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.

ONE MORE THING

I want to elaborate on my previous post (What's in the Box?) and answer a few questions that were raised - concerning my move from Texas to Tennessee.

I hired Hart Moving and Storage - -a supposedly "reputable" moving company (hahaha) and naively assumed that they would transport my possessions from Lubbock to TN non-stop. It seemed like a simple process.

Instead (surprise surprise) they transferred my belongings to several other vans along the way (exactly why, God only knows). When they finally got to my Tennessee home, the mountain road was too narrow for the huge Bekins van (yes, Bekins) to maneuver (I had warned them). They had to return to town and transfer (again!) all my possessions to a much smaller UHaul truck.
On top of this, I later discovered that most of the boxes WERE NOT LABLED, so it would have been extremely easy to lose them.

AND there was a TWO MONTH DELAY thanks to the Christmas season.

Worst of all (could it get worse?) I paid nearly $10,000 in storage and moving costs (!!!) and couldn't afford insurance. I didn't think I needed it.

They lost all my diaries & journals, nearly all of my piano music, my collection of antique books, original  antique oil paintings, ALL of my tools, lawn mowers, brooms & sweepers, some furniture, area rugs, dishes and kitchen items....
It was the worst experience of my life, and - believe me - I've had plenty.

So far nothing has been resolved - - but I'm not done with them, by a longshot.

Hope you read my previous post!    Jon

HAPPILY NEVER AFTER

I was aware at a very early age that there are no happy endings. The fairy tales that we were unwittingly fed as children had altered endings with satisfactory resolutions in order to placate our fragile and yet-unsophisticated minds. Reality has a vicious bite and we weren't yet sufficiently prepared to handle it.

As a diehard realist since childhood, I was convinced that the Big Bad Wolf not only ate Granny, but Red Riding Hood as well. And the only repercussion was some slight indigestion.

Rapunzel, when she let her golden hair cascade down the side of the tower, was cited by the Neighborhood Beautification Committee and forced to get a buzz cut.

 Sleeping Beauty was snubbed by the Handsome Prince. Instead of giving Beauty a kiss that would awaken her, the Prince had his eye on a hunky farmer plowing a nearby field. The Prince galloped over to the astonished farmer, swooped him up, and they rode off into the sunset.
Whether or not they plowed together happily ever after is a matter of vigorous debate.

So what's your point, Jon?

There is no point. You simply caught me thinking out loud.

I had never expected my move to Tennessee to be absolutely perfect, because happy endings have never been part of my repertoire. Things have been going surprisingly well, but there are glitches.

What it mostly boils down to - I think - is that I'm completely exhausted, mentally and physically. The past few grueling years in Texas have finally caught up with me. And the entire harrowing process of moving has taken its toll. Being without furniture for six weeks wasn't exactly pleasant. And now that I have furniture, I don't know were the hell to put it.
Please don't give me any crude suggestions.

I love Tennessee. I love my rural location. I almost like my new house - except for the fact that it's too small. I miss the enormous amount of storage that my Texas house had.

I love the mountains & forests & snow - but somehow the bleakness and frigidity of winter has rendered me unmotivated. I have a million important things to do (I counted them) but all I really feel like doing is hibernating.
Incidentally, winter affected me the same way in Texas. Believe me, it got COLD there on the high plains.

The process of unpacking and sorting my stuff is agonizingly long and annoyingly unpleasant. I'm hesitant to open boxes because I have no place to put things. The garage is extremely damp and bitterly cold. There are hundreds of cardboard boxes and they are getting droopy with moisture.

a glimpse of my garage

 

 

Yesterday I got trapped amidst an avalanche of boxes and didn't think I'd ever get out alive. My hands were so numb from the cold that I couldn't move my fingers. My  cell phone (of course) was way over on the other side of the garage.

I eventually dug myself out and the effort wasn't pretty. I'd been working in the garage for over two hours with no coat or gloves - and it was 23 degrees. I admittedly was wearing two shirts and a sweat shirt.

Worst of all - -
It couldn't possibly get worse, Jon, could it?

I was horrified to discover that numerous items are mysteriously missing. I checked several times. I have a lot of stuff - the inventory was fifteen pages. Moving day was completely chaotic and I couldn't keep track of everything. I told the movers exactly what I wanted to take and what I wanted to leave. I trusted them.

There are two absolutes in life:
Happy endings don't exist
and
Never trust anybody.

Ironically, the missing items are things which I want the most:

My big tool box, which contains every tool that I ever owned - including many that belonged to my father.
ALL of my mother's piano music - which I cherished.
My mother's scrapbook, which contains priceless family photos.
A ten-drawer antique dresser.

and - let's have a drum roll here -
THIRTY volumes of my hand-written journals and diaries. Most of these were written in California and contain details of all of my concerts, love affairs, and adventures. It's a virtual gold mine.

I would willingly give up everything I own to have the journals and piano music back.

This blog post is too long. I'm eating breakfast as I'm writing this. After I finish my coffee I'm going back into the garage to resume my search.

If I'm not back in a couple of hours, call 911. Tell them to bring a defroster and the Jaws of Life.

SLIGHTLY OFF COURSE

This is the final installment in my series of posts about moving from Texas to Tennessee.

WARNING: it's not half as exciting as my previous post but it's just as long.



My adventures in Arkansas didn't end when I went over the cliff. There was more to come. Nothing quite as exciting in comparison to the cliff incident - but worthy of rehashing, nevertheless.

I'm sorry to disappoint those of you who were hoping I'd go over another cliff. Don't try to deny it. I know you're out there.

When I and my car were finally extracted from that Arkansas swamp, my problems were not completely over. The rain was still torrential. It was still pitch dark. And I still didn't know were the hell I was. 

The patrol car left quickly, as did the tow truck - without even waving bye-bye. Me and my car were covered in mud. My three cats were catatonic (no pun intended). I wasn't really physically hurt, but my ego was shattered and my confidence had dwindled to the size of a pimple on a flea's ass (I just made that one up).

The road was still under construction and a single lane. With no lights and no signs. I still couldn't see a darn thing.

All I kept thinking was
What if I give a repeat performance? What if I go over another cliff?
The possibility was unnervingly probable.

I drove in the company of extreme apprehension - - until I finally saw lights and an exit. The exit took me to Russellville, where I stopped at the first motel I saw. Best Western Inn, in case you really need to know.

Hopelessly disheveled and completely covered in mud, I looked like I had just been unearthed from an archaeological excavation. I attempted to explain my plight to the night clerk, who was only mildly amused.

You're dragging out the story and wasting precious time, Jon.

Yea, but I'm always damn interesting. Admit it.

I started out the next morning with wet boots and shaken cats, but I had clean clothes and an optimistic attitude. Things looked better without the rain.

Little Rock was a blur of frenzied traffic. At this point my only concern was getting to Memphis.

The sign reads Memphis Merge Left
I merge left.

After leaving Little Rock I begin to relax. There is very little traffic. The scenery is lovely. I'm occasionally wondering why the traffic is so sparse on I-40, but it doesn't really concern me.

I'm occasionally wondering why this highway doesn't exactly seem like I-40, but it doesn't concern me.

I get concerned when I see the sign HWY 67 North, St. Louis .
 I'm supposed to be heading east. Memphis.

I couldn't possibly have been driving in the wrong direction for the past hour, could I?
I'm not that stupid.

I was that stupid.
I wind up in a little town called Newport. I fill the car with gas, eat at McDonalds, then study the roadmap. Carefully.

I backtrack on HWY 67 but opt not to go all the way back to I-40. Instead I take HWY 64  to Memphis. A very pleasant rural route.

I won't bother to alarm everyone by telling about the VERY close call I had while trying to pass a slow-moving vehicle and almost hitting another car head-on. I'm not that reckless.

Memphis welcomed me with rush hour traffic. I got a glimpse of the mighty Mississippi River (it wasn't my first time). The torrential Arkansas rain followed me through Tennessee and forced me to get a motel in Fairview for the night.

My main goal was to get to Tennessee alive and I did. I'm grateful for that.

INSANITY IN AMARILLO

This is a continuation of my previous post.

Before I recount my Big Adventure in Arkansas, I've decided to tell about my final night in Texas.

I embarked on my journey at 3:00 in the afternoon - -  the 100 mile trek north to Amarillo. It was already late in the day. I was so exhausted from lack of sleep and an abundance of stress that I knew I wouldn't drive any farther than Amarillo. I'd stay there for the night.

The process of moving is extremely traumatic, but once you're free - on the road - there's an immense feeling of contentment. Absolutely no ties, no worries. The past is fading with every mile. The future is non-existent. Despite all I'd been through I was feeling strangely wonderful.

The Texas scenery changes as you approach Amarillo. It's more interesting, more diverse than those hellish flatlands from whence I came. As I passed the tiny town of Happy, I thought of my mother. She always liked the name of that obscure Texas town and said she wouldn't mind living there.

Today, Happy evoked a sudden twinge of sadness....

Old, familiar Amarillo was busy and bustling as usual. After passing a few motels that had "No Pets Allowed" signs, I finally found one that welcomed pets. Or at least tolerated them. I and my three caged cats checked in.

I was far more dehydrated than hungry. I bought drinks and some snacks from a nearby convenience store. My plan was to get lots of sleep and get up very early.

I had just about dozed off, when my sleep is interrupted by thuds, thumps, loud curses, and finally screams. I thought I was dreaming. In a groggy moment I realize it is alarmingly real.

The commotion is coming from the room directly next to mine. Banging! Thumps on the wall! Muffled cries. Agonizing screams.

As I sit frozen, absorbing the chaos, I can tell that two men are fighting - -  in the throes of an enormous struggle. One man sounds more rational. The other is either drunk, drugged, or completely crazy. Both have Mexican accents.

The crazy guy is getting increasingly violent and irrational. He eventually manages to get outside and is standing right by my door. In a loud psychotic voice he babbles on about birdies and rainbows. And pain.

"The birdies are around me! The birdies are here! Look at the rainbows! Oh, Jesus, my f---king legs hurt! They're burning! Help me! Help me!"

Holy shit! The guy is completely bonkers and he's right at my door!

I'm afraid to look out the window for fear that he'll see me. I don't know whether to call the front desk. Or the police.
I decide to bravely wait it out.

Soon both men are struggling near my door, and the crazy one is shouting "I'll kill you! I got a fu--king knife! I'll slice you up!"

I'm scared as hell - - but despite my genuine fear, I can actually see a smidgen of wry humor in the ordeal. This could only happen to me. Throughout my entire life I've been a magnet for bizarre situations.
 And all I wanted is a good nights sleep.....

The crazy guy suddenly starts whimpering and saying "I can't walk! I can't walk! I'm a fu-king cripple! My legs are burning!"

I breathe a big sigh of relief.
Thank God! If the dude can't walk, I'll have a better chance of escaping when he breaks into my room.

After the agonizing span of an hour (at least) the two guys go back inside their room. The ruckus continues but eventually lessens. The crazy guy becomes more subdued, then his antics stop completely.

My imagination is rampant. Did the other guy finally manage to sedate him? Or kill him??

I finally look out the window. The motel parking lot is nearly empty. Very few people were around to witness the bizarre event.

The rest of the night is peaceful but I take no chances. I prop a large armchair up against my double-locked door. I sleep fully dressed.

And I keep telling myself that some day I'll look back at this with humor.



You can't make these things up, folks. Truth is always stranger than fiction.

On to Arkansas.....and more bizarre adventures.....

Farewell, Amarillo

I THINK I SLEPT IN A BED LAST NIGHT

 

I'm still wondering why the moving company initially sent a huge rig (two blocks long, at least) in an attempt to deliver my furniture last Tuesday. I had explained to them that access to my remote mountain abode wasn't easy. The initial attempt failed. Miserably. They promised that success would prevail on Wednesday.

Success prevailed on Wednesday, with a much smaller truck and the mercy of Mother Nature. It was colder than a penguin's kiss (I just made that up) with heavy flurries, but the mountain roads were driveable.

Is there any way that I can kidnap Spell Check and quietly dispose of it? It questions every word I write.
I say "driveable" exists.
If it doesn't, let's pretend it does.

The driver and his two helpers arrived just after 8:00am and were finished by 11:00. They were extremely polite and the delivery of my furniture went smoothly. I'm now the proud father of all my possessions. After three long  months.

I've been without my things for so long that it's rather disconcerting to have them back. Been living out of a suitcase since October. Haven't slept in a bed since before Thanksgiving. Been wearing the same two outfits for as long as I can remember.

I think I actually slept in a bed last night. I was so damn tired I didn't really know. Two of the cats slept with me - making my embarkation to Dreamland rather unpleasant - but, heck, I didn't give a hoot. I've have worse bed partners before. Trust me on that.

Sorting through my possessions and putting everything away will be a herculean task, at best. This place has three bedrooms and two baths but it's a lot smaller than my TX house was. Storage is what I need.

An obstacle course of boxes in my garage

Right now, hundreds of boxes are piled in the garage. No exaggeration. Worst of all....

.....could it actually be worse?......

there's no door on my garage (it's a long story that I won't go into now). I had to put up a heavy tarp to protect everything. I brought the valuables inside - including many antique paintings.

My two pianos survived the moving & storage ordeal better than I expected. They are playable. I am out of practice.

Speed it up, Jon. Your blog post is getting too long.

Sure, it's long - - but my charm, wit, and likeability sustain me.

That's what you think.

The Big Cold Front (capitalized for emphasis) arrived yesterday. The daytime "high" was 16 degrees. After midnight it dropped to a teeth-chattering minus 5.
Minuses unnerve me.

I'm not feeling well at all today. Aches, pains, sore throat. The flu is rampant and I'm hoping I don't catch it. I don't feel like doing a damn thing but I have a lot to do.

At least I have a bed and two pianos to sustain me.

And three cats - - just in case I run out of food and get hungry.

Somewhere near my kitchen -

a tabletop and my boots

MY FURNITURE ARRIVED! WELL, MAYBE NOT.....

The moving van was here. Well, almost here.

It was so close that I could touch it.......

The two cars belong to me and my cousin.

 

My furniture was finally supposed to arrive today! And it almost did. It was so close I could almost touch it. Almost......

Let's have a quick recap for those readers who aren't quite familiar with my plight:

I moved from Texas to Tennessee in early October. Stayed with my cousin in Tennessee for over a month, while I looked for a new place.
Moved into my new place on Thanksgiving Day. Due to bizarre circumstances, address mix ups, and the infinitely endless holidays, my furniture couldn't be shipped until January.
Tuesday, January 6th, the moving company assured me.

Got a call a few days ago from one of the Honchos in charge.

"We're studying a map", she tells me. "Looks like you're way out in a rural area. The street doesn't seem to be listed. The whole area doesn't look accessible."

"I'm in the boonies," I admit, "but I'm near a paved road. It's narrow and one-way, but it's paved."

"Is your home accessible? I've pulled up some aerial photos and all I see are mountains and trees."

"Logging trucks use the road, and other work trucks. Occasionally I see a school bus. My house is on a steep slope. The path to get there is only mud and gravel but it's accessible."

After taking a few long minutes to ponder , she said "We'll send a big truck. It will get there."

They sent a big, big truck. It couldn't get here.
Couldn't make the sharp turn to access my place.

The scheduled delivery time was 8:00am.  At 7:30 I drove to the narrow paved road so I could flag down the moving van and lead him in the right direction to my house.

When the truck finally showed up the driver was going so fast that he passed without seeing me. A few minutes later my cousin arrived. We both took off after the moving van.

 We finally tracked him down ten miles away. It took another twenty minutes for him to find a suitable area where he could turn the truck around.

It's a cold morning. 20 degrees. We're all freezing our asses off.

The driver tried his best maneuvers to access my house but it was an impossibility. The truck was too damn big. He almost made it......almost.......

I haven't seen my possessions in three months, and there they were in that great big Bekins truck. So close and yet so far.....

The driver's two helpers showed up in another truck. We all made the long muddy trek on foot to my house, where the driver called the headquarters in Texas.

After a looong two-hour wait, it was finally decided that a smaller truck will be employed from UHaul. They will transfer my stuff from the big rig to the UHaul and try again tomorrow.

If at first you don't succeed.........

If you're tired of reading this, you can imagine how weary I am having to go through it personally. It wasn't the driver's fault. He did his best and failed.

Here's the kicker:
I initially hired Hart Moving and Storage to move my stuff.
They in turn employed Wheaten Van Lines. Wheaten hired Bekins.
Bekins is now going to use UHaul. Go figure.

I should have used UHaul in the first place, It would have saved a helluva lot of trouble (and money) but I was afraid to drive the perilous mountain roads.

Will Jon ever see his possessions again?

Will the driver be able to access Jon's house with the UHaul?

Will the movers ever be able to get Jon's two heavy pianos up the mountain and into the house??

Tune in again tomorrow
for another exciting episode of

Jonathan, Faux Mountain Man
or
Moving Day in the Boonies