Memorable Memorial Day Weekend

Never do I forget what Memorial Day is actually about. Every year, I welcome the reminder to reflect on how those who gave their lives in the service of our country have helped shape the quality of life I enjoy every day, regardless of the trials and pitfalls that being alive inevitably brings. I expect few of us have not known someone, or multiple someones, who died in the country’s service. As a student of history, particularly military history, I believe it is paramount to understand the ideals and sacrifices made by those who have come before us.

That said, I feel no compunction about relishing life and the opportunities for joy on this day — or any other, for that matter — and this weekend has offered a welcome respite from numerous stressors, most specifically the brutally sad job of dealing with my mom and brother’s deaths. The resolutions for both estates are progressing in their ways, and the depth of grief, if not truly diminished, is generally more manageable than it was for some long time. Still, this is the hardest, most stressful time of life I’ve ever known, and the accompanying fatigue, both emotional and physical, has at times thrown me for unexpected loops. Add the stressors of the pandemic — now somewhat lessening, thank Yog, since I opted to bear the unthinkable risk of taking the COVID-19 vaccine (yes, that is a dig at you, some of you unconscionable fucks) — and it is fairly safe to say that, at the very least, life is not boring.

As for My World and Welcome to It, I did something on Friday evening I haven’t done in ages: stay up till the wee hours watching movies without falling asleep halfway through. These days, I tend to be vigorous until about 8:00 p.m., zonk for an hour, then get a second wind that lasts until about midnight, give or take an hour. But for whatever reason, the other night, 20-year-old Mark saw a resurgence, and somewhere around 11 p.m., I started John Carpenter’s Prince of Darkness, which I have not seen in at least three decades. It was about as I remembered: intriguing in its way, but not nearly as polished or engaging as Carpenter’s films that came directly before or after. Once Prince of Darkness was over, undaunted by fatigue, I took to searching the Roku for something entertaining and, eventually, settled on Splinter (2008). This one struck me as the perfect late-night (roughly synonymous with “drive-in”) horror flick. This ran until damn near 3:00 a.m., at which time I contemplated starting something new. Alas, by then, the old body had begun to argue. I shuffled off to the bedroom and slept till almost 9 the next morning, which is not an “Old Mark” thing to do, not by a long shot. Generally, I am up far earlier, despite my most fervent hopes, wishes, and dreams.

Saturday morning, a couple of new geocaches awaited my attention, one of which was dedicated to friend Old Rob (a.k.a Old Rob), placed by devious friend Ms. Fishdownthestair (a.k.a. Natalie). This one took some serious hunting, in difficult terrain and oppressive heat and humidity. But find it we did, and thus earned the ever-dubious first-to-find honors. Afterward, I found another of Ms. FDTS’s new hides before returning to Casa di Rodan. Toward evening, Brugger and I drove Burlington way for another nice cache, and then we settled ourselves for wonderful dinner at Simply Thai in Elon. Following, we watched the 2009 remake of The Taking of Pelham 123. We had just watched the original, an old favorite of mine, a while back, so we wanted to compare. The new one wasn’t bad, not by a long shot, but it remains inferior to the original 1974 classic.

American Gothic, the Creeple People edition

Yesterday, the No-Dead-Weight Irregulars — this weekend’s incarnation comprising the aforementioned Old Rob and Ms. Fish — headed to Winston-Salem, first and foremost to put the finishing details on my brother’s house so that it can be listed on the real estate market this coming week; secondly to hunt geocaches. Most happily, we avenged a couple of DNF (Did Not Find) attempts from a while back, and we discovered a loverly trail system in historic Bethania that includes an old mill and a scenic, serene graveyard dating back to the early 1700s. We had lunch at Village Tavern in Reynolda Village, which has, historically, been one of our favorite destinations for mealtime on geocaching days. The food was its typically good self, but service was S.L.O.W. beyond the bounds of reason, considering the place appeared to have more than adequate staff for the number of patrons. Now, I am willing to give any establishment the benefit of the doubt for the occasional unsatisfactory experience, and given the number of places needing help, I wonder if there wasn’t some training of new folks happening at the time. That being the case, I am very understanding of the situation, and I just hope things will improve. No, Village Tavern has not struck out with me, not by a long shot.

This morning, a single Old Rob cache lurked out on the Owl’s Roost trail near Bur-Mil park, so Ms. FDTS and I met at 10:00 a.m. and hiked out to it. We managed to find the little bugger after a relatively brief search. Then we headed over to the nearby Palmetto Trail so I could perform maintenance on one of my really old hides (“No Dead Baby Jokes, Please” [GC2YVWF].

And that brings me around to where I am. Remember why Memorial Day is what it is; get yourself vaccinated, if you haven’t undertaken this ungodly monstrous risk; and try to treat your neighbor better than I do. That can’t be very damned hard.

Old dude’s playhouse? Old dudes will play, after all.

Abandon all hope, ye who enter.

Old feller with one foot in the grave

No wonder the British lost; Cornwallis’s road peters out after just a couple of hundred feet.

Secret Asia’s Blackest Heart

FROM THE PUBLISHER...
To many westerners, Asia might be considered an entirely different planet right here on earth. The ancient wisdom of its many cultures — some of it esoteric and fantastic — has been described by travelers like Alexandra David-Neel (Magic and Mystery in Tibet) and Madame Blavatsky (Isis Unveiled and The Secret Doctrine), who invited Westerners to imagine the existence of Asia’s deepest and most sinister secrets. Sax Rohmer, Talbot Mundy, John Taine, E. Hoffman Price, and so many others attest to this. Nor was H.P. Lovecraft immune to the lore of this fictive Orientalism. For example, the hidden Plateau of Leng was likely another name for Tibet. August Derleth set up his lemonade stand right next door, creating the shunned Plateau of Sung in Burma, where the terrible Tcho-Tcho People planned their mischief. Lin Carter joined the game, contributing his own Plateau of Tsang. There seemed to be room in the vastness of Asia for all of them and more. The title of the present volume is a phrase taken from one of Carter’s Mythos tales, and it nicely sums up the general theme.

Some of these stories are set here in the West, but they derive their horrors from imported Asian traditions. Others actually take place in Asia. All are fascinating and full of wonder and dread. Our gurus of gore and and lamas of lore include the likes of Ann K. Schwader, Stephen Mark Rainey, Don Webb, Michael Fantina, Joseph S. Pulver, Laurence J. Cornford, and Pierre Comtois.

Secret Asia’s Blackest Heart, edited by Robert M. Price and published by Sweden’s Timaios Press, features my story, “The War Lords of Leng.” Check it out at Amazon.com here.

Damned Rodan’s Fiery Thai Beef with Basil

It’s recipe time. I frequently make a Thai dish or two that generally turns out acceptable in the extreme. Granted, my Thai cooking is quite simple, but the results are always satisfying. Here is a rough outline; I always tweak it a bit based on ingredients — and time — I have on hand. The amounts are approximate; all can be adjusted to taste.

Damned Rodan’s Fiery Thai Beef with Basil
What You Need (serves two): 

2 eight-oz. Angus beef steaks, thick cut

1 cup jasmine rice

1/2 cup white onion, chopped

1/2 cup green onion, diced

1/2 cup fresh basil leaves

2 hot chili peppers, sliced

2 tbsp hot chili oil to marinate; 2 tbsp to cook

1 tsp butter

1/2 tsp garlic powder (or, if you’ve time and inclination, roast your garlic cloves)

For sauce:

1/3 cup chili garlic sauce

1/3 cup fish sauce

2 hot chili peppers, sliced

juice from 2 limes

1 tsp rice wine vinegar
1 tsp brown sugar

Prep:
For best results, marinate the beef in hot chili oil, garlic, and a portion of the sauce for an hour or so before cooking. Save the rest of the sauce either for dipping or to pour on individual portions. Make sauce by combining chili garlic sauce, fish sauce, 2 of the hot chili peppers, lime juice, rice wine vinegar, and brown sugar. Stir together thoroughly. Combine basil and green onions in a separate bowl. Cook the rice prior or during beef prep.

What You Do:

1. Pour hot chili oil into a skillet (preferably wok or cast iron). Heat to medium high.
2. Place beef in skillet. Sear both sides of the beef — three to four minutes per side. After the first turn, drop the butter into the skillet and add the lime juice, chopped onions, and sliced chili peppers. Note: Your eyes will burn.
3. When the beef is seared, reduce heat to low. Remove beef from skillet and cut into slivers, against the grain. Place slivered beef back into skillet and cook on medium low to — preferably — no more than medium rare.
4. Spoon beef, peppers, onions, and reduced sauce onto rice. If you wish, add additional sauce. Top with basil and green onions.
5. Partake of the goodies and scream in agonized ecstasy.

Rainey’s Orange Cat Wine Bar

In the Better-Late-Than-Never Department: Brugger’s birthday present to me finally arrived. Best present ever, really. I reckon this will be displayed prominently somewhere around the house.

Decompression

Skyhawk63 (a.k.a. Tom) preps the boat for a day on Belews Lake

Last week proved a not-so-easy one, as I had to focus on taking care of several estate matters — both for my mom’s and my brother’s — as well as putting in considerable time on the home improvement front. So I took Friday off and joined geocaching mates Rhodorooter (a.k.a. Dave), Old Robgso (a.k.a. Old Rob), and Skyhawk63 (a.k.a. Tom) for a day of boat caching on Belews Lake, a few miles northwest of here. Tom needed to do maintenance on several of his lake caches, so he had offered to take the rest of us out there to claim them. We had hot, if otherwise agreeable weather, and the caching couldn’t have been much more fun. My favorite — “The Lonely Bison in a Tree” — was, in fact, a bison tube in a tree. The tree was too spindly to climb, too stout to bend down to retrieve the cache, so the answer was to use a ladder to get up there and grab. I happily performed the necessary deed, and I didn’t even fall down go boom.

Three of the four old farts on our boat outing: Old Rodan, Old Rhodorooter, Old Rob

Speeding toward the Duke Energy power plant on Belews Lake

After the trip, I went forth to the old homestead in Martinsville, with more estate business to handle. I had not been looking forward to it, but I concluded the matter (I hope) without undue complication (I hope), so on that count, at least, I am satisfied (I hope).

Saturday morning, I hastened back home to Greensboro, where I quickly fed cats and then headed over to Brugger’s place. We then made tracks for the Nelsons’ place in Kernersville, for they had plotted an outing to Roaring River Vineyards and Jones von Drehle Vineyards over near Elkin. At Roaring River, we had a lovely lunch on the deck, which overlooked the Roaring River (why, yes it did). The wine there is so-so, though we did take notice of a couple of the reds. North Carolina vineyards tend to do better at whites than reds, but here, the reverse was true. Having completed our task at Roaring River, we mounted up and moved on to Jones von Drehle. I had not previously heard of this winery, but they apparently have big hopes, for they are doing some extensive upgrading to the property, including constructing a sizable amphitheater for live music shows. The wines here had a little more going for them than Roaring River’s, particularly their Cab Sauv and a blend of Cab Sauv and Norton. Make no mistake — in no way could we claim anything but an enjoyable time at both vineyards, and I would not mind revisiting either or both in the not-too-distant future.

On the way home, Ms. B. and I made a few late-night stops on the outskirts of Kernersville to pick up some recently published caches. I was too late to snag the first-to-find honors, but that really made no never mind; it was nice just to grab a few quick caches at the end of the evening.

The view from the deck at Roaring River Vineyard & Winery

The Wild Bunch in the vineyards at Jones von Drehle: Old feller, Ms. B., Beth, Terry 

This morning, a smaller-than-usual group Socially Distant No-Dead-Weight Irregulars — Old Rob (a.k.a. Old Rob) and Old Diefenbaker (a.k.a. Scott) — joined me for a Chapel Hill geocaching outing. A few newer hides in the Carolina North Woods, which we have frequently roamed and cached, awaited our attention, and we managed to snag all those we hunted. We put in a reasonably rugged five miles, which tired us old folks out something fierce. So we hunted down and killed lunch at The Spotted Dog in Carrboro, which has long been one of our favorite eating/drinking establishments in the area. Scott and I both enjoyed spicy bloody marys (a bit heavy on horseradish!) and we worried a couple of big honking turkey burgers absolutely to death. Thus exhausted, we quitted Orange County and returned home, where I fell over and went bOoM.

How ugly! Old Rodan, Old Diefenbaker, Old Rob

Turkey burger too big even for big mouth!

Lastly — and sadly — I must report the passing of my old friend, Lars Ullberg, who had been one of our regular gang in my Chicago days of the 1980s. I had no idea he’d been having health problems, but apparently so. As of yesterday, he was expected to undergo some rehab, only to be given the news he would no longer be able to walk. Then, this morning, I learned he had passed away during the night. While it was nothing like our face-to-face good times from all those years ago, we interacted regularly on Facebook, and it was always a pleasure when he posted on my timeline. His last post to me was just a couple of days ago. I’ve seen so many friends and loved ones pass away in recent days, I begin to understand the depression my mom was feeling before dementia robbed her of her memories, good, bad, or otherwise. Just last week, at Pleasant Hill, I found an envelope of obituaries she had collected. It was like an encyclopedia of every adult I had known  — and felt close to — since my childhood. Almost without exception, Mom’s closest friends had preceded her in death. I reckon every living soul has this to deal with in some fashion, some sooner, some later. I figure I’m facing this aspect of life — and where it’s headed — as healthily as I can.

Regrets, I’ve had a few. But then again, too few to mention....

Another Some Week!

Odd old dude at Casa di Rodan

I’m finding time to get on here to blather about my world and welcome to it about once a week now, usually when things are winding down on Sunday evening. Apart from the day job, I devoted most of this past week to home renovation — both here and at my late brother’s place in Winston-Salem — with the merest smidgen of writing and geocaching thrown in. Here at home, I got the stairway banisters painted, the kitchen trim touched up, and the outdoors neatened up a bit. Tuesday after work and on Saturday during the day, Ms. B. and I spent a passel o’ time putting what I hope are the finishing touches on Phred’s property before listing it for sale.

Last night, we got together with our once-regular Supper Club group — friends Terry, Beth, Joe, and Suzy — for the first official Supper Club event since the pandemic began. Beth prepared a feast for us at their place, and the wine flowed perhaps a little too freely. This, at least, did make for a nice break in the all-but-nonstop work schedule this week.

Brugger and I knew we’d have to replace the range here in the not-too-distant future, but we were hoping to hold off on it for a bit. However, Friday evening, I was cooking up some dead bird in the oven, and when I opened the door to check it, I realized things appeared a bit brighter than usual in there. That’s because the heating element was on fire. Happily, I managed to save the chicken wings and finish cooking them in the skillet. They turned out grand. But the burned-out oven meant going ahead and getting a new range. It was supposed to arrive this afternoon, so first thing after getting out of bed this morning, I headed over to High Point to snag a handful of caches. That done, I entertained thoughts of picking up a couple of more in nearby Thomasville, but I was getting hungry, so I opted to come on home. Good thing I did because I had just arrived back here when the guys from Lowe’s called to let me know they were on their way with the new range. It’s a right nice range, and I managed to operate it this evening without starting any fires. I had been needing to re-season my cast-iron skillet, so I managed to get that done as well.

Brugger came round this afternoon, just after the range arrived, to further the home renovation cause. That lasted well into the evening, so we ordered dinner from Grand China and watched a few episodes of M*A*S*H. I would have said that was a pleasant, fitting end for things, but once Brugger got home, she discovered she has what is likely a septic tank problem. A pretty ugly one, at that. Ick and double ick.

Anyhoo, coming up this week...another rugged-ass week. May the lord bless and keep you and all that.

The nice natural area behind my brother’s place, now much nicer after a devoted effort
clearing out scrub and such

Phred’s patio area, which had been almost completely overgrown, now cleared and ready
for some as-yet-unknown someone to enjoy hanging out and drinking wine

Some Week!

Today is Brugger’s birthday — which we celebrated at Fleming’s Steakhouse & Wine Bar this past week with friends Stephen and Samaire — and it kind of snuck up on me that it’s also Mother’s Day. Above, you see Mum holding Phred, guarded by a weird little cowpoke, circa 1964. Hard to believe that, of the family I grew up with, I am the last survivor. Never would I have believed such a thing. This week, I’ve reflected a lot on a sometimes tumultuous but essentially rich life. I miss my mom, my dad, and my brother more than words can ever express.

Although, overall, this week hardly seemed much out of the ordinary, it offered a number of unprecedented and/or unusual moments. We began the week with my birthday. Sixty-two great big ’uns, that’s how many of these particular days I have weathered. For my birthday, I bought myself a Godzilla figure — something I’ve done only once in the past four decades. It seemed the thing to do at the time. So, in the same spirit, for Brugger’s birthday, I bought myself a MechaGodzilla (Kiryu) figure. Lord knows, I can’t afford for this kind of thing to become a habit, but at least the MechaGodzilla was pretty much free, due to having all kinds of bonus points to spend at Amazon.com.

Early in the week, a young gray fox came around to visit. I have, on occasion, encountered foxes in the wild, but never one around these parts. It was a lovely critter to see, yet I fear it came over to my yard because the fuckers down the way are cutting down all the woods to make way for yet another goddamn superfluous subdivision. I’m so sick of these shitheads cutting down every inch of green space in this town I could fucking spit. It’s ugly, harmful, disgraceful. You might be forgiven for believing I hold strong opinions on this subject.

On a far more intriguing note, last night, Brugger and I spent a most enjoyable evening at the home of our friends (and geocaching buddies) Tom (a.k.a. Skyhawk63) and Linda (a.k.a. Punkins19). We did, believe it or not, partake of some wine, and our hosts provided a superb kabob dinner, followed by (fresh) strawberry shortcake and an intriguing dessert wine. We had kicked back to relax around their newly built firepit when Linda noticed an unknown phenomenon in the sky: a seemingly endless train of lights in the sky, moving at high speed directly above our heads. At first, we though perhaps it was the wreckage of the Chinese rocket that had been predicted to crash to earth last night; these objects, however, appeared far too uniform and perfectly spaced to be wreckage. And soon, we noticed a perpendicular stream of lights farther south. Brugger immediately took to Google, and we discovered this was almost certainly SpaceX’s StarLink satellite train. Now, I tend to keep up with most such technological developments, but I confess that this one had completely eluded my attention. None of us had any inkling about the existence of such a thing. I found it a bit disappointing that this was not the long-awaited Martian invasion, but then, the odds against anything coming from Mars are a million to one, as the quote goes. Unfortunately, the video I took provided only a black sky and a lot of slightly alcohol-slurred exclamations from the group of eyewitnesses. Similarly, my photos (example above) convey the spectacle only slightly. Regardless, it was an unexpected and, at the time, exciting experience for the lot of us.

Comparatively, it may be far more prosaic, but the house renovation continues to progress slowly but surely. Early in the week, we had the downstairs rooms measured for new flooring and the deck stained, the latter courtesy of Carlos’ Paint Company (the same folks who did a bang-up job on our living room). I’ve put in several evenings on various interior projects, and Brugger and I worked most of the day yesterday, she prepping the downstairs bathroom for painting, I painting doors and trim and putting up new blinds.

Now, I can only hope my houseful of giant monsters don’t get loose and undo the labor and expense Brugger and I have put into all this.

I barely managed to touch Georgia: The Haunting of Tate’s Mill, my Ameri-Scares novel-in-progress, but I hope to get more time in on it this week. There’s still a mess of estate business to deal with too, so we shall see what we shall see. And that, I reckon, is that.

Freshly painted doors in the living room

Downstairs bathroom, walls stripped of wallpaper, ceiling blessedly bereft of popcorn,
mirror removed (so now it looks really tiny in there) 

Grass-a-Lot

Today would have been brother Phred’s birthday — 57th, I believe. I found it gratifying to see many of his friends remembering the occasion on social media. I devoted some time to listening to his music, looking at old photos, and reflecting on our lives together.

For at least a fair portion of his Industrial Soldier days, Phred lived in the sticks outside of Blacksburg, VA, following four years and some change at Virginia Tech. Although I believe he wrote “Grass-a-Lot” while he was in college, probably dwelling on campus, he preferred remote, relatively isolated living, which is what his later residence outside of Blacksburg offered him. In the late 1980s, after moving back south from Chicago, I spent a considerable time with him out there in the sticks, and I rate those days as among the best we ever shared. “Grass-a-Lot,” for its youthful, mildly rebellious tone, could have been his musical banner during that period, not to mention the days and years that followed. The sentiment is one he and I have had in common. That sense of belonging to a place — even a time — is as powerful in me now as it was then, and hearing this particular song after something like three decades brings me around full circle, emotionally. Its power comes largely from a youthful perspective that speaks just as loudly to the old fart in at least some of us.

In those days, Phred’s vocals were raw and untamed, but the composition and musicianship, as with everything Industrial Soldier, more than stands up to critical listening.

You can check out “Grass-a-Lot” on Dropbox here.

Grass-a-Lot
©Phred Rainey, Industrial Soldier

Behind this fence we dig our trench
And grab our part of the land
We got here first, and here we are
And now get out of hand

It’s occupied, now we’re on our own
We’ll take it off the map
And place it here
Far as eyes can see

We could give the neighbors something to talk about
Perhaps they’ll make a law someday and make it safe to live loud
Are we far away?
Do we owe them any sleep?
Not today

They come from miles around to see if we are real
If the creeps are in our yard, we’ll down ’em
And bury them in the field
We know what's right and this is why we know what’s at stake
Our lives are here
To a bitter end

We could give the neighbors something to think about
Perhaps they’ll make a law someday and make it safe to live loud
Are we far away?
Do we owe them any sleep?
Not today

Inside the fence we raise our fists and grab our part of the land
We got here first and here we are
So get off our land
Truth to tell, we’re doing well in a place we can call our own
Our lives are here
Our grass is here

We could give the neighbors something to talk about
Perhaps they’ll make a law someday and make it safe to live loud

Bethania Birthday

Bewilderbeest, Fishdownthestair, Old Rob,
Diefenbaker at “Goliath”

Today was this old man’s birthday, and as birthdays go, it proved right enjoyable. The entire weekend, though, whirled through so fast and hard it barely registered on my radar. Ms. B. missed the lot of it, for she was gone on a crafting retreat in Georgia. Poor thing, that Ms. B.

Friday after work, I headed to the old homestead in Martinsville, where I hosted a relatively mellow evening with friends/fellow writers Stephen Provost & Samaire Wynne. We sat out on the back deck with tiki torches burning, enjoying wine and snacks, until fairly late in the evening. On Saturday, I went straight down to Winston-Salem, where I spent most of the day cleaning out my brother’s house (now technically mine) in preparation to get it on the market as soon as it’s possible. That was a long, ugly job, but with ample help from Phred’s friend/executor Jane and my friends Terry & Beth, we emptied it of the vast majority of its contents. I did manage to snag a couple of geocaches for good measure.

Once back home, I found my former next-door neighbors Paul & Jamie hard at work on their house as they prepare it to be listed for sale soon as well. We partook of some fine beverages and, a bit later, ordered Mexican food from Luna’s, which we enjoyed on my front porch.

This morning, I met friends Old Rob (a.k.a. Old Rob), Diefenbaker (a.k.a. Scott), Fishdownthestair (a.k.a. Natalie), and Cupdaisy (a.k.a. Debbie, a.k.a. Bewilderbeest) in Historic Bethania, just north of Winston-Salem, for a day of the rigorous hiking and geocaching. We found some fun ones, didn’t find a frustrating one, met a friendly snake, and enjoyed a late lunch (a damned fine burger for me) at The Village Tavern in Reynolda Village. One cache, which turned out to be our favorite of the day, led us to what is surely the most massive (if not the tallest) sycamore tree I believe I have ever seen. And a big old thing it is, with numerous trunks, perched right on the edge of Muddy Creek. We clambered all over that thing, taking in the various views. Of course, we signed the cache log.

After caching, I had to make a last stop (for now...) at Phred’s house to grab a few things that wouldn’t fit in my car yesterday. I didn’t collapse from exhaustion when I got home, but I came about close as one might care to. I reckon that’s what happens when you are no longer on the younger side of old.

Rounding out the nice birthday, I received payment for a short story coming up in a new anthology from Dark Regions, and a contract for another one recently accepted for publication in another upcoming book. I will offer up a big “yay!” for both these things.

I sleep now.

Ermengarde the Snake, named after a character played by Shoffner in a theatrical show some years ago.

Meeting of the half-minds (Natalie, Old Rob, Scott, Bewilderbeest)

 
L) Looking up at one of Goliath's many trunks; R) view of Muddy Creek from Goliath