No Rest For The Weary, More Work For The Wicked

On Monday, which was Labor Day, you know...Farmer H went to work.

Yes. I realize he's retired. He officially retired on Thursday. He went back to work on Friday for the annual employee filet mignon meal that they have to start Labor Day weekend. Then on Saturday, he took his truck to get some materials that were being thrown away. Actually, he's been at work more since he retired than he was when he was actually working three days a week.

So...when Farmer H popped back in the front door to tell me he was running up to work for a little bit...I did not get suspicious. Didn't even question him. Going to work. After he's retired. On Labor Day.

"I saw on Facebook that [REDACTED] is looking for the sprayer. He wants to use it at home. He was asking if anybody had seen it. I have it, so I'm taking it back. I'm meeting him at White Castle."

"Wait a minute. You have company property? Did you steal the sprayer?"

"No. I brought it home to spray the roof after the guys came back to fix that leak. I just forgot I had it."

"Doesn't this look kind of bad, you being done with the company, and having their sprayer?"

"No. I forgot about it. [REDACTED] wants to use it at home, too. It's not a big deal."

So...Farmer H took back company property, four days after he retired, on Labor Day.

I'm pretty sure Farmer H didn't steal it. He's very direct. He would have said, "Dang it! I thought I had me a sprayer! Now they're looking for it! Oh, well."

I think Farmer H is pretty safe from prosecution, even if he DID purposefully give himself a ten-finger discount on company property. Nobody is ever going to find it if it's here. I'll sign a search warrant myself.

There's The Beef

If you're reading this, it means I didn't poison myself.

Oh, this is not a cry for help. I'm not throwing in the towel. Not giving up the ghost. Not going gentle into that good night. I just decided to eat some food that's past its prime.

I made Farmer H hot sandwiches last night. Toasted whole wheat rolls with bologna, turkey (there's another story there sometime), pepper jack, and cheddar. Topped with onions, tomatoes, and pickles. I didn't want to partake of hot sandwiches, still having my evening walk before me. And why go to all that trouble when I come back in after walking and snacking the dogs? Who had, I might add, a plate of cheddar cheese (slightly molded), generic Doritos (we don't like them in the mini pack assortment), and Wonder Bread (a long loaf is too long, when only Farmer H eats it).

I found some sliced Italian bread from The Devil's Playground bakery, and a pack of roast beef. Granted, the pack of roast beef has been in FRIG II for a couple of weeks. I guess. It had to get moved back on the shelf to make room for the garlic bologna Farmer H asked for, and then ate half of, but said it tasted funny, and next time to get GARLIC bologna. I don't know how much more garlic it can get, past that GARLIC written on the package. But I'll see what I can do.

Anyhoo...I got out the pack of roast beef. The good stuff. Not a flat Buddig pack, but a regular plastic tray, with what looks like actual slices of roast beef. ANGUS roast beef. I put on my glasses. Huh. The date said AUG 24, 2017. Huh. It was now SEPT 5, 2017. Not TOO long past the date, is it? You know those dates. It said BEST IF USED BY.
Not THIS WILL KILL YOU IF USED AFTER.

So I figured, "Hey. I just gave Farmer H some cheddar slices that were in a pack with two spots of mold on another slice. So I don't think the odds favor BOTH of us dying of food poisoning tomorrow. I'm having this roast beef." I slapped some slices on that Italian bread, put some horseradish mayo in a ramekin on the side, plopped a Claussen dill spear on the plate, and took my feast to my dark basement lair.

I must say. It was expired. And it was delicious.

Some might have termed it breathtaking.

Hillmomba Dreamin'

I had a dream we were sippin' whiskey neat--NO! Wait a minute! No I didn't! It ain't ME! That was Selena Gomez and Kygo. THEY had that dream! I had a different dream! About dimes.

I know how boring it is to hear about other people's dreams. But bear with me. There might be a point.

Early this morning, I got up and still had this dream fresh in my head. It was about a high school friend of Genius. I was standing around somewhere public, people walking by. HS Friend's mom was there, standing kind of behind/beside him, her hand on his shoulder. He reached his right hand out to me, palm up but fist closed, and it was full of dimes. Dimes trickling out between his fingers. Full. I reached out both hands to take them. I might have said something like, "Are you sure?" And he nodded.

The feeling I got from this dream was a kind of sadness, or betrayal. Nothing big. Just that something unexpected had happened, and now HS Friend wasn't getting something that he'd planned on. I think I even said, "Oh, so now you can't have..." Again. Not clear. It was like a teacher had been switched, or a coach. It was a male figure that was not what he had planned on. The only three people I recognized in that dream were me, HS Friend, and his mom. She used to be a regular contributor at the Semi Weekly Meetings of the Hillmomba Lunch Time Think Tank. But I never hung out with her, even though we went to the same high school.

So anyway, I had that dream about getting a handful of dimes. I'm always trying to make sense of things. "Huh. What does that mean? What about dimes? Tens. Am I supposed to buy $10 lottery tickets? There's not a dime ticket. I'm going to the casino Thursday. Am I supposed to put my Lightning Link on the 10 cent denomination? I wasn't even going to play it this time. I never win. Huh. Dimes? Tens? Silver? Must be just a dream."

Now I want to look up some of the details in my dream book. I'd look up blog buddy fishducky's dream she asked about a while ago, too, but I can't remember it. I guess I can scroll back through the comments.

Here's the thing. I JUST NOW thought of it, as I was typing a couple of paragraphs up, thinking about my other blog and my dime story today: I associate dimes with my dad, since I found a lot of them around the Mansion in the months after he passed away. The kid in the dream? His brother was a big deal basketball player at Newmentia, and people were looking for him to be the same. He lost his dad as he was entering high school. His dad, who was very involved with coaching him as he grew up.

Dreams are funny things.

Bev'll Spin The Details

Here's an update on Farmer H's handyman work.

Yesterday, as you recall, he went to see Bev, our over-the-creek neighbor, about some lights that she wanted installed. He agreed to do the job for $50. Today, he went over to take some measurements. Of the lighting requirements, of course! Not of Bev! She's a married woman.

Anyhoo...Farmer H came back, just as I was getting my morning going, and said, "I'm about ready to tell Bev to forget it!"

"Now what? You already said you'd do it. And she agreed on your price."

"Well, I got over there, and she said, 'Look what he's done now.' Crazy Stick Dude. She pointed over to his land, and said, 'He's put up that tower.' Okay. He DID put up a tower. But Bev said, 'I don't know what kind of signal he's sending out, but I can feel it. I don't know what he's trying to do to me.' Oh, I'll put in her lights. But I'm afraid she'll say they give off some frequency, and that it's my fault. That I did something to them."

"You know, there are people sensitive to stuff like that. I knew a girl who could tell when she went by a house if they had their TV on. She said she could feel it."

"Yeah, there's thousands of frequencies out there. But that don't mean Crazy Stick Dude is sending out signals on purpose to get Bev."

"He probably just built a tower to drive her crazy."

"Well, it's working. She's as nutty as you."

I haven't met Bev yet. But I'm thinking...if I start chewing gum, and save those little foil wrappers...now that I'm retired...I might just be able to make her a protective suit for Christmas. Or the holidays. Whatever she celebrates.

Bev'll Find Work For Idle Hands

Now that he is officially retired, Farmer H has been keeping busy. This morning, for instance, he thumped around under the back deck. Sounded like he was a lumberjack wielding an ax in a hardwood forest. I stepped out, looked over the rail, and saw that he had the Gator parked down by Poolio, with two 12-foot-long 4 x 4 posts laid across the back.

I'm not sure what was holding up the deck in place of them.

Then Farmer H said he has replacement posts, and won't be going down to Lowe's sometime this week. Which would cost money. None of which he is bringing home any more. And having earned too much this year to get social security income. I can only hope he doesn't run out and buy a third tractor. Or a lawnmower, without telling me. Or visit (shudder) The Good Feet Store.

He DID tell me to call our financial advisor and make an appointment for next week. So we can move some funds around and funnel ourselves a monthly allowance. Sweet Gummi Mary! You didn't think I would let this situation cut into my lottery money, did you?

Farmer H also got a call this morning at 8:00. Yes, he was still abed, having turned off his alarm, enjoying his 13th hour of slumber. It was his new best friend, Bev, the one he helped in serving court papers on Crazy Stick Dude.

Let's back up a minute. Farmer H first got a call from Bev on Friday, asking if he could come over and put up some lights for her and her husband. Farmer H said he was going to the auction, but he could do it on Saturday. Well! He was told in no uncertain terms that Bev and family do NOT do any business on Saturday, as that is their sabbath. Maybe not in so many words, but that's the gist of it. I don't know what religion that makes them, and I don't care. It just seems odd that they called on Friday, but didn't want to carry out their task on Saturday. Like they had expected Farmer H to rush over there right that minute.

Anyhoo...Farmer H got up to look at his phone. Stayed up. Took a shower. Then told me during the porch-weakening session, "Huh. I should have said, 'Well, I don't do any work on Sundays.' It's kind of true. You know I never really do anything but putter around. I should have told them that. Just to mess with them."

There he goes again, trying to grow a funny bone.

Later this afternoon, Farmer H said this "favor" would involve putting up six lights. Four of them he can do by standing on their porch. The other two will need a ladder. He said he would do it for $50. (He also told me, but not Bev, that an electrician would charge at least $250 to come out and do the job.) Bev said that was fine. Farmer H says it will take about two hours, maybe three, and that most of that will be loading up his tools and putting them away when he gets back.

I guess that $50 will go in his pocket.

Maybe Farmer H can find some more odd jobs. Sweet Gummi Mary! I'd probably pay him $50...just to go away for two hours. Maybe three.

A Nudge Towards Niceness

I guess I don't have a dilemma any more. Only yesterday, I was debating on whether to tell Genius that I scratched a scratcher that I had originally considered sending him as an EXTRA this week. The one I kept selfishly for ME, because Farmer H's words were still ringing in my ears, about how Genius can make his own money soon enough, when he graduates in December.

Yeah, it would not be nice to rub it in that I'd won $100 on a ticket that was almost in an envelope, rumbling its way across the state to Genius. I know that, because I was devastated when I learned that a $4000 winner had been sold by Waterside Mart, on a ticket I buy there frequently. But what really nixed the idea was today's nudge from The Universe.

I stopped by Orb K to cash in my $100 winner. I used those winnings to purchase my favorite, a Golden Ticket, and also a Frenzy. That left me with $60 back in change. Here's what the clerk handed me:

Yes, perhaps The Five-Dollar Daughter was being reminded that if you can't say anything nice...don't say anything at all.

As if that wasn't enough, I stopped by Casey's near the moat, to get another ticket. The clerk was one of my former students. While we were chatting about which tickets were winning, and she was straightening out her register from almost overcharging me by $14 (hey, I didn't teach her MATH), the other clerk stepped over and said, "Yesterday, I sold a $300 winner to a lady! She bought a Golden Ticket. It was number 018. She went out and scratched it, and it was a loser. She brought it back in to make sure. When I told her it was, she bought the next one. Number 019. She went out to scratch that one, and it was a $300 winner!"

"Oh. Yesterday was the one day I didn't come in here this week. And now I just bought one, after she won $300."

"Don't worry! It's a new roll!"

Okay then. That changes my chances. However...let the record show that I only won $5 today. Did not nearly recoup my investment. But I've been doing okay lately. You can't win every day.

Still. It was not fun, hearing about OTHER winners that I did not get. So I'll keep Genius in the dark for now. At least until he gets all Geniusy and commands me to make him a sandwich, or tells me that I cry over everything.

"Oh, really? Well...let me give YOU something to cry about, buddy. I was going to send you a lottery ticket, but I kept it, and it WON $100!"

Yeah. It's always good to hold something in reserve when having a battle of wills with Genius.

For Once, Farmer H's Advice Proves Reasonable

Life is so serendipitous, my blogfriends. You never know what insignificant circumstances might turn out to be significant.

This morning, Farmer H ignored the paper plate note I left on the kitchen counter. I'm sure you remember our paper plate stationery. I know that Farmer H is familiar with that area of the kitchen counter, because he messes it up with regularity, either piling three-week-old receipts, or leaving grease spots from efforts to feed himself. Here's what my message said:

"Do you have a $5 bill for Genius? [the son formerly known here as #1] Here are five $1s. Or a $10 for two $5s." 

Right beside that paper plate note was a $10 bill and five $1 bills. Yet they were as untouched as a scrap of cheddar left by a really smart mouse in a killing machine.

Farmer H had arisen early to go to a yard sale that to hear him tell it stretched the length of I-55. He called me at 7:40 (see, I KNEW he would try to make me wake up early once he retired) and couldn't be understood. His main refrain being, "The reception is terrible down here."

Anyhoo...he called back when I was in the shower (it's like he has special vision, calling at the most inopportune time) around 9:30. Just to say he would be home around 1:00, and that he got my text about neighbor Tommy calling for a ride to the store and bank. I asked why he didn't leave me change according to my paper plate note.

"I didn't see it."

"I am heading to the post office to mail the boys' letters, and you know I always send Genius six dollars, because my mom did that his first year of college, so he could have Chinese food every Friday. I only have a ten or five ones. The ones will make the envelope too heavy for one stamp. It's almost too heavy anyway, with his two scratcher tickets that I sent him. And I don't really want to send him ten dollars."

"No. He can make his own money!"

So...I left the envelopes unsealed. I had a larger one for Genius, too, which contained his casino free night offers. Sometime he and a friend are going to stay a free night at Downstream, the big casino in Oklahoma, near Joplin. Not so much for the gambling, as for the cheap drinks and live band and a room right there on the premises.

Anyhoo...I'm always rushing to get to the main post office before 11:00. The mail doesn't go out until 11:30, but if I rush for 11:00, I know I'll make it. I figured I could stop by Orb K. It's on the way. I could run in and break that $10, and put the $5 in Genius's letter. And what better way to break a $10 bill than to buy a $5 lottery ticket? My plan worked well. I got the newest ticket, the Black and Gold, and a put that fiver into Genius's letter and sealed it.

I had also planned to put that extra ticket into his casino envelope. I was going to have to have it weighed for postage anyway. One $5 ticket doesn't get my blood boiling. I usually get a selection, or my favorite ticket in a higher denomination. Then I thought, "Nah. Genius doesn't need an extra ticket. He's already getting two. Like Farmer H said, 'He can get his own.' He'll be making more than 1.5 times my ending salary when he starts working in January. Time to cut the cord. Farmer H and I are both on a fixed income now."

So, I went to stuff that ticket into a section of T-Hoe's console, and saw that it was ticket number 059. That's the last ticket on the roll. Great. Not one that I would have bought if I knew the number. I was almost sorry that I'd already sealed up Genius's casino envelope, too. I could have sent him that sure-to-be loser, and he would have felt like I was doing him a favor.

I made it to the post office, mailed my letters, got some stamps, went back by Waterside Mart and Casey's and The Devil's Playground, picked up my 44 oz Diet Coke at the gas station chicken store, and went home to make lunch and scratch my tickets.

You know what happened, don't you? That ticket was a winner.

A $100 winner on a $5 ticket. Poor Genius. Should I tell him? So he could see how close he came to that fortune? Right now, he's still a student. Do you know how much alcohol that winner could buy? I feel kind of guilty. But still, Genius has two other tickets like this (okay, maybe not EXACTLY like this) on the way, PLUS six dollars for Chinese food. To tell him might make him feel like I did, back when I read about Waterside Mart selling that $4000 winner to somebody NOT ME.

I think I won't bring it up just yet. Maybe I'll mention it in next week's letter. I'm not sure he even reads them. They're just wrapping for his six dollars and scratchers.