IN THE MIDST OF AUGUST

 

 

Yesterday was Friday the 13th. I thought this portrait of Bosco was appropriate. Black cats don't bring bad luck. They bring mysticism and entertainment.
Hell, I had a myriad of bad luck long before Bosco was born (and it persists....persists....)

Everyone is undoubtedly sick of my political posts and tedious critiques of the recent Olympics. You'd rather read funny, uplifting posts.

Well, my funny days are officially over. I'm definitely not in a funny mood. If you want entertainment, go to the Kim Jong-un website.

As for politics - - I get a sadistic high when I torture the  hardcore liberals - because they can dish out the crap but can't take it. They're not used to receiving backlash.

I'm in a hostile, fighting mood. So shoot me.

Change of subject (before you decide to leave)

How would you like to wake up in the morning and see your front "yard" looking like this?

The brush is ten feet high due to endless endless rain. It's IMPOSSIBLE to control.

I can't find a decent brush cutter. Most of them are nothing more than glorified weed whackers.

So I'm tackling the jungle single-handed with long-handled clipping shears and a chain saw.

It's difficult to discern my handiwork in the above photo. The right side is what I've cut. The left side is what needs to be cut.
It's a slow and torturous process - especially with my ravaged back and crippled spine. And the broiling heat.

I FINALLY bought a pair of work boots. If I had them six years ago I probably wouldn't have fallen on the ice and destroyed my spine.

They're comfortable and easy to put on. And they'll dissuade the snakes.

Do you remember the snake that I discovered on my bookcase a few weeks ago (or was it a few months ago?).

Well, he (she?) completely disappeared and I never saw him again. I did a very thorough search throughout the house.......but no snake.

I figure he must have slithered out the same way that he came in (wherever that was....).

Gnats, anyone?

Thousands and thousands of gnats everywhere. Extremely aggressive gnats.
I can't even eat a decent meal. I have to keep EVERYTHING completely covered and sneak quick bites before the gnats get it.

I've found gnats in my nachos (I'm not kidding), gnats floating in my iced tea.

The best way to kill gnats is with bowls of vinegar. They love vinegar and will quickly dive in the bowl - never to emerge again (I use plain white vinegar).

Add one or two drops (no more) of dishwashing liquid into the vinegar. This will assure that the gnats won't escape (that might just be an old wives tale, but I do it anyway).

Use OLD bowls that you never want to use again. I usually use old pet food dishes,

These are bowls of gnats that I caught only within a few hours. I presently have three bowls of vinegar in different rooms.

It looks completely disgusting, but the vinegar really works.

And meanwhile......
Kitzee is outside on the front porch, savoring the lazy midst of August.

Hot Hot Hot

Is it hot enough for you, Jon?

No, I like it hotter. I can't wait 'till I burn in hell.

It has been excruciatingly hot with killer humidity. The air is liquid. The 95 degree weather seems cool compared to the 495 degree inferno in the house. The ceiling fans and floor fans are useless. Clothing is optional. I've worn nothing but underwear all week.
Jockey briefs, in case you're curious.

The muggy mornings are heavy with fog.

 The front edge of my property where the road runs by. Or walks by.

It hadn't rained here in four days - which is considered a severe drought in Tennessee. Last night at sunset there was a weird thunderstorm. Mucho thunder but not much rain. The storm intensified the humidity.

 Storm viewed from front porch

I sometimes let my cats out on the front porch to get air. I keep it blocked off so they can't get down the steps and escape (the porch isn't ground-level, it's way up high). 

Just as the storm started, Scruffy escaped (which proves she's feeling better). I initially thought she went back in the house but I couldn't find her anywhere.....

.....so I braved the Biblical bolts of lightning and went outside to embark on an intense feline search. 

It didn't take long. She came running when I called her - wet and disheveled but safe.

Did I ever mention the weeds?

...he says with a smirk....

It's impossible to control them because of the constant rain. They're not exactly weeds. They're more like mega monsters.

You don't believe me? Check these out.

   Two acres of them. Many of the weeds are taller than myself, and I'm 6' 1".

So - despite my bad back and acute lethargy - I took advantage of the recent "dry" days and tackled the weeds. Solo and by hand. 

I only have one tiny lawn mower, which looks like it was made by Mattel. It took one glance at the weeds and hid under some pansies.

I used to have a much bigger mower but one of the wheels was broken so I left it in Texas.

I had absolutely nothing to assault the weeds with but an old rusty pair of shears.

 Every morning before dawn, I went out and assaulted the weeds. The humidity was devastating and - even at that ungodly hour - the wasps relentlessly attacked me.

I somehow managed to chop most of them down to about two feet. Late in the day, when the moisture dried up, I sprayed mercilessly with weed killer. 

 The front part of the property after my first assault.

It doesn't look great by any means, but it's sure as hell better than it was with

six-foot monsters. If it wasn't for the constant rain, I'd eventually be able to get the weeds under control.  

This post is too long. 

If only I could get my blogging under control..... 

THE COLOR OF WEEDS

Rather than fight them, I've learned to accept them: these rambling acres of defiantly obstinate, rampantly multiplying weeds.

I sprayed, I cut, I whacked - - I destroyed what's left of my crippled back in a herculean effort to eradicate the weeds, but to no avail. The daily torrential rains have consistently thwarted my efforts - by nourishing my enemies and encouraging them to breed and flourish.

Some of the weeds are now as high as my neck. I'm not a munchkin. I'm 6'1". 6"2' in boots.
Places where I used to walk are now impassable. I feel as isolated, bewildered, and threatened as the narrator in The Willows by Algernon Blackwood - eternally trapped in that hostile, surrealistic region of wilderness along the Austria-Hungarian banks of the Danube.

Sorry. My imagination has gone rampant, like the weeds. So I'm a drama queen. Shoot me.

I've learned to overlook the insurmountable obstacles  and search for the positives and pleasures. Copious amounts of beer tend to aid in my optimistic approach. Yes, the weeds offer sporadic splashes of color - which somehow softens the sadistic harshness of their presence.

I wandered outside early this morning, after the fog lifted, and admired the purple and yellow highlights among the weeds. 

In the distance, a huge spider web glistened with dew in the morning sunlight (rare sunlight between rainstorms).

Most intriguing was the little butterfly that sat on my left forefinger and stayed there contentedly for several minutes. I wish I would have had my camera for that. I suddenly felt like Snow White in a glorious Technicolor Disney movie.

Does a friendly butterfly signify good luck - or am I going to get pulverized by a runaway logging truck?


There was a horrendous thunderstorm last night - - and it rained today all afternoon. If nothing else, Tennessee is wet and weedy. And humid. And buggy.
But, alas, I'm dispelling the enchantment.

All of the letters have worn off my computer keyboard and I keep making mistakes. This fact has nothing to do with weeds, of course.

I never planned on doing a post about weeds. It's boring and mundane. Fortunately, I have a knack for making boring things interesting. At least I think so.

I was going to write a review of the Rio Olympics, but I didn't want to horrify and offend any of my sensitive readers. After all, they're still recovering from my review of the Democratic Convention.

Weeds are neutral and non-threatening. If you don't live with them.

Actually, I get a thrill out of offending and horrifying my hyper-sensitive readers. It's one of the few pleasures I have left.

I was brushing my cat Scratch (Kitzee) this morning, when she suddenly jumped up and did a double-take at the window. A deer was looking in at us! No lie. Unfortunately he disappeared by the time I got my camera. The only photo I could take was one of Scratch. Rolling.

 I should explain that my house (shack) is built on a slope. The front is very high up - in fact, the front porch is like a balcony. The back of the house is on ground level. That's where the deer was looking in.

Does that make any sense? Well, anyway, here's a picture of my grandfather clock. I know this will excite and enthrall you.
My cat Bosco knocked that lamp over and the shade has never been right since.

 Tomorrow (Tuesday) I think I'm going to have to make the dreaded drive into town. Again. I have to buy tile for the two bathroom floors. And some plumbing supplies.

Insomnia will accompany me all night.

Here's a photo of the moon I took a few nights ago.
  

 What? You didn't see my art collection?? Check out my two previous posts!

also

Civil War Soldiers
Cabinet of Curious Treasures 

(this is a sorry example of shameless self-promotion) 

NOTHING MUCH, WITH PHOTOGRAPHIC SUPPLEMENTS

Question:
What should a blogger post when he's in a foul mood and doesn't feel like writing?

Answer:
Boring photos that nobody wants to see. 

Three sunny, hot days in a row! That's an incredibly rare event in Tennessee. I took advantage of the great weather - -staggering around the steep inclines of my Hillbilly Estate, valiantly battling acres of weeds that are nearly as tall as myself (I'm 6' 1"). I sprayed and trampled, cut and slaughtered, and was making fair progress (despite my screamingly bad back and the fact that I'm 150 yrs. old).

Then -
yesterday afternoon, the Evil Gods of the Backwoods Mountain saw my progress and decided to nip it in the bud. 

I heard the unnerving sound of distant thunder, and felt the humidity intensify. I helplessly watched as dark clouds rolled in .....and could do nothing to roll them back.....

It began to rain, the rain turned into a deluge, the deluge became a torrential downpour - with thunder so deafening that my cats scrambled for cover and I began to regret my sins. It poured all afternoon, with Biblical fury.

All the weeds that I killed seemed to be miraculously resurrected and new ones sprouted alongside them with alarming vigor. I could hear the weeds growing all night, while they laughed with vindictive delight.

In the feeble light of dawn I saw a tremendous crop of new weeds - bigger, stronger, and greener than the ones I had demolished. My three days of work were completely eradicated. I would now need a tractor to get through them.

Well, shit. I give up. I surrender to the Gods of Nature (and the Goddesses, if you want to be politically correct).

Jon, for someone who wasn't in the mood to write, you're doing a helluva good job.
So where are the photos? 

I thought you'd never ask.

 There are many wildflowers amongst the weeds (I used "amongst" just to irritate Spell Check)

I didn't take any photos of the weeds because I didn't want to depress you.

 The sunlight was dappling the leaves on the morning before the storm

Scratch, my 10 yr old feline, relaxing yesterday afternoon - trying to ignore the 94 degree heat (that's Fahrenheit, for those of you in Guam)

This is how Scratch looks on a good day

  Scruffy, taking a rare break from being feisty and getting into trouble.

Bosco, who is lazy, obedient, and dislikes trouble of any kind.

Bosco is related to Scruffy - they had the same father but different mothers. 

Scruffy and Bosco are two years old.

Why so many cat photos, Jon?

Because I don't have any children or grandchildren to bore you with. Thank God.  

I saved the best for last: photos of me naked.

(I just said that to see if you're still awake)

These are photos of the sunset last evening, after the storm. Taken from the front porch. 

 

GUNFIRE, UMBRELLAS, WEEDS

This isn't exactly a "regular" blog post. Just some unconnected random thoughts that probably shouldn't be written.

A mass shooting at a gay nightclub in Orlando, FL occurred last weekend. Nearly 50 people were killed and many more wounded. The gunman, mercifully, was killed by police. This is purported to be the deadliest mass shooting in U.S. history.

One thing to consider:
The maniac who slaughtered these innocent people wasn't a white, straight, Republican, American male.

He was a so-called "Muslim American" who pledged his allegiance to the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant (ISIL).

Okay, this remark is purposefully snide  -  - but perhaps we might consider seriously screening the foreign masses who live here and reap the benefits of our country, rather than always trashing the evil white American man. That's the way I feel.
(and you're fortunate I didn't say everything that I'm thinking......)

 

A horrifying freak accident  happened at Virginia Beach, VA last week. Lottie Belk, 55, was killed when she was impaled by an airborne beach umbrella. Ironically, she was celebrating her birthday at the beach with her family. A strong gust of wind sent the umbrella hurling toward her and the sharp handle pierced her torso.

This tragedy ignited a particular memory that I have from long ago. It happened when I was twelve years old in California. My mother and I were spending the day at Huntington Beach (my father hated the beach and seldom went).

We were both laying in the sun, on separate towels, only about a foot or two apart. Suddenly, a fierce gust of wind swept across the beach - launching things into the air. A gigantic beach umbrella was twirling right at us, and the sharply-pointed wooden handle harpooned in the sand directly between our two towels - only inches from us.

I'd never seen anything like it. If it had landed only a few inches to the right or left, one of us would have definitely been impaled. This was no cheap, Chinese plastic parasol from Walmart. It was a massive, very heavy vintage umbrella - and the thick wooden handle had a sharply-pointed end.

The umbrella was retrieved by its owner and he apologized profusely. I think my Mom and I were too stunned to say anything. Twenty or thirty years later we still talked about the incident.
"Remember the time we were almost impaled at the beach?" 

I honestly don't like blogging about news stories, but today I made an exception. I'm not a newsie-type person.

So what else is new? I've sobered up since my trip to town (see previous post). It's still in the 90's and blazingly hot. My back still hurts (screamingly so) but I can crawl around.

Spell Check seems to be intolerant to the word "blazingly" , but I don't give a crap.

I've been trying to tackle the fields of weeds, some of which are nearly as tall as myself. It's really a futile task with the enormous amount of rain here. I'm taking advantage of these rare dry days.

This morning, just before dawn, I sprayed weeds. It was still dark but I was chased by wasps and bees. Coyotes howled in the distance.

My strategy is to spray, then whack with a weed wacker, then mow. If I'm still alive.
Actually, I should probably weed-wack, mow - and then spray.
Whatever. 

 Random glimpse of the back yard - not much to see

This afternoon I was out amongst the weeds again, half-naked, in the blazing sun (I threw in the half-naked part just to enhance your visual imagination).

Spell Check doesn't seem to accept the word "amongst". Tough shit.

I went back to the house sweat-drenched, bug-bitten, and deliciously sun-burned. And extremely queasy. The heat has a nasty way of creeping up on you. Had to drink half a gallon of water and revive by a fan.

This blog post is going nowhere. I had initially planned on writing about music. Maybe next time.

It's sunset right now. I'm going to make some ice tea and homemade potato salad.

ROUNDUP, MY ASS!

First of all - before I launch into my post-Memorial Day rant - I want to thank the kind people who left comments on my previous post Death of a Soldier.
I wrote that essay long ago and have been posting it on my blog every Memorial Day for the past decade (almost).


It's one of my personal favorite "literary" efforts. Ironically, it is always the least-read post on my blog.

Okay, take a deep breath. We're going into Rant Mode. 

 morning

So how did I spend my Memorial Day weekend?

Wait a minute, Jon. Why did you change to a larger font?

So that you can actually READ this fricking post. I'm tired of visiting blogs that offer 10,000 word diatribes with a microscopic font. It assaults my eyes and pisses me off. When I write something, I want you to actually see it.  

We see it, Jon.

My Memorial Day weekend can be summed up in a few words: heat, wasps, weeds, spiders, mice, cats. Did I mention weeds?

Thanks to the perpetual rain (it rains here about 360 days a year) the weeds have assumed Twilight Zone dimensions. They are now nearly as tall as myself (I'm 6'1" without my boots) and far more obstinate (than myself). They have completely engulfed my house and are threatening to consume it.

The last time I was in town somebody suggested "Use Roundup on your weeds".
(Roundup is a popular weed killer here in the U.S.- - for those of you in the Hebrides).

Roundup, my ass!! (hence the title)

Hey, I'm in a forest, surrounded by wilderness acres. My weeds have taken on H.G.Wells proportions, with Amazon animosity (I'm not talking online shopping Amazon - - I'm talking jungle rain forest Amazon).

Roundup is for warts on potted petunias. I need plows and teams of horses, heavy trackers (as opposed to light ones), sickles, machetes, and Divine Intervention from God Almighty.

I've lately been spraying the weeds with a wicked mixture of bleach and salt.

And the first one of you prissy-pansy environmentalists who tells me I'm destroying the environment is going to  get a liberal shot of the bleach mixture right up your (you fill in the blank).

I used "liberal" just to annoy you.
You think Donald Trump is outspoken?
Just thank your booties that I'M not running for President. I'd make Trump look like Shirley Temple.

 a jungle jumble of weeds

Today I braved the humidity and jungle bugs to attack the weeds with a humongous pair of shears. 
I keep the shears outside and - just as I was about to pick them up - I saw a HUGE black spider on them. Having to kill it only intensified my misery.

Spiders and wasps are everywhere. The wasps are extremely aggressive and chase me as soon as I step outside. They wait by the door. The spiders pop up unexpectedly and scare the living Jeeters out of me.

I was in my bedroom late last night, reading (Russian history, in case you're curious). Suddenly -
I looked at the window and saw a huge black spider creeping in (must have been the other black spider's big brother).

Yes, I do have screens on my windows. But spiders ignore them.

I jumped up (not an easy task with my bad back) and ran outside on the back porch to get the bug spray (I accidentally left it out there).

By the time I got back to the bedroom - let's all say it together -
THE SPIDER WAS GONE!!!

I looked everywhere, and then looked everywhere again. Where the hell did it go?? It probably crawled into my bed and is waiting there for me to go to sleep, so it can nest in my hair.  

About half an hour later (I'm still in a terrified sweat over the awol spider) my cat Scruffy runs in carrying a mouse by the tail. Holy shit! 

She drops the mouse and it quickly takes shelter behind a big chest of drawers.

I'm on my hands and knees, trying to coax the mouse out - while still glancing around everywhere in fear of the spider. While my back is still hurting.

After the passing duration of a delightful hour, I finally manage to trap the mouse in a cardboard mailing cylinder that I happened to have.

 mouse in cylinder

The mouse looked so cute that I didn't have the heart to kill him (I'm a sweetheart). I ventured outside at 3:00 am and dumped the hapless rodent in a nearby field.
He'll probably return to the house, but what the hell.  

And that, my friends, is only a fraction of what I did on Memorial Day weekend.