It Was A LOTastrophe, I Tell You!

Mrs. HM was not in the best of moods after the entitled pizza-eaters usurped her rightful handicap parking space at the Hillmomba Casey's on Saturday. She proceeded to 10Box, with a purpose of buying two $5 crossword scratchers, a $10 ticket, and a $3 crossword, which was destined for Fave next Thursday.

I was only buying from the left side machine, because I had won $20 on a crossword from the right side machine the day before. I scanned in a $3 winner. Then inserted a twenty-dollar bill. The machine showed a credit of $23. I touched the screen for my $5 crosswords. Selected the TWO option. They were ripped off and deposited in the tray. I touched the screen for my $10 ticket. Selected the ONE option. I heard the ticket tearing, but it was an extra-long tear sound. Then the machine froze. 

I waited. My credit in the machine showed $3. I was just waiting on that $10 ticket to fall into the tray. But it didn't! I figured it might be stuck. When the screen returned to normal, I selected the $3 crossword, and chose the ONE option. It showed on the screen, but I heard no tearing. IT FROZE. After waiting about five minutes, because these machines often start working again after freezing, I turned to the cashiers, and said,

"This machine is acting up again."

One of them said that yeah, they do that, you just have to wait. But another said, "She's already been waiting a while." They called for a manager. Not one I was familiar with. She heard my description of what happened. Then tried to open the machine. She was not exactly friendly. She tried every key, and finally made the front cover open. She was having a lot of trouble figuring out what to do, and called over the lady who is so nice, and always gives me a cart when she sees my drive up.

Cart Gal talked her through the steps. But still, they couldn't solve the problem. That dang machine would not show my credit for the $10 ticket I never got. New Gal acted like I might be lying. She didn't know how to see the record of what that machine had just done, like the last time it happened and the manager could tell exactly what happened.

"I can't give you a ticket out of here. And I can't give you a refund, because it only shows a $3 credit. I CAN give you the $3. But for the rest, you'll have to come in on Monday and talk to a manager."

"That's a little far off. They won't have any idea what I'm talking about."

"We can leave a note."

"That will take a long time. It's not worth it to me to stand around for 30 minutes. Somebody else might as well use my $10."

I was not trying to be a smart-rumpus. I had already been standing there for 30 minutes while this was going on. I knew it would take at least that long to try and explain and get resolution TWO DAYS LATER! I took my $3 she refunded, and got my two crosswords out of the tray. Then I put a twenty into the right-side machine, and got a ten, and two five dollar tickets that I would send to Genius this week.

I'm not mad at the workers. I told Cart Gal, "Anywhere else, I would just walk away and forget it, but everybody here is so nice, I don't mind imposing on you with a problem!"

She said, "Oh, it's no problem! This machine acts up all the time, especially when the weather is cloudy."

Which seems right, because it was rainy the last time this machine betrayed me! Still, I don't hold it against the workers. The New Gal even started acting really nice once I mentioned how nice everyone (but her!) are in this store. I figure these things happen for a reason, and if somebody can get a win off my $10, then they needed it more than I do.

The Universe rewarded me for my trouble. After barely being able to hobble out to T-Hoe, and getting home 30 minutes late to make Farmer H's supper, I scratched those tickets. One of my crosswords won $25. And the $10 ticket won $30.

Aside from making my knees hurt extra more... it was not such a LOTastrophe after all.

The Action Does Not Belie The Sentiment

Imagine Mrs. HM's dismay fit of pique on Saturday afternoon, when she pulled onto the lot of the Hillmomba Casey's to buy her scratchers, and found a minivan with two kayaks on the top in her rightful handicap parking space. No plate, no placard signifying handicap status for this vehicle.

I parked on the other side of it, even farther from the door, and began my slow hobble along the sidewalk. A woman came out, walking towards me, carrying a pizza. It smelled delicious.

"You have a blessed day, Ma'am," she said as she opened the door of the minivan.

"Thank you." I'm pretty sure my face showed more of a grimace than a smile.

HOW DARE SHE wish me a blessed day, while parked ILLEGALLY in my rightful handicap space!!! Is that supposed to relieve her conscience? Does she even have a conscience? Would she have wished me a blessed day if I was standing there taking a picture of her van in front of the HANDICAP sign that proclaims a $500 fine for parking there without verification?

When I came out, the van was still parked in the handicap space. The two women inside were eating their pizza. You know, because there is nowhere else to park to eat pizza, other than the single handicap space that other differently-abled people such as Mrs. HM might need to park in, to satisfy their gambling addiction.

Let The Hardheadedness Continue

Farmer H bookended our casino trip with another bout of hardheadedness. It also involved the Love's Truck Stop. He always stops there on the way home, for a bathroom break, and to get a soda (and candy bar). The Pony usually goes in to get me scratchers out of their lottery machine. I give The Pony some of my casino bankroll for tickets for both of us.

This time, The Pony had been napping in the back seat. I asked Farmer H if he was stopping, and he said yes, to get a soda. So I woke The Pony. Which was harder than you might imagine. The Pony said he didn't really want to go in this time, so I said okay. 

I didn't want to get out and hobble in, either. 

Besides, all I had in cash was $100 bills. Farmer H said he was out of twenties, from the casino. I would have no problem giving The Pony a hundred, to spend $50 for each of us. I'd had a good day at the casino! But I didn't want to give Farmer H a hundred. He's so judgmental, and I definitely wasn't letting him buy tickets for himself. The machines don't give change back. Then I remembered I had put my winners from the day before into my gambling purse. Still, there was the problem of Farmer H's lottery literacy.

As Farmer H was going up the exit ramp by the Love's Truck Stop, I said,

"Well, I know better than to ask YOU to get me tickets. You can't remember what I ask for. I'm not giving you a hundred, and you don't know how to scan in tickets."

I figured that was that. No big deal. I'd just go to town when we got back home.

THEN Farmer H said,

"I don't need no soda anyway."

AND KEPT ON DRIVING PAST THE LOVE'S TRUCK STOP!

"I don't know why you have to be like this. I wasn't even asking you to get my tickets. Go ahead and pee yourself and die of dehydration and starve to death from not getting your afternoon candy bar! You're not punishing ME any by skipping that stop."

Because really... why would Farmer H change his plans instantly? No reason I can think of, other than to show me he's the boss. If he'd been alone, he would have stopped for pee/soda/candy. If The Pony was going in, Farmer H would have stopped. So I really don't see the purpose of driving right by, unless it was an action directed at ME.

Farmer H does many things right, and he's basically a good guy. But it's things like this that really hurt my feelings. It's a wonder he even has a nose left, after years of such spiteful behavior.

Let The Hardheadedness Begin

Can you guess who I'm talking about? You over there, with your hand up. Yes! You are correct! This tale is indeed about Farmer H. I see a future valedictorianship in your future.

Wednesday morning, we left for the casino. As with all trips to our favorite casino, the first stop would be McDonald's about a half hour into the drive, when we get to the interstate highway. The Pony asked if we could actually stop instead of just utilizing the drive-thru, because a bathroom break was needed.

I asked Farmer H if he would go in to get the food, or just use the drive-thru after letting The Pony out for the facilities. We eat on the road, to save time. It's a 90-minute drive to the casino. Farmer H said he didn't think this McDonald's had a restroom inside for customers. It's adjacent to a Love's Truck Stop, and the bathrooms are in that part of the building. So he'd let The Pony go in there, and order food at the drive-thru as usual.

Is it just me, or would you think that Farmer H would stop in front of the Love's entrance, let The Pony go in, and proceed to the drive-thru once The Pony came back out? Doesn't that make the most sense? 

Farmer H got directly in the drive-thru line when we entered the complex. He was stunned when I asked what he was doing. "I'm getting the food, then I'll drive The Pony over to the other door."

"That's kind of backwards. The Pony has to go. And probably wants to eat the food when it's hot in the bag, not wait until after the bathroom."

"I'm fine, Mom. It's okay."

Well. It was not okay with ME! You guessed that, didn't you? I'm all about logic. There were already four cars in the drive-thru line. Usually we are the only one. I guess we hit it at the morning rush.

Then we saw the car ahead of us at the pickup window hand their bag back through the window to the worker. To me, that meant they had been given OUR food, and gave it back. Indeed, our bag looked crumpled at the top, as if it had been opened and re-closed, when we pulled up to receive it. This irked me, even though The Pony said it didn't LOOK like the sandwiches had been unwrapped.

Anyhoo... Farmer H drove over to the entrance to the convenience store side of the truck stop. The Pony went inside. I told Farmer H that I would have given him his Sausage Egg and Cheese McMuffin while waiting, instead of eating while driving, but The Pony had set the bag way back beside his seat, and neither one of us could reach it.

Serves him right! Farmer H always insists on doing things HIS way. Which is often the least convenient, with no rhyme nor reason.

If PigPen Was An Old Man In Hillmomba, And Not A Peanuts Cartoon Character

I appreciate all the chores Farmer H does around the Mansion. He takes care of a lot. I also have chores. They mostly relate to cleaning up after taking care of Farmer H. I don't get to ride around on a cute little machine while doing chores outside. I am inside, on my own two feet, in stinky bathrooms. Or in the kitchen that refuses to buy food, cook it, and clean up after itself.

Wednesday, we were taking a trip to the casino. The Pony was coming out to meet us for the drive down there. I figured I'd clean up a bit in the boys' bathroom that I use most of the time. Tuesday night, Farmer H went to bed around 7:30. I know it was still daylight, and the sun had not yet set over the front yard/field. I gathered some paper towels, a bag for trash, some spray cleaner, and went into the boys' bathroom to tidy up. It smelled fresh and clean. I was pleased with myself. The sink sparkled, and the floor had been wiped within an inch of its life. 

Wednesday morning, I was showering in the master bathroom when The Pony arrived around 8:45. Farmer H had been outside mowing when I got in the shower. I heard them both talking when I came into the living room. We left for the casino.

When we returned home after 5:00, The Pony left. Farmer H went to visit The Veteran. And I went to town for scratchers. Upon my arrival back home after town, I went into the boys' bathroom. WHAT A SIGHT! There was dried grass all over the floor. I can only assume that Farmer H had used that bathroom when he came into the Mansion after mowing, before leaving for the casino.

You'd think somebody would notice that they left grass all over the floor. And maybe CLEAN IT UP. What's it going to do, take root and grow a green carpet in there? Will it disappear? Farmer H may only have one eye, but he's not blind. Just hard-headed. I suppose he thought I should clean that floor.

I do not concur...

Psych!

Way back in junior college, I had an introductory psychology class. I spent a lot of time looking at the small windows along the top of the wall, wondering why anybody would design a building with such useless windows that couldn't be opened and wouldn't let you see anything but sky. Perhaps I was not the most motivated student, though I DID learn a lot that semester, perhaps by osmosis.

Anyhoo... I remember the teacher pointing out that people are self-centered, and that often conflicts arise because people want different things out of an interaction or relationship. That the only thing important to you at the time is "what you are controlling for." It's an odd phrase, but it just means what you are wishing to happen, and consciously or unconsciously trying to make happen. It's not necessarily a bad thing. That's only when people are obsessed with controlling other people.

Yeah. That's kind of boring, right? Makes you want to look out some windows.

Farmer H came home Monday afternoon, unhappy with The Pony.

"I must have been there for an hour mowing The Pony's yard, and he never once came out and offered me a drink of water or a soda."

"Well. The Pony might have thought it was Old Buddy mowing the yard. That's who usually does it. I doubt The Pony even looked out."

"Still. It's really hot. I cain't believe he didn't even check on me."

So Farmer H was controlling for recognition for his lawn mowing, and evidence of caring about his health in the heat, and a quenching of his thirst. The Pony was probably controlling for some ZZZZZs in a nap, or relaxation in the jetted bathtub, or more likely a win in a computer game. They had different expectations. Farmer H was hurt, and The Pony was oblivious.

Just a mini psychology lesson. One more service Mrs. HM provides.

___________________________________________________________________

Here's a bonus that's a little more interesting. My psychology teacher told us the best way to respond to a liar. Just say, "Well, imagine that."

"Former students come up to me all the time. They tell me about their life since they graduated. Some of them stretch the truth a little bit. Like one gal who told me about her little girl. Said she was the smartest thing. That her first words were, 'May I have a cookie, please?' I smiled and said, 'Well, imagine that.' And we both left with a good feeling about the interaction."

Be Careful What You Look Forward To

For days I had been planning Farmer H's suppers, waiting for an opportunity to treat myself to something different. Of all the weeks for him to be contrary (okay, that is generally the norm, but you know what I mean), he picked this week to be "not hungry." So foods that I had planned for our meals were lolling about in FRIG II, needing to be eaten. Such as the bacon left from the roasted vegetables on Sunday. And then some fried chicken and chicken tenders that I bought on Thursday.

Because of Farmer H's lagging appetite (most likely due to too many sweet snacks between meals), I was forced (FORCED, I TELL YOU!) to take up the slack and eat chicken and tenders longer than planned. Finally, Farmer H was down to his next-to-last meal of bacon. That's fine. He loves bacon. Bacon will last a while. And he makes his own sandwiches when he's ready, having already required me to freeze some of those delicious roasted vegetables. 

With the clock no longer ticking on the leftovers, I could finally make what I wanted for supper. It was NACHOS! Super nachos! Oh, how I'd been looking forward to them. They take about 45 minutes to make. I fried some frozen hamburger that morning, so I could have the pan washed, and the meat just ready to sprinkle onto my nachos.

Farmer H of course had a chore for me to do that evening, concerning his business and a form that needed a mailing envelope. I was quite late in starting my supper. That's okay. I'm a night owl. It gave me even more time to anticipate my delicious nachos. It was after 10:00 when I started preparing them.

I made some cheese spread to put on my super nachos this time, with melted Velveeta and salsa. Farmer H likes it as a dip, and I figured it would go great with my other ingredients.

I put down a layer of tortilla chips. Half a bag of shredded lettuce. The Velveeta/salsa. The warmed hamburger. Sprinkled on some Frank's Original Red Hot Sauce. Added my usual shredded sharp cheddar. A small diced onion. Some salsa. Dollops of sour cream. Topped with black olives.

They were BEAUTIFUL! I couldn't wait to dig in. My stomach was rumbling. The long-awaited super nachos were ready!

Be careful what you look forward to, my friends. 

My super nachos were not all that good... Too salty. I blame the Velveeta. It threw off the balance. I know many of the other ingredients are salty, but they generally are balanced by the shredded lettuce and sour cream. I still ate about half of this feast. I'm guessing Pupsie will snarf it up later when I come back from town. She's not at all finicky.

I might try my super nachos again tonight, with NO Velveeta, and with some diced chicken I have in the freezer. I am cautiously optimistic.

Yes. I'm Pretty Sure.

The fact that Mrs. HM is still here whining blogging after 35 years with Farmer H must surely be a miracle. You'd think a handy man such as Farmer H would not be such a failure at one simple task, that being to TRY AND KILL ME in assorted, untraceable ways! You never know what form that attempted extinguishment of the bright light that is Mrs. HM might take...

Farmer H, as with Genius when he lived here, has always wanted things OTHER PEOPLE HAVE. Mainly, snacks and treats designated for others in the household. No matter how many times they might have been asked what they wanted from the store, nor how many of their own requests were filled... they just had to dip into the treats of The Pony and Mrs. HM. Without asking. Without telling. Sometimes to the point of taking the last item and leaving the empty box. Genius has moved into his own household. But Farmer H is still here!

I came home Saturday, carried in my own groceries, and greeted Farmer H as he strolled in while I was putting them away. Such timing! I offered to make Farmer H a Wild Turkey and Shasta Zero Sugar Cola, and he said yes. I asked if he wanted a snack with it. Yes.

"Do you want a little bag of chips?"

"No."

"There's a big bag of Ruffles I got for you a couple BBQs with Pony ago. You never did open them."

"No."

"Do you want some of this stuff I got myself?"

"Yes."

"How much do you want?"

"I don't know. What is it?"

"You don't even know what it IS, but you want it! Because it's mine..."

"Well, what is it?"

"This Gardetto Snack Mix."

"Okay."

Farmer H got a bowl, and picked up the bag of snack mix. He plunged his hand into the bag. I could hear clawing and scraping as he dredged up a big fistful. Then more rooting around, and another.

"Do you HAVE TO DO THAT? You couldn't just pour it into a bowl? When is the last time you washed your hands?"

"Around noon."

"At your store? You don't even have running water. And I know the Port-A-Potty doesn't."

"I used a wet wipe."

"At noon. And you didn't get anything on your hands again all day?"

"Nope."

I took a chance. I ate some of my snack mix. Which I had bought for myself. Since Farmer H couldn't think of ANYTHING he wanted from any of my 2-3 trips to the store that week. And every week.

So far, I'm still kickin'...

All's Okay That Ends Well

When I drove onto the parking lot of the Gas Station Chicken Store on Saturday, there were few cars. My rightful handicap space was open. There was a truck and horse trailer at the diesel pumps, and a truck on the other side. A van driving away from the gas pumps. And a little green truck on the upper lot. This was good news for Mrs. HM! She HATES waiting in line. Not just for standing on sore knees, but because she feels a bit claustrophobic in the close quarters of the GSCS.

As I hobbled inside, a youngster ran past me. I didn't look up. That might have thrown off my balance. I assumed it was a young 'un from that horse trailer. I could actually smell the horses.

Well. Once inside, I was sorely disappointed. A man was paying for gas with a credit card. Three teenage girls were milling around at the register. A dude with a walkie/talkie radio of some kind strung on a strap over his shoulder was going down the middle aisle. Too many people! I stood to the side, leaning on a display of beer cases, and tried to calm myself until the place cleared out.

DANG! The three girls were all buying something. They were chatty. Just taking up time. Declaring they didn't need a bag, because they were just going to eat their purchases. The Dude came back to the front, eating an ice cream sandwich. He stood by the door. Lurking. I wasn't sure of his purpose, but he seemed to be with the girls. He finished his ice cream sandwich, and went back down the middle aisle looking for the wastebasket. Then I spotted a guy holding two fountain sodas, who had come up on the soda aisle. 

The girls finally finished. I let the soda guy go ahead, even though he had appeared after I was already in line. One of those girls backed up, almost into me! That's all I needed! To be toppled over by the cases of beer! But she stopped just in time. Then said, "There's no place to stand in here!" One of her cronies finished eating an ice cream sandwich, and commanded her to go back by the soda fountain to throw away the wrapper in the lone trash can. She didn't want to, but the other gal told her to just do it. 

THEN the guy paying for the fountain sodas declared, "Just a minute. I want to get an ice cream sandwich. They look so good." And left his stuff on the counter, and went down the third aisle for his treat. By that time, the walkie/talkie dude was in line again on the first aisle. I don't know why those gals kept hanging around. Surely they were capable of walking out to the horse trailer on their own.

At least Walkie/Talkie Dude let me go next. Really. It WAS my turn. PAST my turn! So I bought my tickets, though I prefer not to have an audience of four people watching me for no reason. 

Once home and scratching, I won $90 on my tickets! It was $10 on a ten, $30 on a ten, and $50 on a three-dollar ticket. So there's that. I'm glad I didn't leave and come back later, as I often do when the place is crowded.

Thank The Gummi Mary, The Pony Doesn't Like Long Noodles

I've been reading about a food recall for the past few days. It's not a product I buy, so I kind of glossed over the various articles. The more I saw it, I grew concerned. The product is ready-to-eat Chicken Fettucine Alfredo, sold at the Devil's Playground. I think it's for microwaving, from the deli case. Or maybe frozen. Again, I didn't read the details, but realized that THE PONY LOVES PASTA!

I know The Pony shops at the Devil's Playground. I know that The Pony most often makes pasta at home, but has in the past bought the prepared deli version, like tortellini filled with cheese. Of course I had to warn The Pony! Hear those helicopter blades warming up?

"Pony! You haven't been eating Chicken Fettucine Alfredo, have you?"

"No. Why? Is there a recall?"

"Yes! It might have listeria. Seventeen people have died, and others have been sickened! Of course maybe they were elderly and infirm. Or infants. But still, 17 people have died! Or wait. Maybe it was in 17 states, and less than 17 people have died. Or MORE! Anyway, don't eat Chicken Fettucine Alfredo from the Devil's Playground!"

"Sheesh! I won't! But you don't have to worry. I don't like fettucine. I don't like a long noodle."

Well. There's that. The Pony is safe for now...

Pony Needs A New Set Of Wheels

I tried to call The Pony yesterday, but there was no answer. Only an option for voice mail after many rings. That's not like The Pony. My call is always taken. Farmer H's... not so much. I would have worried, but I thought perhaps The Pony was in the shower. So I waited.

Within 15 minutes I had a return call. The Pony had been outside, cleaning out the car.

"What? Are you going on a special trip?"

Let the record show that The Pony is a car slob. I can't imagine a reason to suddenly clean out that Rogue. Let's not forget that The Pony's Bestie, in college, got into the passenger seat and found a cookie on the floor under some old food wrappers. AND ATE IT! Even though The Pony cautioned that it was most likely a year old. Anyhoo... Bestie survived.

The Pony reported that there was no special trip on the horizon, but that Farmer H had commanded that the car be cleaned out, because he was taking it to get inspected and get it licensed. I suppose The Pony fell for that ruse, even though the inspection is not of the INSIDE of the vehicle, but pertains to its mechanical soundness. More likely, The Pony didn't want to get a lecture from Farmer H, whose SilverRedO is filled with empty bottles of Diet Mountain Dew and sundry junk food wrappers.

Farmer H reported that evening that The Pony's car needs a new set of tires, and they have been ordered. Now all I have to do is convince Farmer H that T-Hoe's warning system keeps clamoring for an oil change. That's easier than tires.

Let The Bludgeoning Begin

Last week, Farmer H came home early a couple of days, because Old Buddy was not able to work in the mornings on Bargain House. Farmer H did what he could, and then had time left over. He mowed some of the Mansion grounds. Then he said he was going to spray. Farmer H mixes his own insecticide, and has a canister and metal spray thingy that he uses while walking around the perimeter of the Mansion.

I don't know what the deal is, but we have not had an issue with invertebrate intruders until after the spraying! Sure, there are occasional spiders spotted, and flies that get in when the door is open. But we really don't have a problem with pests.

This week, I have seen TWO CRICKETS inside! I hate crickets. HATE, HATE, HATE! Not only is their sound annoying, but I despise their evasion tactics, and their bodies full of guts. The two crickets I saw MIGHT possibly have been only one, in different locations. I'm not willing to accept that theory. I must remain on guard.

Let the record show that I did not HEAR a cricket. I was in the kitchen, getting my supper ready while Farmer H was at the auction. A CRICKET walked across the floor! WALKED! Didn't jump. Just walked, creepily, its large body suspended by those jointed legs. 

I can't move quickly. I'm not good at standing on one leg. My intention was to step on that cricket, and put an end to him. As I was positioning myself with a hand on the counter so I could lift my foot, that darn cricket walked under the stove! There's no retrieving a cricket from under the stove. No way to get at it. No way to kill it. 

But wait! It gets worse!

As I was sitting on the short couch between midnight and 2:00 a.m., I saw ANOTHER cricket walking across the carpet. It came from the corner by the TV cabinet. Walking. So creepy. Walking. Across the floor, and under the marred coffee table. I could see it standing under there. I weighed my options. I cannot arise quickly from the short couch. Once I'm up, I have to get my balance, and let my legs unstiffen. I knew that cricket would be gone before I could get to it. Besides, what could I do with it under the coffee table? Take off a Croc, maybe, and bend over and whack it.

I watched. That cricket eventually turned and went back across the open floor, heading for Farmer H's recliner. I was afraid it might take a turn and come at ME. Maybe get onto the fleece throw I was covered with, given to me by The Pony when he returned home from OU. But no. That cricket walked under Farmer H's recliner.

I fell asleep watching TV. When I awoke around 4:00 a.m., I saw that cricket coming towards me. Crap! What to do? I picked up the large red metal flashlight on the TV table. It's there in case of a power outage overnight. About a foot long. Cold heavy metal. As that cricket walked, I leaned over.

BAM! BAM, BAM, BAM!

I smashed that cricket. But still, it refused to give up. It tried to JUMP and get away! I grabbed a Puffs With Lotion and covered it and squeezed. I know some guts were already coming out. I wiped up any of the goo that might have touched the carpet. SQUEEZED that dang cricket inside the Puffs. Wiped off the end of the flashlight. 

Then I deposited the Puffs in a plastic bowl that I use to hold regular Puffs if I blow my nose overnight, and throw away the next morning. I got up and grabbed the cricket Puff and took it to the bathroom for flushing.

My problem is 50 percent solved! Maybe it was the same cricket, taking a tour of the Mansion, while I had been at the kitchen table for a couple of hours. Maybe not. I have my flashlight ready.

The Main Purpose Was Probably To Annoy Me

Farmer H sent me a text on Monday that a guy would be over in the BARn field cutting down a couple of dead trees. Not actually the BARn field, but the one next to it, I figured it out when I came home from town and saw the stump. Which was three feet tall, with two surfaces.

"That dead tree you told me about doesn't look very dead."

"It was dead, HM! In a couple of places. I thought it might fall on the power line."

"If you burn all that wood I see on your burn pile, you'll burn down the woods and your BARn."

"I'm not going to burn it all at once. I have a section behind it that I burn."

"As if the whole thing won't catch on fire. It's a DEAD tree, remember?"

"It won't catch anything on fire."

"Did you pay that guy to cut down trees?"

"Yes. Well. No. He owed me money, so I had him work. You saw the tree. Did you see the fire hydrant at the end of the driveway?"

"What? No. A fire hydrant? What's the deal with that? Who put that in? Surely it's not hooked up to anything."

"I bought it. It's out by the carport."

"Why would it be there?"

"That's okay. The Pony didn't see it, either."

"I guess I'm too busy watching the driveway so I don't run over a cow pelvis or a hammer."

"Well, okay, I can see that. I just saw a fire hydrant for sale and I wanted it. I figured maybe Jack will pee on it."

"Jack has the whole 20 acres to pee on. He doesn't need a fire hydrant. I'm shocked that it's not on the porch with the 2000 other things that don't belong there."

No answer to that. I guess the Master Hoarder didn't have an excuse.

Farmer H, The Perpetual Blamer

Farmer H came home early on Monday, because he was planning to go to the auction around 3:30. He said he was going out to work on SilverRedO, to re-glue the side trim.

"Your car has the trim just sticking out. But mine flaps in the wind when I'm driving! I think Old Buddy must have hit it when he was getting in the other day."

Here's the thing. SilverRedO is a 2012 model. T-Hoe is from 2008. Vehicles age! They both have trim along the side. It's black, about 3 inches wide. Nothing really has to "happen" to that trim to make it start bending away. I imagine the adhesive gets weaker after all the years in the sun and the freezing temperatures. Not sure why Farmer H feels the need to blame Old Buddy.

I'm pretty sure that's not the correct scenario. Old Buddy is such a hypochondriac that if he'd brushed up against that trim, he would have needed the week off, and a couple visits to the ER. That's his physician(s) of choice. Old Buddy receives government health care and never has to pay a penny. So rather than go to a doctor's office, he goes straight to the ER, where a multitude of tests are performed, at nary a cost for him. There's no way Old Buddy could have bumped that trim on SilverRedO without getting checked out at the ER. Such an injury might have progressed from a bruise to blood clots to a soft tissue injury that could become necrotic and result in an amputation!

Farmer H needs to realize that everything is not about assigning blame. Sometimes, things just happen.

Pupsie Keeps On Pupsing

That dang dog! By 9:00 a.m. she had dug all the water out of both water dishes. And when I left for town at 10:30 to pick up The Pony for a Father's Day cookout, there was a new item in the driveway.

A HAMMER!

It was a full-size hammer, not some dainty lady-tool. A hammer with a metal head, wooden handle, and rubber grip. Except part of the grip was chewed off. I had just climbed into T-Hoe, and was in no mood to dismount and re-enter. I left the hammer. 

When we got home, it was still there. The Pony jumped out and got it. We left it on the floor of T-Hoe, and told Farmer H, fearing he would be quite displeased.

"I don't know where that hammer come from. It's not mine."

So much for that. I suppose if Pupsie was trainable, Farmer H could acquire a whole new set of tools. Farmer H is not happy with Pupsie, even though he gained a hammer.

My Sweet Baboo Clears The Path

Thank the Gummi Mary I looked up the driveway as I backed T-Hoe out of the garage on Saturday evening. Otherwise, I might have run over an obstacle and punctured a tire. Or flipped it up under T-Hoe's undercarriage, and caused a leak in some vital accessory.

Being forewarned, I drove through part of the yard to avoid hitting this object. I knew exactly what it was, having seen it in the yard over the course of several days.

I assume this skeletal artifact is a COW PELVIS. The latest chewtoy that Pupsie had dragged home. Of course Farmer H gives it a toss, thinking he will make it disappear. He overestimates his throwing arm. 

When I came home, the driveway was clear. My Sweet Baboo had gotten out of SilverRedO and picked up the pelvis from the driveway. Farmer H says he hung it up. I don't dare ask where! So Pupsie shouldn't be able to drag it into the driveway again.

Steven Has Been Evening

Mrs. HM had a good day scratching on Thursday. After doing the banking, she took herself to the Sis-Town Save A Lot. That's because she had just shopped at Country Mart on Tuesday, after picking up The Pony to deposit checks from the sale of the Double Hovel flip house(s). The items she wanted to purchase were available at Save A Lot, and the lottery machine was fresh.

Let the record show that Mrs. HM got a $100 winner on a $5 crossword from the Save A Lot machine. In fact, she had other winners that totaled $142. So sorry for Fave at the Gas Station Chicken Store, and Genius in Pittsburgh, for whom she also purchased tickets there. Sure, they MIGHT have won something. But the odds are against it.

Anyhoo... on Friday, Mrs. HM was a bit late in leaving for town. A surprise thunderstorm sparked up during her naptime, and the creeks were overflowing. THAT GUY who always takes her rightful handicap parking space was once again parked there. Mrs. HM hobbled through the rain, and almost fell twice when her right knee objected to the extra distance. The Gas Station Chicken Store was out of crossword scratchers! The old lady who bought 10 of the crosswords in front of Mrs. HM on Thursday had come back and bought the rest of the roll on Friday! 

Casey's had a fire engine on the lot with flashing lights. It was gone when Mrs. HM went back after a trip to 10Box, but there was a smell of gasoline in the air. At least the parking had cleared out, with the handicap space now available.

After scratching at home, Mrs. HM won a total of $10. On a $10 ticket. That's way off from her regular win percentage. Hopefully, the six tickets she bought for Farmer H to have on Father's Day will provide some winners...

Mrs. HM, Now More Careful What She Wishes For

The drive-thru at my bank has been open for several weeks now. I must say, it has been a long time coming. Since last October! I was virtually drunk with excitement upon learning this new development at the end of May. I have been utilizing that drive-thru since then.

Well. The novelty has worn off!

Thursday, I turned into the bank's entrance, and noticed a black SUV sitting behind the bank, in the area just before the three drive-thru lanes. I suppose it saw me coming, because it pulled into the lane nearest the windows. The first lane after the lane that allows cars from the ATM in the back wall of the building to pull through to the exit.

I chose the middle of the three lanes, because it's the easiest to leave and make a turn into the back alley to make my escape. I had my withdrawal slip ready. I took the canister, and put in the withdrawal slip and my driver's license. I don't know whose canister made it inside first, but the black SUV was technically there before I was.

I heard the teller greet someone. It didn't come out of my speaker. That was a few minutes later. "How would you like... oh, I see you've written how you want your bills. I'll have it in just a minute."

I thanked the teller, and waited. I heard her finish up with the black SUV. Heard the canister going through the tube. BUT WAIT! There was some problem. The black SUV lady had questions. The teller had answers. The tube made sucking and shooting sounds. The black SUV lady had thought something was sent, but wasn't. She had thought it was returned, but wasn't. I couldn't figure out what was going on. I only knew that it was taking up my time. We were the only two cars in the drive-thru.

FINALLY, after 20 minutes, the black SUV left. The teller thanked me for being so patient "...while I assisted that customer with her problem." She sent my cash and driver's license through the tube.

I would be incensed at the long wait, except that for 8 months I have been hobbling inside the lobby to stand and wait for my turn. I can sit for 20 minutes on my ample rumpus, listening to the radio. No bone fragments off my knees! The thought of standing in line waiting on this gal was enough make me tranquil though my drive-thru wait.

It's POOLIO Season

Farmer H is getting a late start on POOLIO this year. He normally starts the draining and refilling and spending billions of dollars on chemicals at the end of May. I guess he forgot to ask for help with the cover. Sometimes The Veteran comes out, sometimes it's The Pony, and I think Old Buddy has also assisted. 

I came home from town on Tuesday to find Farmer H out back on his tractor, using the scoop to lift off the cover. It was not a simple process. Looked like he was doing it in short segments. He had the black plastic cover strapped to the lift somehow, and he'd raise it a bit just over the edge, and then manipulate it a bit while standing there, so water drained out.

Farmer H had been pumping a lot of water off that cover for a week, a bit at a time in the evenings. It's an odd task that involves a big orange extension cord that is plugged in by the dogs' water bowls, with the other end down at ground level by POOLIO. I think this keeps Farmer H from having to go down through the basement and out the door every evening. Maybe he can just control it from the porch this way.

Anyhoo... as Farmer H was coming in from his tractoring of POOLIO, I heard Pupsie and little Jack scuffling under the kitchen window. It sounded like they had something, perhaps a cow skull. Then I saw Pupsie come around, as if to get a drink, and PICK UP THE ORANGE EXTENSION CORD. She stood with it in her  mouth, looking back for Jack.

PUPSIE! NO!!!

That made Pupsie drop the cord, and go back to wrestling with Jack. But then she went to the cord again, and picked it up.

PUPSIE! NO!!! 

She looked surprised, but again dropped the extension cord. By then, Farmer H was coming up the basement steps.

"Your dog is trying to eat your big orange extension cord."

"That stupid dog! I'll fix THAT."

Farmer H went out on the porch, and started pulling up the extension cord, coiling it around his elbow. I guess he got to the end where it was plugged into something, because it came loose, and he brough it into the house.

"There. Now she cain't get it. She's gonna electrocute herself."

"Well. That would solve the problem of Pupsie..."

"She's so stupid. I bet she'll jump right in the pool. She ain't like Jack. He loves the water, but he won't even come down the steps to the deck."

That's why Farmer H has a gate to block the steps to the deck. So our pets were never at risk. My Sweet, Sweet Juno used to go down and lie on the deck watching Farmer H "swim." But Jack would not.

I can't help thinking what a show it might be, if Pupsie jumps in, and tries to avoid Farmer H catching her in the water. They might start a whirlpool.

I Swear, They're Multiplying!

Once again, Mrs. HM's attempt to have an unremarkable scratcher-buying experience was thwarted by a ne'er-do-well usurper of her rightful handicap parking space at the Gas Station Chicken Store.

It was Monday afternoon, after a hard day of selling the Double Hovel flip house(s), and I wanted nothing more than a peaceful visit to my regular scratcher provider. Yet here was this car in my space. I looped around and pulled into the FREE AIR parking space. I thought this driver might be leaving. After all, her tail lights were lit up from her foot on the brake.

But no. I waited five minutes, running the air conditioning in T-Hoe. Despite looking like an overcast day in this photo, the temperature was low 80s. Maybe this gal was waiting on a passenger to return. There were only about 5 cars on the lot. It shouldn't take long. But it DID. 

Pay no attention to this gentleman striding in front of the car. He appeared while I was trying to get a picture of the license plate for shaming purposes. I first thought maybe he was her passenger, and that she'd be moving on. But no. I finally got out to start my painful trek inside.

I suppose it was considerate of this lady to be such a bad parker. I had room to cut between her car and the building, hobbling right over the handicap stencil on the pavement. As I did so, I peered inside her car. I may or may not have given her my former-teacher stinkeye. It was a white-haired old woman. Still, that did not excuse her. She had no handicap plate, nor placard, and she was JUST SITTING. Not on her phone, not doing anything. Just sitting in my rightful handicap space, with her foot on the brake.

As I rounded the corner of the building, SHE DROVE AWAY! Dagnabit! I could have had that space if I had waited indefinitely for her to leave. But wait! All she did was drive into one of the gas pump lanes! She got out with no noticeable handicap, before I even made it to the door.

I guess some people think those stencils on the pavement mean the space is a designated waiting area for those who are looking for access to a gas pump. It's not as if she had the whole entirety of the parking lot to sit in her car and wait... She didn't even have a view of all the pumps around the corner.

How Curious Is THIS?

"Let me answer for you," as I used to tell my students, who would look at me cluelessly when I asked a question about their lesson. 

A miracle must have happened! When I got home from town on Sunday evening, having passed Farmer H on his way home, the BEEP of the smoke detector had stopped. Yet I saw no sign of a ladder or stepladder! Also, Farmer H told me he didn't have a battery, but had taken down the smoke detector and turned it off.

"You already knew you didn't have a battery! You said you were going to get batteries today!"

"Oh. Well. I don't have no batteries."

We also didn't have batteries on Monday. Farmer H did not buy any. We had our closing on the Double Hovel flip house(s). So I was with Farmer H all afternoon. No mention of batteries. I looked for some at 10Box, but all they had were the regular round batteries, in size AA and AAA. No 9-volt, no C, no D. At least I was actively seeking a solution to the smoke detector issue. 

Oh, and Farmer H had the nerve to say,

"There's one in the basement going bad, too."

"I TOLD YOU THAT! I SAID I HEARD ANOTHER ONE!"

"Huh. Well. I didn't hear it. Until I was down in the basement."

I suppose Farmer H went to the basement to get the stepladder. Or else it was in Genius's room all along. Which is where it likely resides now, since the smoke detector is off the ceiling, and I know Farmer H can't reach it without a ladder.

I don't know why Farmer H can't just honestly respond to a situation.

That BEEPING Farmer H

Sunday morning, Farmer H opened up the bedroom door at 5:50 a.m., on his way to water the dogs and get his lunch packed for a day at his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5). As he entered the laundry room to get the water, I heard an unwelcome noise from the master bedroom.

BEEP!

You know what that means. Battery going dead in a smoke detector. There it was again.

BEEP!

That's the problem with a chirping smoke detector. You know there's gonna be another BEEP comin'. It's like waiting for the other shoe to drop. All day. Waiting for the entire inventory of a combat-boot-manufacturing factory to release one boot at a time from the top floor.

"Hey! Do you hear that? The smoke detector needs a battery."

"Oh, yeah. I don't have any batteries."

"Can you turn it off?"

"I ain't got no ladder in the house."

Pardon my almost-French, but that is one Not-Heaven of a lie! We always have a little stepladder thingy in the Mansion. My mom gave it to us. Kind of a cross between a stool and a ladder. I think it has three steps. It's metal, and folds out, with black rubber on the steps.

Farmer H must have known by my sigh and look of displeasure that I was onto him.

"Let me look in Genius's room. Maybe it's in there."

He walked over and opened the door.

"Nope. Maybe it's downstairs."

Farmer H took a half-hearted step towards the basement.

"Just forget it!"

"I'll get batteries, and do it when I get home."

"Sure. Can you at least close the door so I don't have to hear it so loud?"

"Yeah. I can do that."

I'm pretty sure Farmer H will "forget" to pick up batteries today. I'm also pretty sure he will find that little stepladder downstairs in his workshop.

Mrs. HM Can't Help But Feel Guilty

Farmer H grilled pork steaks on Friday evening. They were GREAT! Well, the half of one I had was great. And the Fred-Flintstone-sized slab that Farmer H had was great, according to him. It lapped over the big rectangle section of our yellow lunchroom tray, into the round section beside it. There's another one left for Farmer H to eat Saturday night, and three more halves for me!

Along with the pork steaks, we had hash brown potato casserole that I had frozen during our last holiday meal. It thawed out well. I added fresh cornflakes on top for crispiness when I warmed it in the oven. Also, I made garlic cheese bread.

THIS IS WHY I FEEL GUILTY!

We did not invite The Pony to come out. It was just an evening thing when Farmer H got home from his SUS2.5 and Friday evening bull-shooting session with his cronies. No desserts. No salad. Just pork steak, potatoes, and bread. The Pony only likes the bread. But The Pony REALLY, REALLY likes the bread.

I made the confession when talking to The Pony on Saturday.

"Was the bread good? I bet it was really good!"

"Yes, Pony. But I feel so bad that we didn't invite you. You don't like pork steaks, and you don't like the potatoes. So it was just us. But I still have half the loaf of French bread left! I plan to use it. I might make more of the garlic cheese bread on Sunday. I could bring you some when we pick you up to go to the closing on Monday for the flip house. You could run it in your house before we go."

"OR... I could just eat it on the way!"

Heh, heh! I suppose that's an option. To show up to the closing with garlic breath! I figure The Pony can put most of it in the house, and eat one slice on the way. I made six slices from the other half. Not sure how many of the new ones will survive Farmer H's appetite. At least The Pony will get a taste.

The Embitterment Of The Falsely Accused

Here we go again. Thursday morning, Farmer H reminded me that he hasn't been paid the cash he put out from "his own" stash of money that he used for payment on items for the flip houses. You may recall that there was a kerfuffle over this topic in March, when Farmer H claimed that I "lost" the piece of paper he gave me with his billing. Back then, it was discovered that such bill was NOT where Farmer H claimed to have put it. And that it was discovered by The Pony in another location.

Anyhoo... once again, I told Farmer H that I did NOT have that bill.

"I know you don't have the one for May. It's out in the truck. But I gave you the bill for April. You even told The Pony when he was out here for the BBQ."

"No. I told The Pony that I didn't have the bill yet for April. It was not yet the end of May, so of course I didn't have the bill for May. You NEVER GAVE ME the bill for April. I don't have it."

Farmer H gave his little chuckle. The one that means I am an idiot, and he is SO superior to me.

"I gave it to you. You just cain't remember nothin'!"

"I guess I'll look for it today. But I know I don't have it. That's why I told The Pony it wasn't ready. I wasn't talking about May, because it wasn't yet the end of May."

"I gave it to you!"

"We'll see..."

Farmer H left for town around 6:00 a.m. At 6:08 I got a text:

"Ok I was wrong I have April and May in my book I'll give them to you this evening"

"But I'M always wrong."

"I said I was wrong"

"I can read. Once again you don't see the pattern of the way you treat me."

Funny how I didn't get a response. But I DID get the bills for April and May. On my laptop Friday morning, the coward not daring to hand them to me or mention them, just dropping them there on his way out the door at 6:00 a.m.

A Slip Of The Lip, Or A True Confession?

Farmer H said he would be gone all day on Wednesday, to Illinois to buy merchandise for his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5). That he would be eating lunch there around 2:00 at his favorite restaurant, so wouldn't need any supper. Well. You know how THAT goes. Farmer H was home by 4:00, and said he would find something to eat for himself.

I DID ask Farmer H later if he had eaten lunch, and he said, "No." When I asked why not, he suddenly remembered that he DID have lunch, at a Chinese buffet. Such a selective memory, until interrogated...

Anyhoo... I was just leaving for town, and told Farmer H that there were hot dogs in FRIG II if he wanted them for supper. He said that yeah, he would have a hot dog later. Let the record show that he usually eats supper around 6:00 or 6:30.

I was home from town by 5:00. Getting a snack to have with my Shasta Zero Sugar and lemon. I offered some to Farmer H.

"I'm slicing some of your Oberle Cheese that is six months old now. I can get some for you if you want."

Heh, heh. Gracious Mrs. HM, offering to cut the cheese for Farmer H!

"No. That's okay. I ate while you were gone."

Well. That is curious. He ate at a Chinese buffet around 2:00, but needed two hot dogs and chips for supper between 4:00 and 5:00. Farmer H is unpredictable.

Anyhoo... on Thursday, Farmer H was having hot dogs again, because he said he didn't want me to get him a big salad from Country Mart. He got home late, around 6:30, and put his hot dogs in the microwave. While he was getting chips, I heard those hot dogs sizzling and popping.

"I don't think hot dogs should sound like that!"

"They're fine, HM. I'm cooking them just like I did yesterday while you were gone. For an hour and 15 minutes. Um--"

"THAT explains it!"

"No. I meant to say for a minute and 15 seconds."

"I really wouldn't be surprised if you actually cooked them for an hour and 15 minutes."

Farmer H acted like it was a joke. I suppose he just misspoke. I was only gone for an hour that day, so I guess the evidence points to a slip of the tongue.

Mrs. HM Is Envious

We haven't been to the casino in a while. Not since February, to celebrate birthdays for The Pony and me. We've just been busy doing other things. Well. Not so much ME. I pretty much do the bare minimum every day, heh, heh. And the weather has been stormy, or floody. But The Pony went to a casino yesterday, with cousin Niecy. They have been trying to coordinate such a trip for a year or more.

Anyhoo... The Pony was quite disappointed to find that the slot machine which paid out a $16,633.47 jackpot on Christmas Eve morning had been removed!!! The Pony looked all over the casino, but it was gone. I guess maybe it was paying out too much! Too bad. It was version of Huff 'n' Puff, with pigs and a wolf.

The Pony found a new piggy kind of game to play.

It looks like fun to me. The Pony was not impressed, saying it ate a $20 bill right away. Still, if they have this machine next time I get to a casino, I will give it a try.

Here's another new machine. I don't know what this one is called, since I can't see the name.

Looks like The Pony won $283.75 on a 75-cent bet. Of course I would also try this game! The Pony and Niecy had a good time. The Pony left a minimal loser. I don't know about Niecy. Surely I would have heard if she hit a big jackpot. They had lunch out, but The Pony forgot to take pictures.

At least I got a little taste of the casino...

Farmer H, The One-Man Kitchen-Wrecking Crew

Have I ever mentioned that occasionally, I get a little bit annoyed with Farmer H? 

I think perhaps I have...

Monday evening, Farmer H came in from mowing the yard. He stopped by the kitchen sink to wash his hands. Not that there's anything wrong with being clean. For once.

"Hey! I just cleaned off the faucet neck. It had black dirt all over it from you washing your hands."

"I ain't washed my hands in a long time!"

"Isn't THAT something to be proud of!"

"I don't know how it got dirty, but it wasn't me."

After washing, Farmer H shook his hands at the sink. Then turned to the cutting block, where the roll of paper towels sits on a metal holder.

"Do NOT put your hand on top of the paper towel roll! You always do that, and leave a black handprint, and ruin every paper towel! If I can tear one off using only one hand, I know you can."

But no. Farmer H could not. So he put his left elbow/forearm on top of the roll while using his right hand to tear off a paper towel. He must not have washed up that far, because I did not notice a black print on top. I DID see that half the top edge of the roll is now smashed down. 

But wait. We're not done. Farmer H got out his container of Chinese food that I spent 2 hours making and cleaning up. It was just frozen stuff, but I add scrambled eggs, mushrooms, fried onions, and green onions to the rice. Then there was the chicken to cook, and the orange sauce to add, and portioning it into five containers, and then the washing of the dishes. By hand.

"I don't care if you use a glass plate, or a plastic plate, or eat it out of that container after you warm it."

Farmer H took a paper plate. A single paper plate. Dumped his food on there, put another paper plate on top, and shoved it in the microwave.

"If you think that one plate is going to hold it, you better think again."

When Farmer H took that plate out of the microwave, he grabbed a tray from the stove to set it on. Which would have been fine if it was the rectangular tray I had washed, or the pizza pan I had washed. But no. Farmer H chose the pizza pan that still had foil on it, from the cooking of the chicken pieces at 400 degrees for 23 minutes. Since it was battered chicken, it left a bit of grease on the foil. I use such a pan over again for a few days. No need to waste foil. I usually swipe the dogs' treat bread across the grease. But this time I had not.

"WHY are you using that pan with the foil?"

"FINE!" Farmer H picked up his single paper plate, now with grease on the bottom, and put it on the pizza pan I had just washed.

It really would take less effort to sit him in a high chair and feed him with a baby spoon.

History Repeats

As my second-best old ex-teaching buddy Karen used to chant sing-songily... "When will she EVER learn?" That was on weekends when we played poker with fellow teacher Jim, and they soundly tromped my rumpus every time, raking in the pile of pretzel sticks that we gambled with, while chomping on Rold Gold Pretzel Rods like they were cigars. That's what teachers did for recreation, you know.

Anyhoo, after my fright at almost losing (technically, I DID lose it, to no winners) $20 in the left machine at 10Box on Saturday... I gave that lottery machine another try on Sunday. Mrs. HM, always the forgiver. This time, I only put in $5. I wanted a Monopoly ticket. Can you believe that darn machine did the same thing again??? Took my money. Showed me the ticket I poked, so I could make a selection. Then just did nothing. No sound. Kept showing that Monopoly ticket on the screen.

I waited. And waited. Waited some more. THEN IT TORE OFF MY TICKET AND DROPPED IT IN THE TRAY! That was a relief. Still, it was a loser.

I went back in 10Box on Monday, with a fistful of draw tickets to redeem. I bought them from The Pony's stack of winners, since The Pony wanted the cash for a casino trip with his cousin, Niecy. My mind was made up that I would NOT patronize the wonky left-side lottery machine. As luck would have it, a man was there in front of it anyway.

I went to the right-side machine and started scanning four draw tickets that added up to $11, and also a $5 and $10 winner. The Man kept turning around, looking perturbed. Then a supervisor, the one who always brings a cart over to T-Hoe for me when she's outside, came out of the back room with the key. She told him it would be a minute.

As they were waiting, she nodded her head at me. "Look at her. She's like: 'No problem over here.'"

"I know! The same thing happened to me at that machine two days ago. It tried to do it again yesterday. So I'm NOT going to try it for a while!"

The Man said, "So you're getting all the winners out of that one!"

"More like I'm clearing out the losers so you can win, heh, heh!"

The supervisor was just getting that left machine working as I left. I fanned out my selections. "Here's what I got. Just in case you don't want to buy the same thing!" Another guy was waiting behind me to use the right-side machine. He got a look at my tickets, too. 

Mrs. HM. So selfless. Always trying to help other gamblers in the way she would like to be helped.

WHY???

No, Mrs. HM was not whacked on the knee by a thug wielding a police baton. But she WAS attacked by The Universe on Friday.

I went into 10Box to buy scratchers out of the machines. I put a $20 bill in the left machine. It has been cantankerous, and not scanning winners. The machine showed my $20 credit. I selected a $10 ticket. The picture of it popped up, and I selected the "1" option to purchase one ticket. At that moment, the selection option disappeared as usual. I waited to hear the RIP of my ticket being torn off inside the roll in the machine. But no. There was no RIP. And that ticket turned gray! That's how it looks when they are out. 

Huh. What to do, what to do? These machines sometimes have a lag, like they need to catch up, or reset themselves. One of them in Country Mart does that often. If I wait 3-5 minutes, the machine starts functioning again where it left off. The 10Box machines have each done that as well. I waited. And waited. Waited some more. But there was nothing changing. I stepped over to the right machine and scanned a couple of winners, and made my selections without a hitch. I stepped back to the left machine. Still the same. Showing that I had $10 in credit. But I had no ticket.

I turned to the cashiers, who were talking to each other without customers.

"Is this machine just being slow today? I've waited, but it won't give me a ticket or any options."

"It HAS been slow. It will probably start up again."

"But she's been over there a LONG time. I'll call."

She got on the PA and called up a supervisor by name. I was back at the machine, so nobody would walk up and think they hit a jackpot with money in there. YIKES! That manager came up behind me like Dracula in the Winona Rider movie gliding silently without moving! She doesn't look like Dracula. More like a scarecrow, or somebody related to the Addams family. She's perfectly nice. But scary if she appears behind you out of nowhere. I explained my situation.

"It did the same thing to ME today! I'll see if Manager is still here."

Off she went, to the other end of the store. I waited. What else could I do? My knees were achy and shaky, but I wasn't walking away from $20! Finally, Scarecrow came back with Manager. I explained what happened with the machine. 

"It's been acting up today. I think it's because they run on a satellite signal. Let's see if I have the right key."

She did. She opened up the machine, and punched in a code on a number pad inside.

"I'll look away. I'm not stealing your code."

"It's the same one for all the machines, " said Scarecrow.

Manager pointed out that the machine showed my twenty was "stacked." And that no ticket had been dispensed. She asked which one I tried to get, then tore it off the roll and adjusted the rest of them.

"Here's your ticket. What do you want to do about your $10 left? You can pick your tickets after I close it, or take credit."

"I don't want to wait while the machine resets. I'll take credit, and put it in this other machine."

I thought she might print out a credit slip for me to scan, but she just took a $10 bill out of the machine and handed it to me.

"Thank you so much! This is really good customer service! Everyone here is always so nice."

They ARE so nice in that store. Never make you feel like you're a bother. Always polite and friendly.

Let the record show that my tickets from there won NOTHING. Yes. That sound you hear is The Universe snickering, sniggering, chuckling, chortling, and wheezily laughing like Muttley.

More Danging Of The Doggie

That dang Pupsie! She continues to plague Farmer H with her penchant for chewing. She ate a bit more of his lawnmower seat. A 4-foot long curved piece of white plastic guttering has appeared in the front yard. The cow skull reappears every day, despite Farmer H declaring he "got rid of it."

"I threw that skull down in the woods."

"Well, it was in my way again in the driveway when I came home."

"I threw that skull over on Neighbor's property!"

"And yet it's back on the carport today."

Silly Farmer H. I don't know how he thinks the distance he can throw a cow skull while standing in the front yard will keep Pupsie from finding it and bringing it back. She probably thinks it's a game.

When I left for town on Thursday, Farmer H was coming in. He had some white plastic 5-gallon buckets stacked together, and set them on the side porch. Then went in the house, saying he was going to work on fixing his WAGON WHEELS on the front porch, that the dogs had knocked loose. Dogs? I'm pretty sure my little Jack has not been knocking down big iron wagon wheels...

I saw the buckets as I went down the porch steps. Inside were two drills. I got in T-Hoe with those buckets on my mind. I called Farmer H on my way down the gravel road.

"You need to bring in your buckets. That's just the sort of thing Pupsie would love to chew on."

"Yeah. I'm going out right now to work on my wheels."

When I got home, there was a black piece of woven material that looked like a basketball net on the carport. It had been there when I left. But now it was joined by a long stick with no bark. It might have been a chewed piece of lumber. Or some type of rail from a porch. I don't think either came from our Mansion.

"I see your dog has some new chew toys out by the garage."

"That dang dog! I was screwing that wagon wheel back on the porch, and she came right up to my buckets and put her head in. She was gonna take my other drill! Right out of the bucket, with me standing there! She looked at me when I yelled at her, like 'What are YOU gonna do about it?' She's into everything!"

Yes. Pupsie is into everything. Farmer H knows this. He really needs to be more careful with his stuff. You know, like daring to leave a seat attached to his lawnmower.