People Who Need People

Anyone who knows me will tell you I’m just not a people person. Oh, I like to say that when applying for a job, or in attempting to explain why I love facilitating writing workshops, but the truth is I really don’t like people very much. That is easily recognizable, I think, by my demeanor when I’m in a crowd of folks, which is usually silence. I despise small talk. I’m not very good at it and I don’t even try. This probably accounts for why I have a very tiny circle of friends, all of whom know this about me and accept it, whether they like it or not. I just don’t have much of a personality. Oh, when I was young, I tried by outside help to acquire a personality, and if I have a few drinks even now, I can be downright amenable. But, straight, singular me is not the one people generally think is going to be the life of the party. I’d much rather spend hours of my life in the pages of a book, toiling in a garden, creating things with my hands, or watching classic black and white movies with a plate of brownies for company. It’s the god’s honest truth.

I’ve been back to the Chicagoland area from Georgia over a month now. I’ve gone to one social event, - Neighborhood Writing Alliances's "Open Gate" Release Reading to see those people who know who I am. I meant to get to another - "Photo Requests from Solitary" - and I really tried, but when the time came around, the thought of mingling, networking, and schmoozing just made me ill. So, I didn’t go. Instead, I helped my 7-year-old grandson with his homework and cooked dinner. Here’s the thing though, I could’ve went and I would’ve been known and welcomed. This is just one of the things I’ve learned about myself in the last year: I need people when I need people.

I miss my chickens and Foghorn crowing at dawn. I miss the mountain mist hanging low in the trees reminding me so of an English moor out of a Bronte novel. I miss the rushing, white water Toccoa River. I miss towering mountains, lush woods, and the “silence” of nature surrounding me. Although there is beauty in Kenosha, primarily the eyes, the arms, and the boundless energy of my grandsons, as well as the exasperating lifestyles of my adult children, I dream of a way to have it all. 











Because I need them, and I need those few folks on earth who truly know Donna. I need to be able to say, “Come look at what I built, baked, cooked, come look I what I did,” and to have them share my joy, my hard work, my frustrations, my dreams. And, I need to celebrate or suffer theirs - on my terms, with those who accept and cherish my terms, knowing that I accept and cherish theirs when I’m able, and we’re all perfectly fine with that.

So, yeah, I’m not a people person but I am a person who needs people, and so, I am one of the luckiest people in the world. 

What I Do Best

The strawberry and peach preserves, and the applesauce I made earlier in the year didn’t taste quite so good until I shared it with my grandsons, and watched them lick their fingers and hear the “mmmm’s.” 

The homemade cinnamon rolls I made for the eighteen year old when he visited Georgia weren’t near as yummy as when son, daughter, and four other grandsons delighted in icing smeared faces. 

The large fire pit dug in the backyard beside a towering stack of firewood remained when I left because a backyard fire isn’t near as much fun as when you share it with four boys who have smores dripping from their fingertips. 

A gun-toting, gun-teaching Nana can do the same in Wisconsin as in Georgia. It's better to have the students close, though. 

And, hearing football stats relayed over telephone wire cannot compare to the heart-flipping joy of seeing the touchdown, the tackle, or the hugs after the game. 

I do many things, and I’ve realized I still have the ability to do much more. But, what I do best is be Nana. I’ve also learned that it’s what I love to do most. 

Even the animals are happier, it seems.

Another Day Has Begun

Another day has begun here on ______ . What’s your name suggestion for the homestead? Keep in mind that next year it will be in a different location within the North Georgia Mountains. I’d love to call it dk’s Green Acres, but that’s too easy.

Last year in March, I wrote 2011 Rambling Decisions. Unbeknownst at the time, the third scenario of moving to the mountains would be the decision. Here I am and the days roll on, getting busier and hotter, with more disasters and greater blessings daily.

Mae, the big 350, V8 (named after Mae West: “You only liveonce, but if you do it right, once is enough”) I bought for my journey from Chicago to here, sits on the gravel drive with a blown rod thanks to a mechanic with a shiny traveling shop but little knowledge. He replaced my leaking radiator with one fit for a Tonka truck. Thankfully, I found the excellent mechanic I’d met in June 2011 on that Pictureless on a Brakeless Day. He will tow Mae thirty miles, replace the engine with a used GM Goodwrench that has 33K miles, replace the radiator with one designed for a V8, and replace all the fluids for $1150, which makes his labor charge about $250. Huge blessing.

Out of ten hens and one rooster (Foghorn), I’ve only lost one. She’s in the freezer awaiting garden planting time where she will return to the earth and fertilize my veggies. Thanks to new friends, the chicken coop is just about done. It’s taken three weeks, but you can’t complain about free labor and even financial donations to the cause. The remainder belongs to me – sides, chicken wire, door, and fenced yard. I can do that. Probably though, not all on one day since the weather resembles mid-August instead of the first week of April. I cut the ½ acre lawn yesterday afternoon and reclined with a beer the rest of the day.

Sunday, the outside water faucet sprung a leak. I removed the knob to turn it off by the bolt. Unfortunately, the piping was all so very old, it broke off completely, spouting 3-4 gallons per minute of water into the temporary chicken yard, and the driveway. My neighbors and I tried to turn of the main line to the house, but not only was it sunk 3’ into the yard, it was surround by mud and slush. We managed to clear away enough to get to the line, but the valve broke off in our hands. There was nothing to do but shut off the well water to the whole top of the mountain. Finally, since my V8 was going nowhere, the owner came with a cap for the faucet. Yesterday, my front yard was a construction zone as the water main was replaced with new pipes, handle, and sleeve. It’s still 3’ underground, but attainable.

The moth caterpillars have hatched in the millions, figuratively. The Georgia gnats have never gone away, and while this picture may send shivers down some spines, it shows my constant battle, which at the moment, I seem to be winning. That could change. Cutting the grass loosed another million flying insects. Additional chore added to the list: making it snow in the mountains again – soon.

So given all that, the beauty, the strangeness, and the fact that this ‘spot’ is temporary, what say you to the name? Yes, it’s another day here on _______ .

December Spring Cleaning Ya'll

Last entry was all about fleas and my battle to make life easier for my beloved animals. You’ll be happy to know that this entry is all about—fleas, and my continued, constant battle.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am all about natural remedies, especially if they work. At this point though…

Let me give you a little timeline:

August: Arrived Georgia home with two cats, traumatized but well

23 September: Acquired dog—Mello

1st week October: Fleas arrived Georgia home

2^nd week October: Flea collar for Mello

2^nd week October: Spot-On treatment for cats & dog

4^th week October: Capstar pill for all, flea dip and comb for all, thorough house cleaning and laundry

It was at this point that I couldn’t justify more chemicals.

1^st week November: Lemon, lavender, tea tree oil wash for all, thorough house cleaning and laundry

2^nd week November: 50lb diatomaceous earth spread over entire yard, lemon, lavender, tea tree oil wash for all, flea combing for all, thorough house cleaning and laundry

3^rd week November: diatomaceous earth rubbed into armchair, dining room chairs, coats of animals, oatmeal shampoo bath for all with lemon, lavender & tea tree oil rinse, flea combing daily, thorough house cleaning and laundry

4^th week November:  Grated garlic in pet water, oatmeal shampoo bath for all with lemon, lavender & tea tree oil rinse, flea combing daily, thorough house cleaning and laundry

1^st week December: Garlic & Brewers yeast in pet food, oatmeal shampoo bath for all with lemon, lavender & tea tree oil rinse, flea combing—one hour per animal, thorough house cleaning, spread diatomaceous earth around base of exterior & sweep into baseboards, remove every piece of fabric in house, Spot-On treatment for each animal, remove all from house, flea bomb house, launder everything, wash every surface, sweep & mop. All animals content without a moment of scratching.

There you have it. There should not be a solitary flea left anywhere, right?

My house is bright and shiny, every piece of fabric clean and fresh, the animals sufficiently traumatized.

Six hours after Spot-On Treatment, they are scratching again with fleas visible.  

Fleas, fleas, and more fleas

I have washed every comforter, blanket, and rug more in the past two months than I have in a year. I do not have carpeting so there are very few places for these buggers to hide, yet, still. 


In all my years of having cats, some of which were outdoor animals, I have NEVER had a flea problem - not a solitary one. Move to Georgia, get a dog, and wa-la, fleas galore. 


As miserable and as infested as these animals continue to be you'd think that I would be bit to pieces myself. Nothing. Not even an itch. And the cats sleep with me.


I've tried flea collars, spot-on flea medication, flea baths (chemical and natural, professional and at home), flea pills, flea combs, scrubbing everything with vinegar and lemon juice, spreading diatinaceous earth all over the yard and around the house, and still, even with two good frosts. 

The poor things scratch and bite and run around shaking. Now, I've noticed a few bumps on Mello that I thought at first might be ticks, but are just patches of dry, scaling skin with flea droppings around it. 


It's not healthy to bathe cats too often, so that is out. Mello has been bathed in chemicals, oatmeal, essential oils, and Dawn dish soap. Another can't possibly be good. I feel sooo very sorry for all of them. 


Today, I will once again take everything to wash in steaming water and vinegar. I will apply the spot-on medication and then comb - again. My poor, poor babies. 

First Snow in North Georgia Appalachians

It's mid November and 70 degrees in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Sky is overcast and the ground is a mélange of colors, except for my yard. My yard alone has captured the first snow fall, and it is a beautiful sight.

Actually, it is diatomaceous earth. In a nutshell, it is the fossilized remains of hard-shell algae. It is food-grade and harmless to humans and animals—unless, of course, you breathe in large volumes of the dust. It is a flour-like substance and has innumerable uses.

My issue is with fleas in this humid environment. Layers of decaying leaves makes my yard (and the surrounding area) prime real estate for these little buggers, as well as gnats. In a previous post, I declared gnats the state insect of Georgia. Well, enough of all of them.

My poor puppy Mello, was just miserable. After Rocky cat found a wolf worm, the cats have, unfortunately for them, reverted to house pets. The cats and the dog stay completely away from each other, which is why neither Rocky nor Lola has fleas. Mello, who plays and rolls in the leaves, does. We spend hours training and playing in the yard and the fleas were having a feast.

All three animals had a flea pill from Mountain Dog Boarding, a dip, an oatmeal bath, and a brushing. All bedding was washed in hot water with vinegar. Almost $200 later and Mello still can’t sleep through the night—which means I don’t sleep through the night.

Enter diatomaceous earth and the 2011 snowfall in Mineral Bluff, GA. DE is non-toxic and safe enough to eat—they use it in grain silos after all. So, here’s hoping the fleas AND Georgia’s favorite insect, the gnats, will enjoy my white yard. Much better than attempting to RAKE!!

Did I Mention I Love Bluegrass?

Did I mention I love Bluegrass? I think I did and am probably repeating myself, but at my age, I can do that.

On my second day in my new home, I left off unpacking and arranging to attend a Cajun Cookout at the Blue Ridge Pavilion. The Demijohn Varmints provided the entertainment, and while one young man looked as though he’d been in a  losing battle with rabid varmint, their music was exciting—stimulating enough to get these feet and legs moving, tapping, and dancing. My second time in two months on a dance floor. This move south has really energized me.

The cookout was sponsored by the Democratic Party of Fannin County, GA, but there was no political message other than we can all play together—and we did. Not sure if there were any Republicans there, but one man did don a Confederate flag shirt for the occasion. He was fairly quiet, kept to himself, and leered over his plate, as if those damn Dems would steal it. We let him enjoy it though.

Everyone enjoyed the food and there was a lot of it. Cajun okra and tomatoes, Cajun carrot salad, Jambalaya, Cajun cornbread with a spicy kick, Cajun peas and onion with peach and blueberry cobblers for dessert. Oh, there were burgers and hot dogs for those who didn’t particularly care for a hot Cajun boost to the metabolism, but most took the plunge and blotted their brow while doing so.

I took my second drive in the dark on the mountain roads back to my country home, and it felt terrific. I have to remember to turn on the porch light though, because when the sun sets, it’s blackness all around. Thank goodness I’m a smoker because I had to use the lighter to fit the key in the door lock. I haven’t taken to leaving my door unlocked yet. That city habit is gonna die hard.

Since neither paper showed up to cover the event, I wrote up a little blurb for both accompanied with the pictures. Who knows, maybe I can pick up a little gig writing on spec for events such as these—Democratic events—that no one seems to care about. If not, that’s okay also. The goal is to write as much as possible be it poetry, fiction, or articles, and at some point to be so fitted in the groove that I will return to that novel. Right now, I’m frolicking in the inspiration sparked by Cajun food and Bluegrass. Did I mention I love Bluegrass? Good, ‘coz tonight is Pickin’ in the Park down around the corner, and I’ll be there.

Blue Ridge Outsider

I’d planned to write this piece about Blues in Blue Ridge at Blue Orleans Bistro in downtown Blue Ridge, GA (boy, that’s a lot of blue) from an outsider’s perspective, but I’ve come to realize, there are no outsiders in Blue Ridge. Coming from Chicago where you can stand in the corner of a function or benefit for hours without anyone even acknowledging your presence, the warm and welcoming reception I received at the fundraiser for Snack in a Backpack last night was refreshing and exciting. 

I was passing through Blue Ridge on my way to find an off-the-grid mountain home and had the luck to land at the home of Lisa Gagnon of the Fannin Sentinel. Lisa has opened her home for “as long as you need it” and has been a wealth of information about everything. This ‘pass through’ is quickly becoming a ‘stay home’ place. It’s not a place you leave easily—nor should you.

I saw the signs for Blues in Blue Ridge but failed to notice that it was a reservation/donation event to benefit Snack in a Backpack. When Elaine, Lisa’s mother and owner of the Sentinel, decided to pass on her reservation because of a rigorous day of interviewing, Lisa included me. I went clothed in a “Fannin Sentinel Press” name tag and had more fun, felt more accepted, and smiled more than I have in many years—as an insider, because there are no outsiders in Blue Ridge.

The host location, Blue Orleans Bistro, is housed in a Louisiana plantation-style white-pillared Victorian with screened porches, a separate dining room with southern belle bonnets hanging from the fireplace, and delicious bayou food—the crawfish tails with Remoulade and Hoisin sauce are to die for. And the owner, Tim Huffstetler, belts out a mean “Polk Salad Annie.” 

The real entertainment, The Buckeye Band, was electrifying. Feet were tapping, hands clapping, and by the end, tables were moved to allow for the hips swaying—and mine were included. It’s been years since I’ve danced, even if the music is jumping, but last night I was invited. People smiled, waved me up and actually danced with me, looked me in the eyes and smiled. I was an accepted and enjoyed part of the in-crowd.

Everyone who was anyone in Blue Ridge was there, and the MC for the night, Jack Morton of Wrapsody in Blue, was engaging as an MC as well as being both interesting and interested as a conversationalist. Even Gaye Whalton, who is the creator of Snack in a Backpack and coordinator of the extravaganza, took the time to inquire about me personally and welcome me heartily as a prospective new Blue Ridge resident.

Besides my own profound experience of warmth, the event itself was a booming success. Local businesses donated such auction items as diamond rings from The Diamond Center, a mountain cabin stay from BR Lodging Assoc., Atlanta Braves tickets, and the phenomenal Blue Orleans Bistro chef for a private party, and much more. The Buckeye Band donated a Fender Stratocaster signed by a host of blues artists, which went for a whopping $800 for the Snack in a Backpack organization, who were the real winners of the night, and the reason for all these welcoming and generous people coming together. Kids will continue to receive their weekend backpacks full of food thanks to the concern, generosity, and warm kindness of folks in Blue Ridge, GA—where I am not an outsider.