We're just a hop, skip, and a jump away from a future of machines ruling us all! Technology is poised to take over Hillmomba! As evidence, I provide the following vignette.
Farmer H stopped by Casey's to put gas in A-Cad before we picked up my favorite gambling aunt for our trip to the casino on Wednesday. No, we all lost. There. Got that out of the way. Anyhoo...Farmer H paid at the pump, but went in to get himself a bottle of water and two scratchers. No, he lost. Anyhoo...I was sitting in the shotgun seat, minding my own business, visions of jackpots dancing in my head.
I wanted to check the time, and see if perhaps Auntie was running behind. That happens sometimes. So I looked down at my phone, which I had laid in a slot on A-Cad's console. It was sideways, and I knew I'd have to pick it up, but I was shocked to see the Google colorful spinny pinwheel thingies rotating on the black screen. I picked it up, wondering why my phone had done a reboot. Even if it updates apps (which I don't want it to do automatically, but it has been for many months now), it doesn't restart. If I manually choose to update the Android thingy, I have to select RESTART manually as well. So this made no sense.
By the time I had that phone in my hand, it had already restarted itself. I swiped the screen up to first of all check the time, and see if there was an incoming text from Auntie. Huh. That was very odd.
THE TIME WAS 6:01
However, we had left home at noon, to meet Auntie at 12:30, and I had assumed the time was now around 12:20. SWEET GUMMI MARY! The date on my phone, just under the 6:01, read
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 31
What in the Not-Heaven??? Was I in some kind of paranormal Philadelphia Experiment? Perhaps the Hillmomba Experiment? Was I time-traveling? I quickly turned my phone off and dropped it back into the slot of the console. That fixes most gadgets, right? You turn them off, and then back on. It works for my DISH receiver when it goes all wonky, even though sometimes I need to completely unplug it rather than just use the power button. And Genius himself has told me to do that with the router (whatever it is) when I suddenly have no internet and can't figure out why.
Farmer H returned. I suppose I had never been quite so glad to see him being his regular self.
"My phone went crazy! It turned itself off and on, and then the time was 6:01, and the date was Wednesday, December 31st!"
"Huh."
I guess it's a credit to Farmer H that he only grunted, and did not twirl his crazy finger near his temple.
"I'm hoping it will be okay when I turn it back on, but if not, I figure my phone has died. It also said NO SERVICE at the top, and I ALWAYS have service here. I even send myself pictures because I have such a good signal. I'll try it when we get over to Country Mart to pick up Auntie. Wait! The very best service I get is at The Gas Station Chicken Store! I'm turning it back on now."
So as we made our left turn at the light in front of the GSCS, I turned my phone back on, and EVERYTHING WAS PERFECTLY NORMAL.
Technology. It's in cahoots with The Universe, conspiring against me.
Friday, August 31, 2018
Thursday, August 30, 2018
Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's Feet Stink
There. I said it. My feet stink. Not stink, as in, they don't do the job I expect of them. Stink, as in they smell really bad! Now that I think of it, they also are not doing the job I expect of them. But it's not really their fault.
You may recall that I always have some sort of major malady befall me when I least expect it. And since we returned from The Pony visit, my left ankle has been giving me fits. It seems to be a continuing problem from last December, when we went to Genius's graduation, and I traipsed all over blacktop campus to take pictures with him, in shoes that were not designed for traipsing.
NOW I KNOW WHAT IS WRONG!
I have posterior tibial tendinitis! No, I didn't go to thedoctor nurse practitioner. Are you crazy? I found out on the innernets! I have every symptom! Pain. Swelling. Lack of stability. Trouble lifting my heel. And I fit most the checklist items for people who commonly develop it. I'm old, female, overweight, have high blood pressure, and wore shoes without arch support.
Anyhoo...since the prognosis is not very promising, I've been trying to follow some of the self-treatment tactics. I don't have a walking boot like adoctor nurse practitioner might prescribe, but I AM being careful not to walk around barefoot. Do you know how hard that is for me? The only time I ever wear shoes is when I go to town. But now, I'm trying to always wear shoes, unless sleeping.
Therein lies the problem.
The pair of shoes that makes my foot feel best is probably about 10 years old. I daresay it might predate my ratty old baby blue sweatshirt. This pair of shoes used to be my walking shoes. They are wide and stable, and I've replaced the insoles a couple of times due to wear. They have very little okay NO cushioning left. BUT there seems to be really good arch support for my left foot. I kind of clomp around in it like it's a Frankenstein boot. A normal stride is not possible as yet. But I'm virtually pain-free as long as I clomp around in that shoe.
I confess to keeping that left shoe on, but taking off the right shoe. Because it's really not that comfortable on my good foot, since while I was favoring the left foot, my right knee got out of whack. So I sometimes wear a different shoe on the right foot. Around the Mansion, of course. Not out in public. Yet.
Anyhoo...here's the deal. Those shoes are very old, and they STINK! I swear I can smell my feet when I'm just sitting around. It's not pleasant, but it is virtually pain free. Seems like my innernets told me that a walking boot is usually recommended for 3 weeks. So I figure I'm going to have stinky feet for a while longer.
You may recall that I always have some sort of major malady befall me when I least expect it. And since we returned from The Pony visit, my left ankle has been giving me fits. It seems to be a continuing problem from last December, when we went to Genius's graduation, and I traipsed all over blacktop campus to take pictures with him, in shoes that were not designed for traipsing.
NOW I KNOW WHAT IS WRONG!
I have posterior tibial tendinitis! No, I didn't go to the
Anyhoo...since the prognosis is not very promising, I've been trying to follow some of the self-treatment tactics. I don't have a walking boot like a
Therein lies the problem.
The pair of shoes that makes my foot feel best is probably about 10 years old. I daresay it might predate my ratty old baby blue sweatshirt. This pair of shoes used to be my walking shoes. They are wide and stable, and I've replaced the insoles a couple of times due to wear. They have very little okay NO cushioning left. BUT there seems to be really good arch support for my left foot. I kind of clomp around in it like it's a Frankenstein boot. A normal stride is not possible as yet. But I'm virtually pain-free as long as I clomp around in that shoe.
I confess to keeping that left shoe on, but taking off the right shoe. Because it's really not that comfortable on my good foot, since while I was favoring the left foot, my right knee got out of whack. So I sometimes wear a different shoe on the right foot. Around the Mansion, of course. Not out in public. Yet.
Anyhoo...here's the deal. Those shoes are very old, and they STINK! I swear I can smell my feet when I'm just sitting around. It's not pleasant, but it is virtually pain free. Seems like my innernets told me that a walking boot is usually recommended for 3 weeks. So I figure I'm going to have stinky feet for a while longer.
Wednesday, August 29, 2018
Lightning Strikes Thrice
As you're reading this, I'm at our new favorite casino with Farmer H and my favorite gambling aunt! Auntie hasn't been to the casino since the last time she drove the two of us there, and she's never been to our new favorite. So we're going to have an afternoon on the town, and eat the buffet at 4:00 (because that's what old people do).
Don't you worry about Mrs. HM and Farmer H going broke! Farmer H had a stellar weekend at his Storage Unit Store, and Mrs. HM did pretty well for herself on scratchers last week. Pretty well, as in getting THREE winners of $100 in two days! For the Pics Or It Didn't Happen Crowd:
I got this $10 ticket on Thursday, August 23, at The Gas Station Chicken Store. The Man Owner himself sold it to me. I usually buy the $5 tickets, but I'd had two days worth of winners on $5 from the GSCS, so I went with this older $10. I'm glad I did! That third number wasn't a number at all, but a money symbol that means $100.
Friday, I got a couple of $5 tickets from Waterside Mart, when I stopped to buy Genius's two tickets to put in his letter. And when I went by the GSCS for my 44 oz Diet Coke, and to cash in my $100 winner, I decided to try the other (newest) $10 ticket they have there.
When I got home and started scratching, I found THIS:
I matched every number on that $5 ticket from Waterside Mart, totaling $100. Poor Genius. He doesn't know how close he came to winning it. I kept this one for myself, because it was # 026, and I had another ticket that was also # 026. So I kept the pair (the other one winning $20).
Of course I was simply THRILLED, because I'd won $100 on two consecutive days. Imagine my glee when I scratched my $10 ticket from the GSCS, and found:
Yes, that's another money symbol for a $100 winner! It was sold to me by the Asian Guy Clerk at the GSCS. I think Farmer H was happy for me, but sometimes he's a Bitter Betty because he seems to lose every time he buys a ticket.
When I cashed in my tickets Saturday at the GSCS, I told the Man Owner of my good fortune two days in a row from his store. They always like to hear that. Anyhoo...when I walked in for my magical elixir on Sunday, Man Owner said, "Hello, lady! I was going to ask you if I could borrow a hundred dollars!"
To which I replied, "Can't win a hundred dollars EVERY day! Just two days in a row!"
Let the record show that I am not sharing this with you to gloat. I'm letting your inner gambler live vicariously through my wins! I do it for THE PEOPLE!
Don't you worry about Mrs. HM and Farmer H going broke! Farmer H had a stellar weekend at his Storage Unit Store, and Mrs. HM did pretty well for herself on scratchers last week. Pretty well, as in getting THREE winners of $100 in two days! For the Pics Or It Didn't Happen Crowd:
I got this $10 ticket on Thursday, August 23, at The Gas Station Chicken Store. The Man Owner himself sold it to me. I usually buy the $5 tickets, but I'd had two days worth of winners on $5 from the GSCS, so I went with this older $10. I'm glad I did! That third number wasn't a number at all, but a money symbol that means $100.
Friday, I got a couple of $5 tickets from Waterside Mart, when I stopped to buy Genius's two tickets to put in his letter. And when I went by the GSCS for my 44 oz Diet Coke, and to cash in my $100 winner, I decided to try the other (newest) $10 ticket they have there.
When I got home and started scratching, I found THIS:
I matched every number on that $5 ticket from Waterside Mart, totaling $100. Poor Genius. He doesn't know how close he came to winning it. I kept this one for myself, because it was # 026, and I had another ticket that was also # 026. So I kept the pair (the other one winning $20).
Of course I was simply THRILLED, because I'd won $100 on two consecutive days. Imagine my glee when I scratched my $10 ticket from the GSCS, and found:
Yes, that's another money symbol for a $100 winner! It was sold to me by the Asian Guy Clerk at the GSCS. I think Farmer H was happy for me, but sometimes he's a Bitter Betty because he seems to lose every time he buys a ticket.
When I cashed in my tickets Saturday at the GSCS, I told the Man Owner of my good fortune two days in a row from his store. They always like to hear that. Anyhoo...when I walked in for my magical elixir on Sunday, Man Owner said, "Hello, lady! I was going to ask you if I could borrow a hundred dollars!"
To which I replied, "Can't win a hundred dollars EVERY day! Just two days in a row!"
Let the record show that I am not sharing this with you to gloat. I'm letting your inner gambler live vicariously through my wins! I do it for THE PEOPLE!
Tuesday, August 28, 2018
A Tale Of Two Vittles, Part 2: The Pie
Everybody knows that Mrs. HM is not a gourmet 5-star Michelin chef. However, she can open a can, and snip the top off a bag of frozen food with the best of them.
Last week, I had a hankerin' for Chicken Pot Pie. Oh, I've never made it. Don't even order it in a restaurant like Cracker Barrel on the rare once-every-ten-years that Farmer H takes me there (usually with a gift card). It's not even like we had a cold snap. But for some reason, I was fixated on Chicken Pot Pie.
My head danced with not-sugar-plums, imagining what goes into a Chicken Pot Pie. I've eaten the individual frozen pies back in my single days. I know that I wanted a nice crust, and the insides had to include diced carrots, potatoes, and peas. Along with some gloopy kind of filling so it wasn't dry. Oh, yeah...and chicken! I formulated what I thought would be a good recipe:
canned white meat chicken
frozen peas/carrots
frozen diced hash brown potatoes
cream of chicken soup
ground black pepper
diced onion
chopped garlic
crust
sour cream (thanks to the innernets, when I looked up recipes)
Yes, I'd hit all the major ingredients listed in quick Chicken Pot Pie recipes, and along with their not-mentioned garlic and onion and black pepper. I must say, the sour cream was a good addition to my gloopy part.
Of course Mrs. HM was not going to make her own crust. So a storebought one from the cooler section worked out just fine.
Mmm...I wish you had Taste-a-Blogsion! It was DELICIOUS! Farmer H was coming back to the kitchen for more before I even had mine in the bowl.
Let the record show that I made a big pie. It's bottomless. I used a 9 x 13 glass pan, coated with butter. Mixed all those ingredients together in a bowl, giving it a good stir. Then poured the filling into the glass pan, and topped with my storebought crust (it took two of the 9-inch crusts, but they came two-in-a-pack anyway). I poked a few holes in the crust, but not quite big enough, because in the last two minutes, my filling was bubbling up at the edges of the crust. I got it out of the oven before any leaked, though! I baked it at 425 (as the pie crust said) for 30-40 minutes. I started checking it at 30 minutes, and took it out at about 35, due to the bubbling, and crust looking ready.
Yes, I mangled mine taking it from pan to bowl. But did I mention that it was DELICIOUS?
Last week, I had a hankerin' for Chicken Pot Pie. Oh, I've never made it. Don't even order it in a restaurant like Cracker Barrel on the rare once-every-ten-years that Farmer H takes me there (usually with a gift card). It's not even like we had a cold snap. But for some reason, I was fixated on Chicken Pot Pie.
My head danced with not-sugar-plums, imagining what goes into a Chicken Pot Pie. I've eaten the individual frozen pies back in my single days. I know that I wanted a nice crust, and the insides had to include diced carrots, potatoes, and peas. Along with some gloopy kind of filling so it wasn't dry. Oh, yeah...and chicken! I formulated what I thought would be a good recipe:
canned white meat chicken
frozen peas/carrots
frozen diced hash brown potatoes
cream of chicken soup
ground black pepper
diced onion
chopped garlic
crust
sour cream (thanks to the innernets, when I looked up recipes)
Yes, I'd hit all the major ingredients listed in quick Chicken Pot Pie recipes, and along with their not-mentioned garlic and onion and black pepper. I must say, the sour cream was a good addition to my gloopy part.
Of course Mrs. HM was not going to make her own crust. So a storebought one from the cooler section worked out just fine.
Mmm...I wish you had Taste-a-Blogsion! It was DELICIOUS! Farmer H was coming back to the kitchen for more before I even had mine in the bowl.
Let the record show that I made a big pie. It's bottomless. I used a 9 x 13 glass pan, coated with butter. Mixed all those ingredients together in a bowl, giving it a good stir. Then poured the filling into the glass pan, and topped with my storebought crust (it took two of the 9-inch crusts, but they came two-in-a-pack anyway). I poked a few holes in the crust, but not quite big enough, because in the last two minutes, my filling was bubbling up at the edges of the crust. I got it out of the oven before any leaked, though! I baked it at 425 (as the pie crust said) for 30-40 minutes. I started checking it at 30 minutes, and took it out at about 35, due to the bubbling, and crust looking ready.
Yes, I mangled mine taking it from pan to bowl. But did I mention that it was DELICIOUS?
Monday, August 27, 2018
A Tale Of Two Vittles, Part 1: The Pinwheel
Everybody knows that Mrs. HM is crazy about Chicken Bacon Ranch Pinwheels. She makes a trip to The Devil's Playground twice a week to get them. They have been her standard lunch for at least a year now. Woe is Mrs. Hillbilly Mom when The Devil is fresh out of her pinwheels!
I was quite lucky a couple days ago, scoring FOUR of those delicious delicacies. Sure, they expire within two days, usually, but I'm not averse at eating past-date pinwheels. If the lettuce is too limp, I just peel that part off. As you can see, I'm not all that picky about my pinwheels. It's better than making them myself, which requires effort, too-thick tortillas, and wafered ham instead of bacon (which is just too much trouble).
There is one infraction where I must draw the line, though. I expect to have CHICKEN in my Chicken Bacon Ranch Pinwheels!
Yeah! I'm not all that picky! I'd even eat the limp lettuce on this one. And forgive the lack of bacon. But WHERE'S THE CHICKEN? That little sliver is hardly enough to keep a mouse alive!
I unroll my pinwheels to place the good parts on the end of the tortilla strip with enough left to wrap around, then tear off the excess tortilla. Sometimes I eat it afterwards with some crunchy BBQ potato chips, and sometimes I give the extra to the dogs. Thus I can see the shenanigans going on inside my Chicken Bacon Ranch Pinwheels.
The Truth in Blogging Law requires me to inform you that the other three pinwheels in this pack had the right amount of all ingredients. But imagine how much money The Devil will save if 25% of his pinwheels have no bacon and only a sliver of chicken!
I'm mad as Not-Heaven, but I'll probably still keep on taking it. Not worth a trip back to The Devil's Playground to complain to a 20-year-old deli worker. Not worth making my own pinwheels every day for a year.
I was quite lucky a couple days ago, scoring FOUR of those delicious delicacies. Sure, they expire within two days, usually, but I'm not averse at eating past-date pinwheels. If the lettuce is too limp, I just peel that part off. As you can see, I'm not all that picky about my pinwheels. It's better than making them myself, which requires effort, too-thick tortillas, and wafered ham instead of bacon (which is just too much trouble).
There is one infraction where I must draw the line, though. I expect to have CHICKEN in my Chicken Bacon Ranch Pinwheels!
Yeah! I'm not all that picky! I'd even eat the limp lettuce on this one. And forgive the lack of bacon. But WHERE'S THE CHICKEN? That little sliver is hardly enough to keep a mouse alive!
I unroll my pinwheels to place the good parts on the end of the tortilla strip with enough left to wrap around, then tear off the excess tortilla. Sometimes I eat it afterwards with some crunchy BBQ potato chips, and sometimes I give the extra to the dogs. Thus I can see the shenanigans going on inside my Chicken Bacon Ranch Pinwheels.
The Truth in Blogging Law requires me to inform you that the other three pinwheels in this pack had the right amount of all ingredients. But imagine how much money The Devil will save if 25% of his pinwheels have no bacon and only a sliver of chicken!
I'm mad as Not-Heaven, but I'll probably still keep on taking it. Not worth a trip back to The Devil's Playground to complain to a 20-year-old deli worker. Not worth making my own pinwheels every day for a year.
Sunday, August 26, 2018
At Least He's Not A One-Eyed Jack
Friday, on the way to the garage, I saw my (formerly Puppy) Jack rushing towards me across the porch. He was only using three legs! In fact, he held his right front leg out to the side. It looked like it was dislocated.
You can't keep a good dog down. Jack immediately jumped up and put his healthy left leg on my thigh, dancing around on his two good back legs. When I gently shooed him down, he was careful not to put his right front leg on the porch. He hopped around, hoping for a handful of cat kibble. While eating it, he cautiously rested his right front paw on the porch boards, putting no weight on it.
I sent a text to Farmer H immediately that something was wrong with Jack's leg. He said he'd look at it when he got home from his Storage Unit Store in a couple hours. Jack wasn't whimpering, but I know it had to bother him to be semi-immobile. Jack is ALL DOG, into everything, rushing here and there, yipping and yapping. But not now.
I tried to reason with myself that he'd be fine. After all, hadn't I been startled to see a young Juno walking about on her front wrists, with her paws flopping? And she was fine in two days. I guess she just had a sprain. Mentally, I was preparing myself for a trip to the vet with Jack. I'm pretty sure his lady is open on Saturday mornings. Even if Farmer did not agree, I was taking my Jack to the doctor if he wasn't better in a day.
When I came home from my errands, I met Farmer H on his tractor down by the creek. I saw Copper Jack poke his head out of the woods and trot towards us. He stopped midway, looking over his shoulder. I'm sure he was waiting for Jack, who did not appear. I drove to the Mansion, and Copper Jack took off running that direction, through the foliage instead of on the Farmer-H-maintained gravel road. He was there when I came out of the garage, but there was no sign of my Jack, or Juno. Farmer H said later that both Jacks and Juno had been following him, our little Jack keeping up just find, running on three legs, occasionally putting down the fourth.
Saturday morning, when I left for town, there was Jack, romping up the porch steps to await his cat kibble. He looked just fine. In fact, when I came home, he and his partner in name and crime met me behind the garage as I was getting the groceries out.
Looks like our little fella is going to be okay. Farmer H said that when he returned from the auction Friday night, both Jacks jumped off the concrete carport to chase the scattering squirrels. "That's when I knew he was fine. If he can jump off that three-foot drop into the back yard."
"Well, that might be how he hurt it to begin with. Or else Copper Jack got too rough when they were wrestling. They bite each others legs and roll around."
Jack is a sturdy little guy. He's built to last.
You can't keep a good dog down. Jack immediately jumped up and put his healthy left leg on my thigh, dancing around on his two good back legs. When I gently shooed him down, he was careful not to put his right front leg on the porch. He hopped around, hoping for a handful of cat kibble. While eating it, he cautiously rested his right front paw on the porch boards, putting no weight on it.
I sent a text to Farmer H immediately that something was wrong with Jack's leg. He said he'd look at it when he got home from his Storage Unit Store in a couple hours. Jack wasn't whimpering, but I know it had to bother him to be semi-immobile. Jack is ALL DOG, into everything, rushing here and there, yipping and yapping. But not now.
I tried to reason with myself that he'd be fine. After all, hadn't I been startled to see a young Juno walking about on her front wrists, with her paws flopping? And she was fine in two days. I guess she just had a sprain. Mentally, I was preparing myself for a trip to the vet with Jack. I'm pretty sure his lady is open on Saturday mornings. Even if Farmer did not agree, I was taking my Jack to the doctor if he wasn't better in a day.
When I came home from my errands, I met Farmer H on his tractor down by the creek. I saw Copper Jack poke his head out of the woods and trot towards us. He stopped midway, looking over his shoulder. I'm sure he was waiting for Jack, who did not appear. I drove to the Mansion, and Copper Jack took off running that direction, through the foliage instead of on the Farmer-H-maintained gravel road. He was there when I came out of the garage, but there was no sign of my Jack, or Juno. Farmer H said later that both Jacks and Juno had been following him, our little Jack keeping up just find, running on three legs, occasionally putting down the fourth.
Saturday morning, when I left for town, there was Jack, romping up the porch steps to await his cat kibble. He looked just fine. In fact, when I came home, he and his partner in name and crime met me behind the garage as I was getting the groceries out.
Looks like our little fella is going to be okay. Farmer H said that when he returned from the auction Friday night, both Jacks jumped off the concrete carport to chase the scattering squirrels. "That's when I knew he was fine. If he can jump off that three-foot drop into the back yard."
"Well, that might be how he hurt it to begin with. Or else Copper Jack got too rough when they were wrestling. They bite each others legs and roll around."
Jack is a sturdy little guy. He's built to last.
Saturday, August 25, 2018
The Neck Bone's Connected To The Shoulder Bone
Looks like Mrs. HM has suffered another old-folks injury in while reclining in her husband's La-Z-Boy. I felt it happen instantaneously when I shifted slightly, wallowing in my slothfulness. Now I have a sharp shooting pain at the inner edge of my right shoulder blade when I tilt my head down.
Do you know how many daily activities require tilting your head down? ALMOST ALL OF THEM! Including, but not limited to:
Getting up out of a La-Z-Boy.
Looking down at a laptop.
Looking down at a keyboard in front of a New Delly in a dark basement lair.
Eating a big salad.
Addressing an envelope for a weekly letter to a son.
Scratching a lottery ticket.
Reaching for the controller of an OPC (Old People Chair).
Since that trip to visit The Pony, barely a day has gone by without some type of debilitating pain. I'm starting to think I might be suffering from SelfPityalgia.
Do you know how many daily activities require tilting your head down? ALMOST ALL OF THEM! Including, but not limited to:
Getting up out of a La-Z-Boy.
Looking down at a laptop.
Looking down at a keyboard in front of a New Delly in a dark basement lair.
Eating a big salad.
Addressing an envelope for a weekly letter to a son.
Scratching a lottery ticket.
Reaching for the controller of an OPC (Old People Chair).
Since that trip to visit The Pony, barely a day has gone by without some type of debilitating pain. I'm starting to think I might be suffering from SelfPityalgia.
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