It's Deja Clue-less All Over Again

Too soon? It's only been one week since I told you about The Pony taking the last three Ritz Crackers out of the box, and LEAVING THE EMPTY BOX ON THE COUNTER! Of course I pointed out the error of his ways. He just forgot, he said. 

You may recall that Farmer H, in one of his many subtle and not-so-subtle attempts to kill me, gifted me with a giant Valentine heart of not-very-good chocolates. For my birthday, along with scratchers, he gave me a bag of assorted DOVE Chocolates. The bag had milk chocolate, dark chocolate, and caramel. 

The Pony likes chocolate. He had his own Valentine heart, brand-name (!), which he ate forthwith. I'm not a chocolate-gorger. Each day when The Pony carried my lunch tray down those 13 rail-less steps, I told him he could have some of my DOVES. I didn't like the caramel kind anyway. So The Pony would have one or two. Not every day. He ate most of the milk chocolate and caramel varieties. 

On Tuesday, I finished the dark chocolate DOVES. Not bad. That bag lasted three weeks! There was one milk chocolate, and one caramel left in the bag. It was on the chair at the bottom of the stairs. When The Pony took my tray down on Wednesday, he said,

"Are there any of your DOVES left that I can have?"

"Yeah. There are two. I was saving them for you."

"Mmm!"

Down the stairs went The Pony, on his young coltish legs. He delivered my tray. I was putting on my SHOE before walking down the steps. I wasn't looking into the stairwell. Up came The Pony, chewing on chocolate. He was empty-handed.

"Did you get both pieces?"

"Yeah. You said I could have them, right?"

"Yes. But I don't see the bag."

"Oh."

"Don't tell me you took the last two pieces of chocolate, and LEFT THE EMPTY BAG ON THE CHAIR!"

"I didn't want to fill up that Walmart bag that you have hanging by your chair."

"Um. You were coming up here, where the main wastebasket is!"

"I just didn't want to carry it upstairs."

"I can't figure out where I went wrong. I'm pretty sure I told you the right thing to do during your formative years. And just last week, I lectured you about the empty Ritz box!"

By now The Pony was reclining in Farmer H's chair, laptop on lap.

"Um. Let's see... wasn't it I who threw away all your empty Puffs boxes in your office?"

"Don't change the subject! They're bulky, and I had to carry up my own trash back then!"

Can you believe the nerve of that little nag?

I guess the DOVE bag is going to live on that chair until I refuse to let The Pony back upstairs without it.

Hillmomba, We Have A Problem [Again]

You know I'm a fan of pinwheels. Not the chocolate and marshmallow cookies that are so tasty. Nor the wind-spinning toy on a stick. I mean the meat and cheese tortilla roll-ups that I occasionally have for lunch. The Devil's Playground got me hooked, and then smallered their sizes, and eventually discontinued them. Or else customers got there ahead of me, and lined up like ball-boys at Wimbledon to grab them off the deli shelf before I got there.

Anyhoo... I found pinwheels again last year at Country Mart. Which is now called Harp's, but will always be Country Mart to me. You know I've had issues with the Country Mart pinwheels. The last issue being the two tall twin towers in the middle of the pack. Well. Their size, and the fact that I gave them to The Pony, and he said there was a giant spot of mold on the tomato. 

On March 2, I found two packs of pinwheels in Country Mart. They've been missing for a couple weeks. Perhaps not so much missing, as relocated around the corner to the cheese case, and no longer by the hot deli counter. I stopped to look at them. You can never be too careful of expiration dates in Country Mart. 

Aha! The first container had an expiration date of March 1. I put it back, and told the little old lady waiting for me to get out of the way, "Uh uh! No way am I buying something that's already a day past the date!" I reached for the second container of pinwheels. It was good until March 4. It was also heavier than Genius's 12-pound cat, Genius, who let out a feline UMPH! every time he jumped down from the side porch. Okay. Maybe not quite 12 pounds for the pinwheels, but they were heavier than normal. The cat Genius was indeed 12 pounds, verified by our vet during a checkup, with advice to slim him down.

Anyhoo... I couldn't wait to get home and show The Pony those pinwheels!

 

Country Mart has a bit of a quality control problem. Goldilocks would not find lunchtime satisfaction there. You have your GIANT pinwheels, and your emaciated pinwheels.

Heh, heh! If my two regulars, Sioux and River, could have joined me for lunch, I would have spared a pinwheel for each of you. River would get the one up top, on the right, because she has farther to travel, and needs more sustenance. Sioux would get the middle squished pinwheel on the left, because she would only burn that energy for nefarious purposes, such as fiddling about with the soda fountain at the Gas Station Chicken Store.

Oh, lookie here, Sioux! A closeup of your pinwheel:

Feast your eyes on that, because your stomach will be going hungry as it devours the other side:

 

Hope that doesn't leave you too bloated to make mischief. River's portion was actually better-looking on the flip side. But where's the fun in taking a picture of THAT?

I will say that the fillings were fresh, and the meat of a thicker thickness than usual. I will be keeping an eye on this pinwheel situation. Some further sampling might be necessary. You know. For quality control purposes.

The Phones Have Ears

I am living in a horror movie of my own making. Not a serious horror movie. Not like those I avoid, even switching channels to miss the commercials for them. More like a mild horror movie. A Tuesday Night Movie meek enough for prime time. Or an episode of the Almost-Dusk Zone. No shattering glass in my intro. Just the window sash falling down onto the frame with a not-too-loud THUD.

Tuesday I picked up the mail. Only a bank statement, two investment statements, a magazine from my retired teachers association, and a little booklet thingy from a company I ordered from at Christmas. We'll call it by its opposites, rather than the actual name, which might start me receiving emails from it again: Common Bads. Or by synonyms: Unusual Not-Bads.

Anyhoo... I put the envelopes in my purse. The Pony came out to carry in some groceries, and also brought in the bigger mail. Once inside, he was taking the mail out of a grocery bag.

"That's all junk. Just throw it away. I have the envelopes in my purse that I want to keep."

"Are you sure you want to throw away your teacher's retirement magazine?"

"Yeah. I don't have time for it."

I put my lunch on a tray, and got my magical elixir infused with cherry powder and lime powder. The Pony carried it down while I changed into my lairwear. Then I descended to my own private restaurant. 

I hadn't even had a chance to sit down when the phone in my pocket made the sound of an incoming delivery to my gmail box. When I checked, I saw that it was from...

MISSOURI RETIRED TEACHERS ASSOCIATION

Of course I had to send The Pony a text.

"The minute I got down here, an email came in from retired teachers. They KNOW I threw away their magazine!"

The Pony did not respond. It's almost as if something didn't want me to be heard.

Only Old Baby Blue, And Perhaps The Pony, Could Have Been More Traumatized

I shudder to inflict this upon your tender psyches, but remember when The Pony was sent upstairs to get my favorite sweatshirt, Old Baby Blue, and encountered a naked Farmer H walking across the living room, holding Old Baby Blue over his private area?

 

Yeah. Well. The Pony will never be the same again, either. But I had a traumatic experience of my own on Monday, when I prepared for my daily shower. No. You can unclench your rumpus. Farmer H's private area isn't involved...directly.

 

I turn on the shower water to warm up, and go to the sink to brush my teeth. My toothbrush lies across a wooden toothbrush holder mounted on the wall on the left side of the sink. It has four holes in it, but my toothbrush sits all the way down in them. I don't want the wet brush part of my toothbrush against wood 23 hours and 55 minutes a day. It would be different if the shape of the toothbrush meant that the plastic part kept the brush area from falling down against the wood.

Anyhoo... The Pony keeps his toothbrush in his own bathroom. Farmer H prefers his lying on top of the metal shower door frame. So mine is all by itself on that wood holder. I just lay it across the big hole in the middle that might be for a cup. The brush end is free, hanging over the edge, touching nothing.

After brushing my teeth, I rinsed out my toothbrush. Shook out the excess water into the sink. And set it back across the wooden holder. Except I didn't. That toothbrush slipped as I was laying it down! It hit the edge of the wooden holder, and 

 

FLIPPED OUT OVER THE EDGE OF THE VANITY, SPIRALING END OVER END THROUGH THE TWO-FOOT SPACE BETWEEN THE VANITY AND BIG TRIANGLE TUB!

It reminded me of that flare [you can see it in the first 20 seconds of this 3:52 clip] Brendan Fraser threw at the end of Journey to the Center of the Earth, trying to hit a vein of magnesium in the rock wall, and cause an explosion to blast them out to the surface of the Earth.

Only my toothbrush did not end up being sterilized by a fiery explosion. My toothbrush

LANDED IN A PILE OF FARMER H's DIRTY TIGHTY-WHITIES AND SOCKS!

I am sure you realize that my horror did not involve the socks. I gasped! I'm surprised I didn't faint from hyperventilation. I grabbed my toothbrush with finger and thumb, and swished it under the hot water stream for what seemed longer than necessary, then again not long enough. 

I'm pretty sure I should just burn it. There are other toothbrushes in the drawer. But I'll still have to touch that one to dispose of it. 

I notified The Pony by text, during his nightly big triangle tub soak.

 

"Forgot to tell you, the most horrific thing happened to me before my shower."

"Oh?"

"My toothbrush flipped off the holder and landed in Dad's dirty underwear on that hamper lid! My fault. Butterfingers, not paranormal."

"Even the ghosts aren't that cruel."

I Stopped The World And Knelt With You

That's The Pony's new single. A song written (by me, with heave plagiarization) as a tribute to his college friend, 2nd Bestie. She's back at school now. They text quite often. You may recall that she's the one who ate a year-old chocolate chip cookie she found on the floor of The Pony's car. I believe she DID offer him first crack at it.

2nd Bestie drove down for a couple of lunches and visits with The Pony over the holidays. She brought him some cookies in January, which he thoughtfully shared with Farmer H and me.

"Oh, Mom. 2nd Bestie and her mom made cookies, and she brought me some. They put some design in them, and I'm not sure exactly what spices. You should try one."

I did. I'm pretty sure they were made from a roll of those Halloween cookies that you slice off and bake. Because the orange design in the middle was a pumpkin. The same for each cookie. Not a variation among them. The spices, I surmise, were just the out-gassing of four-month-old cookies. Not that I would cast aspersions on anyone using four-month-expired foodstuffs... IF they found them and baked them. I might write a snarky blog post, though, about cookies that had been baked and left sitting around for four months. Let the record show that Farmer H loved them!

Anyhoo... it's the thought that counts, right?

The Pony started texting me furiously (as in SPEEDILY, not ANGRILY) from the big triangle tub during his Saturday night soak.

"Want to hear about 2nd Bestie's latest culinary crime?"

"YES! As long as she's not having her stomach pumped!"

"So. It involves oatmeal."

"Ugh."

"It started with her thinking 'Currently wondering how many regrettable things I can fit in a bowl of oatmeal. The answer was six. Want to guess what they were? Or just hear'm?"

"How many floor ingredients? It will narrow down my guesses."

"Zero. It's more of a 'these things are not oatmeal things.'"

"Savory?"

"Some of them."

"I will guess six. Ramen, Hot Dog, Cheese, Peanut Butter, Gummi Worms, Jelly."

"You have one correct."

"Oh my gosh! More than I hoped! Was it sweet?"

"No."

"Six more guesses... coming up. Egg, Cracker, Ketchup, Pickle, Chocolate, Pasta."

"You have none correct. One is tangentially related, though."

"Last six. Paste SAUCE, Honey, Bacon, Mayo, Syrup, Tater Tot."

"None. Ready for the list?"

"Yes."

"Fish, Cabbage, Vinegar, Curry, Peanut Butter, Cocoa Powder."

"Curry I would never have guessed. Nor Fish. Is she off the toilet yet?"

"Eww, Mom!"

"I just though it might upset her delicate digestive system..."

Anyhoo... here's the first couple of verses to the new release:

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I Stopped the World and Knelt With You

 

Moving forward after fearing death

Making food with you was always second best

I saw the meal thrashing all around your face

Never really knowing what had been upon that plate

 

I stopped the world and knelt with you

I've made the exodus and I'm getting better all the time

There's nothing that's inedible to you 

I stopped the world and knelt with you

Driving With Lazy

I am the chauffeur again, now that The Pony is back home. Not that he agrees to ride with me very often. He's a homebody unless lured out by food. For our weekly takeout on Friday, we chose Little Caesar's. Not Farmer H. He had other plans. But The Pony and I decided on pizza and breadsticks. He made some pointed references to eating the last of his leftovers on the THIRD DAY. So I casually mentioned that I wouldn't feed any pizza to the dogs unless it was sitting out on the counter in their treat area.

Anyhoo... The Pony ordered online, and rode with me so he could go in and pick it up out of the heated drawers, or whatever dispensing system Little Caesar uses now. When The Pony came back to T-Hoe, arms full of boxes and sauces and bags, he made a pointed comment after he opened the passenger door.

"It's not like I could use any help getting the door open."

"Heh, heh! I don't know what you think I'M going to do! I can't lean across the console and reach the door handle. T-Hoe doesn't have a magic button that opens the door like the back hatch. I'm not getting out to walk around!" [The Pony could have a long gray beard by the time I got there.]

The Pony set a 2-liter bottle of Pepsi on the passenger seat, then opened the back door and set my pizza and breadsticks there, along with the extra sauces. Then he closed that door and brought his pizza and breadsticks back up front to eat on the drive home. He climbed up on the running board like a surefooted mountain goat, using nary a hand on the OH BLEEP handle for assistance, and sat down while still holding his food with both hands.

"OH! THAT'S what I sat on!"

The Pony put the pizzas on the dash, and reached behind his back to extract the 2-liter bottle of Pepsi.

"Well, PRINCESS! You certainly wouldn't have felt a PEA! Forget about under a pile of mattresses. You'd have that pea up in your nether regions by now, and not even know it until it started blooming!"

"Hush up! That is not funny."

"Come on! I can see the corners of your mouth trying not to laugh. Admit it!"

"No. I won't."

But I could still see the twitching. A few miles down the road, The Pony started coughing.

"What's the matter, is that pea trying to come out the other end?"

"No. You know I always cough after I eat. Just like Dad always sneezes about 10 times after HE eats. And you always say, 'COVID!'"

"It's still part of my princess joke."

"Which wasn't funny to begin with."

"You know it WAS! Dang it. This car behind me is trying to get into the back hatch like a pea up your butt!"

"Oh, you mean the car that is driving perfectly legally, but DARES to drive on your precious back road?"

"No. It dares to drive like it doesn't have a passenger eating pizza out of an open box, dipping breadsticks in butter, and swigging out of a 2-liter bottle of Pepsi!"

I didn't get a response for that one. I'm pretty sure that INSIDE, The Pony was chuckling. He's an odd duck. A whole different animal from Genius, who I could get to laugh out loud until he couldn't catch a breath.

How Untouched Is That Doggie In The Meadow

I saw a little dog running through a field Thursday, on my way home from town.

It was the field across from where the guy used to have sheep, with that herding dog guarding them. The other field used to have cows grazing sometimes. Or it was left empty, and hay baled a couple times late summer. So the field isn't all grown over, but it's not mowed yard-short, either.

I'd just turned the first sharp curve, to the left, and was headed to the next sharp curve, to the right, at the corner of this field. To my right, I saw a little gray dog running across the field in my direction. He had that look of a half-grown pup. An adolescent. Kind of thin, not muscular.

"Oh, no! I hope he doesn't run under the barbed-wire and in front of T-Hoe!"

He was a gray, short-haired dog. Bigger than Jack, but smaller than Juno. I didn't see a collar. His coat looked fairly smooth, not curly, not silky. His ears stood up, kind of big on his head. Maybe like a heeler's ears. Not quite as big, proportionally, as a corgi's ears. His tail was medium length. Pointy, like Jack's, not feathery, like Juno's.

As T-Hoe got closer to the point where our paths would intersect, that little doggie put on the brakes! He turned and trotted back towards the middle of the field, headed for the treeline. It was then that I noticed

HE WAS A COYOTE!

Not a little gray dog at all! A wild COYOTE!

Sweet Gummi Mary! I'd been ready to tell Farmer H to go have a look, and maybe bring that little dog to the Mansion!

When I told Farmer H of my canine identification faux pas, he said, 

"I've seen some over by So-and-So's mom and dad's house."

"You know I have no idea who that is, or where they live! Is it around here?"

"Yeah. Just over by the auto body place. About a mile from here, and a mile from where you just saw that one. People out here have been saying they hear them at night."

"Maybe that's what the dogs bark all night long. Maybe one of THEM pooped on the porch over by the garage."

"Nah. That was Jack."

"Why do you always blame JACK? He has lived here five years! WHY would he poop on the porch NOW? And only once?"

"I caught him peeing by the kitchen door the other morning."

"That's pee. Copper Jack and him take turns marking the house, I think. But you know every time you blame Jack for pooping, it's been the cat. And I haven't seen the cat in about two weeks. He could hardly walk across the porch, he's so old and weak now. He must be (or have been) 15 or 16 years old."

"I don't know. I guess maybe a coyote could come up on the porch. But you'd see hair in its poop."

"I didn't look that close."

"I did."

Sure, Farmer H looked for hair in poop on the porch that he said was Jack's. His argument skills are not that great.

First coyote I've ever seen. And in broad daylight, too.

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I looked up some pictures of Missouri coyotes later. They looked more yellow than the one I saw. Which was definitely gray. Maybe it's an age thing, maybe they come in a range of colors. I don't want to see one again to compare!

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