Mrs. HM Buys A Puppy Kit

I had to do a little puppy shopping on Tuesday. Just the necessities. Well, except for the food, which Farmer H was getting, and some cedar shavings, which he already has in the garage. The puppy has been eating moist food, with a little bit of dry food, just to try it. I'm not sure what Farmer H got. We used canned food for our other pups when they were tiny. Much to the jealousy of the bigger dogs, who had to be shooed away during the meal.

Anyhoo... I knew we didn't have a collar small enough. And Farmer H "thought" he had a leash from when Lucky was here for a week. I think he gave away Scarlett's leash when he gave away Scarlett. And of course a puppy needs toys!

That's a medium leash, 6 feet. The collar is the smallest they had. I think even with adjustment, it will be too big right now. But our puppy won't be going anywhere but the yard for a while. I think Farmer H said he has to be at least 4 months old before he can have his very special operation. By then, he might grow into that small collar.

The real fun was in picking out the toys! It took me a while. I discarded a round rubber gorilla head with crazy eyes and rope attached. And a flat three-pointed fabric thingy. I know puppies love to chew, so I got the Tuff Bone. I don't particularly care if it cleans his teeth. I think it would be satisfying to chew on, and it seems durable. 

The pig has a squeaker inside, but you have to pinch it in just the right place. It's a softer chew, with a tough fabric finish. The flip-flop is very squeaky! I think the puppy will like that one. He should have enough choices here to keep him from chewing the porch rails. But you never know.

I'm looking forward to our new pet. But I'm sure a lot of worry will come with him!

Just Add Puppy

No more worries about our puppy deal falling through. Farmer H got a call from the puppy-giver a few days ago, assuring him that the promise was still good, despite a brief falling-out. AND, with the puppy's availability moved up a week, Farmer H got right to work making a secure little "pen" for him on the back porch. Of course he did it by coming home early, while I was lying down for my afternoon nap. Which was directly on the other side of the wall where Farmer H was grinding screws into wood until his drill screamed in protest.

Here's the view out the laundry room door:

Looks like Jack is getting the heated water bowl, on the other side of that board. This blue bowl will need to be dumped and rinsed. In fact, it was ICE until mid-morning. We're getting up to 78 degrees today! I might ask Farmer H about that electrical plug. Puppies CHEW! The water will probably be okay from now on, as long as Farmer H fills it each morning. Temps are supposed to stay in the 50s for the daytime.

Farmer H blocked off the openings under the rails, where a puppy might try to squeeze through. Can't have him falling 12 feet to the ground. Or even six feet onto Poolio's deck. I will for sure tell Farmer H to remove that saw blade from the old school desk. Don't want my puppy decapitated if he gets rambunctious!

At first I was worried that there were gaps along the bottom of the rail.

Further investigation revealed that there are rail boards blocking those openings. Part of Farmer H's barricade involves pegboard. Which he says is so Jack and the pup can see and smell each other while the puppy is in captivity.

The house Farmer H was preparing turns out to be just a roof!

It's not real pretty, having been exposed to the weather for many years. But it's a hidey hole, and will have cedar shavings underneath for bedding. It's not the best of puppy prisons, but it will do for a couple of weeks. 

I will be checking on the pup every couple of hours, for picking up and petting. I don't dare take him out on the porch, lest he fall down the steps, or get through the unblocked rails. I'm in no shape to catch a loose puppy!

I'm hoping to lure Jack through the kitchen, into the laundry room, where I can make a proper introduction. Of course Jack will get treats, so he associates the puppy with good times! And by closing the laundry room door behind me, Jack can just chill out in there if he doesn't want to greet the puppy at first. I won't have to worry about him roaming through the Mansion.

This afternoon, I plan to look for some puppy toys at 10Box.

A Super Feast

The Pony came out Sunday, so we could make food for the Super Bowl. We are not football fanatics. Farmer H and I both enjoy watching the occasional game. The Pony has absolutely no interest. But it's the Super Bowl, you know. The name is right there. It's something special. An occasion we can use to prepare a feast of snacks. Farmer H even came home from his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5) a half-hour early, in time to fill his tray before kickoff at 5:30.

We started working just before noon, since a batch of Chex Mix was in order. Not specifically for the Super Bowl, but because we all like Chex Mix, and the majority of my yearly four batches are given away. The Pony was a great stirrer! I put it all together, and then it was in The Pony's hooves, stirring every 15 minutes for two hours. Nothing stuck to the pans! Great job! Of course half of it was packaged up for The Pony to take home.

Our meal-time snacks were nothing elaborate. Mostly storebought stuff that only needed warming. We had quite the variety. Taquitos and Scoops tortilla chips, for which I made a dipping sauce with salsa and Velveeta cheese. Toasted ravioli and mozzarella cheese sticks, with marinara sauce for dipping. Wedge fries with ketchup or ranch dip (which I made with Hidden Valley powder and sour cream). Potato skins, to which I added some extra shredded cheddar. Little sandwiches of turkey and ham on Hawaiian Rolls, with an assortment of cheeses: cheddar, swiss, muenster, pepper jack, provolone. A frozen Bloomin' Onion, though it was called Petals, and was just the battered pieces. And Little Smokies in BBQ sauce, to which I had added some grape jelly for slow simmering.

Dessert was cheesecake, with assorted varieties, pre-sliced. Brownies and donuts, both storebought. The Pony took home half for later consumption.

We all loaded a big cafeteria-style tray. Of course with so much, I could only have one or two of everything. The Pony took a lot home. We will be feasting on sandwiches this week, after Farmer H finishes off the Little Smokies. I'll add one or two of the other sides, but not the entire feast for regular suppers.

The game itself was not very interesting. A bit one-sided, but the team I picked won. I didn't really care, because my dream team (the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, quarterbacked by Baker Mayfield, who was a star at OU while The Pony was in school there) was knocked out of the playoffs. No Super Bowl for them! Anyhoo... I picked my team at the opening kickoff, solely based upon my preference for the color of the uniform!

At halftime, we switched to watch the Puppy Bowl. Farmer H has not watched a Super Bowl halftime show since Janet Jackson had her wardrobe malfunction. That might be his criteria. If there's not a chance he might see something titillating, he has no desire to sit through a musical performance. I'm pretty sure this year's artist had nothing Farmer H wanted to see accidentally exposed!

I suppose our next feasting opportunity will be Easter. 

Puppy Prepping

The anticipation of a new puppy has everyone excited. Jack has a spring in his step, almost as if he understood when Farmer H and I told him he would be getting a puppy. I think about getting some toys from the pet section of 10Box, and making sure that Farmer H will get puppy food. Farmer H is planning on where to put New Pup.

"I think I'll block off part of the back porch, like I did when we got Grizzly."

"Yeah, that would be better than putting him out on a lead in the side yard. But make sure he can't get through the rail and fall! I don't think puppies understand depth like that."

"He won't fall through the rail! Grizzly didn't."

"And what about the water? If you block the back porch, Jack can't get to the water."

"There's two water dishes. I'll set the old one on the other side."

"That will work, as long as it doesn't freeze. Because the puppy will have the heated water bowl on his side."

"It will be fine."

"What about a house? You built that little box for Grizzly. But we used it for the cats, and the other pups, and it fell apart."

"I'll bring one of them doghouses from the other end of the porch."

"Those are HUGE! It's too big for a puppy."

"No. They're in sections. I can take a section out, and set the roof down lower. Then he can stay warm in a smaller house. I have a bag of cedar shavings in the garage."

"You'll have to clean up his poop! And he'll think it's okay to poop and pee on the porch. So you can't get mad at him if he does it when you let him free."

"He'll learn. Jack will teach him."

I really think Farmer H is the most excited of us all.

My Hoped-For Puppy's Kin

I suppose this pup was meant to come live with us. When Farmer H left the Mansion on Wednesday morning, I had no inkling that his travels might lead to a puppy! He got a call about a relative matter, and went to speak to that person. Who just happened to have FOUR PUPPIES!

I don't know if Farmer H asked for one, or if one was offered. He sent me the text asking, when he knew all along that I've been seeking a companion for Jack. Farmer H has always wanted a puppy. I think that's because he was quite sad when Lucky the rescue dog disappeared after a week (under mysterious circumstances!), and he wants one without a previous life to go (or be taken) back to.

Anyhoo... Farmer H initially told me that these pups were a mix of heeler and beagle. I am skeptical. Their heeler heritage is obvious. At least in three of them. When I saw the mom-dog, I began to doubt the beagle part.

I don't know all my dog breeds, but I don't see much beagle in her. Maybe the shape of the head. Or the the body. The legs look thin. The coloring is off. She may have SOME beagle in her, but I see black and tan, or maybe a mini-pinscher, though she's not quite svelte enough for that, with a coarser coat, and not the stand-up ears. The main thing is, I don't see PIT.

Here's the first pup Farmer H showed me:

I first thought that's the one I wanted. Then came the next picture. 

They are quite adorable. The one we're supposed to get is on the right. I said he looked sad, but Farmer H, who was sitting right there watching them run around, said, "No, he's happy." Then he sent a picture of the last pup.

That's the runt. I have nothing against runts. One of our best dogs, Grizzly, was the runt of a litter of eight pups. I chose him specifically, looking into their pen at the dog pound. He was a beagle/lab mix, midsize, colored like a chocolate lab, but shaped like a beagle. This little guy here is just not the one I prefer, because I like a speckled pup. He seems to take after his mother. 

Nothing special about these pups. They're mixed breed. Might have 57 varieties in there. But I know I want one, and Jack will have a companion. Whether he likes it or not!

Two weeks to go until my new doggie can leave its momma.

Forewarning Fizzle

With the tree trimming and wire running that's been happening along our blacktop and gravel roads, it came as no surprise that I got an email on Wednesday from the electric company.

The title was: Planned power outage in your area. 

A planned power outage is always better than an unplanned power outage. 

To keep you informed about changes that affect your service, we wanted to let you know about a planned power outage scheduled for 02/06/26 at approximately 1:00 p.m. lasting approximately 1 HOUR. The outage is necessary for safety completing emergency maintenance and could be rescheduled due to weather or other emergencies.

It included our specific address. I wasn't sure if this concerned the tree trimming with a man lift that Trimmer Steve had spoken about. Or if it was about the new transformer Farmer H said they had put down by Mailbox Row. I could imagine cutting the power for a man working along live electric lines with a saw. And also to activate a new transformer. I could understand both processes taking about an hour.

I set about preparing. To make sure I didn't want to leave for town during that hour, because the garage door runs on electricity. To take care of my bathroom needs while I still had flushing capability. To have water in case I got thirsty, because the well runs on electricity. To have my innernetting at a stopping place, because HIPPIE's battery is going bad, and only lasts to about 40% until HIPPIE goes to black screen, and comes back upon plug-in with another black screen suggesting to replace the battery. To perhaps plan my daily 30-minute nap at this time, so I could stay warm under the covers, since the heat would be off.

I kept an eye on HIPPIE's clock. At 12:53, the furnace stopped blowing, the lights went off, and I shut down HIPPIE. I had other things I could do in my bright kitchen, like adding up Farmer H's expenditures for December and January, to write up a bill for The Pony for Bargain House expenses. Fill out the tax assessment forms that have to be returned by March 1 or get a monetary penalty. Sort through the forms we've received for tax purposes, to see if anything is missing.

I chose the assessment forms, them being the easiest.

WHAT'S THIS???

The power came back on! It had been off less than five minutes! What in the Not-Heaven? I guess that's a good thing. But maybe it was just preliminary. Maybe it would be going off again. No rush to fire up HIPPIE just yet. 

I looked over the assessment forms to see what changes might be needed. That will require Farmer H's input. He might have bought more safes or equipment for his business during 2025. And we might need to change the trailer information due to the unfortunate demise of his old trailer, and the purchase of his new old trailer. I went to check the front yard. Nothing.

It must have been the activation of the new transformer that necessitated the planned outage. Seems like everything went okay. By 1:30, with no flicking or outage, I started HIPPIE again. 

That was almost a non-event.

Maybe, Maybe, Fingers Crossed

I'm hoping this deal doesn't fall through! I have been searching for a new dog for months. Ever since Lucky mysteriously disappeared, there has been nothing suitable to adopt. When there IS, somebody else always gets it first. Which is good for the dog. Not so good for me.

Here's hoping that Farmer H doesn't do anything to jinx this latest verbal agreement. It's kind of a family thing. There are four pups. Farmer H sent me pictures of all of them. And asked which one I wanted. Maybe my first choice was already spoken for. But this is the other one I mentioned:

See what I mean about knowing one of the breeds in the mix? That's a heeler, by cracky! A part-heeler pup as a companion for my little Jack. Farmer H said it's heeler and beagle. Um. No. He sent a picture of the mama dog. She's no heeler, and she's no beagle. Maybe a beagle mix. I might show the other pictures later.

Anyhoo... I asked the breeds, because take a look at those FEET! Granted, Jack has those sturdy digging paws. And he's not too big. So lets hope Farmer H is not too far off on this puppy's family tree.

I haven't thought about a name yet. I'll have to see him in person. Or "in puppy," if you will. Of course we will get him his puppy shots, and de-wormer, and eventually his very special operation.

I'm half-holding my breath until Farmer H can pick him up in two weeks.

Getting My Hopes Up Again

I was minding my own beeswax on Wednesday afternoon, sitting at the kitchen table with HIPPIE, when I got a text from Farmer H. It said: "Do you want this?" It was followed by a picture of...

A PUPPY!

I don't have it loaded on my computer yet. So a picture will have to wait. I was shocked. Of course I want it! I could tell half of its heritage right away. But I had to ask what kind. You know, to make sure it's something we can handle.

"Yes! If you think it won't get too big. Those look like big dog feet."

"The mother is about twice as tall as Jack. I don't think it will be too big."

Anyhoo... I'll get that picture loaded for tomorrow. Farmer H says he can't bring it home yet. But in two weeks. I hope the weather settles down a bit by then. It's not from a rescue, so time is not an issue. I hope Jack is willing to accept a little brother.

Mystery Solved

Monday around 1:40, there was a knock at the door. With temps back up to the upper 20s, I didn't mind speaking through a crack in the door. I found the Steve Zahn tree-trimmer guy on the front porch, with Jack wagging his tail and staring at him.

Trimmer Steve said, "I was here Friday, but nobody answered."

"Well, it takes me a long time to get to the door." Not that I owed him an explanation. It's MY Mansion, and I'll answer the door when I want to.

"We trimmed a bunch around the cedars over by that barn. We have the grinder, but want to know if it's okay to just shove the trimmings back into the brush. It looks like you keep the field mowed."

"Yes, that's fine. We don't care."

"Also, is it okay to cut over there by the road? It looks like some honeysuckle or something growing there."

"I don't know about the honeysuckle. There used to be blackberries over there. They'll grow back, won't they?"

"Yes. But it might take years."

"Well, we don't use them for anything. So you can cut them. My husband thought it might be about his trailer over there being in the way. He can't get in there right now to move it, but said you guys can move it with your equipment. But I know maybe you can't do that because of insurance liability or something."

"I don't know about insurance, but probably can't because our boss will say no. We don't need that trailer out of our way. The electric guys might. I'll pass on that information. Also, this area right here? In front of the house, by those sheds? We can't use our trimmer there because there's too much going on. The limbs might fall on the wires. So we'll be using a man-lift there. So we can hold the limbs as we trim, and drop them out of the way. You might have somebody else knocking on your door."

"I'd rather they not! Whatever you have to do is fine. We drive through the yard all the time. Just don't drive on that white pipe sticking up. See that? It's our well."

"Oh. I see it. I'll tell them it's okay to use the man-lift."

"And watch out, because there's a sinkhole behind those sheds. Not as big as the one out front, but when the snow melts, it's noticeable."

"Okay. I'll tell them about the sinkhole. I'm the one who saw the big sinkhole up by the road, and told them."

"I'm surprised you've been out working in this cold."

"It actually made it easier for our trucks, with the ground frozen. But we got pretty cold. A couple days, they sent us home early. We're not allowed to work below 10 degrees."

"Well, I better let you get back to work. But whatever needs to get done, it's fine. We have to have dependable electricity!"

Trimmer Steve gave Jack a few pats, and left. I really don't want any more knocking. 

No offense to Trimmer Steve.

Two Idiots Don't Make A Non-Idiot

Sometimes, people can't understand the simplest of instructions. Around here, that "people" is Farmer H. And "sometimes" is all the time.

I instructed Farmer H to buy my scratchers. Gave him one of each kind, so he could see what they looked like. Made it clear that I wanted four of the $5 crosswords, and four of the $3 crosswords. I didn't care if they came from one place, or from two places. He could decide that for himself. Maybe that's where I went wrong! Farmer H had to MAKE A DECISION! And that fried his brain.

Anyhoo... here are the sample tickets I gave him to take along. 

A brown one, and a black one. Obviously crosswords.

Here is what Farmer H bought for me:

That's a $5 crossword, and a $3 bingo ticket. I don't understand how he could be mistaken.

They look nothing alike! He had a sample! Even if he didn't notice the size difference in the display case, he should have felt it when the clerk handed him the tickets. And then there's the fact that they're not even close in color, which should have been obvious in the case, and in his hand.

The FIRST time this happened, Farmer H said, "That gal gave me the wrong tickets!"

The SECOND time this happened, Farmer H said, "I asked for the right thing! They must be under the wrong number."

The THIRD time this happened, Farmer H said, "I told that gal I got the wrong tickets yesterday, and I wanted to make sure I got them right this time. She even checked, and it was what I wanted. That's a crossword, ain't it? No? Well, she said it was a crossword. We both checked it. Their machine must be loaded wrong."

Oh, so many holes in his argument. Farmer H gets my tickets at Casey's. They don't have a machine. He has to look at the display, and ask for the number that corresponds with the ticket he wants. So he must be telling that gal the wrong number. If he said they both checked it, that must mean he asked for the bingo ticket, thinking it was a crossword. And she doubled-checked the number to make sure that's what she gave him. And he looked at it and saw it was what he asked for.

The problem isn't the gal at Casey's.

Even A Bad Decision Is, At Least, A Decision

Must I do everything around here? Yes. I must. Nobody else is capable of making a decision.

Farmer H has been getting scratchers for me during this snowy cold time. I appreciate it. I give him the money, and tell him the tickets. I keep it quite simple. There is another story about that...

Anyhoo... I have been depleting my gambling cash, because except for one of the past 11 days, Farmer H has not brought me any good winners. I have some small winners, like $3 and $5. I can't imagine him being able to cash several of them in, or most definitely not scan them into the lottery machines.

Anyhoo... I gave him a $6 winner to use for buying me two $3 scratchers. I was standing by the kitchen table at 5:00 a.m., looking to see what winners I had. I chose that one. And gave him cash to get the $5 crosswords. I handed them to him around 5:45, as we sat on our respective couches.

As Farmer H was leaving at 6:00, he hollered from the kitchen.

"There's a lottery ticket on the floor!"

"And...?"

"What should I do with it?"

"Just put it on the table."

Seriously. Was my input needed for that? Could he not consider his options? What can you possibly do with a lottery ticket on the floor?

1. Leave it there. Step over it and pretend you didn't see it. Like Farmer H does with anything else that might be in his path on the floor.

2. Pick it up and throw it away. Not worried about that. No way would Farmer H actually pick up something and throw it away.

3. Pick it up and put it on the table. This seems to be common sense. For most people.

This is just ridiculous! What could Farmer H have possibly thought I wanted him to do with that ticket? It's not like he needed to bring it to me in the living room. I was going nowhere. I always have my scratchers at the kitchen table. Easy peasy.

It's just like the previous evening, when I got Farmer H's supper from the oven. It was leftover Domino's Pizza, and foil-wrapped Bread Bites. I let him put the pizza on his plate, and unwrap the Bread Bites. He shook them out of one end of the foil packet I had made for them. Then held the used foil out to me!

"Why are you doing that? Do I want to stand here and hold your used foil?"

"Huh. Well. I'll just leave it here." He said, setting it, still partially folded, on a pizza pan on the back burner.

I seriously don't know how he would survive on his own.

Somebody Might Qualify As An Honorary Member Of Mystery, Inc.

The Mystery of the Door-Knocker remains unsolved. But when Farmer H heard my details, and scoped out the scene on his way home, he had an idea.

"It was probably them tree trimmers."

"Are they working in this cold? With the snow?"

"Yeah, they've been up in here with their tractor thing grinding up the limbs they trimmed."

"Were they in our field?"

"No. There was no tracks in the field. But they was in the driveway."

"Then why are there footprints going from our front sidewalk towards the BARn field?"

"I don't know. But they don't go all the way. They was probably comin' to ask about my trailer. It's under the power lines. They might want to move it."

"You mean they want YOU to move it! As if anything could hurt that trailer any more."

"Not my wrecked trailer. The new one. A line runs over it. And I won't be here when they come back. So I ain't movin' it. But you can tell them THEY can move it. They just have to lift up the tongue. Their tractor can move it. Then put it back when they're done."

"I don't know if they would do that. Liability and stuff. But you don't need to be driving over there in this cold, and get stuck."

"I ain't goin' over there. But they can move it if they ask."

We'll see what happens with that. I'm not sitting around waiting on them to come back. I think I can finally make my escape on Monday, when we'll hit a balmy 40 degrees. I wish I knew where I put my old Hawaiian shirt...

Reading The Clues

Another mystery dropped itself in Mrs. HM's nonexistent lap on Friday at 1:40 p.m. I was sitting at the kitchen table with HIPPIE, watching YouTube videos of Jolly eating food at Dollywood. They're two British guys named Josh and Ollie, who try American foods, and sometimes give them to British schoolboys to get their reaction.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

After I jumped back into my skin, I looked toward the front door. I didn't see anybody trying to peer through the wavy glass to get a distorted view of me. No way was I getting up to hobble to the door. I was not expecting a visitor. Not expecting a package. Jack was not barking. Whoever it was could just go away. It was 18 degrees. I didn't want to leave my heater and stand in a frigid draft.

Then I worried if it could be somebody bearing bad news. Surely they would knock again. I know they could hear the TV sounds. No further knocking.

First I called Farmer H. You know, to make sure he was still kickin'. And then to see if he had told somebody they could come out for hunting or junking. He answered.

"I'm still alive. No, I don't know of anybody who would be out there. Unless it was them tree guys again."

"The tree guys already got permission from me to work over in the BARn field and the other field."

"Unless it's a different guy this time."

"Well. They can do what they want. I don't want to open the door to talk to them. I guess I'll call Pony and make sure everything's okay."

"I just talked to Pony a few minutes ago."

"Oh. Then I won't bother."

That set my mind at ease, with both of them being okay. For the next hour, the mystery was still on my mind. Farmer H said our neighbor Tommy had called him last week to take him to work! He left a message that Farmer H heard later. He's not a taxi. He doesn't always hear his phone. In fact, it rang Thursday night at 9:10 and 10:15,while Farmer H was snoozing. Didn't say who it was from, but he thought it might have been the buddy he put the sewer pipe in for, and wrecked his trailer. Farmer H thought he might have been calling to see if he'd be at his SUS2.5 on Friday.

Anyhoo... when I got up for a bathroom break an hour later, I decided to look out front. Just in case there was a package or a note. Nope.

Little Jack was sitting in the sun. I gave him a piece of grease bread. I saw footprints along the front brick sidewalk. Could have been from Farmer H going out to SilverRedO to get something, since he does use the front door sometimes. 

Then I saw footprints going the other way. Off the sidewalk, towards ShackyTown Boulevard. I don't think Farmer H has been over there since the snow. He usually drives SilverRedO over to the BARn in this kind of weather. So the best I can guess, it WAS one of the tree guys. Or a junker buddy of Farmer H. 

I'll tell Farmer H about the footprints. Just in case he wants to slow down and look in the BARn field on his way home.

A Fresh Pot Of Rage Has Been Set Upon The Stove

This new pot of rage has been simmering overnight. It's not boiling yet. Perhaps it's more suited for a slow-cooker. A crockpot rage, if you will.

Wednesday evening, Farmer H flung open the kitchen door. I hate it when he does that. It's startling. With all the snow and cold, my little Jack is not lying in the hole he dug that is under SilverRedO under the carport. So I don't hear him bark as he trots out of the hole to serenade Farmer H down the driveway. Farmer H knows I haven't gone to town in the snow, so he doesn't even try his key in the doorknob. He knows the door is unlocked.

This fresh rage is not about being startled out of my skin by a barging Farmer H. He stepped in after swinging the door wide open. Stomped around on the inside doormat. Then pulled the door closed, raking in maximum arctic cold. I was shivering, even with my under-table electric heater. But that's not the main ingredient of my fresh pot of rage, either.

Farmer H clumped across the kitchen floor, boot soles squeaking, tracking clumps of snow. Dirty gray snow, as if he'd been stomping a snowdrift beside the road gathering car exhaust.

"Hey! You're leaving dirty snow. I hope I don't slip and fall in your puddles."

"I've gotta go to the bathroom."

Of course he must announce all bodily functions. Except the gaseous emissions, which are definitely not silent, but considerably deadly, which he saves until he comes to the kitchen.

"Great. Now you're tracking it on the carpet, too."

No answer. He came back through the house, headed for his recliner.

"So you're just gonna leave it there?"

"I don't know what you expect me to do, HM! I wiped my feet on the rug. TWICE!"

"That doesn't mean you got out all the snow. It's all over the floor."

Farmer H started back to kitchen. No doubt with the intent of proving my lyin' eyes wrong.

"Hear that? Your boots are still melting snow and getting it on the floor."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"What am I supposed to do? Let it melt, and maybe slip on it? Or clean up YOUR mess?"

"Fine! I'll get a paper towel!"

Which he did. One. A single select-a-size. And dabbed at the biggest puddle, closest to me. Not getting all of it, leaving a gray streak like a rivulet from a polluted glacier. Which I cleaned up later, before walking over it to lock the kitchen door for the night.

Mrs. HM Does Not Take The Bait

Mrs. HM has some advice for scammers: "Take a long walk off a short pier. It's not so easy to lure Mrs. HM. She refuses to take the bait."

I was happily clicking away on HIPPIE this morning. Having my morning banana and Maple Brown Sugar Instant Oatmeal, perusing the UK Daily Mail. Gotta keep up with world events and gossip, you know. I can't even remember what story I was reading. I had just gone to the comments and read a couple when a blue box popped up, covering most of the screen. And it TALKED to me! A computer woman's voice.

This was a most unwanted intrusion! That bright blue screen was telling me there had been a security breach. That my computer had been LOCKED. That my IP address was being used for identity theft. That I should not attempt to close the screen or shut down my computer, because I could lose all my data. That I should call Microsoft at a phone number listed on the screen.

Dang it! I just wanted to finish my oatmeal and read those comments. That blue screen could not be closed. The X in the corner did not respond to my clicking. And more of the same screen were popping up. Like that cascade in Solitaire! Only not as many, and not as fast. The ESCAPE key didn't work, either. There was no way to access the tab at the top of the screen. It was covered by that first big blue pop-up box. My only option was to hold down the power button until HIPPIE shut down.

After a few minutes, I turned HIPPIE on again. He went through his regular start-up routine. I clicked the Microsoft Edge icon to access the internet. It's the browser I have been using for about a year, ever since Google Chrome went crazy and wouldn't load.

Welp! The first thing that came up was not my Edge browser screen, but that dang conglomeration of those blue boxes. At least NOW there was the tab up top. I X-ed out of it. Then tried my Edge icon again. And there was my browser screen as normal.

It's not nice to fool Mrs. HM. At least she's no fool. My mom would have panicked, and called the number listed on that blue box for "Microsoft Support" to unlock her computer. In fact, I'm sure she did one time, and talked for 30 minutes, and was waiting for a gal to call her back. Luckily, we stopped her before she gave away any personal information.

Out Of Town And Out Of Touch

It is day 5 of my self-imposed weather exile from town. I'm not getting out in the frigid temps with snow on the parking lots. Farmer H said today, since I had to send him to 10Box for bananas, that for the most part, the snow has been plowed, but the area around the handicap spaces was not as clear as it should be. The good news is, he was actually able to stick to my list of five items. And get my scratchers from the lottery machines.

I didn't have much time to talk to Fave on Thursday. Several customers came in after me, and I didn't want to hold up her line. It was the first time I'd seen her since her thumb checkup on Monday. I noticed a smaller bandage on that hand, but couldn't get the specifics.

The previous week, I'd gone in Sunday afternoon to find only one other customer. He was standing over by the little kiosk where the draw ticket slips are kept. He was filling one out, so I stepped up to the counter. Fave had her back turned, looking out at the pumps to turn one on. When she turned back around, she looked over at The Guy. He turned and came to the counter.

"Oh. Were you not done?"

I figure that if somebody is not at the counter, it's not their turn! I was right there, ready for a transaction. But The Guy didn't seem like a rude buttinsky. Then Fave reached over to the printer that shoots out the draw tickets, and picked up a couple.

"He's almost done. Just a couple more to go." 

She scanned the slips he gave her, and then he paid and left. So I guess he really was in the middle of a transaction. Neither Fave nor Other Girl are shy about telling people, "You'll have to wait, I have other customers in line."

Anyhoo... once The Guy left, Fave giggled.

"Not gonna lie, I kind of have a crush on him! He plays that game every day, and thinks he knows it all, and his plan makes him win. When it's just luck like for everybody else. I really hope he does have a plan for winning, heh, heh."

"Ooh! Does he know?"

"I don't think so. But when his daughter comes in here, she calls me 'Mom.' It's kind of funny."

So... Fave might have a secret beau! At least a secret to HIM. I can't wait to catch up when I can finally get to town.

Simmering Rage 2c: The Hamburger

Last week I needed Farmer H to carry in groceries. I was having an especially bad knee day. He said he'd be home by 5:00. He was going out to the middler of nowhere to fix the door for Nick and Bev, our former Backcreek Neighbors.

Of course he was not back. I called from the parking lot of 10Box before I left, to say I'd be home in 10 minutes. He was not even to Sis-Town yet.

"I should be there pretty soon. Just leave it in the car. That won't hurt it. I'll bring it in when I get there. It ain't but 40-somthing degrees."

"It's 52, and I have your ice cream and hamburger."

"Well. You could just take the ice cream."

Which is what I did. I also had some cheese. Can't remember what else cold. And two bags with cans for making chili after our beans were gone. But I didn't want to carry in four pounds of hamburger. That's heavy for someone who can't walk without grabbing onto stuff for balance.

I got home and took in Farmer H's precious Drumsticks. I thought he'd be there in about 10-15 minutes. I went ahead and changed clothes. Got the beans out of FRIG II to start warming. It actually took Farmer H 25 minutes, because he made another stop. A story which will probably appear on my not-so-secret blog. Anyhoo... I was coming out of the bathroom in my comfy clothes when I hear Farmer H putting the groceries down on the cutting block.

"I don't need all these cans here! Just set the bags along the wall, on the floor. I'll be using them tomorrow morning when I make the chili."

He did, and I put other things away. Like the bread and bananas and cheese and oatmeal and protein bars. Something was missing. 

"Where's the hamburger?"

"HAMBURGER? I didn't see no hamburger."

"It was in a bag on the back seat. Right by the bags with the cheese and the oatmeal."

"Huh. I guess I'll go out and look..."

Yeah. He came back with the four-pound tray of hamburger. Good thing I noticed. But that's not the only issue with the hamburger. Bear with the roundabout tale that brought my rage to a simmer...

That's not hamburger. That's beans. The last of the beans. And a pan of juice. You'll understand their significant contribution to my building simmer.

"The beans are warm. This is the last of them. Make sure you leave me half. Because the past two nights, you've had beans stacked about two inches above the rim of the bowl!"

"I did not! I had a corn muffin broken up in the bottom of the bowl."

"I know that. But it wouldn't give you a towering pile of beans in the middle of your bowl."

"You said I could have what I wanted. That you like the juice."

"I DO like the juice. And I said I could get more beans out of the big pan. Which I did. But this is all that's left. I don't want just juice."

"Look. I've got juice!"

"Yes. But that's also a lot of beans. And you're still dipping. I don't care if you have NO juice. Just leave me half the beans."

"I am. There's a whole bowl of beans in there for you."

"We'll see when I'm ready to eat."

Just as I suspected, when I dipped out my beans, there was barely half a bowl. Sure, I had juice to add. But as for beans, just a half bowl. The simmer was about to grow to a roiling boil the next evening, when Farmer H dipped his chili.

Once again, he had a towering bowl of chili. I had browned 2/3 of that 4-pound pack of hamburger to add to six cans of assorted beans in the chili. I daresay that if I'd set out the big pot to warm up, Farmer H would have had all the hamburger in his bowl.

A disagreement ensued, and the next night, I was in sole charge of dishing up the chili. Sometimes, you gotta look out for yourself before you reach the boiling point.

Simmering Rage 2b: The Tire, The Cane, And The Hamburger

On Thursday, I had to go by the title office for Farmer H, to drop off some forms (which I had to fill out!) regarding the recent deal to sell HIS LAND. I did not want to do this. I hate this stuff. And Farmer H had already signed the other papers, meaning I had to go without him.

At least it was Errand Day, and The Pony agreed to accompany me. I said I was planning to bring my cane. There's a step to get through their threshold, and without an appointment, I was afraid I might have to sit in the outer chairs to wait. They are armless, and I might need my cane for balance getting up and down.

Temps were in the 30s. I dressed in three layers. I just can't stand the cold. Must be my lack of a thyroid. The garage is especially cold, and I shiver before T-Hoe's heat starts to work about two miles down the road. I went out and put the papers, and some ham and beans and corn muffins for The Pony, into T-Hoe's passenger side.

I turned to A-Cad, to get my cane out of the back seat. I almost ripped my arm off! The door was locked! What in the Not-Heaven??? We don't lock our vehicles out here. Farmer H always said, "If a prisoner escapes, he'll head to the highway to catch a ride, not out here in the woods to steal a car. But if he does, it'll be unlocked for him to hotwire, and he won't need to break into the house for keys!" More Farmer H logic.

Anyhoo... I was a bit upset, because I was not wanting to waste any time, to get to town and get that paperwork done before errands and the dropping temperatures before Friday's storm. I really wanted my cane. Lucky for me, I have the spare key for A-Cad in my purse. So I fished it out and tried the clicker to unlock the doors. 

NOTHING.

I tried that clicker several times. It was deader than a doornail. I suppose it needs a new battery. I put the key in the front door lock, and got it open. I used the button on the armrest to unlock all the doors. I hobbled to the back door again. Found my cane. Saw no reason for the doors being locked. Just a few pocketknives and some mini flashlights in packages. I closed the back door. Hobbled to the front. Tried locking all the doors with the armrest button. The alarm started sounding. I couldn't stop it with the clicker. Dead, you know. So I had to lean in and put the key in the ignition and start A-Cad, which shut off the alarm. Then I had to leave all the doors unlocked. What's the use of only locking the driver's door with a key? 

You can bet Farmer H got an earful when he came home. To which he replied, "Huh."

Simmering Rage 2a: The Tire Air, The Cane, And The Hamburger

My rage is percolating like 1970s diner coffee! So many ways that Farmer H has found to raise my ire. Without even trying, I think!

This week I kept getting a warning when I start T-Hoe to check my left front tire pressure. I do. It's 26 pounds. Should be 35. I know that cold weather has an effect on tire inflation. By the time I get home from town, it's up to 29. The warning goes off. But it still should be 35. The right front tire has a couple more pounds than the left. I don't know about the back, because the sensors don't work. Surprise.

Anyhoo... We had a day in the upper 40s, and I told Farmer H he should put some air in my tires before the REALLY cold weather got here on Friday. He said he would. But then he wouldn't, when I reminded him on Thursday evening.

"It'll be fine. You won't be going anywhere."

"I will on Tuesday, maybe, if the roads get cleared. Or a couple days later. I don't want to drive on a flat tire."

"It won't be flat. I don't know if I have any air in the compressor."

The compressor that sits in the garage between T-Hoe and A-Cad, a shin-knocker out to get me if I walk down the middle to get something out of A-Cad, or get in when Farmer H backs in so I don't have to walk across the moss and the gravel on the carport to get in A-Cad for a trip. The compressor that Farmer H takes to the BARn to fill with air from his big compressor that he traded from a former neighbor.

"Well, I don't want to have a flat tire, or be trapped at home when I can get out."

"It'll be fine. If nothin' else, I'll drive it to town and put air in it."

"On FLAT TIRES?"

"They won't be flat, HM. They'll be fine."

So he sayeth, so it must be...

Simmering Rage 1: The Generator

Mrs. HM's rage is simmering like a pot of chili on the stove. Which I just happen to have cooking right now, due to four days of single digit, -20 wind chill weather rolling in last night. Dangerous cold. With 9-12 inches of snow in Hillmomba's forecast.

Farmer H DID bring in the packs of soda from T-Hoe's rear last night. But said he'll still be getting out and about. That he'll be fine going to his SUS2.5. And that I'll be fine here.

"HM. We have gas. We have a generator."

"But will it start?"

"Yes, HM."

"So you got a battery for it?"

"No. But I can jump it with the car."

"YOU'VE HAD SIX WEEKS TO GET A BATTERY! Since the last time when it didn't work."

"I've been busy, HM."

"What's the point of having a generator if it won't start?"

"It WILL start, if I jump it with the car battery."

Which took over a half hour last time, if I remember correctly. And I can't imagine Farmer H standing outside dealing with it at -20 degrees. He should have gone out that week and bought a new battery. And this storm has been in the forecast for five days. During which I've been telling Farmer H to make sure we have gas to run the generator. Assuming that the battery had been replaced.

Can you feel the simmer? It might be the only thing keeping me warm. 

The Knock At The Door

Errand Day started out all cattywompus this week. I was already planning my town trip to start two hours early, because Farmer H sprung a surprise document-completing and signing on me. Dumped three pages of forms on the kitchen table Wednesday evening, saying I need to take them by the title office on Thursday, and go in to sign paperwork for the sale of HIS LAND. That's a lot of trouble for $1200. Of course Farmer H had already signed his name, but due to the inconvenience of our marriage, I also had to appear in person and sign. At least I have my helper Pony to assist me in and out.

I had to bake another dozen corn muffins in time for them to cool before leaving. I was taking some ham and beans to The Pony, who LOVES corn muffins. We would have had enough, but Farmer H eats three per meal, while I have one. So we'd be short for our last night of the beans if I took The Pony enough to enjoy.

Then I spied SilverRedO driving across the front yard shortly before 8:00. And heard Farmer H come in the basement door. I didn't know if he had Old Buddy with him. I don't like surprise guests. So I was cautious going about my regular routines.

I got a load of laundry done, the beans for that evening put into a smaller pot, baked the muffins, washed the dishes, and wrote Genius's weekly letter.

THEN THERE WAS A KNOCK AT THE DOOR!

I'd heard Jack thumping around on the porch, as if frolicking, and wondered if another animal had come along. But no. It turned out to be the door knocker. It took me a few minutes to get there. 

It was a guy in a hard hat and work vest. Looked like the actor Steve Zahn. He said he was with a tree-trimming business. Yes. I understood. There have been two vehicles parked in assorted places along the county blacktop road. They have a seat for the driver, and a long thing that looks like a torpedo, with a circular saw at the end. They trim limbs along the power lines. Hopefully we won't lose our power with this upcoming snowstorm!

Anyhoo... he explained what they doing, and asked how much of the land was ours. I told him down to the tall stump. "I know exactly what you're talking about!" He asked if anything was buried under the lines. Not that I know of. And if Farmer H minded if they sprayed herbicide in a 15 foot radius around the poles. Nope. I was pretty sure he didn't. I later called Farmer H to make sure. Not that I was going to go find this guy and tell him. Farmer H was all for it.

I don't like things upsetting my routine. But this guy was nice enough. And he let little Jack jump up on him, and petted him. It's hard to dislike a dog lover.

It's Not A Gas, Gas, Gas

Time for Mrs. HM to complain again. Well. There's really not an off-season for her complaining. Specifically, it's time to complain about BILLING PRACTICES from her utility companies.

Here it is, January 21, and I've not received the gas bill for the flip house. You may recall my more recent complaints, which may have been here, or on my not-so-secret blog, about how we are expected to READ OUR OWN METER! Farmer H has done that at least twice now. And I've sent in the numbers in a timely manner. As for paying the gas bill, I've been doing the "guest pay" online. I don't want an account. It's a flip house! Temporary. No need for all of our info to be lolling about the cloud waiting to be hacked.

Anyhoo... at least we've been getting the bill. Late for return mailing, of course. Thus the "guest pay." The last one was due December 26. We got it December 17. No way would a payment make it through the holiday mail, with a weekend in there to boot, on time. 

Now I still don't have the bill. You may recall that most often, if Mrs. HM doesn't get a bill, she doesn't pay, because she doesn't know something is due! But with the flip house, I'm always recording expenditures, and keeping track of The Pony's half of our investment. So I see when the last bill was paid, and know around the time the utilities are due. 

I went online and paid that gas bill on January 18. I was lucky that I had the last bill, with the account number, and their system popped up the current amount due. (Three dollars less than December, woohoo!) Still, I have not yet received a bill. Which I keep for our tax records.

How will I know when to read our own meter again?

It's Not Her, It's Me

Since my $200 winner a couple weeks ago, the scratchers have not been kind. Especially the scratchers from the Gas Station Chicken Store. I can't blame Fave and her unlucky thumb. Even Steven must think the Gas Station Chicken Store is due for an even-ing. I've not been shut out, but having only one winner a day, for $5, is not doing my scratcher bankroll any FAVEors.

I told Fave on Sunday, "It's not you. It's me." The tickets I gave her on Thursday were all losers. I don't buy them at the GSCS, because that might look suspicious if she had a big winner from the place she works. Not that there's any way to cheat, other than scanning a winner for somebody, and telling them it's a loser, and keeping it. People in other cities have been caught doing that.

Anyhoo... further proof that I am the problem is Farmer H. It was so cold on Monday that I didn't want to get out. Farmer H agreed to pick up some crossword scratchers for me, from two different places. AND, when he decided he was going back to town when the HVAC Guy left, he said he could also get me a couple from the gas station near his SUS2.5, where he goes for a soda and to play the fake slot machines.

Well! Bravo for Farmer H! I had a $20 winner from that gas station. And a $15 winner from the Casey's by the GSCS. AND a $10 and $40 winner from the School-Turn Casey's over by the flip house. All together, I won $85 on the crossword tickets Farmer H got for me!

Which definitely proves it's ME having the losing streak. Thanks, Farmer H. It's a sad day when he is luckier than Mrs. HM. Though good for my scratcher bankroll.

Heat Is Still Not Pumping At The Mansion

Don't worry about Mrs. HM. She has not yet succumbed to hypothermia. Today (Monday) she's not even getting out for her scratchers. That chore falls to Farmer H, who is galivanting about Hillmomba like it's a warm summer day. It is not. Not worth a trip in half-heated T-Hoe.

As for our Mansion's heat pump... the service guy DID show up this afternoon. Farmer H was here to climb the 13 rail-less basement steps four times, to fiddle with the thermostat. Here is the diagnosis:

The compressor of the heat pump is locked up.

HVAC Guy said he's never seen this happen! And that he will replace this unit with a brand new one. Well. I guess that's a good thing. Although THIS one was brand new out of the box when it was installed, according to Farmer H. It will cost us NOTHING, so there's that. But we are still without a working heat pump until the new one is ordered and arrives and is installed. Something I really want hanging over my head to fret about.

Meanwhile, the HVAC Guy also looked at our indoor furnace unit, which has been heating the Mansion on Auxiliary Heat for probably months now. Since the same problem with the temperature slowly dropping also happened back in December with our first below-freezing cold snap.

Farmer H had thought that maybe this furnace just didn't have enough coils to adequately heat the Mansion. He said the companies are building them with fewer and fewer now, since many have outsourced their manufacturing to other countries. Anyhoo... HVAC Guy found a DISCONNECTED WIRE inside that furnace. Which meant that only HALF of the coils were heating up.

"Huh. Isn't THAT interesting! Didn't the same thing happen to the unit you had installed at the flip house?  But you thought maybe you had knocked it loose?"

"Yeah. I might of. But it also could have happened at the factory. I think that's what happened with this one, since it was NEW out of the box. He hooked it up, and now you notice how it's running right. It kicks off and on now."

"Well, I haven't noticed that yet, but I DID notice the burning smell when it started working on the other half of those coils."

"I'm just relieved we have heat. He'll get the new heat pump ordered, and once that's put in, we'll be back to normal."

Yes. The Mansion will be fine. Which does nothing for my winter trips in T-Hoe.

Out Of The Frying Pan, Into Not-Heaven

You may recall that we are having trouble with our NEW HVAC system. The NEW HVAC system we got on Sept 9, 2025, at the cost of $8,500. Which was new out of the box, according to Farmer H. And should surely be working just fine after only four months of use!

As I type with my cold blue fingers on Sunday at 1:41 p.m., the temperature in the Mansion is 66 degrees! I am sure frostbite is imminent! I am wearing a shirt and two jackets. My portable heater is warming my legs under the kitchen table. Single digit temps coming again tonight, and also on Monday night. Supposedly Farmer H's buddy will be here on Monday to look at the heat pump. Although it will be the coldest day of the year, and is Martin Luther King Day to boot, with many businesses being closed. We'll see if he shows up.

You'd think that's bad enough, but it's NOT! Not for The Universe. Since Friday, I have not even been allowed the toasty comfort of T-Hoe! Oh, T-Hoe is running. I can drive to town. By the time I get past Mailbox Row, and down the first hill on the county blacktop road, I can turn on T-Hoe's heat.

Words cannot describe the glorious outpouring of HOT AIR from T-Hoe's vents! I have the heater set on 82 degrees. It's wonderful! I turn the fan up to five bars. That searing flow of hot air warms my fingers to the bone when I hold the steering wheel at 9:00 and 3:00. People who peer inside as I pass might think I'm just an old-lady white-knuckle driver. But no. There's a reason for my hand positions, and it's not safety.

T-Hoe also warms my feet. Sometimes to the point of making them sweat! I don't mind. It's been many, many years since I had the joy of T-Hoe's heated leather seats. Just one more thing Farmer H hasn't had fixed. But T-Hoe's heater makes up for them, once I get going.

Ahh, the drive to town puts me in a good mood. Roasting and toasting, anticipating my daily scratchers. My first stop is always the Gas Station Chicken Store. I hobble inside, chat with Fave, and brave the frigid winds back to my balmy refuge. That's where it all goes to NOT-HEAVEN!!! 

When I restart T-Hoe, the heater is dead. DEAD! Nothing happening. No matter what I do! I turn up the fan. Turn down the fan. Raise the temp. Lower the temp. Turn off the ignition and restart. Nope. I drive to 10Box. Or the Liquor Store. Or Casey's. Or the post office. Nothing. Just riding around on cold leather seats with no heat. If I hold my hand up against the vent, I get a sense of warm air. Like LaCroix gives you a hint of some kind of flavor.

It's miserable, I tell you! I'm FREEZING my fingers and toes off. Until... until... I start home, and get almost to the prison, and the heater miraculously starts working again! Comes back on like it was just a prank. Heh, heh, gotcha! Whatever setting it's on, that heater and fan work just like it did before stopping. The radio still works. The lights on the panel are on the whole time. Unlike when the radio quits, and it all goes dark.

Of course Farmer H says that what I'm describing can't happen. That it must be doing something different. His heater in SilverRedO is fixed now, you know. But mine is a mystery that can never be solved. It would take replacing every item one by one. There's no telling what's wrong with it. He used to work on cars, you know. And he could take it apart piece by piece and replace everything, and that still might not solve it. And if he takes it to Mick the Mechanic while it's working, that will be useless. Because it has to be not-working at the time of diagnosis.

Yeah. That's what he tells me. With a smirk. Because I DON'T KNOW NOTHIN'!

Hillmomba Is Becoming RoseanneRoseannadannaLand

It's always something. I had an ear open on Friday, for the HVAC guy who was coming to check out our non-working heat pump. Not that I needed to. Farmer H had assured me that I wasn't needed. That everything was out in the back yard.

At 8:45 a.m., I thought I heard a big truck. Jack galloped up the front porch steps. But wasn't barking. Around 9:00 the fan quit blowing. I didn't think working on the heat pump would affect the Auxiliary Heat from the inside furnace. But I'm not an HVAC gal. I even mentioned it to The Pony on the phone.

"I guess maybe that guy is here working on our heat pump. The furnace just kicked off. Maybe it's getting set right again."

About an hour later, the heat kicked back on. I thought nothing more about it, until Farmer H got home.

"Was your guy here? Did he get the heat pump fixed?"

"Well. No. They didn't come. I talked to my guy, and he said he'd feel better if I was here when he did it."

"WHY? You said he wouldn't need to come in the house."

"Well. He might. So I'll be here."

That sounds really fishy to me. First he won't need in the house. Now he might. WHY would he not want to work on the heat pump without Farmer H here? Is he afraid I'll accuse him of shady business practices? Or will he try to say it's not something covered by the warranty, and want a check?

To make matters worse, I looked at the thermostat on Saturday morning, with temps in the teens outside, and windchills in single digits. The thermostat is set on 70. The reading was 69! I immediately felt like I was freezing to death! Put on my town sweatshirt over my Mansion sweatshirt. Covered up with my fleece throw. Considered finding a sock cap.

I refrained from calling Farmer H at his SUS2.5. He doesn't have good phone service inside. Didn't want him standing out in the cold. I fretted for a couple hours, checking that thermostat, which stayed on 69. The furnace kicked off a couple times. Came back. 

When I went to the kitchen to HIPPIE around 11:00, it once again showed 70. I am consciously avoiding checking the thermostat. I don't want to know! I'll tell Farmer H about it when he gets home. Supposed to be down to 9 degrees or lower tonight.

I really hope the HVAC Guy didn't send someone out here Friday, who fiddled with the heat pump, and might cause us problems with the Auxiliary Heat. But that would explain why the HVAC Guy wants Farmer H to be here when he looks at the heat pump on Monday.

Considering The Source

Farmer H was home before me on Thursday evening. He said he had gone down to the basement to look for something in his safe room. That's not the room where he keeps the three safes. They're in his workshop. The safe room has concrete walls and a metal ceiling, as a refuge during a tornado warning. Farmer H also keeps a few of his collectible treasures in there.

Anyhoo... "I noticed that the heat wasn't on in there. And the lights didn't work. So I got to checking, and the breaker was tripped. So I reset the breaker. But the heat pump ain't workin'."

"But we have heat."

"Yeah. It's been running on Auxiliary Heat."

"Probably since you set it on that a while back, when I asked why the fan is constantly blowing, but not always heating."

"No. I didn't. Because you had a fit. Anyway, it's been running on that. The unit in the basement has heating coils. But the heat pump out back ain't working. I called my HVAC Guy, and he said he'll send someone out here tomorrow."

"Will you be here? I can't get up and answer the door before they get away. Will they have to come in and mess with the thermostat?"

"No. It's all out back. There's the breaker, and the unit. That's all they need."

"How much is THIS going to cost? We just got the new HVAC system!"

"It ain't gonna cost nothin'. It's still under waranty."

"I'm not so sure about your HVAC Guy. It might be time to use somebody else. Something's always going wrong. And they charged us a fortune for that coolant. Then the one in the flip house quit working because a wire was not hooked up. And the one in your shop didn't work for about a month, and you were freezing."

"This one was brand new. Right out of the box. It ain't nothin' they did wrong. Stuff happens."

Well. HVAC Guy is 3-for-3 on stuff "just happening" with his product installations. I hope they don't mess up anything so our Auxiliary Heat doesn't work. We've got a cold wave coming in this weekend, with lows in the teens and single digits.

A Brief Respite From Errands

Here it is, Thursday, and I'm not having Errand Day with The Pony. It's me. Not The Pony. My knees are acting up, and I don't feel like traipsing across the parking lot to pay for gas. I WILL drive over to Sis-Town to mail Genius's letter. And MAYBE go in a Casey's for scratchers. But the bank and the grocery store are off the agenda.

Yesterday, Farmer H and I went to have our annual lunch with my best old ex-teaching buddy Mabel. It's a 30-minute drive. I was NOT having a good knee day. Not sure of the problem, whether it was the weather, which was bright and sunny, with temps in low 40s and dropping all day. Or maybe it was from Monday, when I spent two hours on my feet getting a meal ready for Farmer H.

Anyhoo... my knees were extra-painful, despite extra painkillers. I was gimping to the bathroom down a hallway, when a lady opened the door as I was reaching for it. It led into another hallway where the bathrooms are. 

"Oh! Sorry! You scared me!"

"I'm really sorry. Here. Come on in."

It was a big wooden door, styled like a barn door, but with a long handle.

"No, you can come through. I'm slow."

"That's okay. I've got it."

"Well, I was going to hold onto the door as I came through..."

I went in anyway. This gal was pretty persistent about holding the door for me. I must have lurched too alarmingly for her. After I was through, she let the door close, and started following me down that hall.

"Are you okay? Can I help you?"

"I'm fine. I just have a bad knee. I'll be all right. But thank you."

I hate it when I get pity! I'm not mad at that woman. She meant well. I just don't like feeling different and needy. You know it's bad when total strangers want to take care of you.

Did I mention that I have an appointment on March 5 with an orthopedic specialist?

Menace To Deerciety

I suppose it was bound to happen. I can't really blame Farmer H. With so many deer out here, lounging around, acting like they own the place, it was just a matter of time.

On the way to town Tuesday morning, Farmer H hit a deer. I doubt it was one of OUR deer. This one was about 2.5 miles away, on the county blacktop road. I think deer mainly stay in a 1-square mile area, but I can't remember where I read that. 

Anyhoo... according to Farmer H:

"I seen a baby standing at the side of the road. It was old enough not to have spots, but it wasn't full-grown. I slowed down, watching it, in case it ran across. While I was going by, the mother jumped out in front of my truck! I hit it with the front corner. I stopped and looked in the mirror. It was on its back in the middle of the road, with its legs waving. Then it rolled over and ran off. I guess it wasn't hurt too bad, because it got up and ran. Stunned, maybe. It didn't hurt my truck."

Well. That's the best case scenario. A deer can kill a person when it gets hit and crashes through the windshield. Not that I don't have sympathy for the deer. But people's lives are more important. Farmer H was fine. SilverRedO was fine. The deer left under its own power.

This is what can happen when deer get too comfortable in populated areas. Hunting season has a purpose, and that's to thin the deer herd. It's good for people, and good for the remaining deer, because the food supply can only support so many of them through the winter.

Workplace Humor With FAVE

Fave was in a good mood on Monday. I was surprised to see her at the Gas Station Chicken Store. She said she worked to give Another Lady a day off, since she had worked 12 days in a row.

In fact, the guy ahead of me, on his way out, heard me telling Fave that I didn't win much from her. Unlike when The Other Girl sold me that $200 winner on Thursday.

"Hah, hah! She came in here hoping it was THE OTHER GIRL, not you!" he said.

"That's right. My new best friend, The Other Girl, is what I had expected. For another $200 winner!"

Fave told him he was free to go now, and stop making trouble. When she was waiting on the woman ahead of us, she had difficulty counting back the change. It was $38, and some of the bills were not moving easily from one hand to the other as she counted them back. That's a rule with Woman Owner. The clerks ALWAYS count back the change, just like in the old days.

"Here you go. I'm sorry. I'm just all thumbs."

Heh, heh. That statement went right over that woman's head. But I mentioned it later when joking around with Fave.

"You seem to be feeling better. Even though you're ALL THUMBS! That cracked me up."

"I figured I might as well make the joke myself, instead of waiting for somebody else to do it. I feel okay. I guess it's starting to heal."

"Well, you're on drugs..." 

"I AM! But I've weaned myself off. I was taking two at a time, but I'm down to one."

[It's not like she spends her day air-traffic-controlling, running a nuclear power plant, performing brain surgery, or filling 180 mostly-empty teenage vessels with knowledge. She's standing behind a counter, using her hands, one of which is healing with 11 stitches in it. So I understand.]

"That's a sign of progress. Now if you could only be as lucky as The Other Girl."

"I'll work on that! Maybe today!"

Fave needs to work a little harder on my luck. I won $36. But that's no $200.

Living In A Van Down By The Gas Station Chicken Store

The new year is upon us, and it wouldn't be complete without a handicap parking scofflaw! No time wasted. Not even two weeks into 2026, and here it was:

It was a bright sunny day, but the balmy temps are gone. Might have been in the upper 30s by this time in the afternoon. I pulled into the FREE AIR space to wait. There were only two other cars out front at the gas pumps. How long could it possibly take for somebody to do their business in the Gas Station Chicken Store? They don't even sell chicken anymore!

I waited. And waited. No handicap plate, nor handicap placard in this red van. I really didn't want to walk twice as far. My worse knee was really creaky, and it was COLD. I waited some more. I still had shopping to do at 10Box. I thought of going there first, but decided no, because I was getting some frozen things, and would want to get straight home with them.

Five minutes went by. A white car pulled in behind me, wanting FREE AIR. They sat and waited. That's too bad. My space is not designated as the FREE AIR space. It just happens to be located by that sign next to the hose. It's not like there's a decal painted on the pavement. Besides, that hose is plenty long, and there's room on the lot. 

With the white car behind me, I couldn't back up. I probably could have squeezed by to go out forward. But I wanted to get my tickets over with, and see Fave before shopping. Besides, the white car person had gotten out to pump some FREE AIR. So I slid out of T-Hoe and hobbled through the frigid wind.

Inside, there were a woman and man standing at the side of the counter, over by where the chicken case used to be. Fave greeted me. 

"Oh, they're here first."

"No, don't worry. She's just gabbing."

Indeed, The Woman was on her phone, chatting away. She had a fountain soda and snack on the counter in front of her. The Man just stood behind her. They were together. Early 40s, I think. Neither seems to have any infirmities that would cause them to need a handicap parking space.

Gotta say, I was A BIT ANNOYED! They were the only other people there. No cars out front anymore. She didn't park in my rightful handicap space because she needed it, or just to dash inside. She was hanging out! ON THE PHONE. At this rate, she might have been there all night.

I got my tickets and left, to hobble back to T-Hoe. Twice as far. Without even the satisfaction of The Woman and The Man coming out to see my hobble. 

I felt cheated. Twice.