UNCLE MITCH, and not Miller

It has been a few days now. Those birds are still circling. Just like vultures. Round and round they go and where they stop, ...Hey, wait a damned minute, they don't stop. They are there when I first look outside of a morning and they are still there when I close the gate at night. Hell,there must be more than three. Even owls have to light sometime don't they?

I think Hootie must be the devil. He went down to Georgia too. But the devil only went to get a soul. Hootie went down there and got a lot more than that. He got a whole family, and now it looks like he brought all their cousins back too. Damned birds gonna pay. You betcha, he's gonna pay.

I see them up there in that old pine tree. Him and Lorena. Omigod! There must be five or six more adult owls there too. He must have cleaned out the whole county when he went down there. Brought home all her family and all the kids. Christ, we aint got that many mice in the whole area to feed that crew.

Another swig. Ahh, goes down like Tennessee sunshine. Or some of Uncle Mitchs' best moon.
Damn. he made good moon. Best in the three counties I ever got it from. I guess it was because he made it the right way. None of those pure sugar deals for Mitch. Corn all the way. Smooth, I tell you.

Came out of the pipe just as clear as a mountain morning and pure as spring water. With a clout that would knock you down, too. The guys over the hill squeezed their shine through a blanket to color it up. Trouble was, you never knew where that blanket had been before it was squeezed. But Mitch would never do anything like that. He loved it just as it came out of the pipe, clear as a bell, just the way I like it too.

Someone I know tells the tale that he swears is true. Says he was out squirrel hunting one October day. Day was a little hot and he decided to walk and hunt as opposed to our usual picking a place and waiting for the game to come to us. And in his rambles he happened upon the place where Uncle Mitch had his current still. I guess Mitch hadn't gotten back quickly enough and the moon was overflowing the catch barrel and trickling down into the creek.

There were four or five old milk cows in the pasture. You know what happened next. I don't have to tell you, do I? He swears they were stumbling around and falling down. Funniest thing he had seen in a while.

Take it for what it's worth. I think it was probably him doing the stumbling and falling down after sampling that shine.

But, then again, what do I know. I believe in non-existent owls, too! And, tomorrow, I'm going to get me some non-existent pussycats. I'll show them damned owls they are not taking over my woods and my house and my life, such as it is. Better take another draw on that bottle, boy. And quit drooling.

I'm gonna getcha Hootie. Mark my words. When you hear that meowing tomorrow, you'll know you're in trouble. And if I hear it I'll know I've finally slipped off the deep end.

LIFE ON THE EDGE, or, Where the Hell is My Bottle?

"Some think this world is made for fun and frolic, and so do I, and so do I.
Some think its' made to be all melancholic, to pine and sigh, to pine and sigh..."

So where do I fit in to that song, I wonder? I guess, like most people, I am somewhere in the middle. I have to much to do to be in favor of forever games, but I certainly am not one who embraces melancholia either. But, at times, they both do fit. And I can fit comfortably into either whenever I so desire.

I, at times, become despondent over the condition of the city that is so near and dear to me. Nothing, it seems, they do ever turns out right. They say they have no money. We know they have not nearly enough police, their fire department is getting ragged, their streets are dirty and in need of repairs, the sewer system is abominable, half the people are right and half are wrong and neither side stays the same but shuttles between one position or the other daily.
If they were accomplished politicians that would be one thing, but they are not. I have offered the saddle I bought for Lyndon Johnson, but no one will sit still long enough in it to use it effectively. What saddle, you ask? The one that you can set on the top of the fence. And when the wind blows one way, the saddle turns that way, until the wind blows the other way and then it goes that direction. See, you shouldn't have asked.


At other times, the city's situation is so damned tragic, that I just have to laugh at it. Back in April and May, the mayor, a two-term incumbent said he was forming a group to study his possibly seeking a third term. That is not funny. He, at the same time, indicated that he felt he would run again. In late September, he announces that he has not made up his mind yet whether he will seek a third term. Then in November he says he will. The sob knew in April that he was going to run and didn't have guts enough to stand by his own pronouncement in September when the heat was being applied to him for some of his actions and inactions. But when it blew over, yeah, man, he's off and running again. You have to laugh to keep from crying.

And I've been a little down in the mouth lately because Hootie has been on an extended trip down south. He picked up this other bird named Lorena and took off for Nashville, Knoxville and the Great Smokies. But you know Hootie, he's so damned lazy that he won't even fly around the house to catch his supper and this Lorena bird seems about the same. So they had me take them down to the interstate, and wanted me to wait until they caught the kind of ride they wanted. So I sat in the truck and watched them for a while. Hootie refused to stick up a wing and so did she. Well, hell, I guess I can understand that. I couldn't even see them most of the time myself, so how could another driver do so? And their sign was way too small, with way too much writing on it. "Non-migratory birds wish to migrate down south where the orange blossoms smell sweet." Now, how in God's name do you get all that on a 3 x 5 card and expect anyone to be able to read it? Anyway, it was in his writing which is not even good hen scratching to begin with. It looked more like a map of downtown Ripley, without Highway 21 or the interstate, maybe even like the back end of West Hamlin.

Just about the time I got to sleep, here comes this old wheezer of a pickup, must have been sixty or seventy years old. Wire wheels, narrow tires, 2 x 2 stake bed, a couple of bales of hay under a tarp, held down with three spare tires and wheels, making the godawfullest racket you ever heard. And it wasn't on the interstate, neither. Hell, it would have been blown away by the first Chevette or Pinto that came along. Not waving goodbye or even saying dog, Hootie and Lorena jumped that sucker and burrowed down under that hay and I haven't seen them since.

That was about a month to five weeks ago, back when it was hot.


Day before yesterday, I was putting some wood into the house for the fireplace and saw something out of the corner of my eye. I looked around and it was gone. You know how that is? Happens every now and then to you, too? Well, I wasn't going to let it bother me, but after I got the fireplace loaded up and the hole in the bricks where we store extra firewood loaded too, I thought I'd go out and start up both the trucks, since they hadn't been started in a while. I sat down in the new one and fired it up. As I was getting out to go back to Leapin' Lena to start her, I saw an owlet fly overhead. And then another one. And then another one.

Now these were not babies. They were owlets that were fully fledged, probably seven or eight weeks old, give or take a week or so. They were flying in a squared circle around my house, acting like they were looking for something or waiting for something, or someone. And, I just wonder, is Hootie back? Is Lorena with him? Are these her fledglings that she had out of wedlock and has tricked Hootie into becoming their Dad? Am I going to have the whole damned troop to bother with? Am I going insane? Or just insane with worry?

This is not something I can just laugh off (see, by God, I did get back to it, didn't I?) I think I'll go drop off into some really deep melancholia, about three fingers worth, neat, and straight out of the bottle. My friends never let me down, you know, Jim Beam, Jack Daniels, Sweet Gypsy Rose...and they all have such lovely bottles...

Five of 'em. Oh, God. Five of 'em. It'll be all over the walls the chairs the rugs. My wife will kill me for sure. Maybe just three more fingers...

Maybe if I work it right, we can have owl for Christmas dinner instead of turkey, this year? Hmmmm.....

TAG

As a reference, see the comment jedijawa left on my last post---

I am not a tag player, but I can list eight easily enough:

First, I live about seven miles from where I grew up.

Second, three score and five has been a good time in my life.

Third, I have two children, both of whom are about as faithful to blogging as I am. That is, they do it rather haphazardly, in bursts, not daily.

Fourth, my wife and I celebrated our forty-first anniversary about three months ago.

Fifth, there are two cats who own me, Tommie and Scruffy. The first started out as Tommy but events quickly changed her name to Thomasina. Scruffy came by way of my daughter, whom we realized could not have kitties in her house and keep her health.

Sixth, It will take at least a week or more to get rid of all the food we prepared for Thanksgiving. That is if Hootie doesn't show up again. Then it is gone in seconds.

Seventh, I am engaged in a battle on the Herald-Dispatch forums with some folks about strip mining and mining in general and about drug abuse and the results.

And, eighth, I am a stickler for grammar and spelling. I am somewhat lackadaisical about punctuation, however.

So, that is the eight that come to mind quickly. And now you know as much as you did before I listed them, right?



To be a little more expansive, I am a sometimes writer, both prose and poetry. My prose sometimes is in the vernacular and sometimes is done with an Appalachian twang just for fun. I do not attempt to be a smartass, but sometimes come off that way. I have very strong opinions and do not mind being in the wrong, for I usually am when I try to get a point across. I will often take the unpopular side of an argument just for the hell of it, to draw my opponent out and see just how deeply their conviction is.

Everyone knows about my owl, Hootie. Except the few who think he may be real. So now I have added a second one, Lorena, his nest sharer, and she is a holy terror on him.

It started snowing this morning about three-thirty or so. Just a wet snow to begin with and sticking only to the tops of cars and trucks. It is now about ten a.m., and the trees are beginning to look a little white. Our blue spruces are beautiful with the light coating they have on them. I'd try to get a picture of them but I'd rather stay here by the fireplace and keep warm and cozy.

We had our kids in for Thanksgiving yesterday. My three year old granddaughter has never made up with me yet. And that might be painful to some folks. To me it is a challenge. Yesterday she did wave bye to me and blew me a kiss, while her six year old cousin was hanging all over me. She is coming around slowly but surely.

I wrote a book of poetry about three years ago and presented each grandchild with a copy (all six of them.) Of course the two youngest ones, the two I just mentioned, were far too young to read it, but I have hopes their parents kept the book for them for when they are a little older.

Oh, about the TAG, I am not going to email anyone. If they want to see, they can read my blog. Just as you are doing.

This and That

After being active on the forums and boards for about a year and a half now, I have decided that it is probably better to retrench and stick with my blog for a while. I feel bad that I haven't kept at it any better than I have. There really isn't any good reason that I haven't, other than time availability. And the fact that I haven't really felt like giving it the effort it requires. But with the drawing near of winter, I should have more time and I have a number of topics that I wish to expound upon.

Today is not a good day to get started, probably, as it is the sixth birthday of one of my grandchildren, and I don't want to get involved in too much today.

I've put Hootie on his own for a while, so I imagine he'll have a bunch of stuff to tell us when he comes back. Said he needed to find himself. I told him that was fine, just not to come back dragging some other old owl with him. That would just get us all fowled up.

I have begun writing poetry once again. I checked out a book of Robert Frost's poetry from the library the other day and it has reignited my writing, I am also exploring in my mind the thought of putting some of my previous vignettes on the blog, but haven't decided to do so yet. We'll see how that turns out after while.

I got a call from my nephew yesterday. He lives out in Oklahoma. He wanted to know if I had a few pictures I could send him, as he has none of my parents and few of my brothers. I told him I'd check around and send him a few that I have duplicates of.

Lena got to acting up a while back. We put up with it about as long as we could stand and finally ended up buying a replacement for her. Then I got Lena fixed so now I have two trucks to use. One is an old '84 Ford F-150, six cylinder, four wheel drive. That is Lena. She got that name from her habit of jerking back and forth when the distributor started going bad. I guess I've put eight or ten distributors in her. Seems to do the trick every time. They tell me it's wiring, plugs and so on. But just pull the distributor and put another one in and she runs great, and Leapin' Lena is good for another six, eight, twelve or eighteen months.

The new one is a 2007 F-150, super cab, four wheel drive, eight cylinder. Probably more truck than I need but sure is pretty and goes like a bat.

Oh, the poetry--

Here's the latest one:

ONE SERE LEAF


The house inside seemed much colder
That once was warmed with their shared love.
The children now were all grown older
And gone to live in the town above.

She left the house so cold and drear
And walked to find the place
Where they had spent full many a year
Loving each other and finding grace.

The old tree now was lean and bare,
Icy trunk so solidly set
In ground so snowy it stood there
Where first the two of them had met.

Shining sun and deep blue sky
At other times would bring her cheer.
And glancing up she saw him nigh,
But only her memory kept him near.


A gust of wind ran through he tree
And it brought down just one sere leaf.
Just a gift from an old friend
To share the midnight of her grief.

She took it with her when she rose
And placed it near the frame
That held pictures of long agos
When first she had taken his name.

Treasured memories and one sere leaf-
Not much left for one so dear.
But enough for her to ease her grief
And think on through the year.


So that's it for now. Keep on keepin' on.

Uh, Mr. Howard, I have a Poem

I got out of bed early yesterday morning. I had my coffee and breakfast and sat down in my chair to read a little Robert Frost. For some reason, even before I opened the book, a poem sprang full blown into my head. Well, actually, just the first two lines. But before I could get a pencil and paper, the thing was fleshing itself out and by the time I got seated again, it was practically set in stone in my little old mind.

Here it is, untitled as yet:

She set her cap, said, "he's the man
Whom I want to wed,"
Not thinking of the other ones
That may have shared his bed.

They married, and he left her flat,
After two months and went his way,
Leaving her with HIV,
Her reward for their play.

And, six years later, to the day,
After she became his wife,
We laid her in a cold, cold grave,
When she gave up her life.

So, girls, remember, though it be love,
or passion, if you please,
There's danger in this big old world,
Whenever you spread your knees.


Now, what should be the title? So far I have LUST and JUST LUST. I tinkered with Advice to the Loveworn, but discarded it. Help me out. Give me a title.


Oh, the title of this post --is a quotation from a character that appeared on a 1950's tv program called, aptly enough, It Pays to be Ignorant. I used to watch it every week when I was in my teens.