing. Without Jack. That is suspicious. 

The dogs are usually together, except when Jack chases a squirrel to the woods, and Pupsie comes back to the porch for a treat. Even then, she goes to fetch him before coming to the kitchen door. Apparently she thinks I have mad capture skillz and can wrestle her to the ground like a calf roper.

Anyhoo... it's been almost a week! My days are all mixed up because of my rumpus/leg pain. I can't remember the days I went to town and stayed home. But it was a day that Farmer H went to his SUS2.5. So Friday/Saturday/Sunday. When I left for town that day, only Jack was there. Same when I came home. I asked Farmer H if he'd seen her. He said before he left for his SUS2.5, both dogs were here. But around 10:00, I had only heard Jack barking in the front yard, and not Pupsie's shrill bark.

I have not seen or heard Pupsie since. Nobody in our enclave has put her picture on Facebook. You'd think if she was hanging around at somebody else's house, they would be quick to complain. I can't imagine Pupsie running away to choose a new family. Not even if they had fresh, unchewed lawnmower seats, never-ending poop boxes on their front porch, or tasty plastic children's toys in the yard. She always brings stuff like that home, except for the lawnmowers.

Nor do I suspect that somebody has dognapped Pupsie. She won't even get close to US. She's a regular contortionist when it comes to shying away from the hand that feeds her.

I'm sad that Pupsie is missing. Not despondent. It's not like when problematic Scarlett was given away without 24 hours notice! Scarlett was a pet, even though she didn't ADORE me. She was happy and pettable. I am fond of Pupsie, but she's more of a freeloader permanent stray than a pet. She always seems happy, wagging her tail, dancing just out of reach. 

I am holding out hope that she will return. But I fear that she has come to no good end.

Freedom Restricted, Once Again

I planned Tuesday around my trip to town. With school starting, I wanted to leave during a specific window, to avoid the bus-waiters right after dismissal, and get out before the setting sun was low enough to blind me.

I was really proud of myself, running right on schedule, with actually 10 extra minutes of nap time before my shower. But wait! As I was heading into the master bathroom, I heard thunder! The sky had darkened! I went to the living room to see if any channels had a radar map in the corner of the screen, or any warnings scrolling across the bottom. Nope. At least not in the 30 seconds I was allowed to look, because THE SATELLITE WENT OFF!

That's generally not a good sign, you know. Rarely it's just cloud cover between the Mansion and the orbiting satellite. Usually it means heavy rain or snow. We all know that snow wasn't the culprit in these 98-degree days.

When I got out of the shower (after three scares from flickering lights), I heard rain. The satellite was still off. I called Farmer H to see where he was. Getting gas over by the Devil's Playground. I asked him to bring me some scratchers, because I didn't think going to town was a good idea. What if the rubber stopper on the end of my cane SLIPPED on the floor of the Gas Station Chicken Store? Better safe than sorry.

I asked for my crosswords, and a $10 ticket, either gold or silver. Those are the ones that are newest. Farmer H said he'd get them at Casey's on his way home, which is the other store I'd been planning on getting tickets.

The weather cleared off right after Farmer H got home. I said I might have been able to go anyway, if I had known the rain would stop. Farmer H said it had poured when he was getting gas, and then the tickets. He had called The Pony, who said there was not a drop of rain at his house.

Farmer H was playing around on his phone, and said that a drive-in theater had been destroyed by straight-line wins, in a town over past Newmentia. It's 20 miles from here. Where Farmer H sometimes goes to the auction.

I'm glad I didn't go to town. My crosswords won nothing, but the silver ten that Farmer H brought me won $30.

The Functioning Idiot

I don't like to call Farmer H names, unless it's in jest, in an over-the-top exaggeration (as opposed to an insufficient exaggeration). He knows a lot of technical stuff that I can't fathom. But when it comes to common sense, Farmer H is sorely lacking. I often question how he has survived into elderlyhood, with some of the antics I've observed.

Tuesday morning, Farmer H started down to the basement at 6:00 a.m.

"While you're down there, would you bring up my old red Crocs? They're in my office. Just knock the dust off of them."

Farmer H did as asked. There's a small victory! Baby steps.

"You can set them anywhere. I'm going to wash them in the sink. The ones I have on have been hurting my heels."

There's my mistake. I should never have told Farmer H to put them "anywhere." I thought he would set them behind the short couch, where my other shoes are. But no.

Farmer H put my old red Crocs by the glass case that holds my grandma's two sets of dishes she gave me. The red depression glass, and the china. That case is at the end of the piano in the hall that leads to the boys' bathroom. At the area where the living room turns into the kitchen. There's nothing there for me to hold onto to balance myself while leaning over precariously to pick them up. Or even to step into them, if I hadn't been planning to wash them.

"Um. That's not a good place. I don't want to fall into that glass and break it. Maybe you could set them in the kitchen, by the wastebasket."

Farmer H went off to the kitchen. I didn't turn to watch. After he'd left, and I was ready to go take my meds and wash dishes (BEFORE the Crocs, of course!) I saw where Farmer H had put them.

ON THE CUTTING BLOCK!

That's right. Filthy Crocs that had been in the basement for three years, soles black, dust bunnies attached, sitting on the paper towel I use to dry my hands, on the cutting block.

Farmer H is a functioning idiot. That's all I have to say.

So THAT'S Where My Luck Went!

I was riding a winning lottery wave at the time I mysteriously injured my rumpus/leg while sitting on the short couch. Not wild jackpots, but I had two days in a row with $100 winners, and also two days in a row (one overlapping) with $50 winners. That stopped when I took several days off. I haven't been shut out, but my wins are on the low side of my usual return percentage.

August 6 was the day of my unfortunate incapacitation. The start of my not-winning streak. Even when I ventured back to town, my scratchers were not producing much. On August 13, I got a text from Genius. You may recall that he just bought his dream home, and had a month to get moved while waiting for his apartment lease to end. During the transition, Genius and Friend moved a few items at a time, every night after work.

I had asked if Genius was getting his mail okay at the new address, and he said he was.

"I've read your letters, but there's a stack of lottery tickets here on the kitchen counter. We don't have any coins to scratch them! We don't carry money, and the coins are back at the apartment."

Anyhoo... on August 13, I got a text from Genius:

"Holy cow! Won $1000 on a lottery ticket this morning! It's labeled CH. It's one of the 50X. Not sure exactly when it's from. I was 4 weeks back on these from when we moved."

"That's from the Gas Station Chicken Store. Those red tickets, that Dad bought the $1000 winner from that guy at his store. And Dad's friend won $100 on it twice, and then I won $100 on it. Congrats!"

"I'll get these mailed back soon! Haha. I actually went 3/4 on the tickets this morning. Won a total of $1015 on the four tickets."

So that kind of explains it. My luck is in Pittsburgh! I was fortunate to have my moderate winning streak, what with this big winner lying on a kitchen counter in Pittsburgh!

Farmer H's Rumpus Must Be Breathing A Sigh Of Relief

Hopefully, Farmer H's rumpus has one less check to cash. You may recall when he got a bit mouthy about the "nuisance" notice he got from Sis-Town about the state of The Pony's yard, and trees growing in the gutter. Farmer H had a phone "discussion" with the guy from the city who wrote the nuisance letter. And went to city hall and asked to speak to someone in the street department, and was turned away. Then he left a message for his councilman to call him back, with no response.

Well. Farmer H tricked the mayor!

The regular monthly meeting for the city was last week. Farmer H presented his report on the apartments for the elderlies, including his lock box plan. The rest of the meeting continued. The mayor spoke last. As she closed the meeting, Farmer H said, 

"Do you have a minute so I can ask a question?"

She said of course. So Farmer H said it was about his property over on Pony Street, and the nuisance letter he had received from the city.

"I ended up mowing the yard that same afternoon that he wrote the letter. I don't have no problem about the weeds out front between the sidewalk and the road. I cut them as soon as I got the letter. My problem is with them trees growing in the gutter. He said I'm supposed to clear them out. I'm not going to cut those trees out of the gutter."

There were murmurs from the "crowd" of other city officials."

"You shouldn't have to do that."

"That's not your job to maintain."

"I talked to the guy who wrote the letter. He said he would talk to the street department and see. I never heard anything back from him, even though I called him. I went to city hall, and they said I should go out to the street department myself to talk to them. I also called my city councilman, and never got a response."

The mayor said that this guy HAD been out writing nuisance letters, so Farmer H wasn't the only person who got one. But the mayor also said that removing those trees in the gutter should not be Farmer H's responsibility. That she would drive by and have a look.

Whether she did or not is unknown. We'll see if Farmer H gets another letter. He is quite proud of himself for his cunning.

"I knew if I asked her right there in front of everybody, she'd have to listen to me, or look like a jerk. And when them other people said I shouldn't have to cut those trees, she agreed with them. Maybe I'll get an answer now."

Mrs. HM, The Scavenger

When I parked in my rightful handicap space at the Gas Station Chicken Store on Friday, I saw a scratcher on the pavement beside T-Hoe. It was face-down, and looked like a big one. My eyes weren't good enough to see the gray denomination number that's on the back. I was guessing it could have been a $20, $30, or $50. People don't just drop these tickets. They toss them out when they're losers!

Anyhoo... with my back/rumpus in recovery from the shooting pain, I had no intention of bending over to get it. In fact, a man was walking past me from the FREE AIR hose, and I pulled T-Hoe's door closed to let him pass. He stepped right over that ticket.

When I came back out after my purchase, that ticket was still there. So I balanced precariously with my cane, and picked it up. As I expected, it was already scratched. But the bar code had NOT been uncovered. It was a $50 ticket. So I scratched off the barcode, and entered it into my MOLOTTERY app.

As I've said before, I don't often enter my ticket points, because there haven't been any good prizes to buy with them for many years. Now all we can get are obscure gift cards, or a coupon for a ticket. Since I don't have a working printer, and the clerks don't seem to know how to scan it off a phone (from when I've seen other people ask), it's not worth the time for me. The app is time-consuming, and awkward to move around in. I use it to scan and make sure I don't miss a winner, but you have to do it all over again to enter the points.

Anyhoo... I DO scan in points for special drawings, like the one they have monthly for the "big" tickets like the $50s and $30s. I occasionally buy a $30, and The Pony likes the $50s. That's how "we" won $300 in a drawing last year.

I like to think of my act of scavengery as being selfless. I was picking up litter, you know!

Here We Go Again, With The Tickmonger Deigning To Take Responsibility

I made it to town for errand day, an abbreviated outing to baby my rumpus/leg nerve. The Pony rode along with me to the bank, and pumped my gas after I paid, so that I didn't have to rush back across the parking lot before the pump shut off. I took my cane, and felt better than I expected. 

During this outing, I kept feeling an itch on my left side. It was about midway down my ribs, a little past the midline, towards my back. It was in a convenient spot for my thumb to reach and scratch. Watching TV later that night, while Farmer H was downstairs in my Old People Chair, watching a different show, I pulled up my shirt and sweatshirt to get a good scratch, nail to skin. I couldn't see that area, but I felt something. Something I didn't want to feel. Something flippy.

It was a tick. I got a grip on it, with my thumbnail and finger. Ripped it out of my flesh, and smashed it, then mummified its remains in a Puffs With Lotion. 

Dang Farmer H! When he came upstairs to watch the next show with me, I informed him of my attack by a parasite he has once again brought into the Mansion.

"I don't know why you always blame ME. You get 'em from the dogs. That's where I get 'em. It's not my fault."

"Seriously? I walk from the house to the porch to the garage. I never step on grass. I've only been to town a few days this week. I only pet Jack, for about a minute when I leave, and a minute when I come home. I don't hold him. Just a hand on his head and chest. But YOU are out on that mower for hours. You walk around the pool messing with the filter. You walk around the trailer, loading the mower for town, where you MOW MORE GRASS! You go out in the yard to pick up Pupsie's trash. But I'M the one bringing it ticks???

I probably got it from the bed. That's the side I lie on. My left side. You don't even take a shower at night anymore. Your shoes sit right there in front of the recliner. You brought me my phone from my jacket one day when you had just come in. And you carried my jacket to the kitchen for me another day. My jacket never goes outside anywhere around the dogs. AND you said you've had several ticks this summer."

"You're full of it. It's not MY fault. I just got one off my leg yesterday."

Farmer H was doing nothing to prove his innocence! His statements could be used to prove MY case! In fact, in the wee hours before he woke up the next morning, I found ANOTHER tick! It was on my left arm, inner elbow. I could see this one, and dispatched of it the same way. They were both small, maybe half the size of a pinhead. Both on my left side.

Clearly, these parasites were introduced to the inner Mansion by Farmer H. They either went from the sheets to my jacket when I laid down for my nap, or from Farmer H to my jacket when he touched it, twice. I don't think the ticks migrated across the carpet and climbed the couch. I think they were on my jacket, and finally worked their way to my flesh. 

That river in Egypt is Farmer H's favorite body of water... There's nothing to be done about it after the fact, but Farmer H could at least take responsibility for bringing the ticks into the Mansion.

Evidence Of More Pupsing

I don't think I revealed the latest antics of Pupsie. Not because there were more interesting things to share. We all know that not much happens around here. More like it's a subject I don't like re-living. If I already told this one, skip on down to the latest Pupsing...

Last week, Farmer H stepped out on the porch to take a pee. At least it was dark. Almost. He came back inside and put on his camouflage Crocs.

"What are you doing?"

"Going out in the yard to pick up what that stupid dog tore up now."

He came back with a trash bag containing small pieces of paper/cardboard. Said it had my name on a piece, and that it was a POOP BOX! Don't get me started. I did not order a poop box, I did not WANT a poop box, I tell that to my NP who I haven't seen since December, and I avoid answering the million calls I get from Humana. No poop box for Mrs. HM, ever since I did it and insurance didn't cover it and it cost me almost $700 out of pocket. PLUS I never even got my results. At least this one was a nice "present" for Pupsie. 

Funny how you can get a package delivered that you DIDN'T order, but not half of the packages you ACTUALLY order!

______________________________________________________________

Anyhoo... Farmer H stepped out on the front porch again Wednesday evening. 

"Look what that stupid dog has NOW!"

It WAS somebody's doll. Lest there's any question of the identity of the perpetrator, I direct your attention to Exhibit A during the evidentiary proceedings. She's right there in the photo! 

Farmer H brought it in, waving it around, but I think he threw it back out! I don't remember. I was preoccupied with the last half hour of the 90-minute Big Brother episode. If he did throw it out, rather than putting it in the trash, I guess he figures Pupsie will finish eating it, and not leave particles on the porch, sidewalk, or yard.

I caution you not to look at the bottom edge of the picture. NOOOO!!! I warned you! Nobody needs to see Farmer H's toes, despite his monthly pedicures.