Twin Buttes
near San Angelo
On my previous post, on my replies in the comment section, I mentioned the fact that I've often used the herb valerian to calm my nerves. That suddenly reminded me of something that happened when I lived in Texas.
I lived in three different towns in West Texas. San Angelo was definitely the most challenging of the three (I'm being very polite with my choice of words).
I'll cut to the chase and get to the valerian story:
Directly behind my house was another house filled with illegal aliens (or immigrants - - "aliens" sounds too outer spacey).
Their back yard was filled with dogs in cages. I don't know whether they bred them or just sold them for taco meat, but it was slightly unnerving. They always kept one particular dog running loose (as a guard...or perhaps a mascot).
Anyway the loose dog was a non-stop barker. It barked 24/7 and annoyed the holy spirit out of me (among other things). The worst thing was that I couldn't sleep from the incessant nighttime barking.
An aside:
there was no chance of calling the police or Animal Control, because laws don't exist in San Angelo. Trust me on this.
Finally - completely unhinged from lack of sleep - I decided to take matters into my own trembling hands.
Should I kill the dog? Shoot him? Smother him?
Naw. I might be a bitch. But I'm usually a sweet bitch.
I decided to sedate him.
This is where the dog lovers are gasping in shock.
This is also why I love cats. They don't bark.
I'd never sedated a pooch before and wondered what I could use. I certainly didn't want to lethally harm him. Well, not much anyway.....
Suddenly-
it dawned on me that I could use valerian root. I've taken that herb very often to sedate myself (God knows, in Texas I needed it). It sure as hell wouldn't hurt to try it on a dog.
I grabbed a leftover hot dog, split it open, and stuffed it with some valerian.
Fed it to the dog (who gobbled it greedily). And waited.
Voila!
Within twenty minutes Rover calmed down, stopped barking........and I got some much-needed sleep.
It sure as hell didn't solve all my Texas problems, but it was a pleasant interlude.
While I have your attention, I'll mention a few more things about my San Angelo neighbors.
The neighbor to my right was a woman who ran a "daycare" center with about thirty screaming kids (I kid you not!).
Here's the kicker:
She drank and (I strongly suspected) dabbled in drugs. Her son was arrested for giving alcohol and drugs to minors.
AND
let's insert a drum roll here for effect
The woman rented her upstairs rooms to prostitutes.
I swear to Gawd I couldn't make this stuff up.
Are you ready for more? Take a deep breath and hold onto your garters before reading this one.
The neighbors to my left were drug dealers and at least twenty people lived in the house.
One of the many residents was a huge - and I mean horrendously alarmingly huge - woman who got angry at me
(I won't divulge details on a public blog)
and shot at my house numerous times!
And I won't mention the fact that her drug-dealing cronies despised me and used to follow, threaten, and intimidate me......it's a pathetically long story.
Big Mama was eventually wanted for murder....and she was featured on the TV show America's Most Wanted.
By this time she fled Texas and went to Louisiana - - where she was murdered by some of her drug-dealing "friends".
They cut off her fingers, stuffed her ample body into a car, and set it on fire!
I'm tempted to mention her name - - but I won't.
These are just a few of my Texas adventures. There were many more, far worse ones - - but I'll spare you.
The photos were taken at Twin Buttes, near San Angelo, where I used to go hiking. I encountered lots of rattlesnakes.
It happened early this evening, after dark - completely unexpectedly. No, it wasn't an angel. But it certainly was one helluva surprise.
I was never in favor of getting to the point easily. Good writing - much like good sex - needs sufficient foreplay before the climax. I'll drive you there, but I'm gonna take the long route. Take a deep breath and fasten your seat belts.
Let's first describe my day:
A bitterly cold, yawning, miserable day.
The temperature is desperately trying to hit 20 degrees (Fahrenheit) but never makes its mark. Everything outside is frozen. I am drifting in an icy, lethargic limbo. Too cold to think. Too tired to care.
The temp dropped to 2 degrees last night. That's Two - like in "Duo". I stayed up all night, babysitting the water pipes. Making sure they didn't freeze. Long, frigid, lonely hours. I made pancakes to pass the time. And a couple cups of hot tea.
By dawn, I have lots of other things to do. Sleep is not yet an option. Just after noon I finally collapse into bed for a few hours, accompanied by Bosco the cat, who keeps stealthily stealing the covers.
I'm gonna radically change the subject now, only because it's imperative to my story. Trust me. I always know what I'm doing.
A few weeks ago, a dear friend of mine in California decided to send me a gift. It was something I can use during the cold winter months (let your imaginations go rampant). She ordered the gift from a catalog and had it shipped to me.
Of course, the package never arrived. I'm here in the wilderness among wolves and heathens. Adequate deliveries via UPS are unheard of. Hell, UPS is unheard of.
The catalog company was informed of the non-delivery and a new package was immediately sent. Against all odds, it was miraculously delivered - kinda like a virgin birth. I received it last week.
The End.
Happy ending.
So, what about the Visitation?
Hang on to your wigs and girdles. I'm getting there.
So. Let's get back to today.
After my afternoon nap with Bosco. I made a quick dinner (fish and chips, if you really want to know).
Just as it is getting dark, I decide to take a shower and wash my hair. Heavy snow is expected late tonight. I want to look my best in case I freeze to death and am photographed by the press for the Morning Edition.
Before I hit the showers, I let my cat Scratch outside. She's extremely demanding and doesn't mind the cold.
As I'm stepping out of the shower I suddenly remember that Scratch is outside. Despite her appreciation of the cold, she's been out twenty minutes and might very well have turned into a feline popsicle.
With a towel around my waist, I open the back door. The Arctic blast that hits me has the power of an avalanche.
No cat in sight, and it's now pitch black.
"Scratch, where the hell are you?" I yell so loud that my voice echoes through the forest.
At that very moment, someone or something is pounding at my front door.
Holy shit, it couldn't be the cat, could it?
Picture this:
I live in the proverbial middle of nowhere. In a forest. Access to the damn place is nearly impossible without sleds and teams of huskies. It's pitch black outside and now 10 degrees. I never get visitors. Even on a good day.
I drop the towel, hastily pull on a pair of jeans and half a flannel shirt (I only had one arm in one sleeve). My hair is dripping wet. I stumble to the front door and open it.
It's a guy from UPS. Young and cute - but that's beside the point. His truck is far away. He actually hiked to my house.
"I'm here to pick up the package," he informs me.
What the frick?
"What package??"
I'm not sure what's more embarrassing: my ignorance over what he's talking about, or my appalling - dripping and completely disheveled - appearance.
"The first package that was delivered on January 4th," he explains.
I make a feeble attempt to gather my wits and explain that the first package never arrived. I only have the second package - and I won't surrender that one without a fight. Or at least a heroic scuffle.
I explain the situation and he accepts it.
We part on amicable terms.
I genuinely feel sorry for the guy - having to find my place after dark, and having to hike in frigid temperatures to get to my door.
Kudos to cute and courageous UPS couriers.
I also feel sorry for me - having to make an appearance before a stranger when I'm soaking wet and half dressed. This has never happened before. Well, not when I was sober, anyway.
I feel sorry for my cat Scratch, who looked like a paltry imitation of a polar bear when she finally came in.
I should also feel sorry for the kind and patient people who took the time to read this excruciatingly long tale, but I don't. Hell, it was free entertainment.
And - since it was told by me - it was damn good entertainment.
Hey, Jon - you're full of yourself.
This is a continuation of my two previous posts.
The drive from Texas to Tennessee took longer than expected.
"I'll get there in two days," I bragged. "I'll only need to stay in a motel one night."
It in fact took me three and a half days, and I stayed in motels every night.
I opted to travel on I-40. It was the most simple route, even though it forced me to drive through all the big cities. I arrived in Oklahoma City during rush hour and the traffic scared the living jeeters out of me.
Got a motel room in Shawnee. This time my next door neighbors were two lesbians. They had a huge St. Bernard dog that ran into my room as I was bringing in the luggage. If my cats weren't caged there would have been trouble.
All in all, things were going very smoothly and I was in a mellow frame of mind. Until I got to Arkansas.
I have no qualms about Arkansas. Lovely scenery. Nice people. But.....
.........rotten roads and highways. Haven't been repaired since Betsy Ross was sewing the flag. All right. I'll admit I'm being vicious.
In late afternoon the weather takes a turn for the worst. By nightfall it's pouring rain. I want to stop but there are no motels. No rest areas. No signs of life.
And no signs. Not one damn sign to let me know where the heck I am.
I don't like night driving. I have bad eyes. Night blindness. No exaggeration. I've had surgery on my eyes, but I won't go into that.
As if torrential rain and bad eyes aren't enough, major road construction begins. And detours. The highway narrows into one harrowing lane.
The deluge becomes Biblical. I don't need a vehicle. I need an ark. The rain is pounding so hard that my windshield wipers are useless.
No lights along the highway. Pitch blackness ensues. No white dividing line on the pavement. Nothing to guide me. There was a feeble smattering of reflectors along one side of the road, but suddenly they vanish.
Absolute blackness. Relentless rain. Nowhere to pull over or stop. I'm gripping the steering wheel with both hands, riding the breaks, crawling 10 MPH.
Literally driving completely blind.
You'll never make it, Jon, you're never going to make it.....
As I'm breathing these ominous words, my car is suddenly airborne. I'm flying through nothingness, like a NASCAR Peter Pan.
It's a crappy analogy, but what the hell...
It wasn't until I hit bottom that I realize I went over a cliff. Landed in a very thick swamp of mud. And water. And oozing Arkansas goo.
The impact was brutal but the mud saved my ass. And my car. And the cats - who were ruthlessly tossed in their cages. Cat food and used kitty litter is everywhere.
It takes all of my strength to push open the door against the resisting sea of mud.
Let me mention that I'm wearing a brand new pair of leather boots. Brand spanking new and beautiful. Only wore them for three days.
As soon as I squeeze out of the car, I sink up to my hips in mud. I'm immediately drenched with pouring rain.
There are times when reality is so harsh that it abandons us. Everything seems completely unreal. I'm drifting in the outer realms of the Twilight Zone.
How the hell am I gonna get outta here?
I have a cell phone, but who can I call or text? And what will I say? Hello, I just went over a cliff in Arkansas and don't know where I am.
I suddenly look up at the steep embankment and realize that the highway is at least 50 feet above me. Vehicles are zooming by, seemingly in the heavens.
I decide to abandon all sense of dignity. I start waving my arms and shouting. Can it get any worse than this? I've sunk to the lowest rung on the Ladder of Humanity.
My pathetic pleas were eventually seen and/or heard. An Arkansas patrol car is on the scene.
"Are you hurt?" he shouts down to me.
"Only my pride," I yell up at him.
And I'm thinking:
there is a God. He's punishing me for all my past sins.
"Better get back in the car, " the officer suggests. "You'll get wet."
Get wet? Is he joking?? I'm covered in mud. I look like the frickin' tar baby in Uncle Remus.
The tow truck finally arrives. The driver is like a reject from a casting call for Hee Haw.
His southern accent is so thick that I can't understand a word.
My car is soon chained to his truck and he's plying me with instructions as he performs the extraction.
"Torn th' weeel rait!"
Turn the wheel right.
"Ain seen nutin thes baid inna loong taim."
Ain't seen nothing this bad in a long time.
The crystal clarity of his pronunciation astounds me when he finally quotes the fee for the extraction.
"Three hundred dollars."
No accent at all. I understood every word perfectly.
Fortunately I had cash.
Being extracted from the depths of hell and the agony of humiliation was well worth any price.
This isn't the end of my adventures, folks. There's more to come.
