Friday, February 17, 2012

Confidential Interview

Eight months ago—on the road with the wind in my hair, seeing new places, meeting new people, making new memories, building a new life—everything fell perfectly into place. The first few months were exciting with possibilities and plans. Imagine my dismay when in the fourth month, I found Donna lurking about, waiting patiently in the shadows. In my mountain retirement where I was to finish that novel and finally compile that poetry manuscript, there she was, distracting as ever, eating brownies and watching westerns.

There were reasons, she said. The less expensive location proved expensive to establish. The serene mountain was in the middle of the North Georgia ‘hood’, which shouldn’t be a problem for a metro Chicago girl, however mountain hoods are quite a different scene, as my dear Donna was quick to point out. The mountain wilderness has its own set of rules.

The like-minded and supportive people I’d originally met were 15-20 miles away, and those close whom I chose to trust were untrustworthy. Winters' early gray months saw panic attacks, and doubts. As usually happens, time moves along and with that passage the realization that things are never, ever the way they seem. Those who betrayed have severe issues of their own. The ‘hood,’ as is often the case, is home to some good people. As the dreariness lifted, daylight lengthened, and the Donnas have conspired again to live the dream.
I’ve made bagels, gorgeous, dense loaves of white bread, a delicious loaf of herbed artisan bread, and just yesterday, two golden loaves of honey oat bread. Three quarts of applesauce, and three pints of apple jelly from the peelings and cores. 

Since I made the decision to stay at this location for a year to get all finances balanced, I began to dig the herb garden, and ordered seed catalogs. The daylilies and tulips are popping, and my Mello dog takes me on exhilarating daily mountain walks where we’ve met even more good people in the hood.  

And, I write!

Confidential Interview

Almost an illusion,
those tiny blue flutters
         in the brown grass.

After the lift of morning fog
           amber criss-crosses the earth
to dry the nights weeping.

Cats crouch and shimmy behind the window,
yet visions of the glorious hunt 
soon blur,
ransacked by the reality 
of domestication.

So begins the day’s confidential interview with its customers.

Will you trade, sell, discard these copious charms for empty promises?