The Dreaded Bum's Jungle

I was about four or five years old when my father decided to settle down and quit living the gypsy life on the road construction crew that he worked for. You can reference that story HERE: http://mahvalicious.diaryland.com/060926_61.html. He bought a piece of property on the edge of the little town that we had settled in, (population 275 at that time) and proceeded to set up residence there.

I remember very vividly that one morning in the fall of the year when I headed for school, I was told that when school got out that afternoon I should go home to the new location instead of the old one. Four o’clock came, the dismissal bell rang and I went happily skipping down the road headed for home. Little did I know that my father had purchased a piece of property adjacent to the dreaded BUM’S JUNGLE!!

Now I had no idea what a Bum’s Jungle was, but all my friends, who were skipping down the road with me by the way, were eager to fill me in on the horrible and terrible things that happened there. My Dad’s Half Acre of Paradise was bordered on one side by the railroad track that went through town, on one side by the gravel road that went a mile down to the country church, on the third side by an open field, and on the fourth side by a heavily wooded area known to all the local kids as Bum’s Jungle. At that time the railroad was still using the big black steam locomotives that shook the Earth making the dishes in the cupboards rattle when they went roaring by, and spewed black ashes and stinky smoke all over everything.

Of course there were times when the engines wouldn’t roar by, but would stop to take on a load of something or to switch to a siding track until another train went sailing past. That’s when the inhabitants of the Bum’s Jungle would take advantage of the slower pace and hop on or off the boxcars and take up residence in the wooded area behind our house. Periodically we could see men moving about back in the woods, campfires at night, etc. The camp would be occupied for a few days and then would be empty for a long period of time. Then Big Brother and I would go carefully exploring back in the woods to see what we could find – empty whiskey bottles, cigarette packs, snoose cans, remnants of meals cooked, etc. As the years went by the occupancies became fewer and farther between. To my knowledge there never was any trouble from any of the inhabitants – they were just itinerant men moving from one location to another in a manner they preferred.

And to this day that piece of property is still known in the local community as Bum’s Jungle.

Absolute pure unadulterated frustration

SECOND ENTRY OF THE DAY: I just came from the Diaryland site. I'm ready to tear my hair out. PURE FRUSTRATION - this will be the last day that I go through Diaryland to make my name pop up in red to let you readers know that I've made a new entry. I tried earlier to post a comment on Poolie's latest entry, and after waiting 10 minutes for it to post I gave up in frustration. So I stopped the upload and went back to try and post again and INSTANTLY the spam thing came up. If this is Andrew's idea of fixed, he's got some serious brain issues here. I love all of you who are the diehards and have stuck with Andrew through thick and thin. But I just can't put myself through the frustration anymore of trying to comment through Dland. I could become covered with spiderwebs and turn to dust while waiting for the comments to post. Hopefully you will continue to read me over here Blogspot even without my name turning red over at Diaryland. I'll try to find the time to get a notify list organized that you can join so we can hopefully stay connected.

Simon the Senior Citizen

And so dawns another day in the far Northland – at least Simon, the senior citizen thought I should be aware that the sun was coming up. Just one morning I’d like very much NOT to observe that fact, but then I guess cats are creatures of habit, and let’s certainly NOT break the routine here.

Somewhere around 5 a.m. I started feeling this paw touching my cheek – tap, tap, tap. No response from the human. Once again, tap, tap, tap. This time the response was a human hand that tried to SLAP that furry paw to get it to stop. Oh, darn – missed. Thirty seconds later – once more – only this time with just ONE claw out, prick, prick, prick on the cheek. By this time consciousness is starting to come to the surface in the human brain and I realized I might just as well get up and feed him or I would get no peace. I know, I know – all I’m doing is reinforcing his habit, but I’ve TRIED in the past to out wait him and have failed. This cat has the most patience I have ever seen and he can thoroughly out wait me in that category. So I got up, stumbled out to the kitchen, put canned cat food in a dish and watched him gorge himself. He has a self-feeder full of dry cat food, but heaven forbid he eat THAT in the morning!!

By this time I was awake enough to rationalize that I might as well start Ole’s coffee pot so he’d have something to stimulate his brain waiting for him when he got up. By the time I got that all organized and going, Simon had cleaned his plate and was sitting in the middle of the kitchen with an extremely pleased expression on his face, licking his paws and washing his face. Then he glanced up toward the patio door.

I could just hear his brain formulating cat ideas within. There sat Herkie (the white cat who was ostracized from the house days ago), waiting by the door, wanting to get in of course. Herkie has discovered that he actually can go back to Lovely Daughter’s house, his original home, where he can eat, sleep and be merry if that’s what cats do. So he’s certainly not starving and has a nice warm bed to occupy if he wants. But for some reason he seems to prefer my house, sitting there trying to make me feel guilty about not letting him in – but guess what – that ain’t happenin’ anymore, Dude!! So Simon is making trips back and forth between the patio door and me, begging me to take his buddy back and let him in. Nope – Simon – sorry. I’m not wiping cat spray off my walls anymore!!!

Now when Simon was a younger fella (he’s about 15 or 16 now) he was kind of a social butterfly. He’d be roaming around outside and quite often would bring a stray cat home with him; they’d perch by the patio door and beg to come in. He was always like a little boy bringing home a stray puppy. Of course, that’s how Simon arrived here also. He was a stray that lived in our pole barn for an entire summer but wouldn’t come near us. Then one night, late in the summer, he must have reached the pinnacle of loneliness or something, because he came up to the house and started crying pitifully. I took him in and he’s been a resident ever since. So I guess he figures if I took him in, I’ll take in his buddies too. Kind of like the hobos used to do – spread the word or leave marks on the fence post that “this lady is a soft touch.”

BTW, some day I’ll have to repeat some of the stories my mother used to tell me about how the hobos had her mark when she was a young woman on the farm. (Makes note on list of things to write about in the future.)

Anyway, back on track here. Having a senior citizen cat in the house brings on its own issues. Simon is getting to the point where he can’t jump anymore, which means he can’t make it up onto our bed at night. When he was still living at Lovely Daughter’s house she tipped a clothesbasket upside down for him and he used it like a step. I put a small 2-step stool by the side of the bed and that seemed to do the trick until one night I tripped over it in the dark and stubbed my toe REALLY hard – OUCH!! Then for some reason Simon quit using the stool and took to climbing up the side of the bed just like he would be climbing a tree. We have one of those really high beds and he can get a good grip in the sheets. Maybe he’s dreaming of days gone by when he’d be outside climbing trees or something.

Then there are days when he sits in the middle of the floor and you can just tell by his eyes that he’s off in LaLa Land somewhere. Wherever it is, he certainly looks like he’s enjoying himself. His eyes are glazed over, his whiskers are twitching, sometimes his paws knead in and out like he’s a young kitten – and this is when he’s AWAKE. Imagine what goes through his mind when he’s sleeping!! Or maybe it’s too much kitty LSD!!

I hope when I get to that point in my life (which isn’t far, believe me) that my thoughts will be as pleasant as his seem to be! LaLa Land – here I come!!

PLAN FOR THE DAY: (Do I actually have one?) I’ve been trying to work my way through the house cleaning carpets and other heavy cleaning. That’s on the days when it’s raining outside – which seems to be most days lately. I’m making progress – have one room left upstairs and then have to hit the basement. Then on the nice days I’m trying to keep up with the weeds outside. Believe me with all the rain we’ve had the weeds are getting WAY ahead of me. In addition to that I’ve ripped out one flower bed (12x15), found homes for all the plants and if it ever dries up enough, we’ll cover the entire thing with pavers and make a fire pit in the center.

So now what do I do today? Well, it rained again this morning about 6 a.m., so it’s muddy – again – but now the sun is shining and the wind is blowing gale force. But then that’s normal for this part of the country. At least the wind keeps the bugs out of your ears and from flying up your nose. Guess I’ll have to draw straws as to which direction I go today.

Must get busy – must keep nose to the grindstone – must get up from the computer - - -

Ole is NOT who he appears to be!

In my previous entry I made mention of the fact that Ole is NOT who he APPEARS to be!! That Ole is a sneaky Finlander, ya’ know.

First of all, let’s just say that Ole’s last name is Olson. You need to know that in order to understand this story. Olson isn’t a very Finnish name, but for today we’ll just say he can be blessed with a Norwegian name.

One day a number of years ago, when Ole was still “gainfully employed” he was making a sales call on Hazel, a lady that held a very important position in the local school district. Hazel had been a customer of Ole’s for many years and just happened to claim the same Old Stomping Grounds as Ole did. So when Ole called on her they always reserved a bit of time for shooting the sh- - , in addition to doing business. This particular day the subject of folks that they both knew from the Old Stomping grounds came up, in particular, Ole’s grandfather.

Hazel asked Ole a question about his grandpa, and Ole responded with, “That mean old SOB?” (I never knew him but I guess he was hell on wheels.)

HAZEL: No, your OTHER grandpa.

OLE: What OTHER grandpa?

HAZEL: Uh,oh – you don’t know!!

OLE: What do you mean I don’t know?

HAZEL: You REALLY don’t know?

OLE: Know WHAT for heaven’s sakes?

HAZEL: OMG, I’ve gone and spilled the beans. I can’t believe you’re 50 years old and didn’t know about your Grandpa August.

OLE: Well, for heaven’s sakes TELL me!!

It seems there was a baker by the name of August HUMMPAA (pay attention to that name – it will give you a chuckle later in the story) in a small town close to where Ole’s Grandpa Matt farmed. The baker’s specialty was cinnamon toast, and back in those days he used to deliver the cinnamon toast to the various farms in a horse a buggy. Now apparently August Hummpaa was a horny old bugger and “had his way” with a number of the farm ladies around the countryside, one of them being Grandpa Matt’s wife – Ole’s grandmother. The result ended up being Ole’s father – I always wondered why Ole’s father didn’t look like the rest of his five older brothers and sisters.

Anyway, when Grandpa Matt found out his wife was expecting and that August Hummpaa had been sniffing around about the time she got pregnant, he kicked her out and sent her back to Rhode Island where her family was. Apparently Ole’s father was born back in Rhode Island and was several years old before Grandpa Matt and his wife came to terms and she was allowed to come back home.

As I said, August Hummpaa was apparently a horny old bugger, had several wives over the years and at the time of his death (90-something) he left behind over 100 LEGITIMATE descendants. No one knows how many illegitimate ones there are/were floating around the world. Now a strange twist to this story is that this is when Ole discovered that he and Hazel (remember her, back in the beginning of the story) are actually first cousins!! August Hummpaa was biological grandfather to both of them.

And there’s another strange twist. August Hummpaa had a grandson named Olavi, who had the hots for Ole’s little sister, and the feelings were mutual. Well, wouldn’t you know that when Little Sister graduated from college and moved out to California she and Olavi started shacking up together. Ole’s mother was beside herself but finally broke down and had to tell Little Sister that she couldn’t live with this guy, as they were actually first cousins – and you know what happens then!! Apparently this whole issue was supposed to be a deep dark secret – so only those on a need-to-know-basis were privy to the information.

The day Ole found all of this out from Cousin Hazel he came home laughing and giggling and couldn’t wait to tell me the story. Ole thought it was hilarious and had/has enough self-confidence that he didn’t feel it made HIM any less of a person. Now Ole’s father on the other hand, spent his entire life feeling sorry for himself because of a situation he had no control over and ended up drowning his sorrows in the bottom of a bottle most of his life, stating that he drank because of his past history. Yeah – right – but that’s another story and I’m not going there today.

AND THEN: After we had laughed and giggled about the issue we decided that Ole had to tell Lovely Daughter all about it. She was away at college at the time so we decided that the next time she came home for the weekend we would take her out to dinner under the guise that we had some important announcement to share with her. And we did. She sat very quietly and seriously throughout Ole telling her the entire story. Then when he finished he made the announcement that he had decided to legally change his last name from Olson to Hummpaa, and that she, as his child, would from then on be known as Lovely Daughter Hummpaa. A terrified look came across her face and out of her mouth came, “Over my dead body! There’s no way I’m going to be known on campus as Lovely Daughter Hummpaa!!”

Of course it was just a joke – Ole would never have done that – but we sure all got a good laugh out of it.

So now you know that Ole is truly not who he appears to be.