Sketch From the Country #1

Moving to the country a few years back was one of the best things we've ever done, but it was also a cultural shock, reminiscent of the book Funny Farm. The difference is that the deer on our land pass across the lower valley of their own accord and the people are, for the most part, genuinely friendly. We never had to pay them to be nice to us. (Okay, we paid them once, but it was the only way we could eat our dinner in peace.)

Our local general store, three miles up the road, is a hangout for all the old men hereabouts. It's a typical white-framed building with all the usual signs for Coca Cola and cigarettes. There is one very large sign outside, one of those signs where you can change the words yourself by sliding letters and numbers across slatted rows. It reads gas, cigarettes, lottery, live bats and acks. After seeing they actually sold live bats and acks, I was curious and dying to know what an ack was. After all, the sign had been there for years and ... well, okay, I was being a smart ass.

"I'd like to buy some live bats and an ack," I said.

The man behind the counter is usually grumpy and I never know what to expect. He is short, perhaps 5'.4" and just as wide. I interrupted his breakfast of canned stew and potato chips. "We don't have any bats. You might try the hardware store for an ack," he said. "Chopping firewood in this weather?" The stew dribbled onto one of his chins and bits of potato chip fell out of his mouth as he spoke.

I smiled. Was it condescending? I couldn't help it. "I don't really want live bats. I'm just pointing out the sign. It reads 'live bats' and 'acks'."

"Oh, that. Well everybody knows it's live bait and snacks. What else could it be?"

"Live bats, of course." He looked at me strangely and wished I'd hurry up and leave. I can tell these things, you know.

"Well, I know somebody who traps 'em." he said. "Name's Henry and he usually comes in on Wednesdays. But can't help you with the ack."

"I don't want it really. It's just that sign," I said. I must leave here as quickly as possible.

"Is it broke?"

"No, it just needs adjusting." Enough now. Be polite and leave.

"What for? Everybody knows what it says."

"Thank you." I said. Well, what else could I say? "Uh ... have a good day." Found something.

"Yea, take care, eh. I'll tell Henry you been lookin' for him."

"Um." I didn't finish the thought. I can only hope he didn't see me roll my eyes as I left.

A few days later, I had to nip in there again. I forgot it was Wednesday. The little bell jingled above the door as I entered and the saggy eyes of six old men were upon me. "Oh here's the lady looking for the bats, Henry." said the shopkeeper.

"Good morning," I said. I was instantly reminded of a typical old general store in the old west. "All you need in here is a barrel full of pickles, a wood stove and all you gentlemen smoking corn cob pipes."

"Oh, there's no smoking in here," he said.

Now, I don't want to sound smug, but really? "I'm kidding. Just the milk, thank you." I just wanted to leave and never come back.

"What you want with all those bats?" said who I presumed was Henry.

"I don't want any bats." I said. I really, really just want to leave. "I think there's been a misunderstanding."

"Heh, Bob. I got a box full of bats in the truck freezin' their n!ts off."

"Lady, you said you wanted bats." Bob turned to me. Seems I put him in an awkward situation.

I was becoming more than a little uncomfortable and more than a little irritated. My husband always says I'm way too friendly with strange ... I mean, strangers. "It was a joke. I was making fun of your sign."

"There's nothing wrong with that sign." said Bob. As he spoke a middle-aged woman came into the store. She was out of breath and panting as Bob pulled what I presumed was her usual cigarette brand off the shelf.

"What's up, Bob?" she asked.

"Nothin' much, but do you see anything wrong with that sign?" He pointed out the window and all the old men got up to follow his finger. I stood there with my hand on the door handle.

"Nope," she said and they all nodded in agreement.

"But ... but it says live bats and acks. How can you not see that?" Why was I still there?

The woman looked at me like she was ready to pounce. Nobody messes with Bob. "But everybody knows Bob sells live bait."

I smiled at them as I left. I know it was my best patronizing smile, the one I pull out to hide my shame. I don't shop at Bob's General Store anymore. The other is fourteen miles in the other direction. And even though the other store sells "oca ola," I've never felt the need to try it. It's for the best. The next closet convenient store is thirty miles away.

(names changed to protect the locals)

2009

I can't believe it's been a year since I posted anything. So much for that "discipline/diligence " thingy among my 2008 resolutions. Nevertheless, it's in this years mental list as well.

Still busy with revisions of my 2007 Nano novel and I'm hoping it'll be ready for beta readers by the end of 2009, hopefully before with discipline and diligence. I enjoy this part -- playing with phrases, moving this to there and that to here.

Haven't come up with a decent title yet though. A Twist of Rotten Silk is the working title for my witch wip. This one? Haven't a clue. My MC's name is Swithun, born on St. Swithun's Day. I was considering Swithun's Day for a title, but ick. Too ... something. Charming, perhaps? I like coming up with titles, but this has me stumped