Terror In Hillmomba!

Friday as I started home from town, a truck pulled out from a side road. There was a car in front of me, and we both had time to hit the brakes. That truck looked quite a bit like SilverRedO. It headed out the road towards the Mansion. OVER THE CENTER LINE!

I was talking to myself, saying "Please don't let that be Farmer H!" Because that driver was obviously drunk, or having a medical emergency. It proceeded past the prison, drifting over the center line, reaching speeds up to 45 mph. The legal speed limit through there is 55 mph. 

Going over the long high bridge, that truck was in the middle of the road! Straddling the center line. Then it signaled to turn onto our county blacktop road. Great. At least I had discerned that the color was not cherry red like SilverRedO, but with an orange tint, like a truck that I've seen in our enclave. Not much solace there, but at least it wasn't Farmer H.

Sweet Gummi Mary! That truck STOPPED in the middle of the road, a few hundred feet onto the blacktop route. AND a black truck was approaching from the other direction. I stopped. What else could I do? I didn't want T-Hoe to be rammed from a collision. 

The black truck and I sat there. Not moving. Waiting. Then the red truck went forward, FAST. But not moving into its own lane. Right at the black truck! At the last minute, it veered into its own lane. The guy in the black truck, an older man sporting a pointy gray beard, dropped his two right-side tires off the pavement. No shoulder on that road. He was taking a chance with that couple-feet drop-off. But it was better than risking a collision with an idiot.

I watched that red truck turn right onto a gravel road/driveway where a new home had been built. And then immediately turn left INTO A YARD of a ritzy brick home! Made a circle through their yard, and came back out that gravel road/driveway. I was lucky to get T-Hoe past it before the driver pulled back out onto the blacktop road. 

It was a 50-something woman, with long gray hair. I'm assuming she was drunk. Not quite old enough to assume Alzheimer's. And a stranger to the area would not have been on the side road where she pulled out. Seemed to be someone who kind of knows the area, but changed her mind.

In T-Hoe's mirror, I saw that red truck drive down the WRONG SIDE OF THE ROAD to the sharp curve before access to the county lettered highway. 

A lot of guardian angels were apparently on duty this day.

Almost A Good Deed Not Gone Unpunished

Yesterday, I mentioned how I had finally made an appointment at the lottery office to cash in two scratcher winners that are too large for a store to redeem. How Farmer H had been nagging me to get this task done.

Well. Today I returned home to see Farmer H mowing the front yard/field. He drove the mower onto the carport to come talk to me as I got out.

"You'll never guess what I got out of the mailbox today."

"Oh, no! How much do we owe? Who is suing us for what?"

We've had some recent issues with situations that are not our responsibility. But it doesn't keep people from trying to squeeze blood from a non-responsible turnip.

"Oh, it's not that. But I got a notice for jury duty at the time you scheduled to cash in your tickets."

Further interrogation revealed that Farmer H was confused with the calendar. The ticket appointment was actually a week ahead of his jury duty. So no big deal. 

It wouldn't have been such a problem anyway. I could cancel the lottery appointment, and mail in my tickets in time. But if Farmer H missed his jury duty, he could be held in contempt of court, and fined, or had "other sanctions imposed." Which I take to mean arrested and held in the county jail. 

Don't worry about Farmer H. I will make sure he shows up for jury duty.

Be Careful What You Nag For

After months of Farmer H nagging me about setting up an appointment to cash in my two $1000 scratcher winners, I finally did it. One ticket is due to expire in May, so that was added impetus. 

It's not that I didn't WANT to get my money. Only that I am not happy that the lottery office has continued to require AN APPOINTMENT since they switched to that format during The VIRUS. Seriously. There was never a room full of people clamoring to cash in winners. I only saw another person there once during the times we went to cash in a ticket. And now they have an appointment every 10 minutes. It's not like it's a lengthy process.

Anyhoo... I might as well have mailed it in, considering the time it has taken me to make an appointment. Part of the reason was that I never know what Farmer H has planned. He had assorted medical appointments. And his business takes up Friday/Saturday/ Sunday. Then he sometimes goes to an auction on Monday. Plays bingo on Tuesdays now, when it used to be Wednesdays. So that basically left Thursdays, assuming there was no appointment.

Farmer H is all wishy-washy about making decisions. I couldn't pin him down to a day of the week that would be good. So I finally decided on Wednesday, a day that The Pony should not need him for an emergency, that being The Pony's day off.

So... when Farmer H asked me yesterday if I'd made the appointment, I told him, "YES! Wednesday at 10:00 a.m." Of course that put his nose out of joint. He will miss his lunch at the Senior Center on meat loaf day.

It's not like that's a special holiday meal. They will serve meat loaf again.

I Hope She Wasn't Sent By Farmer H

Last week, I mentioned how 1/3 of the Rumpushole Troika had blocked in T-Hoe beside the Gas Station Chicken Store, and then LIT UP A CIGARETTE while standing by the propane tanks. I'm pretty sure nobody should be smoking near propane tanks. But I didn't remember seeing such explicit instructions. 

Welp! The instructions were there!

In fact, the instructions are all over that case holding the propane tanks. All it takes is one little malfunction in one tank, and we all blow sky-high!

Surely you don't think this gal was sent by Farmer H, do you? For a new plot in which I'm pretty sure he's trying to kill me? How else could a smoker be so clueless?

There Oughta Be A Sign

You know those signs, the red circle with a line slashing through it, to ban certain behaviors. I need one with Farmer H in a kitchen, and that slashed line. No need to get more specific. If it's a kitchen, and Farmer H is in it, there will be trouble.

Be careful what you wish for! Ever since I wished Farmer H would be home and help me carry in groceries, he's been there. Carried in the groceries. And then attempted to put some away. I've grown used to the bananas being tossed all willy-nilly into the bowl, like someone under the influence of LSD tried to play JENGA with them. And 5 lb bags of potatoes being hidden on the floor of the pantry so they will remain unnoticed until they start to rot. I know to correct these Farmer H "helps."

Monday, I caught Farmer H red-handed, trying to put a package of paper plates in the cabinet. A package. A literal package.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

"Putting away these plates."

"First of all, that's the wrong cabinet. That's the regular plates. Been there for 25 years. It's the cabinet by the sink you want. WAIT A MINUTE! What are you doing?"

"Putting away the paper plates!"

"Not like THAT! Why would you do that? Put a whole package on top of the stack of paper plates in there? So when I have to grab one, I have to take out the whole package, open it, and put them back. When it should be done right now."

"Huh." 

Farmer H tried to open the plastic wrap on those plates with his fingers. Heh, heh. Not happenin'. Then he looked for a knife in the silverware drawer, which holds no sharp knives, as they are in the drawer below. He ended up taking a fork and jabbing a hole in the plastic, then wrestling it off the stack of plates.

I should have known better than to take my eyes off Farmer H while getting my glasses and phone out of my purse. He had put a couple other things away before I shooed him out of the kitchen. It was the next morning, when I went to get out a couple slices of dog bread (the cheap wheat sandwich bread that I buy just for giving to the dogs) that I saw Farmer H had been in that cabinet, too. A package of 8 hamburger buns was plopped on top of the dog bread loaf. Smashing it to half its size.

I know I've asked this before... but do you think it's possible Farmer H does these things wrong so I won't want his help in the kitchen???

All Over But The Dryin'

Who knew an eclipse could be so much work?

Yesterday I decided to take a kitchen chair out onto the back porch deck to "watch" the total eclipse. It was awkward, but not as difficult as it would have been to drag the metal chair from the side porch to the back porch. 

First I had to take Farmer H's winter vest off his chair, the closest one to the kitchen door. Well, except for the spare chair right next to the door, with some caps and a gift bag that says "Have Yourself a Merry Christmas." No idea what's in there, it's his junk, not mine. 

Anyhoo... that winter vest is like cotton duck workpants material, not a puffy thermal vest. It has a sheepskin-look lining, and is heavier than one might imagine. Plus there was a plastic grocery bag of something hanging on the other side. Again, I didn't look. I was in the business of getting seating for a total solar eclipse, not cleaning up Farmer H's hoard.

Anyhoo... I got that chair out to the corner of the porch. Then upon sitting down and seeing a wasp fly out from under the corner board that makes a little flat surface for once upon a time holding BBQ accoutrements, I wondered if that had been a good decision. It was the only pest, though. Well. Unless you count Jack and Scarlett. It's easy to transpose those last two letters sometimes. While I love my pets, they can each in their own way be a pest.

I allowed myself a half hour for the viewing. The totality itself was only about 40 seconds here. I wanted to enjoy the dimming atmosphere. It's not every day you get to see a total solar eclipse.

Anyhoo... the minute I started dragging that chair across the porch, here came the dogs. Scarlett was a bit more subdued than usual, not bouncing up and down like a hyperactive pogo stick salesman after 20 Red Bulls. Just a bit of hopping and positioning herself to keep Jack away. Jack is no dummy. He went around to my left side the moment I sat down. 

Thus began the struggle to "watch" the eclipse. I think five minutes of petting is sufficient. The dogs did not. My lovey little Jack put his front paws on my knee politely, and I leaned over to hug him and sweet-talk him while absentmindedly fending off Scarlett with some errant pats, just keeping in contact with her.

Scarlett always wants more. She roots her head under my arm if my attention lags. She tries to crawl into my lap. I suppose her eventual goal is to crawl down my throat. She can't get close enough. One of her big paws scratched the front of my throat as I was fending her off. It wasn't her usual frenzy, just constant creeping, trying to climb higher and higher on me. She tried to ascend from every angle. I finally got her between my feet when Jack ran off to sniff a trail through the woods with Copper Jack. Scarlett's back legs may have grown tired, because she SAT and accepted head pats during the main part of the eclipse.

When the light started to return, I saw that my comfy home clothes were COVERED with dog hair!!! The fine white undercoat of Jack on my left leg, and the longer floating-around red-and-white locks of Scarlett on my right leg. Of course the Scarlett hairs were all over my zippered sweatshirt as well.

Dang it! No way those hairs were brushing off. Especially Jack's. Stuck to my dark blue sweatpants. Scarlett's hair would come off, but settle right back after swirling around. So it was off to the washer. Except I was headed to the shower and then town, so I didn't want to start a load of clothes to leave unattended. Farmer H's old friend Buddy's wife did that, and their hose connecting the cold water to the washer had a malfunction, and they returned home to a flooded laundry room.

Anyhoo... the washing had to wait until I got home and made supper, and as I type this, it's all over but the dryin'.

Special Occasion, Special Meal

The total eclipse is coming! In fact, it will be here on the day this post hits the innernets. Farmer H will be having a special meal at the Senior Center. According to their monthly menu, his lunch will include:

Saturn Sandwiches (Ham Salad)

Solar Salad (Spinach Salad)

Space Soup (Cheesy Broccoli)

Eclipse Cake OR Fruit

What makes these food items eclipse-worthy, I don't know. It's easy enough to slap a name on dish, without it actually having any connection/connotation to a space event.

Anyhoo... Farmer H says they will have lunch as usual, then hang around to view the total solar eclipse. The Senior Center has viewing glasses for the attendees. The totality is supposed to start around 1:52 or 1: 58 Central Daylight Time. Depending on which source you trust.

Anyhoo... they will be going outside the Senior Center to the sidewalk to watch. Farmer H says they will have chairs for the seniors.

I will be watching from the back porch of the Mansion, petting my fleabags.