THE DAY AFTER

It's the day after Thanksgiving.
I just realized that I've been living in this abode in the wilderness for four years now. I moved in on Thanksgiving Day in 2014.

I moved to Tennessee in October, 2014 and stayed with my cousin until I found a suitable place to buy.
The price was right and it was located far away from annoying humanity, so it was suitable.

All of my possessions were in storage in Texas. After I moved in to the aforementioned abode, the movers informed me that - because of the upcoming holidays - they wouldn't be able to deliver my stuff until mid-January, at the earliest.

So, for over two months I lived in a completely empty house - no furniture, no clothing except for what I brought in a suitcase. I had a folding metal chair and a tiny table. I slept on an incredibly scuzzy, ancient reclining chair that the previous owners had left behind.

When the movers finally hauled my possessions to Tennessee in late January, 2015, I was horrified to discover that they "lost" an enormous amount of my things (for which I have never been reimbursed) - including furniture, antique books, art, rugs, kitchen items, lamps, and a large chest containing tools.

They also "lost" all of my diaries and journals - which I had meticulously kept for 40 years (since I was 10)
AND all of my mother's vast collection of piano music. The journals and music were my most treasured possessions and meant more to me than life itself -  without them my soul has died.

Fortunately they didn't "lose" my two pianos, but I haven't touched the pianos since I moved here. I no longer give a shit. The piano - and my former life as a musician - is now gone.

It wasn't my initial purpose to write a depressing post, but I'm simply remembering all these things.....
with extreme bitterness.

My simple Thanksgiving meal yesterday (roasted chicken) turned out to be fantastic! I didn't put any effort into it and wasn't expecting much, but it was absolutely delicious. And I had enough left over to eat again today.

I just finished having a cup of cappuccino and a piece of cake.

Yesterday was gorgeous with golden sunshine. Today is very dark, dreary, and misty. The photo at the top of this post is of the sun this morning - valiantly making an effort to appear - but it was soon shrouded in mists and  finally extinguished by clouds.

Did anyone see the full moon last night?
It was brilliantly bright and so impressive that I went out at 2:00 a.m. to gaze at it for a long time - until a band of nearby coyotes finally encouraged me to go back inside.

Is anyone thoroughly tired of hearing about Black Friday? The media is completely obsessed with it.

Black Friday is the most unappealing advertising ploy that I can ever remember. For me, it conjures up images of plagues, doom, depression, and despair......

.....which is a very apt description of the Christmas shopping season.

MOONLIGHT MADNESS

The moon is full, or almost full, or just past being full. I used to know all the progressions of the lunar phases during my astronomical phase. Lately I'm in my "know nothing" phase.

One thing that's common knowledge: weird things happen during the spell of a full moon. When I lived in the city, the full moon yielded a marked increase in robberies, murders, and other unpleasant incidents involving unhinged individuals.

Here in the Tennessee mountain wilderness, the night of the full moon seems to inspire increased activity in the nocturnal residents of the forest: more bands of marauding coyotes and roving packs of wild dogs. Some of them (coyotes? dogs?) were howling unnervingly close to my bedroom window late last night. Owls in flight were screeching and hooting with unusual enthusiasm. I even heard squealing bats.

I'm very used to the sounds of nature at night, but last night the surplus of sounds was almost alarming. Even my trio of cats displayed unusual degrees of nervousness.

Early this evening, just after moonrise, I was sitting at the kitchen table in the company of this laptop. I suddenly hear very loud slurping sounds coming from outside near the back porch.

My cat Scratch happened to be outside (against my better judgement - but she's persistent). Scratch doesn't slurp and is never loud. This slurping sound was mega. I figured it was either a leaking pipe.....or a stegosaurus. And I wasn't in the mood to deal with either.

I reluctantly got up and looked out the kitchen window. There by the porch was the biggest dog I ever saw, drinking from a bucket of rain water. This canine was startlingly big. Ringling Bros. Barnum and Bailey big. It looked like a cross between a great dane and an Appaloosa horse.

My first concern was my cat Scratch - who could very possibly have already been eaten. The rainwater might be serving as a chaser to wash her down. 

The dog saw me through the window and started to growl. Not a good sign. I'm an innocent entity out here in Nowhereland. Animal Control wouldn't come if I reported a herd of buffalo.

Worst of all, I have a huge uncovered kitchen window - just two feet above the floor - with only a thin sheet of glass separating me from the forest. The dog can see every inch of me. If he jumped through the glass I'd be history.

All of my cats enjoy sitting on a wooden box and looking out the kitchen window. If they were there now, they'd be instant targets for the dog. I quickly locked Scruffy and Bosco in a bedroom.

I seldom panic easily, but my heart was pounding at the bizarre thought that the dog might never leave. What if he decides to take up permanent residence here?
And where the hell is Scratch? Hopefully in a tree - - and not mincemeat stuck between Rover's teeth..

Is this story getting too long? I'm enjoying writing it, and I know you're enjoying reading it - -  even you miserable critics who hate my blog.

The monster dog hung around for at least an hour. I couldn't do anything but wait it out. Finally I didn't see him. I opened the back door a crack and called "Kitzee!" (that's what Scratch answers to). In half a minute, Scratch appeared and darted in the door faster than I ever saw the old gal go. She was in one piece and still had her tail.

I breathed a Big Sigh of relief (capitalized for emphasis). I haven't seen the dog since.

I blame the full moon for the bizarre incident. I'm keeping the cats indoors.

I'm suddenly starting to feel unusually hairy...and realized that I haven't shaved in days. A beard is growing. My chest hair seems to be thickening.

Hirtsuism?
Impending lycanthropy?? 

Who the hell knows. I feel like howling.

All the moon photos were taken in my back yard a few nights ago.

HEARING VOICES

Sunshine this morning

View from my back door

This blog is turning into nothing more than a boring weather report - - the sole purpose of which is to reassure my friends and relatives that I'm still surviving
AND
to irritate those people who wish I hadn't survived.

In a valiant attempt to expunge tales of winter, I plan to post one of my exciting Hollywood stories very soon (possibly tomorrow).

I know you'll be waiting with breathless anticipation.

Trees on my property (facing north)

Beyond that is the meadow where the cows reside

Heavy snow yesterday and temperatures near zero last night. I stayed up until dawn, keeping careful watch to make sure the pipes didn't freeze again. 

The weather was crystal clear and the full moon was gorgeous. Absolute stillness was broken several times by nearby bands of howling coyotes. Just at midnight about half a dozen of them came right by my back porch. I actually enjoyed the wild excitement of it.

By dawn I was so tired that I crawled into bed for an hour of shuteye.

Fifteen minutes later I was rudely awakened by the loud voices of two men in my kitchen. I sat up startled, but positive that it had been a dream or my vivid imagination.

Then I heard them again - clearly this time. They were talking about numbers and taking measurements.

What the F***?!?

I leaped from bed and ran to the kitchen. On the table was my laptop computer, which I had forgotten to turn off and close.

On the laptop keyboard sat my two young cats Scruffy and Bosco - -  their ample asses manuevering the keys.

Somehow - - this sounds unbelievable but it's true - - they managed to access an episode of This Old House, which I think was on YouTube. Can you believe it??

They also managed to voice-activate my computer (whatever the hell that is). For the next ten minutes this annoying, unwanted voice kept blurting out instructions and finally kept demanding my password (this happened after I had exited the Internet).

It took me half an hour to finally straighten it all out. I am not computer savvy. This kind of crap unnerves me.

What really unnerved me, however, was when I'd first heard those voices in the kitchen.

I've always suspected that someday I'm going to start hearing voices and the men in white coats will come to take me away. I just didn't expect it to happen today.

Trees on my property (facing south)

Beyond that is a river 

(all photos were taken this morning)

BOSCO BY MOONLIGHT

Dazzled by the full moon's interpretation of daylight, Bosco watches in amazement and wonders why he's confined indoors. He is unaware of persistent hard frost and intermittent snow. The window has beckoned him during momentary cloudbreak - when moonlight drenches frozen landscape with stunning illumination.

The other two cats sleep, blissfully snoring, unaware of my chronic insomnia and heavy burden of thoughts. Thought is perpetuated by the silent midnight hours, inspired by momentary glimpses of moonglow.

The February full moon. Snow Moon, as it's called. I went outside, much earlier, as it was rising. The deep forest was shrouded in low fog, but the moon was brilliant and white just above the grasping reach of naked treetops.

As I absorbed the moon's beauty, coyotes howled very nearby. The announcement of their presence startled but didn't scare me. I've grown used to it. They have their territory, I have mine. We respect one another.

The hunters have no respect. The sharp, echoing sound of their rifles occurs quite often and still unnerves me to some extent. Tuesday afternoon was enhanced with showers of light snow. I went outside to watch the strikingly red cardinals. The sudden shots of the hunters was too close for comfort. The birds scattered. I hurried back indoors. I can only hope that the hunters have good eyesight and remain reasonably sober.

And me? I'm still existing in a mild state of confusion - - with too many things and nowhere to put them. The house is chaotic. The garage looks like an explosion at a junk yard. I have a stomach virus and a lethargic attitude. I've put a Hungarian pox on the entire process of moving. And my movers. My missing possessions, so far, have not been found.

But enough of annoying reality. These frozen, moon-drenched midnight hours are reserved for respite and rumors of dreams.

Bosco, in the mesmerizing custody of the moonlit window, fully realizes this.