Saturday, October 29, 2016

RANDOM HALLOWEEN THOUGHTS




Was Halloween more fun long ago, or does it just seem that way in our biased and selective memories?

I'm old, but rumors that I attended the Salem witch hunt trials are exaggerated. I'm not quite old enough to remember good old-fashioned Halloweens of yesteryear: ghost stories by the hearth, taffy pulls, apple bobbing, fortune telling, homemade costumes, bonfires, pranks, and rowdiness.

Nowadays Halloween is sapped of creativity and imagination - sanitized by the Goblin Regulation Police. Squadrons of supervised kids - - attired in fireproof unspooky Made in China costumes - - robotically trek door to door, collect their safety-wrapped store-bought candy, and go home. The End.

Of course, my fondness for children is minimal and I think Trick or Treating should be banned - but that's beside the point. Fortunately I live in a remote area where only wolves dare to trek. My Halloween will be blissfully brat-free.

This blog post is going nowhere but - what the hell - I'll dig my way out of it.

So, how will I be spending All Hallow's Eve? I'm going to have pizza.....and apples, and a big bag of Halloween candy. And I might bake a cinnamon coffee cake if I'm in a good mood. Which is rare.

I wanted to buy a pumpkin when I drove to town yesterday but - - nobody has any! They're all sold out!! The stores are already crammed with Christmas decorations. HOLY SHEE-IT!!

I've dusted off my Halloween dinnerware - mostly so I could take exciting photos that will be treasured forever. *smile*

 This is my favorite Halloween mug for tea. I've been using it in the microwave for fifteen years. Yesterday I noticed a label on the bottom that says Do Not Use in Microwave. I swear to gawd it's true.

 The orange bowl has a black cat in it.
I'll give you a moment to contain your excitement.
How about a witch plate -
and a kinda cool Halloween cat -


Beware of the Cat

That cat has been packed away for years. I just dug it out of mothballs last night.

What's the deal with the cat in your header photo, Jon?

Hey, I'm glad you asked. I love that picture and I colorized it myself. The cat's not mine, but he looks a little like my Bosco.

 Here's Bosco
in a Halloween mode

and Scruffy

 ...and last but not least
Scratch. This pic was taken when I lived in Texas. She looks tough, but actually she was squinting from the camera flash.


This post got way off track. I was initially going to write about a few of my Halloween memories. Well, perhaps it's best that I saved you from being mercilessly bored. 
Hopefully you were only slightly bored.

More Halloween stuff is on the way.
Look out!
 



  
 

Thursday, October 20, 2016

LIKE A FINE WINE




Autumn intoxicates my senses and I savor its delicious uniqueness like a fine wine.
Don't snicker. I'm trying to be poetic.
Having been raised in temperate Southern California, I never experienced the splendor of a real autumn. I had traveled with my parents, of course, and saw glimpses of the changing seasons - but it wasn't the same as permanently living in a seasonal environment.

It wasn't until I was 33 and moved to the Missouri Ozarks that I experienced genuine seasons - and became completely obsessed with autumn. On the first brisk October days, with the first sign of the changing colors of foliage, I would go out and immerse myself in nature's glory: drives in the country, long walks in the woods. I collected colored leaves, pine cones, acorns, and decorated the house with pumpkins, apples, and gourds. I sat by the fireplace on frosty nights - drinking hot chocolate, spiced tea, or spiked cider. I spent hours wandering in old graveyards, accompanied by the ghosts of imagination.

When I moved to Texas, autumn vanished and was replaced by surrealistic dust storms and ruthlessly howling winds. I was determined to survive long enough to see a real autumn again.

So here - nestled in the unfamiliar but satisfying solace of rural Tennessee - I have finally found another autumn. I'm admittedly tired, worn out, plagued with health problems, and haunted by the turmoil of emotional ghosts - but the gentle cloak of autumn is comforting. It rekindles life in the living dead.....

The best part is that I only have to step out my door to be reunited with nature.
Yesterday was unseasonably warm and gorgeous. Recent winds have stripped some of the trees of their leaves, but the remaining foliage is ripe with color. I ventured outside again with my camera. These precious days are fleeting and need to be captured and remembered.

 This was the full Hunter's Moon last weekend. Photo taken just before dawn, when it was setting in the west.













 Bosco, enjoying the warm weather



Afternoon view from the back porch



It's a good thing I took photos yesterday. It's pouring rain tonight and the temperature is dropping.



Tuesday, October 18, 2016

NIGHT SHIFT



 
When I was nineteen I became a state-licensed (as opposed to unlicensed) California security officer. It was in complete contrast to my artistic nature, but in my youth I enjoyed delving into unusual adventures. Besides, the work usually entailed the late-night shift, which coincided with my notoriously nocturnal persona.

My very first security job was a stint at Hughes Aircraft in Irvine (Costa Mesa, actually), where I was armed (though not particularly dangerous). It was an easy job because I didn't have to make any patrols or rounds. My most perilous duties included operating one of the night switchboards. I remember that a group of women from the front office took photos of me because they thought I was cute. I also received numerous phone calls from a male executive who propositioned me for sex.
I'm not bragging, boys and girls - - I'm just telling it like it is. And I'll politely refrain from revealing what happened.....

Late night security work wasn't all fun and games. I had some unbelievably horrific adventures......like the time I worked at Goodwill Industries and the janitor turned out to be a murderer. He left the body of one of his victims outside my office door! I wrote about this in a previous post:
My Night With a Corpse

I was fearless back then, and often purposefully reckless, but the murder incident admittedly scared the living jeeters out of me.


A few years before the murder incident, I had applied for a late-night security job at Westminster Memorial Park Mortuary on Beach Boulevard. The supervisor liked me, but admitted that he thought I was too young. He preferred someone older and more "mature". 

During the duration of our interview, he finally admitted the truth: all of the previous security guards had quit - because of strange occurrences at the mortuary. It was supposedly haunted. Loud footsteps were reportedly heard in the hallways and apparitions frequently appeared. After careful consideration of the applicants, a fifty-year-old security guard was chosen.

Three days later I was surprised to get a phone call from the mortuary supervisor. He told me that the new security officer abruptly quit, after experiencing a few "difficult" nights. The job was open, if I still wanted it.

"Hell no", I said. "I'm a guard, not a ghost hunter." 

Eventually I did work in another spooky place. It was a company in Brea that manufactured sinks, showers, and bathtubs.  The facility consisted of two large buildings - - the factory and warehouse. The entire place was closed on weekends, and that's when I worked there: twelve-hour shifts, from noon 'till midnight, Saturday and Sunday. I was entirely alone and had to patrol the two buildings every hour  (12 times a day). Patrolling during the daylight hours was bad enough, but after dark it was especially unnerving.

My apprehension increased when I learned (from my supervisor) that there had been a long-ago accident on the upper floor of the warehouse, where a worker was crushed to death. It was rumored that his ghost lingered there, and his screams could be heard.


That upper floor was extremely creepy - gloomy, dank, and filled with lots of weird noises. Creaks, groans, and muffled human-like gurgles echoed through the cavernous walls. I always dreaded going up there and hurried as quickly as possible. I never did see a ghost, but the noises were strange.

One night I discovered a drunken derelict hiding on the first floor of the factory building. I feigned toughness and managed to scare him out of the building.
Unlike Hughes Aircraft, I was completely unarmed on this job and only had a flashlight. And it was before the era of cell phones. 

My work as a security officer was only a small part of my many youthful adventures, but I could write a book about the experiences. 


Cabinet of Curious Treasures 

Sunday, October 16, 2016

FIRST WALK IN THE WOODS



 This morning

Actually, it's my first forest walk of the autumnal season. There's not much to see in the summer - except eternal greenery, bugs, spider webs, moss, and snakes.

Now that it's autumn, the only thing I have to fear is being shot by a hunter - - or intimidated by a ghost.....
The autumn foliage isn't at its glorious peak yet, but it's such a beautifully warm day that I was inspired to get up off my sedentary ass and wander. 

I didn't really wander too far at all (only on my property), but it was enough to absorb the essence of my surroundings.....whatever that means.

I have several Halloweeny-type posts lined up, but decided to do a few photo posts first - - in order to disarm you with my charm and photographic expertise - - and hopefully to expunge the bitter taste of my recent political rants.

I'm actually a harmless sweetheart, but there are a few clueless souls who don't realize it (I'm writing this accompanied by a wry smile).

This has been a fairly good week, by my standards. On Tuesday my cousin Nancy drove me into one of the big cities (big meaning population over 100....just jesting...). We visited a huge bookstore and later had a fantastic dinner - which we both deserved.

On Thursday I drove into town to get much-needed supplies (photo documentation on my previous post).

Here are some of the pics I took this morning.




This was taken at around noon, and I'm surprised at how low the sun is this time of year.


It's difficult to see on the photos just how tall some of the trees are.






Scratch preferred to watch from a window.

Friday, October 14, 2016

GOING TO TOWN

Mae West made a film in 1935 called Goin' to Town, which has absolutely no correlation with this post. My going to town experiences are much less provocative and hardly sexually stimulating.

After two weeks of gloriously beautiful weather, I had no qualms about making the dreaded drive into town yesterday morning. As soon as I got ready - as if on cue by God - the torrential rains began. I had to wait two hours for the storm to subside - after which my car wouldn't start. This mishap forced me to waste another hour making uneducated manuevers under the hood (the hood is the bonnet, for those of you in Yorkshire).

Against my better judgement, I brought my El Cheapo camera with me this time, and documented my perilous journey for posterity.

It's nearly impossible to take photos on the way to town because there are very few places to pull off the road, and there are constant risks of plunging off a cliff or getting pummeled by a logging truck (or lorry, for those of you in Sheffield).

Despite the obstacles, here are the results of my efforts.


 I took all of these photos from the car window, so they're not particularly good. The trees are just beginning to turn colors.They will look much more spectacular in another week or two.



 The "cliffs" look more impressive in real than on these pics.






The rain clouds eventually broke up and the blue sky emerged.

Taken on the way home. This is the narrow road that winds past my mountain shack.

 A view of the cow pasture adjacent to my property.

And some photos of the moon which I took a few nights ago.




My other blog:
http://cabinetofcurioustreasures.blogspot.com 

Tuesday, October 11, 2016

IN THE SHADOW......

 Hanging Gardens of Babylon

An exquisite October night. Autumn has penetrated my soul with unrelenting melancholy that is both soothing and sobering.

Despite numerous obstacles and an acute absence of motivation, I've made progress on my latest writing endeavors. I've finished my book for children - eighteen poems inspired by the night. Traditional poetry that rhymes. I thoroughly enjoyed writing this and completed it in less than two weeks - - still compiling illustrations and deciding on a title.

I'm working on my memoir, which is not exactly a labor of love but rather a painful excavation of unhallowed graves.

I'm also working on another poetry book, In the Shadow of Babylonian Kings,  which I'm certain will be my last: a compilation of my final poems, arguably more mature than those in Love Letters to Ghosts.

As for blogging, it often becomes a thankless burden. But, then, writing - in any public forum - takes authors down frustrating paths to perilous places. Over the years I've spent far too much time blogging which, in essence, is an exercise in absolute futility.


I'll end with a curious (and probably unwanted) offering: a random sample of poems from In the Shadow of Babylonian Kings.


THE FALLEN

Banished
from the lofty realms of righteousness
they tumble beyond
a cradle of clouds
in swift descent
to the open arms of mortal desire
and the sweet embrace of Sodom.

In time
the giddy pleasures of their pursuit
collapse
like the plans of intended kingdoms,
and the sacrifice becomes a burden
thicker than sun-sparked desert sands.
Unholy desires assume the futile proportions
of desperate seasons
in search of an impossible rain.

The great warehouse of their intentions
begins to fade and tarnish
like too many bracelets on the arms
of a king's forgotten concubine.


***** ***** *****

END

There is a gnawing desire for atonement
towards the end
that unleashes previously unknown reserves
of inner courage or strength,
neither heroic nor admirable
but inspired by absolute necessity.
The journey, of course, has been
an unrelenting burden,
the weight of which remains unnoticed
until the enormous final battle
when all is lost and little is forgiven.
It will be quick,
this ultimate stroke of merciful justice -
this undeniable act of self-preservation.
I will not be missed. 


Jon V.
from In the Shadow of Babylonian Kings



My other blog is dying, which seems extremely appropriate for me. I'll probably abandon it soon because I'm losing interest.

Here's a link, just for the heck of it.
Cabinet of Curious Treasures  

Sunday, October 9, 2016

MYSTERY WOMAN






I've been accused of being the family historian and am admittedly guilty. I know a lot about my mother's side of the family. As a child, I eagerly absorbed all that my relatives chose to reveal. As an adult, I excavated the things that they chose to remain buried. It was a colorful family, to say the least.

My maternal great-grandfather John Gordon (Janos Gurdonyi) was of royal blood, descendant of a Hungarian prince, who lost his inheritance when he married a commoner.
My great-uncle Frederick Lang was a murderer, who was executed for his crime in 1909 at age 24 - the last man to be hanged in New Jersey (I published an article about this).

My maternal grandmother Anna Gordon Knoll had eleven siblings - most of whom were flamboyant characters. 

Her husband, my grandfather Charles Knoll, came from a dysfunctional family shrouded in secrets.

 My maternal grandmother Anna Gordon Knoll (right) with her sister Lizabeth

My grandfather Charles Knoll, whose mother was Sofia Horvath

My grandfather's mother, Sofia Horvath, was an intriguing mystery. Despite extensive research, I could find no information about her whatsoever. No birth or death records, no marriage records, no grave site. I have no idea whether she was born in America or Hungary.

She is the mysterious ghost in our family - who haunts me solely because of her elusive existence.

She was described as being reserved, cool, distant. Everyone in the family agreed that she was beautiful - and it was said that my mother strongly resembled her.

Sophia Horvath was married several times and had numerous lovers. Each of her three sons had different fathers. I was surprised to discover that the identity of my grandfather's father is uncertain, and that Knoll might not even be his correct surname.

My mother said that she only saw her grandmother Sofia once in her entire life - when she was a child. Mom remembered her as being tall, slim, well-dressed, and elegant - a quiet, elusive woman who never smiled.

My great-grandmother Sofia Horvath died long before I was born. Her death was as mysterious as her life. She was discovered drowned in the Raritan River (New Jersey) - a possible murder, but most likely suicide.

A beautiful, mysterious, deeply troubled woman who seems to have left no trace....










 The Raritan River and the Raritan River Railroad Bridge

When I was twenty years old, I wrote a poem about her.

SPRING THAW

In April they dragged the river
for her body
waiting patiently under the ice
for months.
She yielded reluctantly,
still obstinate
after all these years.
On the edge
of the riverbank
yellow wildflowers nodded rumors
raising their heads to see.

I never knew her.
I only know the stories
told in sporadic whispers:
that she was beautiful
mysterious
aloof
had several husbands
many lovers
and never smiled.

The lonely secret
of her shadowed existence
finally unraveled
like a carelessly abandoned
mourning shroud.
When she emerged
from the tomb
of thawing ice,
some say her lips
bore warm traces
of an unintentional smile.

Jon V.
from Love Letters to Ghosts