AUTUMN

My previous post was too long, too personal, and perhaps too perplexing - yet, I felt a need to write it. Let's consider it a cathartic exercise - a purge of evil spirits.
Your comments were greatly appreciated.

Since autumn is my absolute favorite time of year, I want to give it a proper welcome.

Several people have assured me that today is the first day of autumn. According to my calendar, however, the autumnal equinox officially begins tomorrow. I think.....

At any rate, I'm rehashing a video that I made two years ago which reflects my autumnal soul. All the photos were taken here on my property, right near the house.

The music is  The Long March - - one of my ultra-favorite compositions by Vangelis
(his proper name is Evangelos Odysseas Papathanassiou, born in 1943). 

I hope this autumn will ignite the fire in your soul with beautiful moments and treasured memories.

Heck, I'm starting to sound like a Hallmark card.

Video is best viewed full-screen 

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.

REPEAT PERFORMANCE

For those of you new to my blog, I'll briefly recap my falls:

Twenty years ago I fell down a flight of stairs and landed directly on the base of my spine, sustaining a very (and I mean very) nasty injury.

I vowed it would never happen again.

Last winter, when I first moved to Tennessee, I fell on the ice twice - landing on the exact same spot of my spine. It's now a year later and I still have pain and trouble walking.

I vowed it would never happen again.

The mountain terrain on my property is all slopes and angles - there's not a level spot. It's treacherous when there's ice or rain. Hell, it's treacherous even on a dry day. I now use extreme caution whenever I walk outside, and I also use a walking stick.

Today was a rare dry day - no ice, no rain. But there is mud.

Need I go any farther? You can already guess what happened.

I walked out to my car to get a few things that were in the trunk: a twelve-pack case of Coke, a thirty pound bag of cat litter, and a four-roll pack of toilet paper.

I didn't bring a walking stick. My arms were loaded with all the stuff. I laboriously dragged myself up the hill and almost made it to the back porch.
That's when I slipped on some mud.

I wish I had this on video, because seeing it would be much more entertaining than describing it.

I was suddenly airborne.
I literally flew onto the back porch, head first, and landed directly on a lawn chair.

Somehow, the thirty pound bag of kitty litter landed on me, the Coke cans rolled everywhere, and only God knows where the toilet paper went. The once-sturdy lawn chair broke into pieces. And I mean pieces.

I had instinctively broken the fall with my arms and subsequently injured my wrists. A chunk of flesh was gouged out of my left wrist, courtesy of the metal lawn chair. It wasn't until I was laying there, face down, that my chest, knees, and left leg started hurting.

As stars and birdies swirled around my head - like in a Warner Brother's cartoon - I realized that I was fortunate I didn't land on my spine.

I really felt sick for several hours after I finally crawled inside. 
And I had unholy visions of what might have happened if I hadn't been able to get up:
After I froze to death and the coyotes were feasting on my body, my three cats would watch and laugh from the kitchen window.

Is there a happy ending to this tale of woe? Naw, not a chance. I not only ache in a wide assortment of uncomfortable places, my pride hurts, too.

And I vow that it will never happen again.



Since I have no photos of me falling on my ass in Tennessee, I've decided to treat you to these pics that were taken when I lived in Texas.

I had set the timer on my camera with the inane intention of taking some pictures of myself fooling around in a wheelbarrow. Naturally, the damn thing toppled over just as the camera was clicking.

 

AUTUMN

I've often described myself as having an autumnal soul. It probably seems like an obscure description by a shameless romantic. I can only justify it by saying that the intense beauty of autumn perfectly reflects the depths of my inner self.

I was cursed with a profoundly melancholic nature: moody, sensitive, sentimental, self-absorbed, tinged with an undefinable yearning and sadness that has haunted me since childhood. These feelings most often surface at the end of summer and are nurtured under the spell of the autumnal equinox.

Don't expect this to make sense. I'm babbling to myself.

Last night I made a video tribute to autumn. I had no trouble deciding what music to use. The Andante from the Second Piano Concerto by Dimitri Shostakovich is one of my all-time favorite pieces. Ironically, I was never a staunch fan of Shostakovich, but I think this Andante is one of the most superbly beautiful compositions ever written. 

Composer Dimitri Shostakovich with his cat

(all good musicians love cats)

 
Shostakovich wrote his Second Piano Concerto (in F major) in 1957 and dedicated it to his nineteen-year-old son Maxim. Maxim performed the premiere of the concerto at his graduation from the Moscow Conservatory.

Warning:
My video is 6 minutes long - which might seem an eternity if you don't like classical music. 
If you love autumn I think it's worth watching. Full-screen is definitely best.

available on my YouTube channel Jayveesonata

AUTUMN GHOSTS

 September Mists

my back yard yesterday morning

I saw old autumn in the misty morn

stand shadowless like silence, listening

to silence, for no lonely bird would sing

into his hollow ear from woods forlorn....

Thomas Hood


Note:
Some blog posts shouldn't be published and this is definitely one of them. I wrote it solely for myself. 

A melancholy mood, this early morning, when mountain mists filter the light of the rising sun - gently fusing with unexpected illusions of sunlight and bittersweet echoes of distant autumns.

The quote from Thomas Hood is one that I remember from my school days, when I was deliciously young and California autumns stirred the restlessness and romanticism in my uninitiated soul.

Somewhere in my collection of memorabilia, I have a letter written by Thomas Hood that I got at an auction. I've been meaning to frame it for years.

I've always loved autumn, for as long as I can remember, but it wasn't until this morning - while gazing out at the foggy back yard and drinking a cup of hot tea - that I suddenly realized the significance of autumn in my life. Many of the major events of my existence happened in the autumn.
I suppose I should mention my birth date, December 13. It seems much more like winter, but was in fact technically the end of autumn.

All of my autumnal memories have come rushing back at once, and in the crowded fervor it's difficult to put them into reasonable perspective. 

During my childhood in Southern California, autumn only existed in mild, tempered versions - usually marked by wildfires and magically potent Santa Ana desert winds. 

My maternal grandmother died in New Jersey when I was sixteen. It was mid-October and my parents and I drove back east for the funeral. I remember how breathtakingly glorious the autumnal scenery looked on that drive across country.

Only a few years later came the surrealistic autumn of eternal fires. Southern California was burning with dozens of wildfires. The small rural town where we lived at that time was completely surrounded by fire and there was no way out. My parent's perpetually turbulent marriage was in Crisis Mode, and my father was more violent than ever.

For some insane reason, after the fires died down, my parents decided to take a trip. I went with them only because I feared for my mother's physical safety. We went to the Grand Canyon and Utah, and I can't remember where else. This diversion restored my father's sanity. At least briefly.

These memories are worthless to anyone but myself, yet they are haunting my thoughts, demanding release.....

Then came the monumental autumn, the turning point. I was nineteen. It was September. My father - my mortal enemy - and I had one of our worst blowups ever. One of very many. He pulverized me, choked me into unconsciousness. No exaggeration - I was out like a light. I later got a gun and was going to kill him. I've written about this in previous posts; no need for rehashing details.

It took weeks for my physical wounds to heal. The mental wounds never heal - but I was very used to that. 
By early October (Oct. 3rd, to be exact) I took off for Hollywood, immersed myself in the intoxicating ecstasy of self-destruction.

My metamorphosis took place during those weeks in October. I was absorbed by the sheltering darkness of the midnight streets, stifling reality with booze and drugs, quenching the loneliness with unspeakably illicit pleasures.
My eternal reign of darkness began in that distant October and I savored it.

The following summer my Mother moved to Reno and filed for divorce.
In September I drove up there to stay with her for a few weeks. Another autumn, more poignant memories.
It was a rare respite without the threatening shadow of my father. We hiked, explored the mountains, scoured the shores of Lake Tahoe, visited Virginia City.....

My father, ever the thorn, found out where Mom was - drove up to Reno, begged her to come home. She foolishly acquiesced. 

I remember driving back to Los Angeles on a chilly October night, leaving the healing respite of the Nevada mountains, entering the smog-drenched purgatory of Hollywood.

I'm overstaying my welcome. I've said enough. But there are so many more memorable autumns......

Someone I loved very much was killed in the autumn.
Soon afterward, I left California for the final time in autumn, when I was 34.

Moved to the Missouri Ozarks in October.
Later moved to Texas in September.
After a dark eternity, I finally emerged from Texas and moved to Tennessee. In October.

Autumn, for whatever reason, has always been a very significant season in my life. I have no doubt that it holds a great future finality for me.......

I hear the echos of those distant autumns- - they haunt the present silence and solitude of misty September mornings.






New post on my photo blog, Unintentionally Gay

http://cabinetofcurioustreasures.blogspot.com 








 

REPEAT PERFORMANCE, WITH MUD

 The meadow at the edge of my property:

Lovely but dangerous when wet

I was covered in mud on Friday, but I'll begin my story the night before when I was relatively clean.

On Thursday night I decided to go to bed early, which was around 3:00 a.m. As a hardcore night owl, I often don't embark for Dreamland until dawn. Then I'll get up in about three or four hours to start my day.

This could possibly be the reason why I usually feel completely exhausted, quasi comatose, and on the verge of death - but I'm not sure.

Anyway, as soon as I climbed into bed, a massive thunderstorm began. Torrential rain, nerve-shattering thunder, and lightning so sharp and bright that it singed the hair on my chest and eradicated several of my best tattoos.

I only threw the tattoo part in to colorize my story and possibly pique your waning interest.

Since there was no possibility of sleep, I laid in bed for several hours watching the storm from the window. All three of my cats went into hiding because of the thunder, so I had the luxury of having the bed all to myself.

Incidentally, I have no curtains or blinds on my bedroom window because I love gazing out at my rustic surroundings (and the lightning) while snuggled in bed. I never worry about prying eyes or Peeping Toms. Heck, I'm in the mountainous middle of nowhere. Who's gonna see me - - Bigfoot? Smokey the Bear?

My boudoir window

By mid-morning the storm subsided and the torrent dwindled to a drizzle. By early afternoon the sun appeared and the freshly-drenched landscape (mountainscape?) looked gorgeous. Since the temperature had dropped drastically there weren't very many bees or wasps to annoy me.
Check out my previous post to read about the aforementioned bees and wasps.

It seemed to be a perfect time to venture outside and take some photos.

If you've been reading my blog for any length of time, you'll know that I'm a fairly new and inexperienced resident of the mountain wilderness. I've never quite grown accustomed to the dangerous slopes. I had several extremely nasty falls on the ice last winter - one of which was so bad that my back still aches every time I move.

Ever since then, I've tried to take some precautions. I've traded my slippery cowboy boots for shoes with rubber soles and traction. I'm careful where I walk and usually watch where I'm going.

So I'm outside, wearing rubber-sole shoes, and scaling the hazardous slopes with reasonable caution. And I'm capturing the wonders of nature with my El Cheapo digital camera.

As I point my lens skyward, toward the tops of the towering trees, my skid-proof soles come in quick contact with slick mud. I'm suddenly airborne and even more suddenly landing directly on my astonished ass.

The slide down the muddy hill is so fast and seamless that I don't have time to be scared. I crash into the side of the house with such force that the breath is knocked out of me.

I'm completely covered in mud. My right leg took the brunt of the impact and my knee is twisted. My wrists hurt. My back has discovered new dimensions of agony. If I still have my spine, it probably looks like a corkscrew.

As I laid there for fifteen minutes (no exaggeration) three thoughts crossed my mind:

1. If it wasn't for the house, I would have probably slid all the way to Kentucky.

2. The tires on my new wheelchair will have to have damn good tread.

3. My digital camera is undoubtedly in the trees.


After I locate my camera (it wasn't in the trees) and limp to the house, I begin to fully realize how extremely dangerous this place is - no matter what kind of shoes you're wearing. Hell, I hated Texas, but at least it was on level ground.

This was a repeat performance of my wretched experience last winter. Same fall. Same slide. Same pain. The only thing missing was the ice. 

My surroundings are beautiful,

 but is it worth the pain?
(all photos were taken yesterday) 

So how am I doing now?
Not too good. I ache in places I never knew I had, but at least I can still walk. I'm suddenly realizing that I might not be so lucky next time.


It took a helluva long time for me to tell this story, but extending small incidents is my specialty.


 

 

CHAIR FROM HELL AND SLIPPERY SLOPE RIDE

Slippery Slopes

 

 

The Tennessee mountains are damp and wet. Perpetually wet, as I'm finding out. The ground is soft and mushy, slippery, carpeted with rich green moss. And that's on the rainless days. When it rains, it's an obstacle course of mud.

My house here in the mountains is (of course) on a slope. Everything is slanty or slopey and it takes awhile to get used to it.

Spell Check assures me that the words slanty and slopey do not exist, but I don 't give a damn. They exist in the mountains of Tennessee.

This isn't a lesson in topography. It is merely a prelude to my story; an appetizer before the main course.

Here's the main course:

It's raining relentlessly all day Saturday. I feel lazy and lethargic - - alarmingly unmotivated. The house is still empty. My furniture won't be delivered until Tuesday. All I have is a small table, a metal folding chair, and that ancient repulsive reclining chair that the previous owner left.

The repulsive reclining chair has turned out to be an island of refuge in a sea of nothingness. Me and my three cats actually battle one another to utilize the chair. If I get into the chair first and fall asleep, I usually wake up to find two or more cats crowded in the chair with me.

To say that our sleeping arrangement is uncomfortable would be a gross understatement. I'm nearly crippled from aches and pains. When I wake up it usually takes ten minutes for me to dislodge myself from the cats and the chair's unwholesome grip. Then I limp and stagger around all day doing a bad imitation of Quasimodo.

This afternoon my rapidly deteriorating body is wracked (racked?) with pain. I'm in a foul mood - alternately grumbling curses at the chair, the cats, and the incredibly slow moving company (which seems to be coming via wagon train).

Despite the rain and the pain, I decide to venture outside to quickly clean one of the rain gutters - which has been hopelessly clogged with leaves. This impromptu project would be the highlight of a boring day.

After cleaning the gutter, I decide to wander around the side of the house to check something in the garage.

It's still raining. Mud is everywhere. I'm trying to be careful......
....but......

I suddenly slip on the top of a slippery slope.
Both legs fly out in front of me. I land on my ass in a sea of mud, hurting both wrists as I instinctively try to break my fall.

Stars and birdies orbit around my head, like in a Warner Brothers cartoon.

Before I even have time to comprehend the situation, I'm sliding on my ass at breakneck speed down the hill. It's better than an E Ticket ride at Disneyland. Or a water slide.

As my ride gains momentum, I have periodic regrets about living so far away from a hospital. My regrets are expunged as I hit the next mud puddle and slam to a stop.

It takes me a few seconds to breathe again. And about another minute to assess the situation.

I'd made it down a mountainside riding solely on the cushion of my ass and lived to tell about it. Thanks to the big mud puddle at the end of the ride. It acted like a gigantic airbag, courtesy of Mother Nature.

I laboriously crawl on my hands and knees up the slope and back to the house. It's only then that I realize my clothes are covered in mud and I won't have a washing machine until Tuesday. Well, at least I can take a shower.

It would all be hilarious if it wasn't so painful.