Near the Pigg River

After such an enjoyable day of geocaching yesterday, and with a trio of newish caches lurking not too far northward, I decided this morning that another outing was crucial for my peace of mind. So, I hit the back roads, bound for Franklin County, about 9 AM and aimed myself at a couple of caches in a little series called "Near the Pigg River," both of which—believe it or not—are near the Pigg River. Both of these were published over a week ago, but neither had been logged, probably due to the snow and ice last week, which is only now clearing up in many areas.

Upon arriving at the first location—"Near the Pigg River: Watch for Animals!" (GCB26R7)—I found myself looking at a bridge, and the terrain rating at the coordinates—three out of five—gave me an idea of where I needed to hunt. Sure enough, I found the cache in the first place I looked, and it was a cool enough hide to warrant giving it a favorite point (some geocachers look at favorite points to determine their targets in any given location). And, as I expected, I signed a blank log sheet, thus claiming the (not-really-all-that-coveted) first-to-find (FTF) honors.

The second cache—"Near the Pigg River: I Got a Big One!" (GCB26RD)—put me at another bridge over the Pigg River near an old dam and power station. At the near end of the bridge, I immediately saw a boat put-in area, so I decided to park there, only to discover as I drove down the steep hill that a substantial layer of ice still covered most of it. Ah, well... too late to back out now. So, I hoofed it across the bridge toward ground zero, only to discover a closer, less hazardous parking area. Oy vey! Anyway, I found the cache quickly, again taking FTF honors. Then I returned to the car and looked up that hill with some trepidation. I also discovered I had only one bar of phone service, and that was if I squinted and held my mouth just right. So, I really, really hoped the Rodan Mobile was good for getting past that ice.

I gave it a good running start, and thankfully surmounted that hill with no problem. Thank you, my little Rodan Mobile!

The last of the caches—"Are You Guys Sick of Micros" (GCB1WET)—hid in Rocky Mount, in a well-populated commercial area. It had already been found, so no more FTFs today (although Scott and I claimed 16 yesterday, which was more than I had realized until I counted them all this morning). Once I had that one in the bag, I headed back to Martinsville, parked in the neighborhood, and went walking until I had reached my daily 5,000-step goal. I've now gone just over one full year of putting in at least 5,000 steps (about two and half miles) every day. Most days, I walk considerably more than that. My 366-day average (last year was a leap year) stands at 8,700 steps a day (just about four miles).

This next week, the weather is not looking good for geocaching, so I'm glad I availed myself of the opportunity today. Total geocache find count now stands at 15,394. This month is my 17th geocaching anniversary, as a matter of fact. Sure dunno how I got that old...

Yee-Haw and More

It's been a cold, snowy week, during which sweet little Frazier passed away and Ms. B. got stuck in Michigan due to canceled flights. So, it was mighty nice to get out geocaching with friend Scott (a.k.a. Diefenbaker). A passel of new caches have been placed between Greensboro and Durham—in Burlington, Graham, Haw River, Swepsonville, Mebane, Efland, and more—so we decided to tackle some of them today. We particularly enjoyed "Yee Haw," along the Haw River Trail in Swepsonville, which I hiked frequently when I lived in Greensboro. Very nice to return, it was.

We ran into friend Tom (a.k.a. Night-Hawk) while out on the road, so that too was fun. He'd come out to hunt some of the same ones we did (and we each picked up first-to-finds honors on a handful of them).

There are enough of these new hides to keep us busy for a while, which makes me happy. And there are a few north of here as well, which I'll probably go after on my own, perhaps tomorrow....

TFTC (Thanks for the Caches)!

The Last Farewell to My Little Sweetheart

I buried Frazier in the backyard this afternoon, which brought on a whole new rush of tears and memories.  I'd had to wait until the ground thawed a bit before I could dig, so I had laid him in the garage, where it stayed pretty cold. I remember burying my first dog, Patty, back in 1981, very near where Frazier's body now lies. That was the first time I'd ever had to bury a pet, and it was the hardest thing I'd ever done. It was almost as hard with Frazier, though I've had to bury all our other cats who have passed away over quite a few years. Maestro, Abbott, Charcoal, Dusty, and Chester all still lie behind the old house in Greensboro.

The photo above is the last one I took of Frazier while he was still alive. Moose seemed to know that something was amiss, and he stationed himself nearby for most of the night.

I can't say I have any belief in a spirit afterworld, but in my mind's eye, I see all of our beloved pets playing together happily. If there is any such thing, whenever the time comes, I want more than anything to be reunited with them, and all my loved ones.

Moose and Frazier watching TV together. They liked that a lot.

One of my favorite Frazier memories — Halloween 2014

R.I.P. Frazier Rainey — 2007–2025

Frazier passed away last night at the age of 18—almost 19. He'd become pretty frail over the past several months, but he remained active, otherwise healthy, and always hungry. A couple of days ago, he took a rapid downturn, and we knew the end could not be long coming.

Back in 2007, he showed up on our doorstep (as have most of our cats who became our cats) and wouldn't go away. The little girl next door started calling him Frazier, and the name stuck. He fit right in with Dusty and Chester, our other two fuzzies, and it wasn't long before he and Chester became inseparable best friends.

Frazier and I developed a strong bond immediately, and it reached the point where I could scarcely move from one room to another without tripping over him. He helped me write (I constantly had to edit cat words out of my manuscripts), watched TV with me, and slept on top of me. In late 2012, Droolie arrived on the scene, and—unlike with Chester—the two of them didn't do much bonding. However, every morning, they'd mock-wrestle in the kitchen as I prepared their breakfasts, while Chester circled like a referee in a wrestling ring.

Dusty passed away in 2013 and Chester in 2015, leaving me with Frazier and Droolie, who got along, but only just. In 2021, Ms. B. moved into the house with her three boys—Moose, Ralph, and Rufus—and this created a new, very tumultuous dynamic. No one trusted anyone, cat fights became more commonplace, and our respective kitties strengthened their bonds with their original people. Eventually, a somewhat uneasy peace broke out. After poor little Ralph passed away from congestive heart failure in 2023, the cat world settled into a still-uneasy but generally less agitated state.

Through it all, Frazier remained essentially unfazed. The most mellow of the bunch, he continued his sweet, friendly ways, and even as an older cat, he became more and more playful. Oftentimes, usually at night, I'd hear this loud, long wailing noise ringing out of the darkness, which at first alarmed me. Then I found out that Frazier had simply found a cat toy and was announcing to the world, "I GOT IT! I GOT IT! I GOT IT!" Whenever we had visitors—whether friends, a plumber, an HVAC service guy, a painter, an electrician, or what have you—all the other cats ran and hid, but Frazier always trotted out to say, "HI! I'M FRAZIER!"

When it was clear that Frazier's health was declining, I made a special point to spend as much time with him as possible; it felt like every day we had together was a gift. I truly believe he knew how much both Ms. B. and I loved him. On his last day, he made a strenuous effort to get up on the bed beside me, and that is where he spent his final hours.

Since my elementary school days, I have lived with and lost many animals, and I have loved every one of them dearly; Frazier, though, was a particularly special little guy, and I will miss him with all my heart for the rest of my days.

“Magic Eye” to Appear in The Horror Collection: Crystal Edition

I'm happy to announce that my short story, "Magic Eye," has been accepted for KJK Publishing's The Horror Collection: The Crystal Edition (Book 22). The Horror Collection is a long-running series featuring hundreds of authors, ranging from the best-known to the newest up-and-comers. Currently, KJK Publishing is offering all 21 books in the collection to date on Kindle for $62.79. Individual volumes are of course available.

About "Magic Eye":

A woman named Billie Jane Valance lives alone in the high desert. An unknown party gifts her an antique radio with a "magic eye"—a vacuum tube that resembles an eyeball and glows green when the radio is properly tuned to a station. One evening, the radio in question turns itself on and begin to play mysterious music on a station that typically does not appear on a radio tuner. As she seeks to discover who sent her the radio, a series of strange, ominous events unfold, and Billie Jane finds herself embroiled in a mystery that may not have originated on this Earth.

Needless to say, I will post more details when they are available.

The Winter Storm Aftermath, Sort Of

For the past few days, the local forecast called for a potentially serious winter storm starting yesterday, and a winter storm we indeed got. Thankfully, for most of us in the area, it stopped short of being terribly serious. The severest issue in our area was vehicle accidents last night as the roads became slippery, and I've heard reports of a handful of power outages. We've kept ours, at least so far; around here, it's typical to weather the worst of a storm without problem, but when it's all over with, then the power goes out. The temperature dropped well below freezing early last night, but it's on the rise this morning, and right now, the snow and ice have become mostly slush.

I went out for my usual morning ramble and took a few pics around Lake Lanier, just down the street.

Big Honking Winter Weather

It's supposed to be a big honking weather event today and tomorrow, starting with snow and ending with ice, which is not a good combo for the power staying on and trees not smashing your house. The snow started about 1 p.m., at first just flurries, but shortly thereafter, it began falling in earnest, and I swear to Yog, these are the biggest snowflakes I've ever seen. Many of them are four to five inches wide, and it went from almost no accumulation to four inches of accumulation in about an hour. In the photo above, you can kinda see the big-ass flakes, but the photo certainly doesn't do them justice. These are definitely Godzilla-sized.

The forecast calls for freezing rain later, which is a really bad finish for several inches of snow. I really do hope the power stays on, and—even more than that—that no trees around the house decide to give up the ghost because some of these fuckers are big, as in house-whomping B-I-G. Now, I do love these woods around here, and we had reputable firm do a health check on the biggest of the trees a while back, which reassured me that we're probably okay, at least for the foreseeable future. Still, this past year, a falling tree totally demolished a house not too far up the road, and that's not the kind of thing I wanna see up close and personal.

Anyhoo, I had some writing to finish up this afternoon, so to complement the work, I made myself a lovely smoked Old Fashioned, using the smoker Ms. Brugger gave me last Christmas, with a skull ice cube, made with the mold she gave this Christmas. For the moment, at least, I have a warm house and a good drink. We'll just have to see what develops over the next 24 hours.

Before any of the weather started, I took down all the Christmas decorations, including the lights around the trees I had put up in the woods. Now I kinda wish I'd at least left the ones in the woods because they'd have looked fooking cool in the snow tonight.

If ice begins accumulating before bedtime tonight, I might just sleep downstairs, for whatever good that might do should the worst happen.

A Long, Deep River Day

Yesterday really was a long, long day. Ms. Brugger had a pre-ass-crack-of-dawn flight to Michigan, as her dad is having surgery, and she wants to be on hand to help out. Allison was here for the New Year's holiday, and I had a dentist appointment in Greensboro at 2:45 p.m., so we all got up at 3:30 a.m., hit the road at 4:15 a.m., and arrived at Piedmont Triad International Airport right at 5:00 a.m. We saw Ms. B. off, and then I headed after a couple of geocaches not far away, largely to kill some time until the nearby Carolina's Diner opened for breakfast at 6:00 a.m. We arrived at the diner just as they opened; enjoyed a delicious, cardiac-event-type breakfast, and then I took Allison home.

From there, I had several hours to kill before my dentist appointment. So, I booked it down to the Ramseur/Franklinville area, about 30 miles south of Greensboro, and hit the Deep River Trail, which I have hiked many a time over the past several years. There were several relatively new caches along the trail, so I spent several hours on the hunt, putting in almost seven miles before it was all said and done. The morning started out pretty fuckin' cold, but it did warm up a bit during the day. I ended up logging thirteen caches, which brings my total find count to 15,357.

I made it to my dentist appointment right on time, got some very clean teeth, and then hit the road back to Martinsville. Arrived home at 4:30 p.m.; had something for supper, I can't remember what; and decided to watch a movie before I crashed for the night. A short time back, I had found a pretty cool streaming channel on the Roku, the Essential SF Channel or something like that, and decided to check out The Beast of Hollow Mountain, which I hadn't seen since I was a teenager. I remember thinking back then that this was the most boring monster movie ever made, so I was curious if that ancient impression retained any merit.

The Beast of Hollow Mountain is, in fact, the most boring monster movie ever made.

I dunno what time I went to bed, but I crashed pretty damned hard. Ms. B. comes back next Friday, and it's a mid-evening flight.

If she's really, really sweet, she'll buy me dinner.

Haunted house up in the woods

The Deep River Trail meets US Hwy 64

Based on this and the "No Trespassing" signs, something tells me they don't want you to go this way.

2024: The Best of Times, the Worst of Times, and All That In-Between

Over and out, 2024. Loved you and hated you (a sentiment I've seen from many folks of my acquaintance). For Brugger and me, 2024 was the first full year we have lived together at Ground Zero, as I sometimes refer to our homeplace. I absolutely love this old house, much about Martinsville (at least, the better aspects it has retained since my youth here), many of our neighbors, and the prevailing atmosphere of tranquility—a critical quality that came to be sadly lacking in Greensboro.

We're farther from so many of the people and activities that made living in North Carolina better than bearable, but not so far that we can't make regular trips back and forth. We have some good friends here in town as well, and we've managed to get some of those unruly North Carolina foreigners together with our local compadres numerous times—including last night at friends Bob & Yvonne's superb New Year's Eve party.

Yesterday morning, I went to Greensboro to witness NC friends Tom & Linda sign some legal documents, have lunch with them, get in a quick bit of geocaching, and pick up daughter Allison to bring her back to Mville for a few days' visit. A little later in the afternoon, friends Terry & Beth drove up from Kernersville, NC, to attend the aforementioned party at Bob & Yvonne's place, less than a mile from Ground Zero. We were soon joined by friend Gretchen, and off we headed to the party—the others by automobile, I on foot because I wanted to make sure I got in my requisite 5,000 steps for the day. Accomplish that I did, plus a couple of thousand in advance for New Year's Day, since I opted to walk home as well. (For the past 365 days, I've averaged 8,800 steps—about four miles—a day, with only two days, both back in January, that I didn't get in at least 5,000 steps.)

Bob & Yvonne throw dynamite parties. We already knew this, but I think last night might have been their best yet. Bob acquired a hell of a nice bar setup, and he served us a variety of killer drinks for the entire evening. What a gentleman! There were 15 to 20 people in attendance, some coming and going at various times, while about a dozen of us lingered till midnight to ring in the New Year with a champagne toast.

This past year, I've done a ton of writing I'm rightly proud of, perhaps most notably my novel, The House at Black Tooth Pond, due for release in February from Crossroad Press. It'll be available as an ebook, trade paperback, and audiobook. You can preorder it from Amazon.com here. I've also completed a few short stories (which I hope you'll be reading in various upcoming publications) and am currently co-writing a new novel with Elizabeth Massie titled Freezer Burn. We hope to have it wrapped up in the spring of this year.

In other writing-related business, I attended Scares That Care: AuthorCon III in Williamsburg back in April, NecronomiCon Providence in August (and I returned to Providence for a wonderful long weekend with Ms. B. in November), and had numerous successful booksignings over the course of the year.

2024 also hit Ms. B. and I with some significant setbacks, most notably Kimberly being laid off from her job of twenty-plus years in February—almost two years to the day after the company laid me off. Since losing her job, Ms. B. has fashioned herself into a very capable freelancer in the educational publishing business. Unfortunately, she makes considerably less than she did at her full-time job, but she enjoys the work, and as things currently stand, her income is adequate for us to get by. But here's the rub: in order to get health insurance, she had to purchase it through Virginia's ACA Exchange; and since her income is relatively low, she receives a decent subsidy to keep her policy affordable. However, by all indications, the Shitgibbon-elect and the Party of Freedom From Every Policy That Helps More People Than It Hurts don't plan to renew the subsidies later this year, so we may well find ourselves in dire straits—along with many millions who depend on the ACA subsidies to afford healthcare. I don't need to go into further detail about how calamitous this will be, but yes, if the GOP goes through with its plans, a lot of us are likely to end up in mortal danger. Yeah, that's the way to make America great, right?

What a load of pure horseshit, my friends.

Enough of that particular commentary. However, on a somewhat related note, while I've generally enjoyed pretty good health, especially since I've taken up my daily lengthy walks, I have occasional complications and unexpected setbacks that do—and will—require medical services. I'm on Medicare, so I also have to hope that the party in power doesn't decide to fuck over everyone who isn't rolling in superfluous dollars.

Coming up for 2025, we have a relatively short Caribbean cruise to look forward to, at least one convention to attend (Scares That Care: AuthorCon V in Williamsburg at the end of March), and I plan to participate in numerous other book-related events, as I did this past year. I've also plotted a few other writing projects, which I plan to undertake once done with the collaboration with Ms. Massie.

And that's about all I've got in me for right now. One more year relegated to the personal history books, and another coming up that represents the next step in the walk of the unknown, as friend Larry Blamire has put it.

I wish we could all be together on this journey into the future, but I swear, I cannot fathom all too many mindsets around me, especially the insane delight in indulging ignorance, stupidity, and general negativity. It's hard to stay above it when the world around us seems to thrive on it. Regardless, I wish everyone in my sphere of influence the very best, and I hope, however bleak things sometimes look, that there are silver linings galore for everyone. These have been known to happen.

Peace out.

Merry, Scary Christmas, 2024

Yes, I do love me some Christmas. When I was growing up in the 1960s and 70s, my family's Christmases were very much in the traditional mode of the times—Santa Claus, presents, family gatherings, serious feasting, and all that good stuff. I come from a long line of very religious folks, and even though I haven't exactly followed in those footsteps, I appreciate the holiday as a celebration of life, love, friendship, and special memories. As the sole remaining member of the family with which I grew up, I have many, many precious memories from Christmases past, and I do pray that, unlike my mom—and others in my family—I'll be able to hang onto those for the rest of my days. But we don't get to choose that kind of thing, so it's one of the reasons I record so many personal memories, thoughts, and reflections in this blog; and while I endeavor to make them relevant, or at least engaging, for those who choose to follow my ramblings, they are more for me than anyone else.

This year, I can't say there haven't been some pretty intense stressors leading up to the winter holidays; numerous factors at work here, but neither Ms. B. nor I have allowed them to overwhelm our joy of the season. And today, our morning together made for a new memory that I am joyfully adding to my carrying case of special memories I hope to retain till the end.

Our house—as at least some of you know—is the house in which I grew up from my second year of life until I left for the wild world out yonder. In our just over a year living here, Brugger and I have made it a melange of the old and the new, combining countless relics and reminders of the best my past offers in equal measure with everything Ms. B. and I have created in our almost fifteen years together. This year in particular, we did up the place with all the spirit we could muster, and when I think about it, that's an awful lot. We watched a host of Christmas or at least Christmas-themed movies and shows during this past week—Die Hard (YES!), A Christmas Horror Story, The Muppet Christmas Carol, and A Charlie Brown Christmas — and I even watched Andy Williams' 1966 Christmas Special on YouTube (which I saw when it originally aired way back when). Last night, we continued our longstanding Christmas Eve tradition of watching A Christmas Story and National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. And so it was that we rang in Christmas, 2024!

 

It was a beautiful Christmas Eve and Christmas morning—cold (but not too cold), clear, and, for us, comfy and cozy. It was just the two of us; Allison will probably be here over New Year's, so we'll have a little belated Christmas celebration with her. Last night, for Christmas Eve dinner, we had boeuf bourguignon, which I spent a couple of days preparing (and it was delicious, certainly worth every minute of it). This morning, we exchanged some really, really nice and personally meaningful gifts. Our friend Yvonne stopped by and dropped off some lovely goodies from her and her husband, Bob. And this afternoon, we'll be having Christmas dinner with friend Samaire, her son, and friend Charles.

I'm posting some of my favorite photos from the past few days and nights. To all of you, our best wishes. Scary Christmas, Happy Horrordays, and all that.

New Interview at The Ginger Nuts of Horror

A nice new interview up at The Ginger Nuts of Horror, courtesy of site proprietor Jim McLeod. Stuff about The House at Black Tooth Pond, the writing business in general, and what might be my most embarrassing moment (there were a good many to choose from).

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The Ginger Nuts of Horror Interview with Stephen Mark Rainey

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Geocaching, a Big Woops! & Other Winter Solstice Adventures

Two winter celebrations occupied slots on yesterday's calendar: a late morning/early afternoon Winter Solstice geocaching event at the Red Robin restaurant in Greensboro, and a late afternoon/evening holiday party at friends Terry & Beth's place in Kernersville. With several hours between the two, a geocaching excursion along the Deep River, around Ramseur and Franklinville, about thirty miles south of Greensboro, looked like just the ticket, especially since several new caches had come out, courtesy of friend Fishdownthestairs (a.k.a. Natalie). Rather than drive separately straight to Kernersville in the afternoon, Ms. Brugger opted to accompany me to the geocaching event and then on the hike. Talk about momentous!

The event at Red Robin had a good crowd — about 20 folks, many of whom I'd not seen in a while. Friend Diefenbaker (a.k.a. Scott) decided he'd meet us on the trail a bit later. Once done at the event, Ms. B. and I drove down to the Deep River Trail and commenced to hiking. Indeed, after a while, Diefenbaker arrived on the scene. The trail is gravel-surfaced and makes for a generally easy trek, though once you go off of it, the terrain can get pretty hairy. Between two legs of the trail, a stream joins the Deep River, and there's no actual crossing there — just an array of old pylons that present more of an impediment than an aid to getting from one side to the other. Scott and I found a partially exposed log near the pylons that allowed for a somewhat precarious crossing, but we made it without mishap. Ms. B. didn't care to follow in our footsteps, so she remained on higher ground on her side of the river.

However—uh-oh!—she took one step too far on the muddy bank and—whoosh!—down she went. Not all the way into the water, but pretty damned close. Worst of all, the bank was steep, the mud slipperier than ice. It took her a hell of an effort to get back to the top. And since this was an unexpected mishap, she had brought no spare clothes. Gracious! Fortunately, friend Beth, whom she immediately called, had plenty of clothing she was happy to offer on loan once we arrived.

On our return trek, Scott and I found a much dryer though potentially hazardous river crossing — a fallen tree about 15 above the water. We decided to brave it, and since I'm here to write this blog, as far as I can tell, we made it safely across.

On our return trip to the car, we ran into friend Tom (a.k.a. Night-Hawk), whom we'd seen at the Greensboro event, having trouble finding one of the caches. Happily, we were able to help him. Then Kim and I departed for Kernersville, where she was finally able to change into some cleaner, drier clothes.

The party was fun, with many friends, good eats, and some of the best wine I've enjoyed in ages. All in all, fine day indeed.

Caution! Winos present!