Another Helicopter Liftoff Attempted

When we last convened, I was concerned about The Pony's whereabouts. I'd received no communication during the trip to the city to pick up a friend at the train station. Four hours had passed, and it's only an hour drive. I had been expecting a text, but refused to send one myself. You never know if The Pony might be in traffic. I didn't want any distractions.

I lay down for my nap before town. Of course my phone was next to me. At 4:18, I heard it buzz.

"Sorry. I didn't get a chance to text when I was picking her up! We're at [local Chinese restaurant] for dinner now!"

I replied with a thumbs-up, to acknowledge the knowledge, but not intrude upon The Pony's dinner. My purpose for wanna-be-helicoptering was the SAFETY of The Pony. Not nosiness.

Sis-Town was having a festival that day which blocked Main Street. I had discussed this with The Pony on Thursday while shopping.

"You know the streets will be blocked on Saturday. I don't know which way you're coming home, but keep that in mind. All of Main Street. You can't even go by the post office or Country Mart this time. It's a bigger detour."

"Really? I didn't know that."

"It's on the city's Facebook page. And the paper's Facebook page. With a map, and the times."

"I'll probably come in the back way to my house, when we get off the highway."

"Okay. But if you plan to get out..."

"Mom. I know all the streets, remember?"

Yeah. But The Pony sure wasn't aware of the closures before I mentioned them! Anyhoo... The Pony was back in town, so I wasn't worried anymore. Until...

I remembered that there would be a fireworks display at 9:00, at the top of Main Street. The Pony's house is two blocks away, and faces Main Street. At 6:55, I sent a text, saying that The Pony would have a good view from the front porch, if they wanted to see fireworks at 9:00. There was no response by 7:15. In fact, my text had not even been read.

OH NO! The Pony always answers my texts. Could something be wrong? I tried to keep my mind off the murder shows I watch every morning. Surely a visiting stranger would not do harm to my little Pony! 

Maybe The Pony's phone went dead after the trip to the city. Maybe it was on the charger, and The Pony didn't hear it. I doubt they were out in the car, sight-seeing. Because it was almost dark now. I really shouldn't bother The Pony, what with a guest being there... BUT WHAT IF THE GUEST WAS A MURDERER??? I was pretty sure everything was fine. But if I waited, they would miss the fireworks.

I called The Pony.

"Hello...?"

"I don't want to bother you, but I saw you didn't read my text."

"Oh. I didn't even hear my phone."

"Just wanted to say, there will be fireworks on Main Street at 9:00, if you want to watch from your porch."

"Maybe. I didn't know."

"Okay. That's it. I'll let you go. Don't want to bother you with company."

That's not so wrong, is it? I know it seems intrusive, but I didn't want The Pony to miss fireworks. Or be lying there murdered...

The Whirring Of Helicopter Blades Is Missing

Since The Pony returned home from college in Norman, Oklahoma several years ago, my parental helicopter has been up on blocks. Sadly, you never know when you might need it. I wish it had been properly maintained for such imagined emergencies!

It is 3:28 p.m. on Saturday as I type this. I am yearning for that helicopter! But let's not get ahead of ourselves...

The Pony told me on Thursday, our errand/shopping day, that a friend was coming for a visit. A friend not from college, but met online several years ago in a writing group. That didn't worry me a bit. Well. Maybe a tiny bit. But unless this friend writes murder mysteries, it's probably a safe demographic for an online friend. The friend was visiting a relative in another state, and would then take Amtrak to St. Louis, where The Pony would pick up the friend, and they would drive back to The Pony's house.

The Pony had made plans for local sight-seeing. Had cleaned up the house. The spare bedroom (with the dead lady's bed) was all ready, as well as the second bathroom that is connected. St. Louis is about a 60-minute drive from Sis-Town, where The Pony lives. Depends on which area you're going to. The Pony had consulted my estranged BFF Google, and said it was an hour and five minutes. The Pony would be leaving at 1:30. The train was supposed to arrive at 2:50.

I know The Pony can drive. But my fear of the highway is projected onto others. I even worry about Farmer H when he goes to the city, or very far away from Hillmomba. Anyhoo... I asked The Pony to send me a text upon arrival in the city, and once back home. You know. So my anxiety level could drop down a notch. The Pony agreed: 

"IF I remember."

Well. Now it's 3:36. The Pony should have arrived at the train station. The train should have arrived. The friend should have been picked up. 

I have heard NOTHING!

I am trying not to worry. No news COULD be good news. I've heard nothing bad, after all. So I will wait. Some more.

Around 6:00, I plan to send The Pony a text. And if there's no answer in a half hour or so, I will call. You know. Just to be sure.

A helicopter would really come in handy right about now...

A Sad Notification In Hillmomba

Farmer H called me around noon on Friday. That's rarely a good thing. Usually something has broken, and will cost money, or take up a lot of time. 

Also, I am suspicious that he was AT THE SENIOR CENTER, because I heard women talking in the background. He better NOT have been there, eating up Chicken and Dumplings, when I'd packed a lunch for him at his SUS2.5, and he had used FRIDAYS as an excuse not to get me a Reuben Sandwich a couple weeks ago!

Anyhoo... Farmer H had some sad news:

"If you don't see Copper Jack today, don't worry. Neighbors had him put down." [That in itself seems worrisome to me! But I guess it's the fact that his disappearance is no mystery.] 

"Did they put it on Facebook or something? How do you know?"

"One of the ladies at the Senior Center is good friends with Neighbor Gal, and said she wanted her to tell me."

"Well, that is very sad. I knew he was hurting, because he doesn't even come up on the porch for treats any more. And he could hardly get around. I thought it was from his back problem, like before, when he limped a few weeks and got better."

"She said he had cancer. I don't know where. But they didn't want him suffering, and had him put down."

"I just saw him yesterday, under the cedar tree, on my way up the driveway. I'll miss him. He's been over here for so long. It will really hurt little Jack. Now he has no one, with Pupsie AND Copper Jack gone."

"I know. We'll look for another one. The guys out here always said, 'That's Neighbor's dog, but he lives at Farmer H's house!'"

Copper Jack will be missed. At least he's not hurting anymore. He was a good dog, even though he was not ours.

A River Of Red After A Stabbing

Monday evening, Farmer H's supper was a "McRib" type of sandwich. Two, actually. I have some frozen pork patties shaped like a BBQ rib. The kind you get at McDonald's when they bring back the McRib for a "limited time only." I had some long "steak rolls" to make sandwiches with. All the taste of McDonald's, without the intestinal upset!

Anyhoo... I've included pictures of when I made my own fake rib, which I ate with some mashed potatoes. Kind of like a BBQ "rib" TV dinner, but without the corn, heh, heh. My picture will show you what the patty looked like, so you can understand the actions of Farmer H. More likely, you will understand what I'm talking about, but nobody will ever understand the actions of Farmer H!

I put the pressed-meat patties into the oven on a foil-covered pan, and added BBQ sauce to the top. It cooks up nicely in 14 minutes. Smells delicious. So Farmer H had two of these patties on the pan when he came to make his own sandwiches. I was slicing a Vidalia onion for him, and he had decided on a dill pickle spear on the side, rather than the flat sandwich pickles, because the sandwiches slide apart with both.

The roll looked like this:

I had everything set out, while I was last-minute slicing that onion. You know how they get hot if you let them sit, exposed to the air. They make sulfuric acid, I think! Anyhoo... all Farmer H needed to do was put his patties on his rolls. Easy peasy.

I glanced at what he was doing, and was horrified!

"You can't get it that way! You need to--"

Before I could finish, Farmer H had stabbed a rib patty in the middle with a fork, and was lifting it to his plated bun. Of course the rib patty bent at both ends, and all the BBQ sauce slopped off. At least it went onto the foiled pan. THEN Farmer H treated the second rib patty the same way, with the same result.

"Now all your sauce is gone. All you needed to do was slide a spatula under those patties, and set them on your bun. Or lay the bottom bun on top, put your fork under it, and flip it over."

"It's fine, HM. I'll get my sauce." Said Farmer H as he tried to scoop up the hot BBQ sauce with his fork, and put it on top of the rib patty.

Farmer H lives in a world without logic. A sloppy world.

Farmer H, The Keymaster

Let's face it. Mrs. HM will never have anything to call her own. She may have it in her possession, and THINK it belongs to her, but in reality, everything in her world is the property of Farmer H. At least in HIS mind.

I was minding my own beeswax at the kitchen table on Tuesday afternoon, scratching on my last crossword (turned out to be a loser), when Farmer H exploded through the kitchen door. I don't know why he does that. He can't just enter like a human being, but somehow yanks on the turny doorknob and pulls the door open with reverse-hurricane force. As I insolently informed him as he crossed the threshold: "Everything goes to Not-Heaven the minute you arrive!"

"I don't know why you say that."

"You about gave me a heart attack. I don't hear a thing, then the door explodes open."

"Huh. Do you know where your truck key is?"

"Probably."

"I need it."

"Well. I'll give up on finishing my LAST ticket, and look for the key."

"I don't need it right this second. I'm taking my medicine to the bathroom."

Farmer H was back in about 23 seconds. I had my key for SilverRedO on my regular key ring. It looks just like T-Hoe's key. They're both Chevys, you know. A long key with a black plastic cap.

"Here it is, with all my keys."

"Mine ain't workin' right. It goes in, and it turns, but it catches. I want to see if it's the key, or the ignition."

When Farmer H came back a few minutes later (my last crossword ticket was still not finished), he was fiddling with my key ring.

"You switched out your bad key for my good key, didn't you!"

"Not yet..."

"Make sure you put it in the exact same place on the ring. That's how I can tell which house key is the right one, since they look exactly the same. I don't want my hands full of groceries you didn't carry, trying to fiddle with the keys."

"There. I put it right back."

"So now I have a truck key that doesn't work."

"It works, HM. Just not every time. I'll take your key and get one made. So we'll have two good keys."

Sure. Maybe he could take T-Hoe to get an oil change, too. But I've been waiting six months at least for that. 

It's not that I ever plan to use my key for SilverRedO. Back when I was working, and had the boys here, we sometimes had an emergency that needed another vehicle. Like when the power went out, and we couldn't get the garage door open because both boys were too small to reach the pull cord that was over the top of our large SUV at the time. So we had to drive the truck at the time, my dad's old GMC that we bought from him, which was loaded with a pool filter and hoses. My (little) Pony rode in the middle, with hoses around his shoulders like a plow horse in a collar.

Anyhoo... if I need an extra vehicle these days, Farmer H will likely be in SilverRedO, and I'll have A-Cad at my disposal. A key on a separate ring.

It's just the idea that all of my "possessions" are fleeting. They belong to Farmer H.

Chef Pony Overcooks

The Pony had Chinese food for supper on Monday. And probably Tuesday as well. Perhaps longer! I got a text around 7:00.

"Made Chinese. Before/after, adding way too much rice I made."

"Chicken, garlic, water chestnuts."

"And then a ton of seasoning and sauces because. Sooooo much rice."

Looks like The Pony was using a packet of instant rice. I often use the frozen stir-fry kind of rice, but I've used this brand before. I like some color in my Chinese. Maybe some peas, broccoli, and baby corns. The Pony is not one who loves "vinchtables," though. 

I'm sure it was a tasty feast. In the very least, it was filling!

Do-Gooding Must Be In The Blood

The Pony is following in Farmer H's footsteps as being a do-gooder for strangers. While talking to a work friend at the post office counter while picking up a personal package, The Pony saw somebody who needed help.

"I did today's good deed! Was showing my new coins to Counter Guy, and an old man hobbling on crutches was coming in while I was gossiping. I got the doors for him!"

Yes. That is a good deed. Especially since The Pony once refused to help an old woman up off the floor when she fell in the Devil's Playground. The Pony was in high school at the time, and plainly told me, "No" when I suggested helping her. Turns out that woman's adult son was with her, and from the commotion that followed, they seemed to be running a scam! Then there was the questionnaire on the FAFSA application, in which The Pony answered that he really didn't care about helping people.

I first sensed that The Pony had acquired some compassion upon finding out that he gave an old lady neighbor a ride to the Devil's Playground to get her medicine. So The Pony seems to have grown into do-gooding.

Those glass inside doors at the post office are really heavy. Or maybe the hinges are just too tight. I'm sure the holding of those doors was appreciated by Old Man Crutches.