My shaved lip is cold; glad I didn’t await winter to shave it.

Shaving my mustache has made the long hairs growing out of my nose look ridiculous. I must take a few hours and give them a good trim. It is good I cannot see my ears for I suspect the wild hairs in and on them are longest ones on my body.

I hate being ignored even if I deserve it. I may just have a snit and pout a bit.

Almost that time of year for my autumn bath in the creek. Now that I am using my cane more I see no reason I cannot make the effort and get into the cold water. Besides, I like being naked in the woods.

Looks like I’ve lost a few readers. I still remember my first few blogs on old Blog Spot. Alice was my first and most loyal reader and my second posting back in ’06 drew a comment which caused me to be hooked on writing the pages ever since. My first commenter was Robin.

I am happy to be writing again. I have finished a story and have another in the cooker.

Published in: on September 3, 2014 at 6:00 am  Comments (4)  

The Hunter – part 2

Now possum hunting isn’t supposed to be a big challenge and I reckon that is the reason you don’t see many of the stuffed critters in your local taxidermist’s display window along with deer heads, bears, and that bald eagle Billy-Bob “accidentally” shot. My plan was to first find a possum up a tree enjoying a midnight snack of ‘simmons, climb up, and grab him by the tail and sack him. That was my plan.
Eventually I crossed the wide pasture and came to the first and smallest fruit tree and without using my flashlight, could see that no possums were dining in it. I moved up the vine-tangled fence row until I came to the next tree which was by far the largest. Most of the leaves had fallen from the berry-laden branches and the ground was thick with fallen ‘simmons, one of which landed beside me as soon as I got there. Persimmon trees are not very large even when full grown with a trunk that can easily be climbed especially when a lower limb is reachable from the ground. I flicked on the flashlight and sure enough, two sets of possum eyes were peering down at me as the critters munched on the wild delicacies. I lit a cigarette and carefully looked them both over, electing to go after the one nearest the ground, he being closest to the tree trunk and only 10 feet above my head. I removed my coat so as to make climbing easier, then stuck the tater sack inside my shirt. Lighting the cigarette was probably not my best move as both possums became a bit agitated when the match flamed; one gave a menacing hiss. I waited a few chilly moments and they settled down as I finished my smoke. Reaching a lower limb where it joined the trunk was a stretch but I jumped a little and was able to get a good hold on its frost-sprinkled surface. With my other arm wrapped high around the trunk, I used my knees to grasp the bark and slowly inch-wormed my way up until I could grasp an even higher limb which happened to be the one below where my quarry was becoming mighty suspicious, once again hissing a waning in my direction. I finally was able to get my foot on the lowest limb and stand up where my eyes were just above the possum which I intended to become granny’s supper; he was within reach but was inching away from me. I pulled the sack from my shirt and made ready for the capture. Above me I heard the other possum hiss and he sounded too close to my ears. I looked up and he was easing down the tree head first and was only about a yard above my hat with a “move it bub” look in his eyes. He was determined to keep coming and I made a quick decision to grab the possum I wanted, sack him, and quickly shinny back down to the ground before I was evicted by the descending critter. I held the sack in my left hand along with a small branch of the tree for steadiness, then reached for and grabbed my prey by his tail and tried to pull him back to me. He was hanging onto the limb tighter than I thought possible so I moved my right foot a bit farther out on the limb for more leverage and it hit a heavily frosted patch of smooth bark, slipped, and down I went still holding onto the desperate possums naked tail, foolishly hoping he had enough grip to hold us both; he didn’t. My straddle banged hard across the lowest limb, the possum was falling and growling just above my face, and I was screeching in pain from the squashing my groin had just endured. However, a semblance of luck was on my side; I landed hard on my back where the breath was knocked from me and there were extra stars twirling in the sky, but I was alive. The possum also landed hard on my chest but apparently unharmed; I must have turned loose of him somewhere in mid-flight because he quickly scurried off into the undergrowth of the fence line. As I regained my senses and began inventorying body parts, I realized I was probably going to escape with no broken bones but there was still a dull aching in my straddle which peaked with each heartbeat. I found my flashlight and saw that the other possum once more easing back onto his fruit-covered limb for another snack; I figured that was a good place to leave him. I also saw my tater sack and hat hanging on some low twigs and after catching some deep breaths, was able to retrieve both. I shined my light around where the critter had disappeared into the tangles of honeysuckle vines and barberry bushes which all but obscured the fence, and about 20 feet from me I caught glimpses of his eyes moving through the tangles. I’ll get granny’s supper yet, I thought; I was on a mission.

To be continued …

Have a happy weekend, sweet childs of mine …

Published in: on September 16, 2011 at 11:24 am  Comments (4)  
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Things that go “thump” in the night

I once had a friend named Friend; at least I will call him that to protect the innocent. Friend was a good man, never met a stranger, and would give anyone the shirt off his back. Friend was very much the salt of the earth type. I didn’t know Friend but for just a few years, however during those years, we became as close as chums could be. Friend and his lovely wife and sweet child moved from another state to East Tennessee to work and that is where I met him; he and I were employed at the same place in the same department. Friend, like the rest of our circle of acquaintances, liked to drink beer. He also liked Mexican food, the hotter the better. We all know that when sufficient beer is mixed with plenty of spicy food inside the human gut, explosive gas discharges usually occur. Friend was no exception to the laws of nature, in fact, he practiced those laws with a determined fervor. Mr. and Mrs. Friend bought a house not too far from where they worked; a pleasant brick rancher a little larger than the norm but all-in-all, about like most of us owned back then. The house had a full basement, unfinished, but with a good concrete floor and a high ceiling, and Friend bought the home with the purpose of sometime putting in a pool table. Until a pool table could be had, he settled on a table tennis platform; more commonly known as a ping-pong table. We had many hours of fun at Friends house, listening to music, drinking beer, and playing ping-pong. Friend like nachos; simple nachos made with Doritos covered with bean dip, some American or cheddar cheese, and a slice of jalapeno pepper and baked in the oven. He or Mrs. Friend made pans of them at a time and we all loved them. One mid-night after I got off from work, a bunch of us were together at Friend’s doing our regular thing of ping-pong, talking back and forth about this and that, eating Friend’s nachos, drinking beer, and being what we considered as “cool”. None of our ladies were present; civilized people were in bed doing their nightly things, but if Mrs. Friend and child Friend could sleep through the racket, they must have been drugged. During the merriment, Friend hurriedly left us, heading up the stairs; there was no bathroom at that time in the basement. Upstairs were two bathrooms as best as I remember, one in what would normally have been the master bedroom and one on down the hall. Friend kept the master bedroom as a guest room and he and Mrs. Friend slept at the other end of the house. Friend was in somewhat of a hurry that night as he climbed the several steps toward relief; the beer and nachos were working their magic. We heard the somewhat loud fan in the guest bathroom come on, and a few minutes later we heard one of his glorious farts that rattle floors and walls and cause galvanized nails to instantly rust. Have you ever heard a loud outboard boat motor being tested in a barrel of water; that gurgling rattle that puts every loose object within ten feet into a vibrating frenzy? Friend must have had twin motors running that night. The ping-pong game ceased, the music was muted, and all talking stopped. We looked at each other with awe and wonder. The bathroom was almost directly over our heads, and the plastic drain pipe fed over us to the wall nearest the table and down it and finally exiting through the floor to the outside world. When Friend flushed the toilet, we heard the most disturbing noise yet. It began with a thump, and the thumps kept getting closer together and louder as they approached us, sounding like a piece of wall stud flopping over and over as it was pushed through the waste conduit by the rushing water; plap-flop; plap-plap flop. The “thing” finally hit the elbow of the pipe with a heartier than ever thunk and we heard no more from it except a muted thud as it turned through the final elbow beneath the solid floor toward the city sewer system. We all looked at each other and shook our heads in amazement as I started toward the steps to go up and see if Friend lived through the defecation of anything so sinister sounding. Just as I started up, the top door opened and Friend came nonchalantly down. As he neared the bottom step, we all eyeballed him to see if everything was there and someone asked him if he had flushed a beer bottle down the loo. When he said he hadn’t, we all stood and gave him a round of well deserved applause and back-pats. Apparently when he finished his business and flushed the commode, the noise from the tank, plus that of water running in the sink when he washed his hands, and the loud exhaust fan kept him from hearing the turd from hell slapping its way to freedom along the walls of the pipe. He grinned and said it was only a tiny poot, figuring the wall rattling fart was why we were paying him homage. He didn’t quite believe us as we told him what we witnessed with our ears. The party quickly broke up after that—there was nothing could happen to top that event—with everyone heading for their homes and beds and loving wives.
This is a true story but is not a great story; it just had to be told.
Have a great weekend.

Published in: on May 19, 2011 at 7:27 pm  Comments (9)  
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Blackberries and radishes and Mom’s love

Headtown cemetery

Sunday is Mother’s day. If your mother is living, be sure to tell her you love her; if she has passed away, be sure to tell her twice that you love her.
Still in the middle of blackberry winter in East Tennessee, temps should climb back to seasonal over the next week.
I have five writing projects ongoing; yesterday I began one about a small skirmish that took place in a West Virginia tavern many years ago and I typed 1500 words; that is a lot for a one-fingered pecker like me.
Crutches: nuisance; invaluable.
Carolyn tried to plant her radish seeds in a child’s plastic wading pool. She used some king of potting soil that has a lot of tree bark chips in it; needless to say that when it rained hard, the chips and seed all floated and gathered into clumps and now there are two impenetrable forests of seedlings from which she may have been able to salvage four or five radishes. She dumped the whole mess in a flower bed and is thinking about finding some top soil and trying again. I was looking forward to having a cold biscuit with fresh, peppery radishes. Bless her heart.
Have a good weekend!

Published in: on May 6, 2011 at 11:53 am  Comments (6)  
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Excuse me while I kiss the sky

It is supposed to become reasonably warm again sometime this afternoon; I had to turn the heat on this morning. To go with the near freezing outside, the wind is quite brisk and all this has interfered with my porch sitting for several days.


I have an outline for a new story; the tale will be fairly brief and relate some semi-true instances from my tramping days in West Virginia in the early 70’s, however most of it is make-believe.


Barnes and Noble is set to introduce a slightly larger tablet and e-book reader combination later this month, supposedly a competitor for the iPad. I hope they will reduce the price on the present Nook e-reader.

Have a thrilling Thursday, my friends.

Published in: on May 5, 2011 at 11:49 am  Comments (6)  
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