The Pony Was Mortified

I know I've told this story before, way back nearer to when it happened. You probably never read it back then, so here's the gist of it.

The Pony and I had stopped by Little Caesars one evening to pick up pizzas. I remember it was cold weather, with the store all warm and bright, dark outside, water fogging on the windows. The Pony was late elementary age. We must have been to a basketball game for Genius, and Farmer H was bringing him home. Little Caesar's was busy, so I gave The Pony some change to use for playing a game while we waited.

The game was kind of like pinball, but not really. If you won, it dispensed a prize, which was a SuperBall. You know the kind. A dense rubber ball that bounced like crazy. Maybe the size of a rubber ball like used to play jacks. Only WAY bouncier. The Pony was good at this game, and each time he won, he gave me the "prize" to hold.

I went to pick up our order at the counter. It was two pizza boxes and two bags of breadsticks, with the dipping sauce. Awkward to hold, while having my purse on my arm, and trying not to let the breadsticks or sauce slide off.

The Pony continued to play that game, wanting to finish. I was standing in the middle of the crowded store, ready to go, getting exasperated as The Pony did not heed my call. Finally, The Pony wandered over and asked what was wrong.

"Do you know how hard it is to hang onto these pizzas while standing here holding your balls?"

Yes. Several people turned to look. The Pony was mortified.

I can't say that I blame him.

One Man's Treasure Is Another Woman's Extra Work

Farmer H is back to playing bingo at the Senior Center on Wednesdays. He hasn't been bringing home all his loot lately. There's a stack on his chair at the kitchen table. I suppose he lets the loot accumulate in SilverRedO until he needs room for something else.

Anyhoo... he brought in a gift card on Wednesday.

"Three of us won it, in a tie. So we had to pick a number to see who got it. The first time we picked, we all chose 6!"

"That's not good! 6-6-6 is the devil's number, heh, heh! That can't be good for anybody!"

"We picked again, and two of us had the same number. But on the third try, I won it! She says it has to be activated."

"Huh. I thought gift cards were always activated when you bought them. Like the ones hanging at the checkout at the Devil's Playground. When you buy one, it gets activated, so you can give it to someone."

"I don't know. But the gal told me I had to activate it."

"I guess you call it in, like when you get a new insurance card or something."

"I thought maybe you could do it for me."

OF COURSE HE DID!

It's still lying here on the table. I'll get around to it...

It looks like something you might find when cleaning out your great aunt's handkerchief drawer after she's passed away. A forgotten gift, never used, waiting to be re-gifted, perhaps.

It's hermetically sealed in cardboard. The back has a long barcode. I'll have to tear it open, and go online to see how to make it work. At least the date says it's good until 12/34.

I don't plan to make Farmer H wait THAT long. But I'm really in no hurry to inconvenience myself. Maybe I would have more energy for this task, had I nourished my body with a tasty Reuben Sandwich on Friday night.

The Helpers Aren't Really Helping

I commend those shoppers who return their carts to the cart area. I shouldn't have to, because it's the decent thing to do. But you know how people are these days. 

Sometimes, people THINK they are helping, but they're really not. Like those who push their carts back to the front of 10Box.

Look at that. So many shoppers have returned their carts. But they've overdone it! They did not simply put the cart in the striped area designated for cart return. They went too far! They parked all those carts on the SIDEWALK! All the customers who parked to the right side of T-Hoe have no way to get to the door, or back to their car. They must go out into the driving area behind T-Hoe!

Heh, heh! How convenient that while I was inside, all the previous cars left, leaving me with a plethora of parking spaces from which I might have chosen!

Anyhoo... that wide striped area beside T-Hoe is where the carts belong. To collect there, until there are enough to be pushed inside the garage door. No need to push those carts up against the garage door, because that will hinder the worker when trying to get them inside. When a worker gathers carts from the corrals out in the regular parking lot, they bring them up and leave them with their front wheels on that crack between the blacktop and the concrete sidewalk.

These "helpers" are actually "hinderers." They block the sidewalk so people can't safely move from auto to store and back. They make the workers work harder to move all those carts back away from the building, and stack them into each other before pushing them inside.

Still, it's better than the cart I saw upon leaving, out in the middle of a parking space.

The Proof Is In The Pooting

Lest you think the idea of fast-food workers messing with your order is just an urban legend... Mrs. HM will now prevent PROOF! Or at least circumstantial evidence!

Remember how the Hillbilly Family stopped by McDonald's on the way to the casino on Monday? And how Mrs. HM was concerned that the workers would exact revenge for Farmer H daring to complain about nobody coming to the window? And how the sandwiches were very loosely wrapped, almost as if they had been opened?

Wednesday night, I was suddenly a bit indisposed... during the last 15 minutes of a special 2-hour live episode of Big Brother! I missed the very end! All because I was in pain, sitting upon the throne. My poop stomach had been rumbly for a couple days. And a little painful. This was the result.

It continued for about three hours. Multiple trips back to sit upon the throne. Also, a feeling of nausea, though nothing came of that.

Thursday morning, Farmer H reported that he had a terrible night. That he had a headache and bellyache and nausea, and that he broke out in a sweat, then got cold.

Thursday morning at 11:30, The Pony sent me a text that he been up with diarrhea since 5:00 a.m. That he didn't think he could make our Errand Day shopping trip.

Well. What's the common denominator here? It hit us all within eight hours of each other. I used to think that food poisoning hit about 24 hours after you ingested something bad. Looking it up, Google said it could be within 2-4 hours, or take days.

When I mentioned that to Farmer H, he said that he had had diarrhea before leaving the casino on Monday! At around 1:30. We ate the McDonald's around 9:30.

I can't prove it, but I'm pretty sure the McDonald's food is what made us sick! Too much time waiting, without seeing what was going on behind those windows blocked by ads.

The Pony pointed out that the casino was on a boil water order that day, in compliance with the city-wide alert. Indeed, we could not get our FREE fountain sodas. The casino had free bottled water. That's what we had with our meal. The Pony said the only other possibility was that the cook had used tap water to wash our food, and maybe the water was bad. I don't think so. You don't wash corn dogs, fries, battered catfish, or fried chicken. Besides, the frying itself would kill anything contaminated by washing.

I'm pretty sure those petty McDonald's workers were trying to kill us!

About The Mail...

Yes, it was a relief for Genius to get the check I mailed to him. Back in the day, you wouldn't think twice. It's the U.S. Mail, by cracky! Rain, snow, and gloom of night can't put the kibosh on the U.S. Mail! What could possibly happen? Well. That was back in the day.

When The Pony was in college in Norman, Oklahoma, it took a long time for the mail to arrive. At least a week. I wasn't sending checks. Just a letter. But still. I wanted it to be PONY EXPRESS, heh, heh!

Back in the mid 80s, I was teaching in Cuba, Missouri, and taking classes towards my Master's degree. The college was in Springfield, but I was able to get some remote classes at Fort Leonard Wood. A bit of a drive on an evening after work, but still closer than Springfield. Of course my tuition was sent to Springfield. 

I was shocked to get a letter that my tuition had not been paid! How could that be??? I had mailed it in plenty of time! I called the college and the bank, and there was no record of my payment. What could I do? I mailed it again. At least this check got there. I never found out what happened to the original. It's probably in a falling-down shed somewhere between Cuba and Springfield, stuffed among a truckload of mail bags!

These days, it's not just over-worked or disgruntled mailmen you have to worry about. It's THIEVES! We've had missing mail from EmBee. Nothing important except BILLS! Which I only found out when we got the next ones, and they had PAST DUE amounts on them. At separate times, it's happened to the electric bill, and the phone bill. Also, I didn't get my teacher letter one summer, and had to find out from a colleague what the schedule was for our inservice days. Somebody stole a package, but that was Genius's acne medicine, heh, heh. Bet they got a surprise when they opened it. Perhaps they were expecting fine jewelry...

Anyhoo... I knew not to send that check to Genius in a card. Sweet Gummi Mary! Even an idiot thief can assume a CARD might contain money. My worry was that somebody might steal my letter with a bunch of other mail (like the robbery!) and find that check and "whitewash" it. Or whatever it's called. I don't want to look it up. They change who the check is to, and then cash it. Seems odd that it's so easy, and the banks don't notice. But I guess much of it is automated.

Anyhoo... Genious had scoffed at that idea. "Mom. It's not like the 90s anymore. People aren't stealing checks." I beg to differ! I think it's a big deal these days. Perhaps Genius is on another page (or another screen, heh, heh) with his computery-programmy knowledge, so fears the wire transfer more than the check in the mail.

Bottom line, I'm just rambling. The mail service is not what it used to be!

Mrs. HM Second-Guesses A Recent Decision

As if Farmer H pretty-sure trying to kill me isn't enough, now The Universe has joined this great Hillmomba pastime. Both seem to use psychological warfare to elicit heart palpitations, which might lead to something more permanent!

You may recall from my not-so-secret blog that we recently sold some property that we bought over 20 years ago, as an investment for Genius and The Pony. We originally hoped they would want to remain in this area, and divide it into 5-acre sections to use for building their own homes. 

"You saps," chuckled The Universe as each graduated from college. "Your young 'uns have no intention of staying in Hillmomba for life."

Well, Universe, The Pony is still here. For now. But did not want land for building a house. So we sold those 10 acres. Since it was originally planned for the kids, I felt it only fair that they get the money. Getting it to The Pony was no problem, as we have the same bank, and transactions are easy. Genius, though, has no brick-and-mortar bank. It's completely online. 

Genius himself did not want a wire transfer. Said there's no limit on the amount he can deposit by taking a picture of a check. And that's how he preferred to get his share. Of course we looked into the tax ramifications for US, including the parameters for "gifts" from one person to another, concerning amounts and limits for givers and receivers. Anyhoo... the plan was to simply mail Genius's share, in two separate installments, half being from me, and half from Farmer H.

Of course I was worried about the mail delivery. Genius just moved into his new house. The old apartment got my letters fairly regularly, with only a couple being returned to me, or taking over a month to reach Genius. That was a couple years ago. Genius has been getting mail at the new house. So he figured everything would be fine. There was going to be nothing special to attract attention to the envelope. Just tuck a check into the regular weekly letter.

Last Thursday, on my errand day, I had The Pony run that letter inside the main post office. I usually drop it in the blue box out back on the parking lot, the drive-thru mailbox, but I wanted to be sure it was safely inside, in official hands. The Pony thought that mail would be bundled up at the end of the day and sent out, whereas in the blue box outside, it would remain until pickup time at 11:30 the next morning, to go out with that day's mail.

I thought no more about it, just waiting to hear when Genius got it mid-week. BUT THEN I decided to read the local news out of St. Louis on Monday...

SWEET GUMMI MARY!!! How I regret THAT decision!

Two bags of mail were stolen from a St. Louis post office! Three people dressed in black, in a red Plymouth van, pulled up and stole two totes of mail! They're still looking for them! I had to follow the story to find more details. Our mail is trucked to St. Louis overnight. Then it gets sorted and sent out at various times to different sections of the country. What are the odds of Genius's letter being in those two stolen totes of mail? Slim, I'm sure. But that's not very reassuring when it's a REALLY big amount of money. WHY did this theft have to occur at this time???

I finally found more details. The theft was on Sept 11, around 4:30 p.m. Whew! That was a relief! Not for any bills that I might have had in the process of being sent, but for Genius's check. I had mailed it on Sept 11. Around 3:30. So no way could it have been in St. Louis in time to be stolen!

I was even more relieved when Genius sent me a text on Tuesday morning, saying his letter (and valuable contents) had been received.

When Farmer H Wants Fast Food, He Doesn't Want It Slow

We made a trip to the casino on Monday. As usual, Farmer H was the driver sweaver, and wanted to make good time. Even The Pony, who is usually the mediator between the warring parties, took my side and said, "Dad. You are going a LITTLE FAST." But that was on the way back. Right now we're concerned with the quest for breakfast.

As always, we stopped about 30 minutes into our 90-minute journey, at McDonalds, just before getting on the highway. At the drive-thru order speaker, the gal kept talking over Farmer H. I don't know if it's just a bad habit, or if they had a delay in their speaker system. Usually they will at least let you make a statement before butting in.

Our order was the same as always. Two sausage, egg, and cheese McMuffins, and a sausage biscuit, hash brown, and large Sprite. The former for me and Farmer H, and the latter for The Pony.

That Gal kept stopping Farmer H mid-sentence. "Two? You want two of them?" So he'd repeat. Then she said, "And a sausage biscuit?" And Farmer H would add, "And a hash brown and a large Sprite." And she would repeat them one at a time, so he'd try to say the next one. It was really annoying.

Anyhoo... in all this butt-in talkoverness, That Gal said to drive around. So we moved ahead to the pay window. They had it covered with advertisements, so you couldn't see inside. We waited. I had already handed Farmer H the debit card, so he didn't have to dig into his pocket for his billfold. We waited.

"Did she say pull to the SECOND window?"

"I don't know. I didn't think so. But I couldn't tell over her butting in every time you talked."

Finally Farmer H pulled to the pickup window. It was also closed, with advertisements blocking a view inside.

"Don't nobody work at this place? I'm gettin' tired of waitin'!"

"They have the windows blocked so you can't see them all inside playing on their phones, heh, heh!"

"Now there's a guy behind me. He's doing something at that window."

"Oh. So now they'll get our orders mixed up."

"I guess I'll drive back around. Ain't nobody openin' this window!"

Back we looped through the parking lot. Another truck was ordering. The one before it was getting food out of the pick-up window. 

"He's probably looking at our food, unwrapping it, saying it's not his, and handing it back!"

As we approached the speaker again, I told Farmer H: "Be nice. I don't want them spitting in our food. You know they will!"

"I was just here, and--"

"We gotcha. Pull around."

So we did. And nobody came to the pay window. Again.

"Did she say second window?"

"I don't know! But those other two paid here."

Finally a gal opened the window. Farmer H complained about nobody waiting on him. "Yeah. We're shorthanded today." She took the debit card and handed it back. Said to pull forward. Where again, nobody opened the window.

"That was probably the one who kept interrupting you! Pretending it was somebody else. Now it's taking time because they have to unwrap and re-wrap our food to spit in it! And look at THAT guy coming across! He's probably going to work just now!" It was a skinny dude, sipping through a straw, adjusting his crotch with his other hand, walking towards the back entrance.

Finally, the window opened. Our food was stacked in a small bag, to the top! Usually it's in a medium bag. I told The Pony to make sure it was all there, and the right stuff. He said it looked like it was. When The Pony handed a McMuffin up front for Farmer H, it did indeed look like the wrapper had been undone. Or maybe it just wasn't creased enough to stay closed.

Farmer H and The Pony ate their food as we rolled down the highway in A-Cad. I waited, as usual, for another 30 miles, until we were closer to the casino. That's for medicine and bathroom purposes, not fear of food-spit. 

I WILL say I was relieved that The Pony and Farmer H showed no ill effects from their food, as I started to eat mine.

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.

If 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.