THIS place

When we moved 500 miles north this January, we packed all of our earthly belongings onto two 18 foot moving trucks, then unpacked them in our new, bizarre house in our new, bizarre town.

During a move like this, it is typical for people to toss all kinds of useful stuff. I had a large box in our front room for a month, and I added things to it daily; things I hadn't used in a while or didn't expect to ever really need. The wine and cheese picnic basket, maternity clothes, baby clothes, fifteen extra bed pillows.. Then there were things that I simply didn't want to decide on, clean, pack or otherwise handle. These things live as the careless disposals in my memory. My huge, blank canvas, my ice cream maker, my garment rack, a gigantic planter; things that I am positive that I would use if I had them right now.

Despite my attempts to be methodical about assessing our belongings, I became careless.

After settling in to our new home in Illinois, I returned focus to my craft instead of the arrangement of our belongings. With my fabric cataloged in the largish closet and iron plugged in, I began to think about what project I was going to begin. That's when I remembered that my machine had broken back in Knoxville, just before our move. I had intended to take it to a local store in K town that I had experience with, and I had even put it in the back of my truck and drove it around for a couple of weeks before the move. It never made it to the fix it place, instead it made it from the back of my truck straight into the back of the moving truck, without having been fixed.

I HAD attempted to fix the machine myself. I took the top off, one of the inner plates, and could see that one of the gears looked suspiciously asymmetrical. That's as far as I got, and I didn't even put the thing back together again. I put all the plates and bolts and screws into a zip lock bag, then duct taped it to the base of the machine. I put the machine into a plastic pepsi crate, and put it into the truck.

Since I do have a couple back up machines, I located the better one and proceeded to get my sew on. I put the busted machine in my car, and somewhere between a month and six weeks later, I took the thing to the sew n vac place in Champaign.

I had seen the place in my exploration of the town and made a mental note of it's location. I recalled there being something "strange" about the place, but I had forgotten what till the day I took the machine in.

While I appreciate salvaging anything that can be, I had never associated the action with that of the lord Jesus Christ. My attitude was "I might as well at least try and repair this thing; what is the worst that could happen? It would wind up in the shit heap anyway. Maybe I'll learn something about these things in the process."

Comparing a man's salvation to that of a vacuum cleaner is hard for me to comprehend. The analogy gets confusing; if Jesus is to mankind as what this guy is to vacuum cleaners and sewing machines, then I have a few questions. First of all, does God direct you in your work on vacuum and sewing machines? Are you a martyr, or do you symbolize a sacrifice to small machines on God's behalf?

Jesus:Mankind

This guy:Vacuum and sewing machines

I decided against asking the man these questions, instead I explained the problem with my machine, and he fiddled around with the baggie of parts.

"Seems like the casing is missing. Do you have any more parts?" He asked.

I blanked, and looked in my pockets and purse for no reason. I went out and looked in the trunk of my car, knowing it wasn't there. If the part wasn't in the baggie, there was no telling where it was. I went back in and explained that we had moved, and that the part was likely in my sewing room. He said that I could leave the machine there and bring the part by when I found it.

In the back of mind I knew there was no way I would ever find that part, but I destroyed my craft room anyway. Every box emptied, every corner swept, every cabinet searched. No part.

When I finally gave up looking, I decided I would take my better back up machine in and get him to spruce it up a little. The tension plates were never very sensitive; it is a Kenmore domestic machine from the early 1990s which has been used and abused, so it could use a thorough once over.

After calling the proprietor of the shop and letting him know the piece was gone with the wind, I drove the other machine there to swap out.

The proprietor's son works in the shop along side him and there's clearly a dominant/submissive type relationship between the two.

When I dropped my Singer off, a man was there purchasing three bags of vacuum cleaner bags and a bottle of cleaning solution. When he was checking out, the son, in an attempt at being James Bond radical, said "That's $14.95, those two are $15.40 each, and the solution is $12.65, so that would be.. ummm let's see, $58.40 plus tax, and for that I'll have to..."
Interrupting, his father said in a low voice "Sixty two oh five. With tax", as he slowly turned his head and torso away from helping me to meet the pleading gaze of his son.

The expression on his face when he turned back to me was one of bitter disgust accented by embarrassment.. He was shaking his head very subtly. Bearing a striking resemblance to Lyndon B Johnson, but less healthy, this man didn't possess a certain je ne sais quoi .

These situations used to embarrass me, but for some reason, now-a-days it is just amusing.

Junior had the same demeanor and style as Napoleon Dynamite's brother.

Last time I had the Kenmore machine serviced was over 10 years ago in Boone, NC where I went to college. I recall the shop in Boone charging me $80 for a routine tune up and cleaning, and they removed all my super cool stickers. After a decade the machine accumulated lots of new stickers, one of them being a radical "What Would Wesley Do" sticker designed by my friend, Brad Pope. It is an image of Wesley Willis with "What Would Wesley Do" superimposed across it. I couldn't help but wonder if he considered that sticker; it is ripped and half worn off, but I think the message is clear.

Three weeks after getting the message that the machine was repaired, I went to Champaign to pick it up. The proprietor made a point of bringing up the record of the transaction while both of my children climbed and stood on the same stool. I paraphrased the situation and the transfer of machines, and told him that I already had a check in the amount he quoted on the message. He continued reading from the computer and when he got to the note he had left himself about the message left, he recited it, then turned and looked at me, repeating, "Yes. That message was left September 18th. A full 23 days ago"

I apologized and tried to explain that weekends are better for me to go places without my kids, and that since his store isn't open weekends I had put it off over and over.

He took the check and looked at it at an extreme angle accessing just the right spot on his spectacles. Setting the check back on the counter, the man turned and shuffled into a back room returning with my machine, stickers intact. As intact as they were when I brought the thing in, at least.

The volume of my children was increasing, and with the combination of that and the man's attitude I was starting to loose it.

Sliding the check towards him, I grabbed the machine, and wrangled my kids to the door. He asked if I could manage, and I said that I could.

Settled back in the car, the kids and I pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street.

"That is a really weird store Mom." Fox declared.

"Why do you say so?" I asked

"That grumpy man has a bunch of signs and crazy stuff hung up everywhere and the store looks like it should be shut down"

I agreed with him and we giggled about that guy and his son.

I guess spreading the good word with a "repair shop" metaphor is as good as any evangelical approach.

the writing on the wall

As soon as I saw the graffiti on the ceiling of the picnic shelter at our local park, I knew my six year old son would see and be able to read it. Miraculously, he did not see it that sunny day, and we played on the monkey bars, then went home. Three more trips to the park came and went without notice of the scribbled "fuck you" inscription on the structure.

Last week we were at the park. The kids were at the swings begging me to come push them; something "fun" for the pusher for about five minutes in 100 degree heat, then it becomes an expectation leading to angry fits when not realized by the pushed. Rainer is never satisfied with my swing pushing; she constantly screams "higher, HIGHER", so her rear end leaves the seat for a moment, then she jerks the slack and wiggles back and forth till equilibrium is reached. It's horrendous! She's only two years old and 25 pounds at most. She isn't gratified with the swing set unless she nearly falls off, then catches herself, body dragging the ground as her seat dangles at her back as she clings, white knuckled, to the chains. After these experiences she doesn't enjoy simply swinging. She wants to have a "close call". Thrill seeker already, I guess.

So I was avoiding responding to the children's calls by sitting at the picnic table working a crossword puzzle and drinking ice water. They eventually gave up, and decided to throw rocks in the creek instead. Fox, red-faced and sweating, came running to me to take a drink of water. He sat on the top of the table and drank the rest, then laid back and stared at the raftered ceilings.

I knew what was coming next.

"Fuck You" he said slowly and clearly, then again, "Fuck You, Mom, what does Fuck You mean? It says it there", pointing upward.

Maintaining focus on my puzzle, I nonchalantly glanced at him, and tried very hard not to sound effected.

"Well; have you ever heard anyone say the F word, or F you?"

He said he had, and asked what it meant.

"The F word is a cuss word like damn, hell or ass, but it's much worse. People might ignore the other words, but NOT the F word. And if you say that to any of your friends and they repeat it in front of their parents, or if they get in trouble at school for saying it, they will tell their teachers and moms YOU taught it to them, then their moms won't let them play with you anymore and the teachers will think you're a bad kid."

Fox thought about it for a while mouthing the word silently to himself.

"Do you understand? You can't get away with saying the F word."

"Yes. I understand", he replied. "It would be really crappy not to get to play with my friends, and I don't think I'm a bad kid."

"Good, you aren't a bad kid, and you shouldn't even think about that word because the more you think about it the more likely it might slip."

"That would be really bad. Like a million bad. I would never say that, and that person didn't know how to spell the word you, so they just put the letter u. See?" Fox pointed again at the writing and lingered there for a moment before hopping down and scooping up a shirt tail full of rocks to throw in the creek. '

Creepiest ever

It seemed like a normal estate sale on paper. A "Years of collecting...H&H items....depression glass...vintage hats" type of affair, but upon arrival I knew it was different than all the others.

The neighborhood was a typical suburban microcosm with winding, ranch house lined avenues. There were a number of vehicles in the shady driveway and even more parked along the sides of the road. We stopped the car and pulled our children from their child restraints, then walked toward the house.

My initial impression of the house was the same as the others in that neighborhood. They all appeared to have been built between the late 40s and early 60s and had a minimalist tidiness about them with sparsely landscaped lawns. As I approached the teetering, doorless mailbox I glanced at the ground and stepped over a large, dead blacksnake. The snake was in the level area of the edge of the yard where people were trailing in; smack in the middle of the walkway. I momentarily considered it odd that neither the owners nor the estate liquidation company bothered moving the carcass before customers arrived.
Jason and I figured the snake was hibernating in the house and then got unpacked, and then got dead.
It was freezing cold so we hurried up the slick, moss covered and railing-less front steps and into the house.
Every surface was covered with relics and dust. The floor was spongy beneath my feet and the olive colored carpet was emitting the musty odor of moist decay. Old people were sitting in filthy wingback chairs eating Krispy Kreme doughnuts and wiping their finger tips on the threadbare damask. Discussions of blood sugar and cholesterol levels weighed heavily in the cramped livingroom. For fear of something in that environment mingling into my person I was scarcely breathing through mouth; How the hell were these people eating in that place?
The contents of most estate sales I go to are "mid-century vintage" heavy; probably people who married in the 1960s, started families in the 70s. Lot's of Herb Alpert albums, melamine and golden amber tones. This sale could best be described as "post war". Everything was a wavering hue of brown, and there wasn't a single plastic item anywhere. Crocks, churns, enameled pots, dippers, wooden pipes, a ventriloquist's dummy, an art deco cash register that must of weighed two hundred pounds, four fire place bellows, two cases of flatware, dishes, furniture..
The house was was absolutely packed before any customers showed up, so the scene was a crammed spectrum of all sorts of uncomfortable people.

It was soon obvious that there was nothing we needed in this house. Fox and I were looking at the oldest vacuum cleaner I had ever seen when Jason and Rainer popped into the back bedroom. We were crammed in there with a dozen other people and when they arrived Fox and I were attempting to exit the room. I picked Fox up to facilitate our retreat and as I glanced over at my husband he exclaimed,

"NO SHIT! Look at that!! Crows picking a dead deer carcass RIGHT THERE in this creepy-ass place!! This place is TOO WEIRD!!"

His expression was one of rejoice and pure satisfaction; as if he had won a long sought contest of wits. Just outside the picture window of that bedroom was, in fact a large buck, collapsed in the initial stages of decomposition, covered in crows. A murder of crows, tugging, jerking, slinging, and flapping in the frenzy of feeding.




People tend to behave as if they were in a library while at estate sales. Whispering and tip-toeing, careful foot wiping upon entry, and appreciative courtesies when leaving are not uncommon. When Jason saw the biology in action outside, he forgot these conditions and his words were j-u-s-t short of yelling. Every person in the room stopped perusing and focused on Jason, then looked to the subject of his declaration outside, then looked back at him in utter disgust.

"THAT IS AWESOME! Let's go look at it! Come on Fox!!"
Jason exclaimed as he hustled our 10 month old daughter through the crowd and gestured at my son and I by tossing his head. Eyes rolled. Heads shook. Old ladies sent disapproving looks of pity towards my little family as we rushed out.
As we burst out the front door, Fox reeled as he stumbled towards the edge of the landing and yelled something about there not being a "handle slide thing", and I pulled him to safety before he fell into a murky mound of leaf litter.

Slipping between a moldy mini van and a holly bush we found our way around the side of the house. Passing an open cellar door we continued through a thicket, and climbed up a small bank to the back yard.
We approached the broken carcass and the black birds reluctantly relocated. Fox was quiet (for once) while Jason and I pondered the scenario.

Perhaps the deer had been hit on the busy highway on the other side of the subdivision then finally collapsed here. Or maybe it starved in this thinning, once wooded area. One thing is certain, and that is that something had eaten the deer's hind quarters, and someone had sawed off it's antlers.
Fox made a circle around the body and quietly asked where the deer was. We asked him why he didn't think the deer was lying in front of us, and he mumbled something about the hunter and the deer's eyes. Jason asked Fox if he was ready to go deer hunting, shoot, kill then clean a deer, and Fox smiled and shook his head. We turned to check out the Saw-esque basement and Fox sang a farewell over his shoulder.

This bag wants to party

A couple of weeks ago Lee came over to my house, boisterous and jovial, bearing a pint jar of moonshine and some odd, food pantry items. His cousins had finished another batch of liquor, and life was good again.

After insisting that I try a sip, he explained that he was afraid that Jason was going to poison me with the muscadine wine "he'd mixed up" and that he wanted me to have "sumthin' good-n-safe t'drank on"

As it happened, Jason and I were bottling the wine that very night, and had a few people over to try it in it's youth. We had a total of 10 liters of wine in the house, and no one was interested in mixing wine and moonshine. (again)

Pretending to sip the moonshine, I expressed my approval and thanked Lee for the pantry gifts. (instant mashed potatoes, powdered milk, gravy mix, rice, THREE POUNDS of dried cherries). I was not surprised to find out later that all of the food had been donated by the Methodist church's food pantry to Lee's friend, who then brought it to Lee in exchange for some substance.. and after Lee took the items he was interested in ("sum lederhosen sausages, a couple'uh'em corn cake mixes, an sum beefaroni cans") he passed the rest to us in a care package. Oh yeah, there was also a new dish towel in the box. ?

Lee crossed the street to his house where his friends had arrived, and we heard every elevated word exchanged between them for the rest of the night.

The next day, Lee didn't emerge till sometime after 3:30pm when he was seen rinsing something in the faucet outside of his house. Fox and I were working in the yard while Rainer napped, and I was glad Lee didn't come explain what was going on. Every time he comes within 10 feet of the house while Rainer is sleeping she wakes up, and most of his "morning-after" stories include an assessment of last night's libations based on his morning bowel movement. Information I could do without.

A few hours later Lee knocked on the door and was clearly drunk. He asked to borrow a can of tomatoes, told me he loved me, then went back to his house where there were four or five cars parked.

Jason and I had dinner, got the kids to bed, and were preparing to go to bed ourselves when I heard noises on the porch and Lee's trademark knock.

Lee bounded into the house as if one Leg was longer than the other, and started speaking in a tongue similar to that of an auctioneer at a barnyard auction. I cringed, imagining the kids were fearing the end of the world, and gestured for Lee to lower his voice.

"Five dollars! Here, take it, take this!!"

Lee was waving a ten dollar bill at me, aiming it towards my hand and jerking his head in the direction of the kitchen.

"Listen! Listen Jeel. Here's five dollar, YOU give ME a five an that moo moo I give yee. Y'hear me? I give you five, YOU give ME five, an at's for the moo moo"

His instructions became more frantic and quantitative; involving on the spot estimates about the cost of a pint of moonshine (based on the $25/a jar figures) and his level of intoxication became evident.

Still unclear about his intentions, I was able to determine that it was the moonshine he had given me in the care package that he wanted. Still untouched, I retrieved it from the freezer and gave it to him, refusing the "five" ten dollar bill in his hand.

His demeanor shifted, and his hands met each other as if in prayer.

"Thank ye Jeel! Man, I dropped my lass jar uh moo moo an I'm in the middle uh partyin! I thought I'd killed it then membered bout th pint I give ye. I giv'ye five dollars for it, but I jus got a ten."

Ah. The $5/$10 conundrum became clear to me. I told him that I didn't have cash and to just keep it, that he had given it to me so it was mine to give away, but he refused. He left the ten on the mantle and returned to his party.

The next day Lee was full of apologies, and I insisted that it was perfectly fine, but he felt guilty about taking the gift back.

"I'll make it up to you Jeel. Somehow".

Sunday Lee came to the door with a huge smile on his face and a wadded bag in his hand. Unable to contain his excitement, he pulled a jar of maraschino cherries from the wad, and handed it to me in the manor of handling the holy grail.
In a hilarious, sarcastic tone Lee exclaimed;

"Check it out Asian Ninenine! I tole you I'd get cha'back! These'll be ready to eat in three days. They'll be RIGHT!"

I thanked him for the moonshine cherries and asked if they go in the fridge or the freezer, and he thanked me again for "spottin him that pint", then headed for the door. Before he left he said;

"One more thing; could'ja do me another favor an write me a letter to the lectric company. I's $29.19 short this month on the light bill cuz I was sick lass month an had to spend money on cough'n cold medicine an I need to tell em I'll pay it back next time. You know, for January's bill. See really I's jus drinkin on that moo moo an spent all my money on it. I can't hardly see or spell to write somethin like at. I don't need it till tomorrow."

I told him that I would.

The letter went something like this:

To Whom it may concern,


Due to sickness and the associated expenses this payment is incomplete by the sum of $29.19. This amount will be paid along with the January 2011 bill as a past due amount.


Regretfully,

The next day he came over for the note. Clearly impressed with the typed letter, Lee said

"Thanks Jeel. Printed an all. Jew eat some uh them cherries?"

I told him that I hadn't since he said they wouldn't be "cured" for another day or so, and he said;

"Well hell, Jeel! You never do what I say till now! I'd been into'em already"

my summer, or summerlee

Thinking back over the past few months is a sweet, hot, quick blur of a memory. My gorgeous daughter was born in March, and that's when everything got crazy. It was actually crazy before that, but having a newborn baby makes every little thing seem like a scene from a movie; a movie you have a major, non-acting role in. Like "Key Grip" or "Best Boy" or "Director" or some crap like that.


After my little girl was born it took forever for me to get back on my feet. Following her surgical birth, I got mastitis in both breasts. TMI, I know, but mastitis is no joke! I was on serious pain meds, plus 800mg of motrin every 6 hours, so the fever and pain didn't appear until the middle of the night when I would wake up in a cold sweat. I chalked it up to the healing process and didn't get treated till a month after the horrid bacteria had set up shop in my junk. It was awful. Luckily the antibiotics worked their moldy magic and it cleared up within 10 days. When I began feeling better it was like having a new lease on life. Everything was fun and exciting after looking at the inside of my house for a month. We collected morels and went to gigs; Rainer went on her first camping trip when she was just 2 months old. I was up for anything.


Fox had his 4th birthday in July and we had a last minute party for him. Little kid birthdays are great because you can do whatever you want, invite whomsoever you want, and prepare whatever you want. Later birthdays will likely be full of the weird parents of children your kid happens to know. No kegs. No BB guns. No carnitas with lime and cilantro. We set up the baby pool and let the kids run wild. Lee showed up and decided to take a dip.



Jason's band "CATFISH MERCURY LOAD" played tons: Ijams Fest, Amp Fest, First Friday at Oodles, Bethfest, Kemmer's Annual BBQ Bluegrass Jam... It was great! Every weekend was busy. Amp Fest was a benefit for Mountain Justice in downtown Knoxville. The festival was in the parking lot of a block of bars, nothing but pavement and broken beer bottles. We told Lee about it and he promised that he would come. After a few hours he showed up on his bike with a crumpled paper bag shoved in his pants-pockets. From my face painting table I watched him arrive, take the bag out, open it and start eating M and Ms by the handful. I was relieved that it was chocolate and not pot.

In no time Fox had sensed the presence of candy and found Lee. Fox had been playing in a dusty parking lot at 90 degrees for hours and was filthy. When Lee saw Fox the look on his face was priceless. Pure disgust mixed with disappointment. He wouldn't give Fox any candy and wrapped it back up in the paper bag and put it back in his shorts, scolding him all the way. He forced Fox over to the outdoor bar and removed his bandanna. He flooded it with ice water from the cooler on the bar and proceeded to give Fox a whores bath right there in front of the crowd. I didn't get a picture of the bathing, but I did get this one of Lee's arrival which I thought was artful, what with the satellite dish on the side.





The entire summer was smattered with events like this one. Parties, gigs, weddings, visits; very little work got done, but it was too hot to work outside anyway. The only real work that went on occurred after each of the appliance disasters we experienced. First the TV went, then the heat pump, then the washing machine, then the ice maker, then the hot water heater.. It was a remarkable chronology of bad luck. We fixed the A/C, replaced the heat pump and the washer, and shit-canned the ice maker and the TV. No one got sick or arrested, so we were able to chalk our bad fortune up to poor quality consumer products.





I did manage to do a little sewing last month. Before then I hadn't sewn since early in my pregnancy; probably last October. Except for a little project I did for Lee. He came over one day with his favorite Superman T-shirt, and his "over-hauls". As he walked in the house was filled with the warm aroma of a smoldering cigarette butt.

Lee explained his idea for modifying his garments and asked if I could do it for him. This entailed cutting the "S" Superman emblem from the T-shirt and sewing it onto the bib of his "over-hauls". I told him that I would do it.

He said "Thanks a lot Jill, you know I'll make it up to you somehow. I just need tuh get it done b'fore tonight. I'm gonna ride my bike downtown an go see 'at show"

I wasn't sure what show he was referring to, but I figured an outfit like that is appropriate for any event or occasion.





Fox thought it was the coolest thing he had ever seen and immediately wanted to change his overalls to match Lee's. I said no. Not till he fully outgrew his Superman tank.

Don't Fuck with the Natives, or Lee's Rant about 'nam

My Music Media Box

Indo Music Code Generator by musik-live.net

Brace yourselves. This is a bizarre monologue by Lee. Don't read any farther, just listen.


Here's what happened:

Jason walked over to Lee's house the other night to return some plates he had left at our house, and realized he had his his voice recorder in his breast pocket. As soon as he walked in Lee began this explanation of why he never received the millions of dollars which he told everyone about. Those of you who have followed this blog know all about this, those who haven't might enjoy the recording for the sheer drama. Any archived blogs tagged with "wacky neighbor", "crazy neighbor", "lee" or any combination might provide an informed backdrop for those interested, but I'll admit that no amount of information will make this make sense.


The general idea is that while on missions in Afganistan and Vietnam, Lee killed an unstated number of people in a lagoon of some sort, blinded a man-eating, Taliban owned lion with an explosive hen carcass crammed full of "red oak saw dust and broken glass", and was able to manage with the help and direction of an Arapaho Indian Chief.


Because he was committed to the Natives for blessing him with his powers and abilities, he was unable to confront the government regarding the money they owed him for completing this mission. After participating in a Sundance ritual, Lee received a Native Blessing of the "Blue Lights", which have followed him around ever since. Lee has hundreds of these "mystical orb" photographs, and believes them to be Native Spirits protecting him, but when he sees them in photographs of other people, he believes they are negative or otherwise unclean spirits.

He believes that the government has began to realize his connection with the Natives, and that the Native's philosophy of the "circle of life" is preventing the completion of the agreement between the NSA and himself.

Finally, since three of the bodies in the lagoon have been discovered, the success of the mission is clear, prompting the government to finally pay up. Lee mentions that he knows the money is coming since he saw one of the government agents responsible for accounts payable featured in an Olive Garden commercial.

Lee has been biding his time "being secluded and white" and thirty years have passed while he has waited. He is relieved that it's finally over after "[putting] everything on the line for it"

After Lee finished speaking, Jason set down the dishes he was returning, and opened his mouth to speak, but could think of nothing appropriate. Luckily, Lee's ramble continued, and moved on to other matters. Hopefully Jason will edit the rest of it so I can publish it soon.

Leesearch

Ever since we told Lee that I was expecting he has sorta disappeared. I still saw him around, but he was definitely keeping a distance from me and Fox during the day. Peace settled into my yard, and I relished my newfound ability to exit my home without facing an emotionally charged monologue about flying helicopters in Naam. He did flag me down one day as I was pulling out of the driveway; he handed me a change purse full of pennies and asked if I would go to the tobacco shop to get him a pack of Red Cap tobacco. I asked "Red Hat"?, and he turned and yelled;

"CAP, RED CAP, not hat, CAP"

as he pantomimed putting on and removing a hat. Other than that one occasion I hadn't encountered him on a conversational level in weeks. This all ended yesterday.

Fox and I were outside playing in the yard when I noticed smoke billowing into the tree tops around me. Since Fox has really made progress with mastering a bic lighter, and since the smoke was so near I figured Fox was responsible for the fire. I hopped up and assumed my "angry face", heading towards where Fox was huddled, and realized that he hadn't started a fire. I peeked over the shrub and saw Lee fanning a massive pile of leafy brush with a piece of poster board. It was popping and snapping, emitting opaque smoke which spanned the entire street, but was concentrated in Lee's immediate vicinity. It looked like he was in music video.

He did the thing where he just starts talking as if you were already engaged in conversation, and I smiled and nodded to keep up. I realized that he was inviting me to his house to see a clock he made out of a sprocket and beer caps. Fox was going nuts trying to get into the fire, so I pulled him away and into Lee's house to see his creation. Basically, Lee had bought a clock, removed the hands and attached them to the center of a bicycle sprocket. Sorta like this:



First he showed me the sprocket clock, then he called attention to the "parts" clock which he had painted hands onto the face frozen at 4:20. He was equally pleased with that clock.

We left his house and Fox and I returned to playing, and Lee to burning green branches.

A few minutes later Lee returned and asked me if Jason had ordered a book for him. I asked him about the book, and he told me it was written by a woman named Moore, and it was about her pictures of mystical orbs. I told him that I would look it up for him.
I was about to use that as an excuse to go inside for a while when he abruptly asked me another research related question.

"Did'jew listen to that Coast to Coast radio show last week? Tha'n bout th' Trixters?"

I had no idea what the hell he was talking about, so he started telling me about it.

"See they had dis guy on ere as uh guest name Chris O'Connor, or Chris O'Neal er somethin, but he got on the air an started a'makin fun uh me! Back in the 80s he was lookin' for all th' Ghost Dancers an Skin Dancers out west and he ask me t'take em, so I told em that I would do th' Ghost Dance an he could see for himself, but all he wanted t'do was all this decibel stuff with recorders an stuff. Ye'know he was like one uh these professor types not wantin' t'do the work jus wantin' tu write some big book! So I told em that I'd take him to meet some shamens and medicine men an he was givin' me a hard time, a callin' me a shafe shifter an some kinda weekend warrior an got mad an so I said "fuck this" so I went t'town tu that Goodwill store an bought $50 worth uh stuff: I got sum deer antlers an clear packin'tape an plastic wrap, so I put flour in th'plastic wrap an put it over my face real tight, an taped them antlers to my head, and got this piece of blue fabric wrapped'round my shoulders. See, I waz tryin' t'camoflage in with th'storm an fog. Then I got up on his roof with a brick on a rope an started walkin 'round the roof lettin' that brick bounce on the wall, then I stuck my head in his window an scared him so bad he come running naked out into the snow. I figgured that'n needed t'be scared."

I was thoroughly confused as to how this had anything to do with the radio show, and I asked;
"So the guest on the show talked about you on air"?

Lee excitedly replied
"Hell yeah he did! He was callin me all sorts uh shit some kind uh 'shafe shiffer' weekend indian! He was pissed off an all I was tryin t'do was help em out! After we wuz there I took em up Arizona where them people were diggen in walls makin houses, called 'cwiff dellers' er sumthin. Back when I wuz workin in commercials an TV an stuff I did all kinds uh shafe-shiptin' an was turnin into animals an doin photoshoots
an all. Hell! You SEEN one of um when I wus turned to a wolf! Remember that magazine ad I showed you? I done that an I done a car commercial as a bear that breaks in th' car an eats th' doughnuts...I don't like doin' it much though.
But I need you t'get on th'internet, look up google, an punch in Coast to Coast, and Trixters, an see if you can't get that episode loaded on a CD for me cuz I need t'listen to it again."

I was itching to go inside, so I acted real urgent-like about it and told him I'd check it out pronto:
The Tricksters - Shows - Coast to Coast AM

Shared via AddThis

I haven't had the time to listen to the stream yet, but I'm really looking forward to
putting the pieces together. I looked up the book he was referring to and this is the author, Rochelle Moore:







I'm not sure what it all means, but Lee is definitely into the mystical realm of existence. If I can pin down which book he is interested in, and it's available on Amazon I will definitely get it.

Lee cracks me up so much! He is always asking me to search for bizarre stuff on the internet for him, and he scours the South Knoxville library's adult non-fiction section, which probably consists of fewer than a few thousand books.

Ladyface, revealed

For those of you who recall my April 7th blog post Fountains and Fountains, you may remember mention of a certain sexually ambiguous neighbor who was affectionately referred to as Ladyface. More evidence has been unearthed about this swarthy, yet delicate individual.




I apologize in advance for these uncensored images.

Sometime after posting the aforementioned blog, my friend Beth told me that she had seen Ladyface at our neighborhood store, The Handy Dandy. I asked Beth if she got the impression that Ladyface was a man or a woman, and she felt confident that it was a man in women's clothing. Clothing, dangling earrings, and platform sandals, to be exact. Imagining Ladyface in the Handy Dandy all dolled up is enigmatic. This is the kind of store where they butcher and sell their own meat, and where cops hang out. Their top selling beer comes in 40 oz bottles, and most of their customers arrive on foot. The thought of an unabashed transvestite entering the establishment seems ballsey, if not slightly dangerous.


The following day Lee and I were driving to the comic book store so he could get "dis guy tuh buy me one uh dim five dollar foot longs", and on the way we drove past Ladyface's house where the fountain was spewing.
"Do you the man who lives in that house with the fountain?" I asked Lee.

"Hell yeah" Lee said in a low, "no duh" tone. "People says he's some kinda queer er sumthin. I don't give uh damn but whut th hell is he doin with that goddam warshin machine pump on thar? Can you imagine thu warter he's a waistin' jus to run that crap in his front fuckin yard"

Lee's tone and volume increased to a mid-high agitation level, and he elaborated:

"I mean, here's dis grown man spendin all his time'n money on some ugly warter pump with bricks an bullshit all over it; livin in thare with his BIG old momma! That says to me that shit ain't right with em. Them peoples CRAZY"

I was proud that Lee didn't rail the man for dressing like a woman or for his proposed homosexuality. Ladyface had logged at least 25 hours a week on that stupid fountain, and since he continually changed it, it was 25 hours a week from April to September for three consecutive summers. But the bottom like was that Lee was calling another CRAZY.

A few days later Jason and I were driving by and saw Ladyface relaxing around his house. We took these pictures.







I couldn't help but notice the pick in his pocket. I used to carry a pick like that when I got an 80s perm.

My neighborhood is the best. When a man feels this confident and natural while cross dressing, everyone else should just follow suit. No pun intended.

Lee made me a meatloaf

Yesterday while Fox and I were working in the yard Lee popped his head out of his front door and unintelligibly yelled something about meat. His tone was urgent and as he emerged holding an oven mitt in one hand and an old, wadded up t-shirt in the other, I figured he was cooking. I asked what he needed, and with an impatient gesture complete with rolling eyes, he returned into his home without a verbal reply. I continued weeding around my tomatoes while Fox was busy in the sand box, and after a few minutes Lee reappeared at his door and started my way.

"I've got'chall uh meatloaf I made; jus tookit out uh thu oven."

Without having fully comprehended what he had said, I said "Yeah. Ok", like it was the most natural exchange that had ever occurred, ever in all time.

"What I did is chop up onions, maters, sweet peppers, sum carrots n beans(?), broccoli (??) then mixed it up real good with thu meat in my bean pot, then poured pizza sauce on top of it'n baked it 'bout 40 minutes. I made two of um; a big un an a small un"

Still unclear of what was going on, I said "Mmmm. That sounds weird".

He said that it was cooled off enough to bring it over, and he turned back towards his house. A couple of steps away he turned back and yelled (as if he were all the way back at his house, and there was a wind storm or a thunder storm like that scene from Back to the Future when Marty was trying to tell Doc about his future murder) "If I bring yall one of um will you cut me off enough for a sandwich?"

I nodded and watched him disappear, then became worried when I saw him returning with his pan and a hand full of sliced white bread.

"Go in'ere an git a knife!" Lee demanded.

Fox was interested in the pan and started asking Lee for "meat please"

I handed the knife to Lee, but he just shoved the pan of loaf towards me and acted like the knife was a live snake. I sliced the loaf with Lee's explicit direction, and realized that this was unlike the dish that mamma used to make. First of all the vegetables were in huge chunks. It looked like some concoction to be stuffed into something else. It didn't slice at all, but crumbled back into it's individual ingredients, leaving the appearance of a missing main dish. The "loaf" was surrounded by a lava lamp style mix of pizza sauce and grease in the bottom of a warped, Teflon frying pan sans handle.



I arranged the heel on Lee's slice of bread which he immediately topped with another slice, then wadded with such force that when he opened his hand it looked like a hot pocket. He handed me a slice of bread between his fingers as if it were the ace of spades, and commanded me to "make 'at boy uh sammich"

Fox had been caught earlier playing with a bag containing a quarter loaf of bread. He had mangled the bread, leaving it unusable for whole sandwiches, but decent for child-size benders. I brought the bag outside to where we were pick-nicking. I used Lee's bread for myself and made Fox a sandwich from his play time bread.

Like all of Lee's creations, the meatloaf was delicious. We sat in my driveway and ate . I noticed that when Lee eats he makes pained, grunting noises much like a person having a nightmare. After accidentally staring at him for too long, Lee glanced over at me and declared "it's the broccoli that makes it"

fountains and fountains

In the land of yard art, yard sales and the torch of independent spirit nothing seems to surprise me much. Everyone in my neighborhood has something extraneous in their yard, be it a makeshift water fountain, multi colored bottles poised on tree limbs, non-functional vehicles, or "sculptures" consisting of household refuse. The degree of the typical Tennessean's "mark" on their yards is exclusive to this place and time.
Since moving to my neighborhood in spring of 2006 I've kept an extensive mental journal detailing the most interesting yards in the area. Today I would like to investigate the two most notable water features.
I noticed the first case over a year ago when there was a warm spell in early March. There was a guy out in his yard lugging bricks to a section of his yard that bordered the busy, semi-retail/commercial street. He was thin and wiry with skin the color of a hot dog despite the season. His hair was long and stringy kinda like a metal front man's, and he was wearing women's, boot cut jeans. I saw him as I drove down the street going 35 mph and had just enough time to remark on the mysterious project he was hard at work on, and the extremely obese woman sitting on the front porch of his house.
The next day I took Fox to the park in his stroller. While he played I could hear someone tink, tink, tinking away at a masonry substrate, and the faint sound of rock music. Fox was getting sleepy and began to whine about chocolate milk, so I decided to treat him to a Mayfield Chug at the Handy Dandy Market. We strolled in and got the milk and Fox settled into the stroller with his treat. As we exited the store, I remembered the guy with the bricks and decided to walk another block so I could pass his yard. I slowed my pace to a hobble which would both make me look more authentically SoKnox (as most pedestrians hobble), and allow me a longer view of the yard without revealing myself as a Looky-loo.
The guy was out with his brick pile and a hammer and chisel removing cement from the bricks with meticulous care. His aviator glasses were dark and mirrored so I wasn't able to tell if he saw me coming; just to be safe I gave him a nod. He paused for a moment, then assuming he had just imagined my signal, looked back at the lumpy brick in his hand. He had started stacking the cleaned bricks in a rectangular column which was roughly two feet high. There were lots of PVC pipes and connectors laying around, and a large, blue tarp anchored by two orange traffic cones. His house looked like it was about 600 square feet, which made me understand why he wanted to maximize his yard by flexing his home-making muscles in the out of doors, and there was no sign of the big woman.
The entire scene was effectively burned into my mind-journal, and I started imagining what he was working on.
The next day Fox and I didn't go anywhere, and that night our friend and neighbor, Dan came over for a visit. "Have you seen that guy on South Haven?!" was the first thing to come out of his mouth!
Relieved that I wasn't becoming a socially deprived stalker, I excitedly compared notes with him and we shared our theories regarding the form and function of the dude's project. We were equally tantalized by this mystery, again, much to my relief.
Dan's wife Adrienne and I called or emailed each other daily with progress reports or interesting sightings at the man's home, and we finally realized what he was creating; a water feature.
He had lined the interior walls of the rectangular column with the tarp, and used extra bricks to weigh it down on the top rim. A water hose had been run through a PVC pipe with an "elbow" joiner on the end, so the water came out at an angle. The pressure was a bit too high and it looked like a geyser on the end of a stick, or a plumbing blow-out accident. In fact, I noticed a few of the bricks were pushed out from the pressure.
The following weekend Dan, Adrienne and I talked at great length about the fountain and it's attributes. The next day I drove by and the entire thing was disassembled! The bricks were all back in a tidy stack, the tarp back on the ground with the cones, and the piping on the tarp. I was more than disappointed. While shopping at the grocery store I thought about the fountain and how it hadn't been so bad! Just a little off! What possessed him to take the thing apart?
Driving home from the store I saw the man hard at work rebuilding the fountain, only this time he stacked the bricks side to side instead of end to end, and had painted the interior pale blue like the inside of a swimming pool. As soon as I got home I called Adrienne at work and told her about the progression. She promised to take that route home to see.
The next day Fox and I walked by the house and beheld the magic! The column was three feet high and the PVC water pipe was sticking straight up in the center of the basin. The pressure was still too high so now it really looked like a geyser! At 20 feet away on the other side of the road we could feel the over spray! Cars driving by were creeping by to get a look!
Over the next two weeks many revisions took place; two flood lights pointed at the water spray, a coat of blue enamel on the exposed PVC, and finally some orange and white "go vols" pom poms attached to the corners. It was almost more than I could bear; I had to meet this man.
We left for a long weekend in Asheville and when we returned everything was different, again. The column shape was gone and in exchange was a low, wide basin similar to the dimensions of a koi pond, and the pipe was so low to the ground it couldn't be seen by passers by. The flood lights had been mounted to two tobacco stakes placed behind the fountain, and the stakes were painted blue. The flood lights provided an interesting effect on the water, but a blinding one on my eyes when I was driving by after dark.
Each day was something new with the fountain. It provided us with tons of conversation and anticipation all summer long, then one day it was gone, replaced by the blue tarp and cones. By winter time there was no trace left of the fountain, neither brick nor pipe.
I had almost forgotten about the fountain till the other day when I saw it.

That satellite dish that you see there was inverted, forming a basin in the brick part and the water pipe was in the center. It was a-m-a-z-i-n-g! I was thrilled not only to see the fountain again, but to see the MORTAR between the bricks! It sure seemed permanent! When I took this picture I figured that he was working on the plumbing and was going to replace the satellite to it's original position.
Then the man exited his house with two mousy shi-zus trailing wearing his tight girl jeans, a baby doll midriff-bearing shirt, and carrying a bunch of junk.

It was then that I noticed something about this man that I never had before. He looked like a lady in the face.

"Ladyface"

I have studied these pictures at great length and magnification and I can't figure it out; is he a masculine lady or a soft-featured man? I can gather from the photos that there are: zero breasts

zero package bulge

there are lady jeans

scoop neck, midriff-bearing babydoll tee

manly back but without hair

lap dogs

biceps

has a lady face

As you can tell there are a few questions left unanswered.
While I was out I decided to check out the other contender in the "best water feature in SoKno" contest. Although it does deserve mention with it's mini Christmas tree and garland, it pales in comparison to the satellite idea. I will make an official decision when ladyface gets finished.

Lee hadn't exited his house in four days when I saw him draw back the hot air balloon-printed curtain and peek out his front door at Fox and I, quickly releasing it when he saw my glance. Three minutes later he stepped onto his front landing wearing an unbuttoned shirt and a knit toboggan. The shirt seemed like a tiny rag hanging from his shoulders, gathering under his arms framing his protuberant belly.

A week ago his hot water heater stopped working and he came over to my house to take a "whores bath", which we called a "bird bath" in my house, but when you think about the key body parts in the process, "whores bath" is a more apt title. After he had rinsed his hair and put his clothes back on, Lee opened the door while he shaved and chatted. He hadn't put his belt back on yet, and I was shocked to see the impossible angle his belly created where it returned to his hip. The bottom of his overhanging belly was parallel with the floor, and created a sharp, right angle with his hip bone. Don't worry. I didn't stare. One glance and I will never forget the sight. Even when I was carrying a nine and a half pound baby Fox in my belly it wasn't that big. Why do some men have such off the chain bellies?

Lee scratched and stretched, then disappeared back into his house, reemerging with a steaming cup of coffee and a "rolly", which is a hand rolled cigarette. He slowly approached Fox and I, stopping here and there to look around at the wind blowing the trees. He had buttoned his shirt and I could tell that that particular shirt was soon becoming an openly wearable only type; the buttons were all mismatched colors at the midsection and they seemed to be under a great deal of strain.

I was pushing Fox on his swing and he was screaming so he didn't hear Lee approach. I noticed that Lee had something shoved in his back pocket that was making him walk funny.

"So do yall have one uh them VHS players or what?", Lee barked as if he had already asked me twenty times before. He pulled the item out of his pocket and it was a cover less VHS tape entitled "Winterland Scooby Doo" I told him that we did, and he went on to explain that he had bought that tape from "a guy who was hurtin with his rent" for Fox.

"It's pretty cool. I done watched it. Thares a few stories on 'at one tape an one's a Christmas-type story, an the rest are, well I wont give it away. It's CLEAN anyway"
Well that was a relief! I was wondering if he meant that it was a physically clean tape and relatively germ-free, or if he was referring to the content of the movie.

Fox had realized Lee was amidst and had began yelling Lee's name over and over. Lee pushed him for a while, then proclaimed, "I sware I could'uh cut'chore hair straighter with uh pan-knife than what 'at woman did! An how much you paid'er?"

I told him that we had traded goods for services, and he seemed satisfied. After I got my hair cut he started calling me by a different name. Something that sounded like "Asian-ninine". I had no idea what he was saying, and he was drunk. After realizing that he was doing it on purpose, not of disorientation I finally asked him why.

"You look like 'at spy Agent 99! You know! From 'at ol spy movie Get Smart!?" I lied and told him that I knew what he was talking about, relieved that he wasn't being derogatory towards Asian people.

Lee asked us what we were going to do today, and I said that since we were both under the weather that we would likely stick around the house and enjoy the warm temperatures. He said "em doctors say y'need at least fifteen minits'uh sunshine per day or you'll get all..." Lee was making the universal sign for crazy; winding his finger around and around right beside his head, and I told him that I believed it whole-heartedly.

Lee saged my house

Last weekend Heather, Ella and Josh came to visit for the weekend. We were all really excited since it was the first time they had visited with baby Ella, and we always have lots of fun together regardless of what we do. As an extra bonus our wonderful friend, John was in town too, and he and his lady friend, Amy came over for supper.

Jason spent Saturday working on one of our (many non-functional) lawnmowers over at Lee's house. Lee is a wizard when it comes to small engine repair and always helps us fix stuff; as far as I can tell these times are Lee at his finest.

Heather, Josh, Ella and I were going to go to the store to get preparations for shrimp and grits while Fox was napping, so I walked across the street to ask Jason to come work in our front yard so he would hear if Fox awoke. Lee was watching Jason tighten something while he held his hand which was wrapped in dirty flannel.

"What happened t0 your hand?" I asked

"Aw nuthin! I wuz just helpin Jason get his mower fixed an I cut my hand on 'at bolt" Lee said in a sing-songy tone.

I looked back at Jason and explained our excursion to him, and immediately after the words escaped my mouth Lee assertively asked,"So whater you a-havin fur supper"

I told him shrimp and grits with turnup greens, crowder peas and sweet potato fries.

"An you ain't even gonna invite me when I'm over here a-bleedin fixin YOURE machine?!",
Lee assumed.

Quickly I asked Lee to please join us for supper, and that we would be eating sometime after seven. He accepted my too-late invite with disdain, as if he would be doing me a favor by showing up, and asked if I could pick up a few things while I was out. He ran into his house and came out five minutes later with a grocery list, his government "food stamp" card, and his pin number. Lee gave me explicit directions how to use the EBT/debit card reader, even after I insisted that I understood the functionality of the contraption, and then sent us on our way.

Josh and I prepared our supper and Lee stuck his head in when we were almost finished. I told him that it would be another 45 minutes till it was ready, and he said, "I've done ate, but thanks Jill. I appreciate it n you're a good neighbor. I'll prolly jus come back over here when Dan and John get here"

Great.

John, Amy and our friend Frank showed up, and my friend Adrienne from up the street came down. We all talked and caught up with each other. Adrienne went back home to her kids so her husband, Dan could come down, and very soon afterwards Lee appeared. He came in the door with photographs of Dan, John, and I he had taken a few months earlier.

"See them orbs all over you John?!" Lee yelled. "You got them thangs all over your house Jill. See, they ride in on other people even if your house is clean an blessed" Lee remarked with a suspicious look at our previously jovial company.

I told him that everything was fine in my house, and there had been no spiritual disturbances of any kind. Lee produced three sticks of incense and a bundle of sage and insisted that we burn all of it to "smudge" our house. He continued talking about the mysterious orbs on the photographs for the rest of the evening.

I have seen tons of these "mysterious orb photos" that Lee has taken and without a shadow of a doubt they are dust particles. Some of the photos are of people with a big spot on their face or shoulder, some are of empty areas in a bar or someone's house with a spattering of nebulous dots, all are taken with a flash. The first time Lee showed me his collection of pictures I told him that I had had that problem when using a flash, and he said

"That ain't dust!! That place was so clean! There weren't a spot anywhere!",

and then it became a personal attack on the subject's cleanliness. So I dropped it and started accepting whatever he said about these photos, but this was the first time that my complacency had led to a "smudging" of my home.

As the fragrant smoke billowed from one room to the next all of my guests looked around at each other, attempting to communicate non-verbally by making eye contact. One by one I discreetly extinguished the incense, cracked the door to the back porch and turned on the overhead fans. I could hear Lee in the other room demanding to know what Dan thought about his photos. People started dodging Lee and his strange, one sided conversations, and he made his way into the kitchen where I was cleaning up. He started talking at me without any concern of my indifference, and suddenly I realized he was swearing loudly, and the children were in the other room.

"I told that stupid fuck what he could do! I said 'Alright goddammit! Get your shit and go back to your old lady an tell her not to bother me or my family no more! We're sick uh you're shit!"

At that moment Jason burst into the kitchen shushing Lee and telling him that he didn't care if he swore but not to do it when the kids are awake and in the next room. Lee looked at Jason incrediously and slinked out of the room, shrugging.

An hour later I went outside and found Lee smoking on the porch.

Laughing, he asked "Did you hear Jason tell me off in thar? He said I was a-cussin in front uh those babies or somethin. I NEVER cuss in front uh kids, man. I know how it is. He musta thought I was Pope. You know, that big bald dude Jason plays music with? He's always cussing around the kids"

Not knowing what to say, I just stood there and nodded. Why would Lee pick Pope? Brad Pope is great with kids, and super respectful of Fox. It was so freaky for Lee to pretend like he hadn't screamed obscenities in my kitchen while I was standing beside him, just an hour earlier, then try to blame it on a guy who wasn't even there. Then the conversation shifted back to the orbs and Lee proclaimed;

"Whatever they are they're faster than anything we got! I mean military, yaknow; like 747s or F-16s or bombers or WHAT EVER man! Them orbs gottem beat. I know yall're good people an all but I'm jus WARNIN yuh that thares more than this world that'cha see in life. There's the spirit world an yuh don't wanna piss'em off none!"

I told him that I didn't want to aggravate the orbs either, but I wasn't worried about them. He interrupted me by saying "So what do you really think about them Jill; tell me thu truth!"

After a moment's consideration I said that I thought they were interesting. Lee exploded and said that I might as well have slapped him in the face, and that he thought that I thought he was crazy. For some reason Lee was putting people on the spot all that night, demanding that they tell him he's crazy. Of course no one took the bait, as tempting as it was. It felt like Lee was fishing for a fight, which became evident towards the end of the evening.

Everyone started leaving and going to bed, and John and Amy were the last two people left other than Josh and Heather who were staying at our house. Jason and I were hoping that Lee would leave so that we could talk to John and Amy a little bit before they left, but he just wouldn't budge.

Finally Amy and I decided to try and lead him outside, then return inside without letting him back in. Evidently, despite being really drunk and high, Lee was onto our plan because he acquired a sloppily hostile attitude before leaving.

Amy and I were standing beside the door forming a chute directing Lee out the door, when he stopped in front of us and said "thanks a lot Jill" charged with sarcasm.

"You ain't gotta do anything! All you do is sit around here sewing in your room back'ere. All you gotta do is watch 'at kid. Yeah you got it made" Lee expressed.

Amy's eyes got huge and angry, and after taking a shocked, sidelong glance towards me she asserted "Being a mother is the hardest job in the world!"

Lee sort of rolled his eyes and continued his strutting progression to the front door.

Amy was horrified with Lee, but I felt like it was comparable to watching a really slow wreck. I can't take offense when I know he's just running off at the mouth. For god's sake; this is a man on disability who drinks moonshine and smokes dope on a daily basis, further disabling himself. It would be a wasted argument.

Despite the Lee-static, it was a great night. My only regret is that I didn't insist Lee leave a little early so I could have talked to my favorite friends about something without him screaming about orbs in the next room.

final countdown

Where to begin, where to begin?

When Lee moved into the house across the street he prefaced the pleasantries of introductions with a numerical countdown of days till he became a millionaire.

"Three hundred eighty-six more days uh this an I'll be outta here!"

I didn't know what he meant, but assumed it related to his condition of being home all the time without a car, subsiding on government food vouchers, and talking about magical orbs and spirits.
As time elapsed Lee's countdown decreased, and he explained that he would be entitled to his millions when George W Bush was no longer president. When the figure dropped below three digits I realized that it was, in fact a countdown till inauguration day; Jan 20th 2009.

After returning to Knoxville from my extended Christmas vacation I was shocked and alarmed to realize how low the countdown had dwindled. Jason and I had always chalked it up to fantasy; assuming that something would happen before the day arrived, but here we were, just days till inauguration. I decided that I would be gone that day, but the days leading up to the 20th were so uneventful I forgot to take precautions.

When the day arrived Fox and I watched the ceremonial preparations unfold on television, and occasionally glanced across the street to check Lee's status.

The only thing I noticed was an array of unfamiliar vehicles arriving and departing from the house. Lee didn't leave his house for quite a few days surrounding the 20th, which wasn't uncommon. He normally sleeps till noon, so it's possible that he leaves his house after I go to bed.

The next weekend Jason had some friends over to play music. I guess Lee suspected a party was going on so he came over with his standard mason jar of moonshine and a miniscule joint. He seemed pretty lit when he arrived, and after watching the guys play three or four songs he began asking me to google stuff for him. First he asked me to look up something regarding orb manifestations in photographs, then a ranch on the Comanche reservation in Texas, and finally the 2009 Ford dually F-350 crew cab truck. He kept making commands like, "type one in that has black interior", and "how much more is it to get REAL big speakers? I mean NICE."

I was going to explain that it wasn't possible to refine such a search, but after a couple of attempts I decided it was easier to just make up figures based on my own estimates. As soon as we had found a suitable image he said "Jill go get Dan an tell him to come over here an look at dis truck. He don't believe me when I tell him I'm gettin one. I'm makin a call tuh Lance Cuttingham an I'm gettin one uh them Monday morning. Jus wait. Tell 'em to git over here an look!"

Lee said this in a way that concluded that after seeing a picture of a truck on the internet, Dan would believe him.

Dan and the rest of the guys were in the middle of a song, so I told Lee that I would show it to him after they finished.

"He's jus right there! Jus tell em tuh look!" Lee griped in a too loud for inside voice, pointing.

I told Lee that it would be ridiculous to interrupt a band to show a guy (who couldn't care less) a picture of a truck on the internet. "I'm sure Dan knows what a new Ford F-350 looks like", I said.

"Yeah, but not like mine. Mine's gonna be top uh thu line!" Lee said dreamily.

I didn't even touch that one. I just walked away from the computer and ended the session.


Needless to say Monday came and went with no new truck. The countdown seemed to come and go, too, till the other night when Lee asked me to look up some other nonsense on the computer.

He started rambling on about someone trying to cheat him out of his money. I asked what he was going to do about it, and he said "I don't know yet. I'm gonna have to watch NCIS tomorrow night to see if I have to go out to the desert or not"

I asked him if he was referring to a television show, and he said "Yeah. See they talk to me an tell me stuff in code. Military stuff."

meat market

Last week while weeding my flower beds my neighbor, Lee approached me with a cup of coffee and a hand rolled cigarette.
Without hesitation he made a proposition;
"how about you drive me downtown to the butcher so I can get one uh them freezer economy packs with my guv-mint card?"
Not knowing what the hell he was referring to, I asked him when he wanted to go, and that I could take him as long as he didn't mind going by Big Lots, too. He said as long as he got there before three it would be fine, so I told him that we could leave as soon as I got fox ready.
We drove straight to the butcher shop in downtown Knoxville, and Lee insisted that I come in and bring Fox. He loves going places with Fox and I. He always acts like he is helping us out in some way, as if I am a poor, single mother without a job or a family... Considering the situation I figure there's no harm in letting Lee pretend some, and it is always interesting to read peoples expressions when we walk into an establishment.
We waited for the butcher to assemble the order, then as Lee was preparing to pay, he asked the clerk to to "sell me a quarter uh 'at souse"
I casually glanced down to the giant souse log in the glass covered cooler, and before the man could lift it onto the slicer I spied the main ingredient. Pig snouts.
The man behind the counter asked him how thick he wanted it cut, and Lee gestured holding a pack of saltines which conveyed everything the man needed to know. He then asked if he wanted it in a "sack", but Lee declined as he planned to eat it in the car.
I gathered Fox back into his car seat and started to pull out of the place, when Lee immediately started directing me to "stay right here in the shoulder!! It ain't really a sidewalk, it's like a drivin' shoulder"
Since I had eyes and could see that it was, in fact a sidewalk; complete with an eight inch elevation above the road, drainage grates and crosswalks, I declined to drive on it and just waited my turn to pull onto the busy city street. Lee tsked in disapproval.
Sitting in the passengers seat, Lee prepared his snack, and holding out a piece of sliced souse, ordered me to take some. He said "here! eat dis!"
As he was holding that thick slice of particle meat so close to my face, I was able to see the sun shining through it's mosiac-like constitution, like a greasy stained glass window for a tiny meat house.
I tactfully declined since I had eaten just before leaving the house.
Lee skeptically asked if I had ever eaten souse before, and I told him that I had plenty of times as I crossed my fingers.
We headed to the produce stand where we purchased a 50lb bag of potatoes and a 25lb bag of onions which I bought since the business no longer accepts "food stamps cards", and Lee insisted that we would split it all up.
So now I have enough onions, potatoes, and various meat cuts to last months. If there is any souse in there I will give it to Jason and tell him it's pate.
My friend Brad is going to pen a comic about Lee.

4/4/2008 Missing-Lee

For those of you "Lee" savvy readers:

Jason said the funniest thing about our neighbor today.
He was expressing concern about not having seen Lee in a couple of days, and the apparent manhunt going on in search of murderers, more bodies, or whatever it is they are looking for from the helicopter... And I said;

"I saw him meandering around his yard this morning, and his bike was there all day", and Jason said
"Lee doesn’t ’meander’ as much as he ’neanders’"