LAMENT ON A NOVEMBER AFTERNOON

 I can't seem to let October go. I'm still lamenting the passing of my favorite month. I'm still in a Halloween mode, immersed in the apex of the autumnal equinox.

November is here. Most people have rudely discarded their withering jack-o-lanterns and are now gearing up for the holiday onslaught. They're dusting off their Christmas ornaments and Nativity mangers (are mangers still legal?). They're deciding what type of enhancing plague mask they'll be wearing to the upcoming Christmas parties (is Christmas still legal?).
They'll be getting their 39th Booster Plague Shot, just to be safe.

Am I being sarcastic?
Nope. I wouldn't even think of it.

I'm too busy savoring what's left of the autumn foliage. The turning of the leaves was initially sporadic and rather reluctant here in the wilds of Tennessee. The past few days have brought a glorious burst of color in the surrounding forest. 

Today I had planned to walk in the woods (again) but didn't feel up to it. By late afternoon, in the golden waning sunlight, my backyard forest looked beautiful. I grabbed my camera and took some fairly decent photos without having to leave the back porch.

Glimpses of my world on a November day:

 

My bedroom window early this morning

Back yard, photos taken from porch

 

Pumpkins left over from October. I should have cleaned that mirror - but, heck, I'm not Martha Stewart.

SCENARIO AND TREE TRIMMING

Here's a scenario for you to ponder:

You're sitting alone, minding your own business, when somebody comes out of nowhere and says 

"On the last Thursday in November you have to kill a turkey, prepare an outrageously costly and elaborate feast, and share it with relatives and friends that you really don't like and who often irritate the jeeters out of you.
And you have to pretend you're happy and having a good time." 

While you're trying to ponder that, they suddenly add

"And a few weeks later you have to kill a pine tree, prop it up in your living room, and buy outrageously costly and elaborate gifts for relatives and friends that you really don't like and who often irritate the jeeters out of you.
And you have to pretend you're happy and having a good time."

Please don't let this dissuade you from enjoying the upcoming holidays. It was merely a spontaneous and perfectly innocent thought. 

By the way - this year Thanksgiving has been changed from the last Thursday in November to the second to last Thursday in November. 
Consider it a courtesy so you have more time in November to start your Christmas shopping.

I have no time to ponder the holidays. I'm still recovering from my nerve wracking drive to town yesterday - which I had to do while wearing only one contact lens.
It's bitterly ironic that when I got home, my new contact lenses had (finally!!!) been delivered.

I wrote a looooong blog post about this yesterday, but decided to delete it. It was the merciful thing to do.

This morning was raw, damp, and cold. I decided to sleep in and get some desperately-needed rest.

Loud crashes and grinding noises jolted me out of Dreamland at around 7:00 a.m.
I looked out the window and saw that the county workers were on their annual tree-trimming expedition.

Every year around this time they come out to the rural areas and cut tree branches away from the power lines.
I'm glad they do this, because there are a few trees on my property that I was considering trimming myself. 

My trusty El Cheapo digital camera has new batteries, so I took some pics from my window.

 Bosco took a keen interest in the tree trimming procedure.

The excitement of rural living never ceases.

RAGE!!!

Okay, I have to take a few deep breaths because I'm hyperventilating. This is the very limit of my endurance.

I didn't drive into town last Friday (the 13th) because it was rainy, I felt rotten, and was in a foul mood. Despite the fact that I desperately needed to get groceries and other things, I figured I'd valiantly wait until Monday.

I spent the weekend anxiously counting the hours (and minutes) until Monday.

Monday morning (that's today!):

Despite having minimal sleep and maximum ailments, I got up at dawn to get an early start. Showered. Shaved. Forced myself to put on some decent clothes. Hauled all my trash bags out to the car to take to the dump (there's no trash pick-up here in the wilderness).

Just as I was ready to leave I heard on the news that today is a holiday!!!!!!!
The banks are closed.
I can't shop without going to the bank. I have about 35 cents in my pocket.

And don't tell me about ATM machines. I haven't seen one since I was in Los Angeles.

Prepare yourselves - here comes the rant:

America has more FRICKIN' holidays than any place on earth. Every goddamn Monday is a holiday and I'm sick of it. I don't give a rat's ass about Martin Luther King or his dream. If you care, then go light a candle or something - but don't force it on me.

And the first person who calls me a racist is going to get my "Vladimir Putin" poster shoved up your ample derriere.

This goes for President's Day, Columbus Day, and every other harebrained  holiday that they come up with. All of them should be banned.

I specifically chose Monday to drive to town because it's supposed to rain on Tuesday - - - but, of course, it rains in Tennessee about 340 days a year. I should be used to it.

BTW -
I just read the comments on my previous blog post and someone (named Anonymous) warned me that Monday would be a holiday. Sorry that I didn't see it sooner.

So, here it is early Monday morning and I'm all dressed up with no place to go. How the hell am I going to kill the day?
Well, I'll watch the cats starve.
And I'll scrape up some scraps for my own dinner. Maybe I'll have 'possum stew.

And I think I'll try to finally transfer some of my old piano tapes to mp3. If I'm successful I'll post some on this blog.

Be sure to let me know if tomorrow is going to be another holiday.

DEEP FREEZE

 

icicles

 

I was rudely awakened by the nearby sound of gunshots. Hunters are everywhere today and most are far too close for comfort.

I've been in a dangerously rabid mood all weekend. My initial thought was that I should probably be quarantined. Then I realized that I am basically quarantined, in this rustic purgatory of a mountain retreat.


Spell Check keeps insisting that I spelled "quarantine" wrong. Screw them.

I'm glad my cats all have their rabies shots, because I might bite.

Winter is firmly ensconced here in the Tennessee backwoods, and the Arctic temperatures keep reminding me that I should have moved somewhere more temperate. Like Guam.

It's presently 5 degrees (Fahrenheit) as I write this, and snow is predicted to enhance our misery by Wednesday. I had to stay up all night (again) to make sure the pipes didn't freeze. It's going to be a bitch of a week and I don't plan on venturing out anywhere for any reason. If worse comes to worse I'll make feline stew. Scruffy and Scratch will be the first victims. Since Bosco has the most agreeable temperament, I'll save him for next week.

I have an EXTREMELY important letter to be mailed. It's a near-matter of life and death.
My only two options are to:
1. Drive a million miles into town on dangerously icy mountain roads
or
2. Risk putting it in my mailbox and pray that the incompetent and sporadic mail carrier will pick it up some time before summer.

I opted to risk leaving it in the mailbox. 

Early last evening I bundled up against the 15 degree (Fahrenheit) chill and braved the long.....and I mean LOOONG... walk to my mailbox. The damn thing was frozen shut and I had to pry it open. I propped up the frozen little red flag and said a prayer to the Letter Gods that the errant mail carrier will see it on Monday (that's today).

The uphill walk back home in the frigid temperatures nearly killed me. By the time I got to the front porch I was breathless and dizzy with chest pains. 

I sat down at my computer in an attempt to recover, and checked the news headlines.
There - - was an alarmingly huge photo of Martin Luther King glaring at me, with the horrifying pronouncement that Monday is his birthday. Banks, schools, and post offices will be closed. NO MAIL DELIVERY.

My important letter will have to sit in that frozen box for at least another day. Or two or three or four - depending on the weather. And the whim of the mail carrier.

My question:
How many frickin' holidays are there????
It seems like every Monday is a holiday. Soon we'll have so many "holidays" that they will become one endless year-long holiday. I can see it now:

Oprah Day, Obama Day, Geronimo Day, Pocahontas Day, Tokyo Rose Day, Moms Mabley Day....Bill Crosby Day.....

....O.J.Simpson Day...... 

I'm anxiously awaiting Betty Boop Day.

(fat chance, huh?)

 




  

   

VARYING DEGREES OF HUMBUG

The above photo was taken when I had just turned three years old. I look older, because I was a very tall kid. My father wrote the date on the reverse side of the photo and he was never wrong. Trust me on that.

I was an extremely gullible child, and would have probably continued believing in Santa Claus well into my 40's - - if my parents hadn't dispelled the myth by telling me the truth when I was six. Yet, despite my gullibility, even at the tender age of three I was highly suspicious of this strange dude clad in a red suit at the local department store. Somehow, the booze on his breath and the unnervingly cold hands gave me reason to suspect that he wasn't the genuine article.

That was one helluva coat I was wearing (and I think it was a matching hat)

When I was four years old, one of my uncles - plied with too much Pabst Blue Ribbon and Christmas spirit - called us up and pretended he was Santa Claus. Still pathetically naive, I believed him and provided him with my wish-list of toys. Those were the days.

In later years my parents didn't really celebrate Christmas and I didn't really care. Even though my parents were complete opposites, they were in total agreement about their dislike of holidays, parties, and inane social gatherings.

 My first Christmas.
I had just turned one
(my BDay is Dec. 13)

 This is the house where we lived when I was one.

My father took this photo on Christmas Eve.

As for me - I abhor the mass commercialization of Christmas and the relentless brainwashing media agenda of forcing us to comply with it. It's an alarmingly hypocritical and pagan time of year. It  isn't the correct birth date of Jesus. Shepherds weren't abiding in fields in late December. And I doubt if all the blatant holiday ostentation and merciless materialism would have pleased someone so humble and unobtrusive.

How do you know Jesus really existed, Jon?

Hey, Bucko, don't give me the Leon Trotsky shit. How do you know Charles Darwin's monkey really existed? 

You sound very bitter about the holidays, Jon. Where's your Christmas spirit?

Somewhere in the closet. With my alter ego, Scrooge.

In the closet??

Nothing sexual, of course.

I'm not really as bad as I sound. What I like best about the holiday season is the intense festivity of it all. I love the good food and colored lights, the scent of pine trees, the prevailing atmosphere of peace and joy. There is no real peace and joy, of course, but the temporary facsimile is intriguing.

So, what is my Christmas like? Well, I never send cards or buy gifts. And I don't do mega decorations. I'm not that daft. But I always used to have a garland and colored lights on the fireplace mantle. Now that I don't have a fireplace, I might hang garlands and lights on the cats......
......come to think of it, I might hang the cats with lights and garland.

It was a small attempt at humor.
Why isn't anyone laughing?

I have many bad memories of the holiday season, which is one reason why I'm not too thrilled with it. But that's another story for another time.

Whatever your beliefs or non-beliefs - -
Let the holiday season begin!

I was probably three in this photo (possibly four?).

I look kinda cranky, but then, I'm always cranky in the morning.

FROST, FIRE, AND TURKEY

Note:
as you read this post you'll probably notice that my text size and font style inexplicably keep changing. This has been happening to my blog for weeks, and so far everything I've tried to correct it has failed.

Also, the "I" key cap on my laptop keyboard is still broken and I have to go through a slow and painstaking process to insert an "i" into my words. 

Both of these problems have made typing so agonizng and frustrating that I no longer enjoy blogging. It's very diffcult to maintain my chain of thought while constantly struggling to eradicate these annoyances. I'm seriously considering abandoning my blog because of it.
Anyway, here's my latest post:
 

I indulged in one of my greatest passions last night. This is where your wicked imaginations should go into overdrive.

Opera! Not quite as good as sex, but a satisfying facsimile. I watched an entire performance of Die Walkure - a duration exceeding three hours. I was emotionally and spiritually transported to the realms of Valhalla, where I could easily reside forever.

Yea, I know - the subject of opera is a sure way to repel my three readers (bitter sarcasm inserted here), but allow me to vent for a glorious moment.

Wagner's artistic musical imagination and sheer genius for drama is beyond superb. Wotan's Farewell and the Magic Fire Music are so sublimely beautiful that the emotion overwhelms me.
 

Magic Fire Music on a very frosty November night. What could be better?

My personal favorite Brunnhilde?
Gwyneth Jones. I love her.
And Wotan?
Tough choice. James Morris and Donald McIntyre.

There. That wasn't so bad, was it? Now for a change of subject.

My previous blog post  All About Thanksgiving was written two years ago and posted on my old blog Lone Star Concerto. After reading it again, it's not quite as funny as I initially thought (I have a feeling that you agree.....)
but I still think it's good. 
And it's damn true.

 View from one of my bedroom windows

Thanksgiving?
I'll be spending it home alone, with the three pesky cats. I bought a turkey but think I'll save it for December. Why have turkey on Thanksgiving just because tradition dictates it? I might have roast chicken and stuffing. Haven't really decided yet.

Actually, I love turkey - - could eat it once a week, at least. And I always make homemade soup from the leftovers. Smoked turkeys are the very best, but they're expensive. 

I also make homemade pumpkin bread, pudding, and pie. Yea, I can cook.....I'm not just another pretty face.....I love anything with pumpkin in it.
I remember the delicious Mexican pumpkin candy I used to get as a kid on Olvera Street in Los Angeles.

What I like best about the holiday season is the festive atmosphere and the good food. I was never into family gatherings and all the faux unity and kissy kissy crap. Why bother to fake it once a year?

This undoubtedly stems from my parents. They had the most turbulent marriage in history and were complete opposites, but they fully agreed on one thing: they never liked holidays, parties, or inane social gatherings. 
The fact that we lived thousands of miles away from most of our relatives was another factor. We never had to worry about being involved in all the family holiday crap.

So what's happening here on the mountain? Beautiful days, but the temperature is supposed to drop to 15 degrees tomorrow night.(yes, 15 degrees Fahrenheit)I'm sure as hell not looking forward to it. I had to crawl under the house again today to check some things. Didn't scare me half as much as it did the first time. Emerged covered in dirt and cobwebs.

It's presently 3:00 p.m. - getting dark, rainy, windy, and cold. I'm going to make dinner and a cup of tea.