HISSSSSING

 I was in the kitchen yesterday, broiling some hamburgers, when I suddenly heard a loud and steady hissing sound.

I tried to ignore it - thinking it was a figment of my paranoid imagination........but it was getting so loud that it definitely warranted an investigation.

The hissing was coming from the laundry area - and it sounded like rushing water. I immediately panicked Big Time, because that's where the main water valve is (I had to fix it several years ago due to a major leak)

 

I checked the valve and it seemed to be all right. I didn't have time to breathe a sigh of relief - because the Source of Hissing (capitalized for dramatic emphasis) seemed to be coming from the Mysterious Black Box.

The Mysterious Black Box isn't a computer router, but it has something to do with my fiber optic telephone/computer connection. 
My knowledge of technology is pathetically limited.

I instinctively pulled the plug on the box and tried to reset it - - but the hissing didn't stop.

Curiously, the hissing was accompanied by a strong smell - - sort of like a heavy metallic paint smell.

Instinctively gazing upwards - toward heaven - I looked at a shelf, located above the Mysterious Black Box.

Amazing discovery!

There was an old (very old) can of Rust-Oleum Epoxy Paint which had sprung a leak!

My Big Sigh of Relief was enormous. My psychotic imagination had been running rampant with other evil things.

So I took the hissing paint can outside (as it leaked all over my hands) and prayed that it wouldn't explode.

A happy ending.

One more thing:

When I first heard the hissing sound, I thought it might be a snake.
Some of my faithful readers (all two of you) might remember when I had snakes in the house.

This is the serpent that was on my bookshelf.

I've had three snakes in the house (not at the same time) since I first moved in here. 

I removed two of them by hand.
Unfortunately, the snake on my bookcase got away......and I never found him!!!!!
That was about two years ago.

The unpleasant surprises in this cursed rural abode are absolutely limitless.

                                       Cheers, Jon

EVERETT RUESS: A HAUNTING MYSTERY

Everett Ruess

(1914-1934?)

"When I go, I leave no trace."
Everett Ruess


I have long been haunted by the fascinating and mysterious story of Everett Ruess. Like all true-life enigmas, he harbored a multitude of dimensions and was a mass of contradictions. His facets were kaleidoscopic and his talents were many : writer, artist, poet, diarist. He was outgoing, courageous, a fearless adventurer. Yet he was also erudite, an aesthete - - intensely sensitive, highly romantic.

Everett Ruess wrote over 175,000 pages of letters, journals, and poems. He painted more than 100 watercolors, and made countless woodblocks and sketches. These would have been admirable lifetime accomplishments for anyone. Ruess did this during the span of only a few short years and at an extraordinarily young age. He was only twenty years old when he vanished in the Utah desert, never to be heard from again.

  Ruess at age 16
with burro and dog Curly, 1930

  Ruess had a fierce aversion to cities and mundane conventional existence - - preferring to be a perpetual wanderer and explorer. He felt most comfortable alone in the isolation and beauty of nature. He was a minimalist and naturalist - - spending the last four years of his life exploring the High Sierras and the remote areas of Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, and Utah.

Woodblocks by Ruess



He rode broncos, branded calves, resided with Indians, learned to speak the Navajo language. He traveled entirely alone on foot or horseback, sometimes using burros as pack animals. During his travels he painted watercolors and made woodblocks, and wrote highly descriptive letters to his parents and brother who lived in Los Angeles.

Watercolor by Ruess

Ruess was born in 1914. He was raised in Southern California, graduated from Hollywood High School, and studied for only five months at UCLA before becoming restless and yearning to travel. His mother (Stella Knight Ruess) was a respected artist and poetess. His father (Christopher) was a professor at UCLA. Both parents encouraged their son to be a free spirit and follow his adventurous instincts.

In the summer of 1930, at age sixteen, Ruess hitchhiked from Los Angeles north to Carmel, where he met famed photographers Ansel Adams and Edward Weston. He later spent some time in San Francisco, leading a Bohemian life with other artists and writers. In 1931, at age seventeen, he walked across the Painted Desert in Arizona, trekked to the Grand Canyon, and thereafter was obsessed with exploring the wilderness of the American Southwest.

In November, 1934, after a stint in Escalante, Utah, he set out alone in the remote desert canyons. He was never heard from again. Four months later his two burros were found southeast of Escalante, along with human footprints and empty food cans. Extensive searches found no other traces of Reuss.

 Ruess and burro

Zion National Park, Utah

With the discovery of skeletal remains in 2009, it was initially believed that the body of Everett Ruess had finally been found. The first DNA test was inconclusive. The second test revealed that the remains were definitely not those of Ruess. The bones were that of a six-foot tall, mature Navajo man. Ruess was a small 5' 7" and only twenty years old. So the mystery continues.

Many theories exist as to what exactly happened to Everett Ruess. He certainly could have had an accident or succumbed to the harsh elements. Another very plausible theory is murder. Ruess was a friendly and trusting youth, who had befriended many unsavory characters in the past.

The theory that Ruess purposefully vanished is remote but still popular. His letters are seasoned with mysterious and romanticized notions:

"I must pack my short life full of interesting events and creative activity. Then, before physical deterioration obtrudes, I shall go on some last wilderness trip to a place I have known and loved. I shall not return."

To say that Everett Ruess was brilliant is an understatement. Reading his diaries and letters is imperative to understanding the depths of his soul. Most of his writings have been published. A wide array of biographies about Ruess are available, and several documentary films have been made.

There is something intensely romantic about a mystery. Vanishing without a trace lends itself to a special kind of immortality and is the stuff that perpetuates dreams and creates legends.

Everett Ruess was fascinating in life and even more intriguing in the absence of death.........

Jon V.
(copyright 2014) 

 

 

Note:

I initially posted this several years ago and thought it's worth a rerun. I also wrote a follow-up post (part two) which I'll share soon.
                                                                                                       

Photo of Ruess and his burros

 

MYSTERY WOMAN

I've been accused of being the family historian and am admittedly guilty. I know a lot about my mother's side of the family. As a child, I eagerly absorbed all that my relatives chose to reveal. As an adult, I excavated the things that they chose to remain buried. It was a colorful family, to say the least.

My maternal great-grandfather John Gordon (Janos Gurdonyi) was of royal blood, descendant of a Hungarian prince, who lost his inheritance when he married a commoner.
My great-uncle Frederick Lang was a murderer, who was executed for his crime in 1909 at age 24 - the last man to be hanged in New Jersey (I published an article about this).

My maternal grandmother Anna Gordon Knoll had eleven siblings - most of whom were flamboyant characters. 

Her husband, my grandfather Charles Knoll, came from a dysfunctional family shrouded in secrets.

 My maternal grandmother Anna Gordon Knoll (right) with her sister Lizabeth

My grandfather Charles Knoll, whose mother was Sofia Horvath

My grandfather's mother, Sofia Horvath, was an intriguing mystery. Despite extensive research, I could find no information about her whatsoever. No birth or death records, no marriage records, no grave site. I have no idea whether she was born in America or Hungary.

She is the mysterious ghost in our family - who haunts me solely because of her elusive existence.

She was described as being reserved, cool, distant. Everyone in the family agreed that she was beautiful - and it was said that my mother strongly resembled her.

Sophia Horvath was married several times and had numerous lovers. Each of her three sons had different fathers. I was surprised to discover that the identity of my grandfather's father is uncertain, and that Knoll might not even be his correct surname.

My mother said that she only saw her grandmother Sofia once in her entire life - when she was a child. Mom remembered her as being tall, slim, well-dressed, and elegant - a quiet, elusive woman who never smiled.

My great-grandmother Sofia Horvath died long before I was born. Her death was as mysterious as her life. She was discovered drowned in the Raritan River (New Jersey) - a possible murder, but most likely suicide.

A beautiful, mysterious, deeply troubled woman who seems to have left no trace....

 The Raritan River and the Raritan River Railroad Bridge

When I was twenty years old, I wrote a poem about her.

SPRING THAW

In April they dragged the river
for her body
waiting patiently under the ice

for months.

She yielded reluctantly,

still obstinate

after all these years.

On the edge

of the riverbank

yellow wildflowers nodded rumors

raising their heads to see.

I never knew her.

I only know the stories

told in sporadic whispers:

that she was beautiful

mysterious

aloof

had several husbands

many lovers

and never smiled.

The lonely secret

of her shadowed existence

finally unraveled

like a carelessly abandoned

mourning shroud.

When she emerged

from the tomb

of thawing ice,

some say her lips

bore warm traces

of an unintentional smile.

Jon V.

from Love Letters to Ghosts      

 

PRIVACY, PORN, PROBABLE PRECIPITATION

I took this in my back yard

with my cell phone a few minutes ago.

It's just starting to get light.

This is not going to be one of my usual blog posts - filled with wit, charm, humor, and unending interest. Instead, I'm going to ramble aimlessly in no discernible direction - saying whatever pops into my mind.

Hey, Jon - we thought that ALL your blog posts ramble aimlessly, with no discernable direction.

Well, then you haven't been reading them carefully.

First off, here's a private message to sweet Brian.
Congratulations! Your recent efforts to solve my mystery would make Hercule Poirot proud (let's keep it our secret).

I usually don't leave private messages on a public blog, but what the heck.....

Is privacy a thing of the past?

Speaking of mysteries and privacy, I recently happened to visit my Google profile - which I haven't visited in at least five years (I hate the entire concept of "profiles"). I was alarmed to see that my full name is listed. I never intended that to happen (must have been drunk or something). I was even more horrified to see that my profile has over 16,121,015 views (I'm not kidding).
This must mean that 16,121,015 people know my real name. Slightly unnerving.

Question: who the hell are these people, and why the interest in me? Heck, I can't even get ten people to read my damn blog.

Jon, you always claim that you're a very private person - and yet you have a very public blog. What gives?

Don't try to get cute with me. I'm undoubtedly an armchair exhibitionist. There's no known cure.

Yesterday, on a mere whim, I Googled my name and came up with something extraordinary.There is a gay porn star with my exact name, and he makes films in Budapest. No lie.

 Upon further research I discovered that this dude isn't Hungarian. He was born in America and is of Latin descent.
Just for the record, I don't think he's even remotely good looking. Hey, it's a matter of taste (no pun intended, of course).
And he's short. He's endowed, but he's short.

Gay porn star with my name

The name is where the similarity ends.

I'm 100% Hungarian. And, so far as I can remember, I haven't made any gay porn films. Well, none in Budapest, anyway.
 I've admittedly had chances. When I was young and hot and living in Hollywood I knew Bob Mizer. He was the pioneer in gay erotica (Google his name). 
I wrote an entire blog post about this in Lone Star Concerto but I doubt if anyone remembers. Or wants to.

Moi? Young and hot in Hollywood

Just for the record - ALL of my photos, graphics, & documents are stored on my old desktop computer - - which I haven't bothered to unpack yet (I'm still using my laptop).  I had to borrow this photo from my old blog.

Probable precipitation?

It rained all day yesterday. The cold wet weather forced me to cancel a previously planned outdoor excursion.

This morning I got up at the unwholesomely early hour of 5:00 and it was snowing. Everything is blanketed in white.

My cat Scratch - who never goes outside - ran out the front door when I opened it to see the snow. She didn't want to come back in and I had to run on a wild snowbound goose chase to get her.

The mountain life is seemingly agreeing with everyone.

 Scratch - - reluctantly back inside