It's an ill-kept secret that Mrs. HM sleeps late. Goes to bed between 3:00 and 4:00 a.m., and rises around 9:30 or 10:00. The scammer calls last month, up to 36 per day, really cut into my beauty sleep. They started at the stroke of 9:00. Sometimes, I'd have 4 of them before 9:30. You can imagine my delight when they stopped, as if by magic, July 1.
Okay. There's definitely more to THAT story. But today, we're here to finish the final chapter of ANOTHER story.
I was happily snoozing Monday morning, in a rejuvenating, beautifying, sound slumber, having a pleasant dream that I cannot recall, which most likely involved me acquiring a large fortune. All at once, I was jolted from my ZZZZs by a loud pounding.
BAM!BAM!BAM!
Sweet Gummi Mary! What in the Not-Heaven was THAT? I did not jump up and run to the front door. What a folly that would have been. Mrs. HM does not have an ON switch that readies her for immediate action. First, I have to stretch, lest I break a bone or dislocate a joint springing out of bed abruptly. I am nowhere near as spry as that Charlie Bucket's Grandpa Joe, and me only sleeping for 5.5 hours, with him having been bedridden for 20 years.
I listened. Another round of bamming. Like angry townspeople had double-hand-sawed down a might oak, and were using it as a battering ram to storm the Mansion. The dogs were going crazy, too! I figured I might as well get up, since the time was 9:24.
After a leisurely trip to the bathroom, a switch from pajama top to pocket shirt, and absolutely no effort to smooth the bedhead haystacks of my lovely lady mullet... I shuffled to the front door. Jack came running to greet me, standing on his hind legs, licking my hand. He's a licker, that one! Can always spare some canine saliva for Mrs. HM.
As I looked down at Jack, sweet-talking him, because who can resist such a sweet little long half-dachshund with his bandit heeler mask (not this old gal)... I saw a box at the doorjamb.
Well! Looks like the second stick-on blood sugar tester thingy, which the gal from India had OVERNIGHTED to Farmer H last WEDNESDAY, had finally showed up on MONDAY. Good thing he's not dead yet. As you may recall from previous updates, Farmer H had been waiting on one of these (and eventually two) gadgets for almost two weeks.
Heh, heh! Here's what makes me happiest. As I told Farmer H when he came home:
"I hope that FedEx guy was crapping his pants with the three dogs surrounding him and barking their fool heads off!"
Serve him right, for leaving the last package of stick-on blood sugar tester thingy at a house a half mile down the road.
Nothing good ever comes from FedEx around the Mansion, except for an evil laugh at their expense.
Tuesday, July 9, 2019
Monday, July 8, 2019
Cat On A Hot Wood Shelf
There's nothing interesting going on around the Mansion these days. So I have nothing to share with you other than the pets.
This is Stockings, one of our two remaining cats. We found them abandoned down by the mailboxes when Genius was around 10. So these cats are about 14 years old now. After picking up three of the litter, Genius was forever hopeful of finding more every day. He'd put the window down, and cock his head.
"What are you doing?"
"SHH! I'm cat-listening!"
I think Genius was wishful-listening. He doesn't know how lucky he was that Farmer H gave permission to pick up ONE kitten. Then Genius said that The Pony should really get a kitten for himself, just to be fair. And when we got back with that one, Genius told Farmer H that there was only one kitten left down by the mailboxes, and it would be cruel to leave it by itself. That's how we got three kittens that day. Which joined the TWO cats we already had.
Anyhoo... Stockings is quite comfortable in the shelves Farmer H picked up along the road somewhere, planning to put in his side of the walk-in closet. About two years ago. Hmm... what is Stockings looking at?
Copper Jack, of course. He makes himself at home, unless Juno comes out of her house and objects. Since she's been laying around the chick pen where Marley is imprisoned, over by Shackytown, the porch is pretty safe. For Stockings, too. Copper Jack is not a chaser of cats, nor is Juno.
It was so hot this day that Copper Jack couldn't be bothered to stand up and walk over to the steps, where I was doling out the cat kibble to regular Jack.
This is Stockings, one of our two remaining cats. We found them abandoned down by the mailboxes when Genius was around 10. So these cats are about 14 years old now. After picking up three of the litter, Genius was forever hopeful of finding more every day. He'd put the window down, and cock his head.
"What are you doing?"
"SHH! I'm cat-listening!"
I think Genius was wishful-listening. He doesn't know how lucky he was that Farmer H gave permission to pick up ONE kitten. Then Genius said that The Pony should really get a kitten for himself, just to be fair. And when we got back with that one, Genius told Farmer H that there was only one kitten left down by the mailboxes, and it would be cruel to leave it by itself. That's how we got three kittens that day. Which joined the TWO cats we already had.
Anyhoo... Stockings is quite comfortable in the shelves Farmer H picked up along the road somewhere, planning to put in his side of the walk-in closet. About two years ago. Hmm... what is Stockings looking at?
Copper Jack, of course. He makes himself at home, unless Juno comes out of her house and objects. Since she's been laying around the chick pen where Marley is imprisoned, over by Shackytown, the porch is pretty safe. For Stockings, too. Copper Jack is not a chaser of cats, nor is Juno.
It was so hot this day that Copper Jack couldn't be bothered to stand up and walk over to the steps, where I was doling out the cat kibble to regular Jack.
Sunday, July 7, 2019
When Sugar And Spice Will Not Suffice
Here's a tale from Farmer H's Storage Unit Store.
Let the record show that Hillmomba is a rural area, and most families have a gun in the household. Not bragging, not apologizing, that's just the way it is. Kids grow up around them, are taught safety first, learn to shoot at cans in the back field, and sometimes go hunting with a parent. That's the culture here. Too bad if the thought of it makes some people's heads explode. Farmer H buys and sells guns at his Storage Unit Store, and at auctions. It's perfectly legal.
Saturday, Farmer H had a story.
"I've got a couple .22s at my Store. A guy was looking at one of them last weekend, for his granddaughter. He said, 'Do you think I could paint it pink?' And I said, 'You probably could, with that acrylic paint. I don't know why you couldn't.' He said he'd think about it. She wanted a pink gun. I bought one at the auction the other night. I figured this guy'll buy it the next time he comes around. It's brand new, in the box. Never been shot. Must have been a gift, because there's still some wrapping paper stuck to the corner.
Today, this other guy came in and was looking at it. He had his daughter with him. She was probably 10-11 years old. He was really excited, but she didn't seem to be. He said, 'Look here! We've been looking for a gun for you! Hold it! Let's see how it feels.' So the girl picked it up. She couldn't have been less interested. Acted like it was a chore. It's a small gun. The lightest one there is, a .22. She wasn't saying much, and the guy put it back in the box. He said he'd probably be back. I seen them walk by a couple of times, looking in.
A little bit later, the guy comes in by himself. He said, 'I want to buy a .22, but she don't like the pink! She wants a black gun. So I'll take that one. Here's $50 for you to hold, and I'm gonna run down to the ATM and get the rest. For the black one.' Heh, heh. That little girl didn't want the pink gun! So now I still have it to show my other guy, that wants one."
Ah. Such a heartwarming story from Farmer H, the gunmonger.
Let the record show that Hillmomba is a rural area, and most families have a gun in the household. Not bragging, not apologizing, that's just the way it is. Kids grow up around them, are taught safety first, learn to shoot at cans in the back field, and sometimes go hunting with a parent. That's the culture here. Too bad if the thought of it makes some people's heads explode. Farmer H buys and sells guns at his Storage Unit Store, and at auctions. It's perfectly legal.
Saturday, Farmer H had a story.
"I've got a couple .22s at my Store. A guy was looking at one of them last weekend, for his granddaughter. He said, 'Do you think I could paint it pink?' And I said, 'You probably could, with that acrylic paint. I don't know why you couldn't.' He said he'd think about it. She wanted a pink gun. I bought one at the auction the other night. I figured this guy'll buy it the next time he comes around. It's brand new, in the box. Never been shot. Must have been a gift, because there's still some wrapping paper stuck to the corner.
Today, this other guy came in and was looking at it. He had his daughter with him. She was probably 10-11 years old. He was really excited, but she didn't seem to be. He said, 'Look here! We've been looking for a gun for you! Hold it! Let's see how it feels.' So the girl picked it up. She couldn't have been less interested. Acted like it was a chore. It's a small gun. The lightest one there is, a .22. She wasn't saying much, and the guy put it back in the box. He said he'd probably be back. I seen them walk by a couple of times, looking in.
A little bit later, the guy comes in by himself. He said, 'I want to buy a .22, but she don't like the pink! She wants a black gun. So I'll take that one. Here's $50 for you to hold, and I'm gonna run down to the ATM and get the rest. For the black one.' Heh, heh. That little girl didn't want the pink gun! So now I still have it to show my other guy, that wants one."
Ah. Such a heartwarming story from Farmer H, the gunmonger.
Saturday, July 6, 2019
Doggone Farmer H
In the continuing saga of New Dog Marley...
When we took in HOS's dog after he moved to town, the plan was to keep Marley penned for a couple weeks, so he remembers where he's being fed, and gets used to our dogs barking and sniffing at him. He used to come down here now and then on his own, and get chased off by Juno and Jack. Like Jack, Marley has not had his very special operation, so they don't see eye-to-eye as who is top dog.
Thursday morning, Farmer H revealed that he'd let Marley out of the pen. Juno and Copper Jack left him alone. Jack barked and nipped at him when Marley barked and licked Jack. Then they all took off except for Jack, who laid under Farmer H's truck, watching him fiddle around with his junk. Heh, heh. I didn't really mean for that to have an unsavory connotation.
Noon rolled around, and Marley was nowhere to be found. The other dogs were all back, doing their usual thing, meaning they lolled around, and jumped up to pretend to chase off a squirrel when I got home, then hung around waiting for treats.
By late afternoon, our dogs were all back on the porch or under the carport. No sign of Marley. I hadn’t seen him along the road to town, or down by the mailboxes. Farmer H said he’d turn up, but I remembered when he lost my Sweet, Sweet Juno and he and Genius and The Pony didn’t tell me for 8 hours, and then found her by accident in the woods down by the mailboxes. They had knocked on the door of the only house, asking if they’d seen her. Genius heard whimpering, followed the sound across the road and into the woods, and found a frightened Juno. Scared of the Great Pyrenees who lived there.
I told Farmer H that he needed to get in the Gator and go up to HOS’s, because Marley probably went right back there, since he’d been kidnapped by HOS and brought down here. Farmer H responded by moving some gravel with the tractor, and mowing some grass, and taking a swim in Poolio, and then went up to HOS’s. Where he found Marley just wandering around, since his pen was dismantled, and his dog house turned over. HOS has a deadline for cleaning up his crap, or Farmer H is going to pile it up and burn it.
ANYHOO… Farmer H caught Marley (I would have liked to see that, since Jack and Copper Jack showed up and started chasing Marley) and put a rope on him and put him in the Gator and drove him home. He put Marley in the pen, but when he was getting water, Marley squeezed out the gate, and was running around with Jack. Farmer H caught him again and put him back in the pen. It might be hard to make him understand he lives here. Especially because HOS’s scent is up on the other property from coming out and moving his junk. Heh, heh.
But here’s my point. I’m sure you were wondering if there was one. Of ALL the days to let that little dog out too soon without a rope, Farmer H had to choose THE 4TH of JULY! You might recall how Genius the Cat disappeared on Labor Day weekend so many years ago, when all kinds of visitors were out here, and only returned a month later. And how that first little half-grown cat that liked to sit on top of my head disappeared the day after Farmer H’s work hayride, after a teenage girl had asked, “Can I have this cat?” And there’s also Poor Dumb Ann, who was never seen again the day after those guys put a metal roof on the garage. Any time strangers are out here, we seem to lose a pet. Not to mention that dogs generally don’t like THE 4TH of JULY, because of the fireworks noises. At least Farmer H got Marley back in the pen before he could run off due to that.
Farmer H now agrees that he let Marley out too soon, and that he'll use a rope for a while. I told him that somebody at the Storage Units is probably selling little harnesses and leashes, so he needs to do some shopping on Saturday when he's doing business at his Storage Unit Store.
When we took in HOS's dog after he moved to town, the plan was to keep Marley penned for a couple weeks, so he remembers where he's being fed, and gets used to our dogs barking and sniffing at him. He used to come down here now and then on his own, and get chased off by Juno and Jack. Like Jack, Marley has not had his very special operation, so they don't see eye-to-eye as who is top dog.
Thursday morning, Farmer H revealed that he'd let Marley out of the pen. Juno and Copper Jack left him alone. Jack barked and nipped at him when Marley barked and licked Jack. Then they all took off except for Jack, who laid under Farmer H's truck, watching him fiddle around with his junk. Heh, heh. I didn't really mean for that to have an unsavory connotation.
Noon rolled around, and Marley was nowhere to be found. The other dogs were all back, doing their usual thing, meaning they lolled around, and jumped up to pretend to chase off a squirrel when I got home, then hung around waiting for treats.
By late afternoon, our dogs were all back on the porch or under the carport. No sign of Marley. I hadn’t seen him along the road to town, or down by the mailboxes. Farmer H said he’d turn up, but I remembered when he lost my Sweet, Sweet Juno and he and Genius and The Pony didn’t tell me for 8 hours, and then found her by accident in the woods down by the mailboxes. They had knocked on the door of the only house, asking if they’d seen her. Genius heard whimpering, followed the sound across the road and into the woods, and found a frightened Juno. Scared of the Great Pyrenees who lived there.
I told Farmer H that he needed to get in the Gator and go up to HOS’s, because Marley probably went right back there, since he’d been kidnapped by HOS and brought down here. Farmer H responded by moving some gravel with the tractor, and mowing some grass, and taking a swim in Poolio, and then went up to HOS’s. Where he found Marley just wandering around, since his pen was dismantled, and his dog house turned over. HOS has a deadline for cleaning up his crap, or Farmer H is going to pile it up and burn it.
ANYHOO… Farmer H caught Marley (I would have liked to see that, since Jack and Copper Jack showed up and started chasing Marley) and put a rope on him and put him in the Gator and drove him home. He put Marley in the pen, but when he was getting water, Marley squeezed out the gate, and was running around with Jack. Farmer H caught him again and put him back in the pen. It might be hard to make him understand he lives here. Especially because HOS’s scent is up on the other property from coming out and moving his junk. Heh, heh.
But here’s my point. I’m sure you were wondering if there was one. Of ALL the days to let that little dog out too soon without a rope, Farmer H had to choose THE 4TH of JULY! You might recall how Genius the Cat disappeared on Labor Day weekend so many years ago, when all kinds of visitors were out here, and only returned a month later. And how that first little half-grown cat that liked to sit on top of my head disappeared the day after Farmer H’s work hayride, after a teenage girl had asked, “Can I have this cat?” And there’s also Poor Dumb Ann, who was never seen again the day after those guys put a metal roof on the garage. Any time strangers are out here, we seem to lose a pet. Not to mention that dogs generally don’t like THE 4TH of JULY, because of the fireworks noises. At least Farmer H got Marley back in the pen before he could run off due to that.
Farmer H now agrees that he let Marley out too soon, and that he'll use a rope for a while. I told him that somebody at the Storage Units is probably selling little harnesses and leashes, so he needs to do some shopping on Saturday when he's doing business at his Storage Unit Store.
Friday, July 5, 2019
The Prisoner Of Chick-Pen-Da
Here's a well-kept secret: we have a new pet here at the Mansion.
We didn't plan on getting a new pet. We have my Sweet, Sweet Juno and (formerly known as Puppy) Jack.
We even have Copper Jack always hanging around, as if he lives here. He does not.
So you can see, we don't actually NEED another pet. Even though I peruse the pound pups every Sunday in the local online newspaper.
Let the record show that Mrs. HM is much more attuned to helping people than The Pony. So when HOS (Farmer H's Oldest Son) started packing up to move from our upper 10 acres over to Hick House in town... I grew concerned for his pets. Not so much that behemoth of a short-haired brown dog that makes Marmaduke look small. But his other dog. The little yippy fluffy one.
That's Marley. Over in our former chick pen. Not a permanent home. Only a holding cell until Marley realizes that he belongs here now. HOS took the BIG DOG to town, and is keeping it in Hick House. I wouldn't. But that's just me. That dog sleeps upstairs in the bedroom of HOS's 10-year-old son. Marley is an outside dog. Mostly, he ran free, until he started following HOS's car when he left. Had his own pen and dog house up at HOS's other place, for when they were going somewhere. He'll get a house on the end of the porch here, once he learns where he belongs now.
I'm not sure what kind of dog Marley is. I AM sure that I'm kind of mad at both Farmer H and HOS. Farmer H had already told HOS that we would take Marley. That's not the part I'm mad about. It was actually my idea, because I know that Marley can't run loose in town, and isn't a house dog. I don't think it's fair to a dog to keep it in a pen or on a chain for life. Anyhoo... we'll start with my madness at HOS.
Last weekend, Farmer H started over to the BARn, and FOUND Marley in the chick pen. That's the little pen inside a pen where Farmer H put the hens who had just hatched their brood. Nobody had bothered to tell us of Marley's arrival! That's dirty pool right there! Poor Marley! The best Farmer H could figure, after talking to HOSS (Farmer H's Oldest Son's Son), Marley had been there anywhere from a day to two days.
Farmer H got Marley a big pan of food (seen in the picture). He was pretty ravenous. Although I'm not sure he could be slightly ravenous. Good thing there was a bucket that had been catching the rainwater. I can't believe the other dogs didn't plant themselves outside the fence and bark their fool heads off! Then Marley might have been fed sooner.
This is getting a little long, so I will finish the Farmer H madness tomorrow!
We didn't plan on getting a new pet. We have my Sweet, Sweet Juno and (formerly known as Puppy) Jack.
We even have Copper Jack always hanging around, as if he lives here. He does not.
So you can see, we don't actually NEED another pet. Even though I peruse the pound pups every Sunday in the local online newspaper.
Let the record show that Mrs. HM is much more attuned to helping people than The Pony. So when HOS (Farmer H's Oldest Son) started packing up to move from our upper 10 acres over to Hick House in town... I grew concerned for his pets. Not so much that behemoth of a short-haired brown dog that makes Marmaduke look small. But his other dog. The little yippy fluffy one.
That's Marley. Over in our former chick pen. Not a permanent home. Only a holding cell until Marley realizes that he belongs here now. HOS took the BIG DOG to town, and is keeping it in Hick House. I wouldn't. But that's just me. That dog sleeps upstairs in the bedroom of HOS's 10-year-old son. Marley is an outside dog. Mostly, he ran free, until he started following HOS's car when he left. Had his own pen and dog house up at HOS's other place, for when they were going somewhere. He'll get a house on the end of the porch here, once he learns where he belongs now.
I'm not sure what kind of dog Marley is. I AM sure that I'm kind of mad at both Farmer H and HOS. Farmer H had already told HOS that we would take Marley. That's not the part I'm mad about. It was actually my idea, because I know that Marley can't run loose in town, and isn't a house dog. I don't think it's fair to a dog to keep it in a pen or on a chain for life. Anyhoo... we'll start with my madness at HOS.
Last weekend, Farmer H started over to the BARn, and FOUND Marley in the chick pen. That's the little pen inside a pen where Farmer H put the hens who had just hatched their brood. Nobody had bothered to tell us of Marley's arrival! That's dirty pool right there! Poor Marley! The best Farmer H could figure, after talking to HOSS (Farmer H's Oldest Son's Son), Marley had been there anywhere from a day to two days.
Farmer H got Marley a big pan of food (seen in the picture). He was pretty ravenous. Although I'm not sure he could be slightly ravenous. Good thing there was a bucket that had been catching the rainwater. I can't believe the other dogs didn't plant themselves outside the fence and bark their fool heads off! Then Marley might have been fed sooner.
This is getting a little long, so I will finish the Farmer H madness tomorrow!
Thursday, July 4, 2019
The Frog Is Beginning To Simmer
For anybody who thought I'd lost my dang mind a few days ago, ranting about how Farmer H's medical team is trying to slowly kill him... I find it necessary to provide updates. I still stand by my suspicions. Like a frog heated in a pot a few degrees at a time, Farmer H isn't aware that they're trying to kill him!
Sweet Gummi Mary! I'm shocked that Farmer H isn't already in his death throes. As you recall, last Friday, he finally got through to the company that provides his stick-on blood sugar tester thingy, which was giving him readings of 46, when a stick showed 126. The lady assured him, after a 52-minute phone call, that she was sending out a new tester, and Farmer H should receive it within two business days. Farmer H assumed he would get it on Wednesday.
Wednesday, I got a package in the mail, which I assumed was Farmer H's propane gas connector thingy that he ordered for the camper. I've been tracking it, and saw that it was at the dead mouse smelling post office at 8:02 a.m. So I figured it would arrive in the day's mail. When I called Farmer H to say his gas connector was here, he said,
"But what about my stick-on blood sugar tester thingy? It was supposed to get here today."
"Well. You didn't actually TELL me when it was arriving. Have you been tracking it? I guess that could be it in the box. It's on the back seat, and I'm driving right now."
"Was it heavy?"
"Yeah. Kind of. And I felt it moving around when I slanted the box. Which is smashed on one corner, so I hope it isn't damaged."
"No. That would be the gas connector. So I guess I'm going to need to call them people back again about my tester. She said two business days."
When I stopped in town, I saw that the package was indeed Farmer H's gas connector. I sent him a text to confirm. He called the medical supplier about his stick-on blood sugar tester thingy. Got another gal in India. She said there was no record of it being mailed out. But she saw where he'd been told he was getting one shipped to him. There was just no tracking record for it. So she didn't know where it was. She said she'd send him one next-day air. Farmer H pointed out that Thursday was the 4th of July holiday. That gal said he'd have it by Friday.
Well. What other choice did Farmer H have? None. He'd been without his tester for a week, after it had been giving him wrong readings for the week before that. I'm pretty sure that's not the standard of care a doctor (or even a nurse practitioner) wants for an elderly man with The Diabeetus.
Anyhoo... Farmer H was over at back-creek neighbor Bev's house, charging her air conditioner, when I started supper. I'd just plopped down in the La-Z-Boy to wait on a baked potato when the house phone rang. Of course I hadn't carried it to the chair with me. I didn't jump up to answer, because of all the unwanted calls we've been getting from would-be old-people scammers. I listened, and the lady leaving the message gave a name I didn't recognize, and said
"We live down by the little bridge, and seem to have gotten your mail delivered on our porch. It looks like medical supplies--"
I jumped up and hobbled to the phone to answer. She added that the FED EX man left it on the porch and drove off without knocking. They only found it later, after the downpour, and the boxes were wet from the rain! She said Farmer H could drive by and pick them up, no need to knock. So I called him, and he got them on the way back from back creek neighbor Bev's.
Farmer H opened them up, and the boxes packed inside the boxes were still dry. So now he has this new set, and another one due to arrive (SOMEWHERE) on Friday. I told him he's going to be prosecuted for medical fraud!
Farmer H says he isn't going to send the Friday set back until the company mails him a return label. That way there will be a record of the package.
Sweet Gummi Mary! I'm shocked that Farmer H isn't already in his death throes. As you recall, last Friday, he finally got through to the company that provides his stick-on blood sugar tester thingy, which was giving him readings of 46, when a stick showed 126. The lady assured him, after a 52-minute phone call, that she was sending out a new tester, and Farmer H should receive it within two business days. Farmer H assumed he would get it on Wednesday.
Wednesday, I got a package in the mail, which I assumed was Farmer H's propane gas connector thingy that he ordered for the camper. I've been tracking it, and saw that it was at the dead mouse smelling post office at 8:02 a.m. So I figured it would arrive in the day's mail. When I called Farmer H to say his gas connector was here, he said,
"But what about my stick-on blood sugar tester thingy? It was supposed to get here today."
"Well. You didn't actually TELL me when it was arriving. Have you been tracking it? I guess that could be it in the box. It's on the back seat, and I'm driving right now."
"Was it heavy?"
"Yeah. Kind of. And I felt it moving around when I slanted the box. Which is smashed on one corner, so I hope it isn't damaged."
"No. That would be the gas connector. So I guess I'm going to need to call them people back again about my tester. She said two business days."
When I stopped in town, I saw that the package was indeed Farmer H's gas connector. I sent him a text to confirm. He called the medical supplier about his stick-on blood sugar tester thingy. Got another gal in India. She said there was no record of it being mailed out. But she saw where he'd been told he was getting one shipped to him. There was just no tracking record for it. So she didn't know where it was. She said she'd send him one next-day air. Farmer H pointed out that Thursday was the 4th of July holiday. That gal said he'd have it by Friday.
Well. What other choice did Farmer H have? None. He'd been without his tester for a week, after it had been giving him wrong readings for the week before that. I'm pretty sure that's not the standard of care a doctor (or even a nurse practitioner) wants for an elderly man with The Diabeetus.
Anyhoo... Farmer H was over at back-creek neighbor Bev's house, charging her air conditioner, when I started supper. I'd just plopped down in the La-Z-Boy to wait on a baked potato when the house phone rang. Of course I hadn't carried it to the chair with me. I didn't jump up to answer, because of all the unwanted calls we've been getting from would-be old-people scammers. I listened, and the lady leaving the message gave a name I didn't recognize, and said
"We live down by the little bridge, and seem to have gotten your mail delivered on our porch. It looks like medical supplies--"
I jumped up and hobbled to the phone to answer. She added that the FED EX man left it on the porch and drove off without knocking. They only found it later, after the downpour, and the boxes were wet from the rain! She said Farmer H could drive by and pick them up, no need to knock. So I called him, and he got them on the way back from back creek neighbor Bev's.
Farmer H opened them up, and the boxes packed inside the boxes were still dry. So now he has this new set, and another one due to arrive (SOMEWHERE) on Friday. I told him he's going to be prosecuted for medical fraud!
Farmer H says he isn't going to send the Friday set back until the company mails him a return label. That way there will be a record of the package.
Wednesday, July 3, 2019
The Gas Station Chicken Store Is A Saucy Temptress
Every day when I belly up to the checkout counter at The Gas Station Chicken Store, I look at the culinary delights that have been set before me. To tempt me into a last-minute purchase. It was here, after all, where I discovered the coconut-flavored M&Ms. I'm pretty sure they are no longer available. Not for my lack of purchase, however. I got some whenever I could find them. I usually resist the counter wares, with that one exception, and also a lemon-icing little snack cake a few years ago.
Anyhoo... I was intrigued by this new product, and snapped a photo while the newest clerk guy was scanning my winning scratchers.
I think I was more intrigued by the name: Elfin Mix. It was something I thought might appeal to The Pony. After all, when we used to watch Big Brother together in summers past, he wanted a particular contestant to win. I, myself, did not see anything special in her. A kind of mousy twenty-something gal with glasses, who purported to be a math major at an Ivy League college. The Pony declared, "How can you NOT like her? She's an Elven Princess!"
Anyhoo... I sent The Pony this picture, and he replied almost immediately.
"Eww. You don't mix sweet and salty."
Huh. He seems to forget that when we go to the movies, I put Reese's Pieces in my popcorn. I did not, however, buy the Elfin Mix. It looks tasty enough to me, without the pretzels. I like pretzels just fine as pretzels, though. Alone. Not in a mix with cookies and candy and caramel corn. Not chocolate-covered.
And especially not inside M&Ms, which I think is a new flavor I don't plan to try.
Anyhoo... I was intrigued by this new product, and snapped a photo while the newest clerk guy was scanning my winning scratchers.
I think I was more intrigued by the name: Elfin Mix. It was something I thought might appeal to The Pony. After all, when we used to watch Big Brother together in summers past, he wanted a particular contestant to win. I, myself, did not see anything special in her. A kind of mousy twenty-something gal with glasses, who purported to be a math major at an Ivy League college. The Pony declared, "How can you NOT like her? She's an Elven Princess!"
Anyhoo... I sent The Pony this picture, and he replied almost immediately.
"Eww. You don't mix sweet and salty."
Huh. He seems to forget that when we go to the movies, I put Reese's Pieces in my popcorn. I did not, however, buy the Elfin Mix. It looks tasty enough to me, without the pretzels. I like pretzels just fine as pretzels, though. Alone. Not in a mix with cookies and candy and caramel corn. Not chocolate-covered.
And especially not inside M&Ms, which I think is a new flavor I don't plan to try.
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