Moment

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.

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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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The Hunter

Light of the full moon across rolling meadows caused acres of icy jewels to serenade my eyes as I swiftly walked from the forest shadows toward my target, a set of three persimmon trees growing along an old barbwire fence line. The day had been warm for late October, but with lowing sun had come a chill which quickly condensed air into dew and by a few hours after nightfall, the dew transformed into a layer of shivering frost across the world of farmland and low hills I called home. As the hour approached midnight, I shoved my hands deeper in my coat pockets as meadow grasses crunched beneath my boots; I made a beeline for the tallest fruit tree. I carried no weapon save a small folding knife in my pants pocket and an old tater sack tucked beneath my heavy coat; I intended to take my quarry live.
My quest began that same afternoon when my grandmother stated that she would like to have a possum for supper and not for one moment in my mind’s eye did I see her and a guest critter sitting at the eating table enjoying a meal of beans and taters. Nope, I knew that the guest critter would be sizzling in the frying pan before he ever saw granny’s checkered table cloth. Granny was the only person I have ever known who admitted a liking for possum. Not that possums aren’t good to eat; they are just plain too ugly to want to eat. They are nocturnal marsupials having a layer of short fur and wiry bristles like a hog wears and for some reason they look half naked all the time. In fact, their tails are mostly hairless and are prehensile; they can wrap it around a limb and swing in the breeze like an autumn leaf. Possums are endowed with a permanent grin; their mouths curve slightly upward at the back and a row of needle-sharp teeth are always showing on each side. Fortunately, the critters are not very aggressive and the grin is mostly a ruse just like their ability to “play dead” when they feel threatened. Possums also make various sounds, mostly hissing, growling, snorting, and grunting when they are agitated and, on my midnight quest, I expected to hear plenty of everything they could say. I was going possum huntin’ for granny’s supper.
~this partial tarradiddle is to be continued …
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Jeremy has a great post on his blog today; please give it a read if you have time.
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Have a thoughtful Thursday, dear children

Published in: on September 15, 2011 at 9:53 am  Comments (6)  
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Memorial Friday

No plans for this holiday weekend but hope to get away on Sunday or Monday for a picnic somewhere around Watauga Lake; the moderately high elevation keeps the air temperature from being overly hot and it can be very comfortable amongst the big trees. All I need to do is find a shady spot that is crutch accessible.
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I am trying to make the transition from being a story teller to a story writer; it isn’t as easy as it may sound. Yesterday I put more than two thousand words to virtual paper as I wrote my little tale of boys night out. That is probably an hour’s worth of work for a half-ass typist, but it was just over four hours work for me, a one-fingered pecker. I also try to edit as I go. I trashed my outline and basically began all over except for what I posted on this blog Wednesday. I was typing the story as I thought of it; not too easy for a one-track mind but I was never good with outlines. Past what I wrote on the 25th, most of the remainder is dialogue. All I need now is a decent finish which I already have on my mind, and a rousing beginning to get the reader interested. I still have to set up the bar fight, but that should be fairly easy. I will sit on it for a few days and go over it again, trying to iron out the worst wrinkles. Sooner or later I will say enough and post what I consider as a finished story, although I will never be completely happy with it. Even if no one else cares for it; I will be as proud of it as if I had laid a golden egg called the Pulitzer.

Nohow, here is a bit of the dialogue; it begins with Slim speaking:

“How do you know it was the old woman instead of one of the girls?”
“Hells bells! I know because I found her ass when I went looking for my wallet! Jeez!”
“You found her ass?” I used my most incredulous tone of voice.
“Aw shit, Slim.” His tone was pleading. “The old girl was wearing one of those fake rubber asses; I felt it when I was dancing with her back in the bar.”
Zeke was becoming a bit calmer and asked for another smoke. My head was throbbing in every direction and the body aches were becoming almost unbearable, but I couldn’t quit on the man; inquisition is good for the soul and I wanted his soul laying bare on the seat between us.
He gave me a sideways look as I handed him the cigarette.
“Okay; when I went back after my billfold, I lit my lighter and saw her ass laying on the floor beside the bed.”
Before I could mull that over and ask another question he blurted “She had rubber tits, too.”
If not for the pain wracking my poor body, I would surely have burst out with laughter; his admission was just too freaking sweet.
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I am not trying to be sexist nor am I putting down little old ladies in the story. If there was not some truth to the tale, I probably would not tell it; many things are what they are. I once owned a black truck with chrome wheels. During my electrician and tramping years my nickname was “Slim”. I used to work on powerhouse construction. I once saw a bar similar to the one I described. In a bar, I indeed saw and old woman much like the one I invented and she indeed took a friend of mine to her room for a romp; he was 33 years old and she was in her late 60’s … at least. I lived in many boarding houses. I once did have the dry heaves so bad that I passed out.

Mark, Tammy, and Mike … Peace and Happiness to bless your reunion.
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Jola … I hope you make it back to Warsaw and the family safe and sound.
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Have a memorable Holiday weekend, everyone.

Published in: on May 27, 2011 at 12:58 pm  Comments (8)  
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Writing fever

Carolyn has gone to take someone to the plasma place to sell blood; all she gets done is run for other people. Since I can no longer drive; it is all left to her. Well, maybe she can sell a pint while there or pick a fresh one for me; my corpsucles seem torpid lately.
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The new tramping days story is hitting its stride; should be finished up in a day or so. It will be longer than the one I posted Thursday last so I don’t know if I will post it here or on Brasstacks for a few days. I hope some of you find it a bit amusing.
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I really feel badly for the folk in Joplin, Missouri … for god’s sake; I forgot how to spell Missouri! Thank you Google. After seeing the destruction from the short-lived tornadoes we had here, I can just imagine what the people are going through.
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Got no photo nor time to look for videos today. For I who am about to write, I salute me!
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Oh my; Tuesday again. Have a good one.

Published in: on May 24, 2011 at 11:11 am  Comments (2)  
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